Текст книги "The Doll's House"

Автор книги: M. J. Arlidge

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

89

Ruby’s heart stopped as soon as she saw it. A dead end. She had sprinted the length of the right-hand corridor, only to find she had chosen badly. The gloomy tunnel looked like it belonged in a mine – rough earth floor and walls with industrial lights secured to the wooden joists supporting the ceiling – and ended in some kind of storage area. It was piled high with plastic bottles, empty sacks and other detritus. Turning on her heel, Ruby ran back to the junction as fast as she could. Her lungs were burning, her breath short and erratic, but she had to keep going. She only had one shot at this.

Her captor’s groaning was louder than it had been before. Had he made it out of her cell now? Was he coming towards her? For a moment, Ruby was frozen with indecision, the fear that he would catch her suddenly robbing her of her energy and conviction.

Footsteps. Now she could definitely hear footsteps. Turning, she plunged down the central passage. Her legs threatened to buckle, but her desire to live drove her forwards. Down the passage, round the corner, she sprinted on and on. Surely this had to be right? This tunnel was longer than the last one and she could feel cool air ahead of her. Cool, fresh air. Yes, this must be the one.

Ruby turned a bend and now tears – tears of naked fear – sprung to her eyes. Another dead end – a kind of air vent – but no means of escape. For a moment, desolation swept over, then suddenly Ruby was seized with a thought. Perhaps this air vent was a way out after all. She rammed her fingers into the grille and pulled as hard as she could, pushing her leg up against the rough wall to provide extra leverage. Nothing. The grille was secured with numerous heavy-duty screws and, without a screwdriver, she was powerless to move it. Ruby rested her pounding head against the grille, the fresh air mocking her, as it ran over her tear-stained face. Was this it? If he found her, he would kill her, Ruby was sure of that. She would never see her family, her friends … she would never see daylight again.

All was still now. She listened intently. No more groaning. No more footsteps. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. What if he had taken the right-hand passage, leaving the left-hand one unguarded? The soft earth of the floor would have shown up her tracks – surely he would have pursued her down that passageway first?

Keeping close to the wall, Ruby crept back towards the junction, pausing every second step to listen. Her eyes darted this way and that, her ears strained, but there was no sign of him. She went a little further. Then further still. She was only ten yards from the junction. She tried to calm her breathing, bracing herself for one last burst of energy. It was now or never.

She bolted from her hiding place, veering sharply to her right around the corner. Without hesitation, she sprinted down the left-hand corridor. He would probably have heard her movement, so there was nothing for it but to put her head down and run.

A noise made her look up and suddenly she came to a juddering halt. He hadn’t gone down the right-hand passageway – he had raced straight for the exit. And there he was now standing in front of her, blocking her path.

Ruby turned to run, but he was on her in a flash. She felt his rough hand yank her head back, then reeled as his fist crunched into her face. As the blows rained down, Ruby slumped to the floor. She made no attempt to defend herself. She simply closed her eyes, took the blows and patiently waited for death.

90

‘Ok, let’s pull together what we’ve got.’

It was lunchtime and Helen had gathered the team in the incident room. Sanderson and Lucas had returned from their hunt, McAndrew had sifted Roisin’s possessions – it was the first time in a while that the whole unit had been in there. Helen watched them as they assembled – taking in who stood next to who, who avoided who and more besides. It was clear to her that there was still unease within the team. Division? Cliques? It was too early to say, but it alarmed her. She had no time – Ruby had no time – for internal squabbling.

‘So we have three confirmed victims and one missing woman. Pippa Briers was murdered three to four years ago, Roisin Murphy roughly two years ago. Isobel Lansley is our most recent victim – Jim Grieves estimates she was murdered within the last eighteen months. They all share a look – black hair, blue eyes – and each murder victim has a distinctive bluebird tattoo on her left shoulder. DC McAndrew’s diligent work with Roisin’s family and ex has helped confirm that Roisin did not have that tattoo when she went missing. Same goes for Pippa.’

‘And Lansley?’ questioned DC Lucas.

‘We’re yet to interview her parents. They’re based in Namibia – have been for some years – but we’ve informed them of developments and we’re flying them over,’ DC Grounds replied.

‘Sooner rather than later, please,’ DS Fortune chivvied.

‘So we can assume that the killer tattooed the women,’ Helen continued. ‘Why? To mark them as his? To make them resemble someone else? For entertainment? What is its significance?’

Silence from the team, so Helen carried on.

‘What is the importance of their look? Why them? I would like Lucas and McAndrew to lead on breaking down these women’s lives to see if we can pinpoint where he might have come into contact with them. What were these women’s regular commitments, where did they work, socialize, exercise? We need chapter and verse, so we can compare for overlap.’

McAndrew and Lucas nodded, though neither looked overjoyed. Helen didn’t care – she was going to force this team to work together.

‘Next up, access. According to Sinead Murphy, Roisin had four keys to her council flat. Sinead had one in her purse, the other three were recovered from her flat, after she vanished – we found them in her boxed possessions.’

‘So she knew her abductor?’ DS Fortune offered.

‘It’s possible, as there was no sign of a break-in or a struggle at her flat. But Roisin had a small social circle and hadn’t mentioned anyone she knew who worried her or who were new on the scene. So we should also think about people you might let into your flat. People in uniform – police officers, paramedics, gas and electricity inspectors, charity workers. Would these women let these kinds of people in? Let’s go back to the families, see what we can glean.’

‘How does he get them out?’ Finally DC Stevens had spoken. He didn’t say much Helen thought to herself, but his question was on the money.

‘Isobel Lansley had traces of something sticky in her hair. We sent it off for tests and found that it was an industrial solvent,’ Helen replied. ‘It’s called trichloroethylene.’

‘What’s it used for?’ Sanderson asked.

‘All manner of things,’ Helen answered. ‘Cleaning work surfaces, degreasing metal parts, you find it in boot polish and dry-cleaning chemicals, plus historically people have used it to get high.’

‘And would it knock you out?’

‘It was trialled as an alternative to chloroform in the 1920s, a form of anaesthetic, before being taken on by industry – so there’s no question it could incapacitate you. As with chloroform, a soaked rag over the mouth and nose would do the trick.’

The team were silent once more. This latest development was sinister and unnerving.

‘To administer it, he would have to get close to them,’ said DC Lucas, picking up the thread. ‘But there were no breakages, no sign of a struggle in Ruby’s flat, so …’

‘She must have trusted them enough to let them get close,’ DS Fortune offered.

‘Or the victims were already asleep,’ Sanderson interrupted. ‘We know Ruby had had a big night out. She could have conked out and then …’

More silence.

‘Let’s go back to the flats,’ Helen continued. ‘I know this was a while ago, but check if any of the long-term residents remember seeing any authority figures around the flats late at night. Anything that struck them as unusual. There has to be a reason why this guy never leaves a trace. How does he get in?’

The team broke up, directed to their tasks by an energized DS Fortune. Helen watched them go. Progress had been modest, but finally they had a few pieces of the jigsaw, providing the unit with a well-needed morale boost. Perhaps they were finally inching close to understanding their killer’s MO.

Helen’s reflections were interrupted by her mobile phone ringing. She was surprised to see it was James calling. Her downstairs neighbour, a handsome junior doctor at South Hants hospital, had been friendly at first, but had backed off when it became clear that Helen had no interest in being another notch on his bedpost. Puzzled, Helen answered it quickly.

‘James?’

‘You better get back here, Helen.’

‘Why what’s up? Please don’t tell me there’s been another leak.’

‘They’re in your flat.’

‘Who?’

‘Police. Half a dozen of them. You need to get back here NOW.’

91

Helen took the stairs three at a time. By the time she reached the top floor, she was sweating slightly, but she didn’t hesitate – bursting through the doors. She had been expecting the worst, but even so the sight that met her eyes rendered her speechless.

Her flat – her precious flat – was being turned over. Six officers, all sheathed in forensics suits, were taking the place apart. Opening desk drawers, checking under tables, bagging her laptop and iPad.

‘Would someone explain to me what the fuck is going on?’ Helen roared, holding up her warrant card. ‘I’m a Detective Inspector with Hampshire Police, this is my flat and you are in the wrong place.’

‘Actually we’re in the right place,’ a middle-aged woman with a bad haircut shot back, holding up her warrant card. ‘DS Lawton, Anti-Corruption.’

Helen stared at the ID, but couldn’t take it in.

‘Anti-Corruption?’

‘Exactly and we have a warrant to search your flat.’

Helen snatched the piece of paper from Lawton’s hand and scanned it, searching for details of the who, what, why. Predictably it was bland and uninformative.

‘Why are you here? What are you looking for?’

The searching officers didn’t even bother to respond to that one.

‘I am currently running a major investigation. I don’t know what you think you’re doing but I can assure you that Hampshire Police are going to kick you all the way back to whatever hole you –’

‘Cool your boots, DI Grace. We know who you are and what you’re up to. But know this – it was one of your own lot that called us in, so perhaps you could let us get on with our job and save the abuse for someone else?’

With a scowl, Lawton turned back to the task in hand. Helen stood stock still, reeling from this latest revelation. She was none the wiser as to their intent, but now at least it was clear to her who was ultimately responsible.

92

‘You have no right do this. Whatever has happened between us in the past, you have no right to spread lies about me.’

An incandescent Helen faced Ceri Harwood across her desk.

‘I’m going to make an official complaint to Fisher –’

‘What makes you think I’ve been telling lies,’ Harwood replied coolly. Helen was unnerved by her tone, but carried on nevertheless.

‘Anti-Corruption? Really? I think my record shows which side of the fence I’m on.’

She was referring to Harwood’s predecessor – Detective Superintendent Whittaker – whom she had rightly handed to Anti-Corruption on a plate.

‘Which makes your actions all the more surprising, Helen.’

Still that coolness.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’d like to play you something,’ Harwood replied. ‘The original is with Anti-Corruption, hence this morning’s fun and games. I made this copy for our files.’

Helen tensed as Harwood pressed play on her small portable player. What game was this?

Silence, then shuffling, the finally voices. Helen immediately recognized her voice – and that of DI Tom Marsh. For a moment, Helen was struck dumb. Why the hell would he have been recording their conversation? He had no idea Helen was going to doorstep him in Northamptonshire …

She had been set up. DI Marsh had been in on it from the start – he had recorded Helen asking him to leak classified information to her, to compromise ongoing undercover work, to risk the lives of serving officers … the charge list was endless. And Harwood had it all on tape.

‘I told you not to go near this. No, I ordered you not to go near Robert Stonehill,’ Harwood continued. ‘But you ignored me. I’m not sure yet how you accessed the file on him, but I’ll find out.’

Immediately Helen thought of Charlie. What had she dragged her into?

‘File?’ Helen queried, keeping her expression as neutral as possible.

‘Don’t be coy, Helen. The only way you could know about the involvement of DI Marsh is from having read the unredacted file.’

‘I don’t recall any file.’

‘Good God, Helen, if that’s the best you can do, you really are for the high jump. Anti-Corruption are going through your flat with a fine toothcomb – when they find the evidence they need, then you’ll be gone. And not a moment too soon.’

Helen stared at her superior. There was something different about her today. Even at the point of her triumph, she looked weary and empty. As if her own hatred had eaten her from within. She had laid a complex trap to catch Helen and it had worked. So why did she seem so dispirited?

‘Was any of it true? The fight in Northampton? Robert’s association with the police?’

‘I’m afraid that’s classified.’

And no doubt would remain so. Helen’s anger was spiking now, the thought of how her personal life – her deepest vulnerabilities – had been used against her made her blood boil. She had underestimated Harwood’s thirst for vengeance and was reaping the reward for her complacency.

‘Obviously while this is ongoing, you will be suspended from the investigation –’

‘I don’t think so.’

Harwood laughed.

‘I admire your balls, Helen, but I’m not sure that’s your decision really. Once we’re done here, I am due to meet Fisher to rubberstamp your suspension. He’s across all this obviously –’

‘Then no doubt he’ll be aware what a foolish move that would be. From a publicity view, it wouldn’t play well, would it? You suspended me before and look what happened – I found Ella Matthews while you were running round in circles. I reminded Emilia Garanita of that the other day – I’m sure the Evening News would take a dim view of Southampton Central’s most successful police officer being suspended with such a major investigation in play. I’m sure they would also be interested to hear that I am the victim of a campaign of relentless harassment, despite a total lack of evidence against me, because of your personal vendetta against me –’

‘Are you serious? You were caught red-handed!’ Harwood fired back.

‘A hypothetical conversation between two officers, during which nothing of note was revealed –’

‘You accessed a classified file. In contravention of a direct order.’

‘So where is it?’

For the first time, Harwood paused. Did Helen detect a sliver of doubt?

‘If I took the file it, produce it. Then you can throw the book at me. But until then, I suggest you get back in your box and let me do my job. There’s a young woman’s life at stake and anything – or anyone – who impedes our search for her had better be prepared to face the consequences if things go wrong. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. Or my face attached to that story.’

A long pause. Harwood said nothing but Helen could tell that she had planted a seed of doubt. Harwood would never allow anything to tarnish her public image or professional reputation. Safety first was her motto and Helen knew it.

‘You will stay on the investigation for now,’ Harwood eventually conceded. ‘But you are to cooperate fully with Anti-Corruption. Specifically you will provide me now with all of your passwords and encryption codes, so that the team can fully access your laptops, phones, tablets and more besides. You will also desist from going back to your flat or discussing this with any serving officers. If you disobey any of these orders, in any way, I will have your badge. Is that clear?’

Helen marched down the corridor, still burning with anger. Life constantly surprised her with its inventive sadism, but she had never expected this. How much must Harwood despise her to act in this manner? She was intent on destroying her and yet even now, as Helen’s future at Southampton Central hung by a thread, Helen was filled with a defiant sense of purpose.

Suddenly she knew exactly what she needed to do, if she was to tilt the battle in her favour, once and for all.

93

DS Lloyd Fortune shifted uneasily in his seat. He never liked public appeals and this one was more harrowing than most. Roisin’s smiling face beamed out from the screens behind them, the backdrop to Sinead Murphy’s emotional appeal for information. Sinead had managed three sentences before breaking down and since then progress had been halting. It made for good TV and might jog someone’s memory or stir their conscience, but it was difficult to watch. It was as if Sinead had been gutted like a fish – all her optimism, her strength, ripped from her by the tragic turn of events. The happy memories of Roisin that she now rehearsed seemed to hurt her still further – they were offered to prompt others into coming forward, but Lloyd feared they only served to underline her own guilt and increase her misery.

When she began talking about Kenton, things got worse. Sinead was almost inaudible now because of the heavy sobbing and the onus was on Lloyd to step in. But it was hard to do so without looking unfeeling or callous. Despite his good looks and articulacy, Lloyd was camera shy and hated being in the spotlight. It made him anxious: he was inclined to clam up for fear of making a fool of himself, which he knew from past experience made him look remote or haughty. Whenever he was approached to front poster campaigns designed to draw in new black and ethnic-minority officers to the Force, he tried to wriggle out of it, usually with little success. People seemed obsessed with putting him in the public eye, hence the endless media training, and once again Harwood had insisted he front today’s appeal, despite the fact that really it should be Helen Grace filling his chair.

Sinead had come to a complete halt now, so finally Lloyd leant over, placing a reassuring arm on hers, while redirecting her attention to the script they had signed off on before the press conference began. Sinead looked at him through sodden eyelashes, then, summoning some last vestige of composure, continued her appeal.

‘Roisin was a beautiful … caring mother and daughter.’

Another long pause, as Sinead drew breath.

‘She has been cruelly taken from us and someone out there knows why. If you have any information about my Roisin’s disappearance … please, please contact the police. She had suffered so much in her short life. A father who abandoned her. A boyfriend who did the same. She deserved so much more from life, but never got it.’

Finally, she looked up from the table and stared right into the nearest TV camera.

‘Don’t let her murder go unpunished.’

94

‘Don’t let her murder go unpunished.’ The blubbering bitch seemed to look directly at him as she said it. He swore violently at her, what did she and her slut of a daughter know about suffering?

The exertion of shouting at the TV brought the pain crashing back again. He was lying on the sofa in the filthy living room, an ice-pack clamped to the back of his head. Empty packets of Naproxin, super-strength Ibuprofen that he’d been prescribed some years earlier, littered the floor. He had taken four times the recommended dose, but it didn’t seem to be making much difference. It was like the worst migraine he’d ever had – a deep, insistent throbbing at the back of the skull.

Worse than all of this, however, was the pain of Summer’s betrayal. How had he been tricked so easily? And so cruelly? She seemed to have returned to him, to want to please him, but actually she was carefully planning her attack, waiting until his heart was open and his guard was down.

Despite the fact that he was concussed, he had dragged her back to her cell by her hair and once there delivered a beating that was savage and unremitting. It shocked him to realize that he had no idea how long it went on for or even if she had survived the attack. Eventually he had run out of steam and then the full extent of her subterfuge became clear. How she had removed the metal strut from the side of the bed, then propped up the bed with one of the chairs to make it look intact, so she could enjoy the element of surprise. What a mug he had been – all those cosmetic purchases from Boots had been designed to lay her hands on something metal. Why had he not seen this?

Rising from the sofa, stuffing two more Naproxin in his mouth, he vowed not to be so naïve again. She had tricked him once – he wouldn’t let her do so again. From now on things were going to be very different.