Текст книги "Liar Liar"

Автор книги: M. J. Arlidge

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

72

Helen and Sanderson stood in Helen’s office, neither saying a word. Outside, Helen could see news of Alice’s death rippling round the incident room. Several members of the team were fighting back tears, others just looked blank with shock. Everybody had been knocked for six by this terrible, sudden tragedy.

‘What did they say?’ Sanderson asked.

Helen had only just got off the phone from the hospital and was still trying to process what they’d told her.

‘She’d been stable since the fire but they never managed to get her to regain consciousness. It seems … that her injuries were just too profound and in the end … her heart gave up fighting.’

Tears pricked Sanderson’s eyes and Helen felt her desolation. They had all been so convinced that this brave little girl would pull through. Had this just been wishful thinking? The doctors had seemed hopeful, but in the end it was a terrible trauma for a little girl to endure. Despite her mother’s very best efforts to save her, it hadn’t been enough. Which meant that Richard Ford was now facing a triple-murder charge.

‘What do you want to do?’ Sanderson asked.

They had been discussing how to respond to Shapiro’s ultimatum when the call had come through. Helen knew she had to keep calm and avoid getting caught up in the emotion of the moment. It was very tempting to charge Ford right now, to seek some immediate justice for Alice and her mum, but they had to be able to make the charges stick.

‘Well, he’s got motive and opportunity in abundance. Not to mention the expertise. We know he’s lied to us under caution already on a number of occasions, but he’s not going to confess, so –’

‘He might if we charge him. If he thinks he can wriggle out of it by pleading diminished responsibility –’

‘But if he doesn’t and ends up beating the rap, it’ll be our fault. We need to link him to the site of the fire itself –’

‘What about Deborah Parks’s findings? She said she found a boot print at the Roberts house which matched the sole of Ford’s fire boots –’

‘But that print was made post fire, we need evidence of him setting them. We need paraffin in the house, on his clothes, a print on the residual evidence, footage of him buying cigarettes …’

‘What if we ask Naomie Jackson to ID him? Put him in the frame for the Roberts fire at least.’

‘Wouldn’t stand up. She was clear that she didn’t see his face and it would be easy to disprove. It was dark, she’d had a drink and so on …’

‘So what then?’

Sanderson’s tone was a little too strident for Helen’s liking, but she let it go. They were all wound tight today.

‘I’m going to let him go.’

Sanderson looked so shocked, so disbelieving, that Helen followed up quickly. She didn’t have the time or the headspace for a row with her deputy.

‘We can hold him here, but he’s not going to say anything. I want to get him away from Shapiro. While she’s in play, he’ll keep his head down and do what he’s told. But once he’s out there, isolated and scared, then we’ll see the real Richard Ford. He’ll need to be tailed 24/7 of course and we’ll have to keep an eye out for have-a-go heroes wanting a piece of him. If Meredith or Deborah turns up anything, we’ll pull him straight back in, but until then I think his isolation and paranoia could be our best friends. If there is a site where he’s keeping the paraffin and his tools of the trade, then he may well be tempted to try and destroy it now. If he does, we’ll be waiting for him.’

Sanderson nodded, begrudgingly seeing the wisdom of Helen’s words. Helen knew, were she younger, that she would have been tempted to push Ford through another round of questioning, to try and bulldoze a confession out of him. In some situations this might have worked, but this was different. The Hants Fire and Rescue Service had paid for one of the best legal brains on the South Coast to chaperone their man, so they had to play this smart. Releasing him might destabilize him. He couldn’t return to work while he was still under investigation, so he’d have plenty of time to think. And Helen wanted to see what he would do next.

So, calling McAndrew into her office, she set the plan in motion. She prayed it was the right move. The team were baying for blood now, they wanted justice, and Helen knew they would never forgive her if the killer slipped through their fingers now.

73

Emilia Garanita jogged up and down, trying to keep warm. The temperature was dropping fast and, despite the many layers she’d put on, she was frozen to the bone. She had always felt the cold – a legacy perhaps of her Portuguese heritage – and had never acclimatized to the raw winter winds that swept up the Solent into Southampton.

This was the part of the job she enjoyed least. Hanging out in doorways, on street corners, outside police stations and courtrooms, waiting and hoping for the story to come to her. Sometimes you got lucky, most of the time you did not. The knowledge that her siblings – all seven of them – were currently at home tucking into a takeaway in front of Gogglebox only made matters worse. She would give anything to be there with them now, enjoying the warmth and banter of a family evening in, rather than here, freezing her arse off in the vain hope of a break.

She would give it another hour or so. Her friendly PC had told her to expect developments but so far there had been no signs of movement. She had been posted in a doorway opposite the discreet back entrance of Southampton Central for nearly three hours now. For the first two of those she’d managed to amuse herself tweeting and surfing for info on Richard Ford. But his Facebook page had been shut down – his lawyer’s work no doubt – and the rest of his digital footprint was very limited indeed. This was a guy who seemed to exist in his own world and was thus a journalist’s worst nightmare. No easy copy, no creepy photos to use, no easy inferences to make and no way to damn him with his own words. Garanita hoped he was guilty just for the trouble he was causing her.

A sound made her look up and suddenly her heart beat a little faster. There was his lawyer, Hannah Shapiro. Normally she would stride out the front, bold as brass. If she was coming out the back, it could only mean …

There he was. He was hard to miss, the severe buzz cut failing to hide the fierce orange tone to his hair. If Ed Sheeran joined the army this is what he’d look like, Emilia chuckled to herself as she raised her camera. To her frustration, Shapiro’s blonde bob popped into view, blocking her shot. Nothing for it, Emilia thought, but the direct approach.

Striding towards him, she called out:

‘Richard? Richard Ford?’

He turned quickly, confused and alarmed by her sudden intrusion. Immediately Emilia fired off three shots. To her surprise, Ford now started marching directly towards her. She backed off, but was too slow – now he was grabbing at her, trying to tear the camera from her. She lashed out with the heel of her boot and prepared to defend herself, but suddenly Ford lurched backwards, dragged away by his irate lawyer.

‘You use any of those and we’ll sue,’ she shouted as she marched her client away to safety.

Like hell you will, Emilia thought to herself, smiling. She had every right to be here and she was very glad she had been.

She had been hoping to hang Richard Ford out to dry and now she had exactly the pictures she needed to do just that.

74

‘I can’t do anything with her.’

Steve let Helen in, shutting the front door quietly behind her. Jessica was asleep and the last thing they needed now was an inconsolable toddler.

‘I’ve tried to talk to her. To get her to eat something, but …’

‘It’s ok. I’ll take it from here.’ Helen laid a comforting arm on his shoulder and quietly mounted the stairs.

Helen had been to Charlie’s house many times and knew exactly where to go. Ford had been released and had an eight-strong team tracking his every move, so once Helen had checked in with Meredith Walker, her first thought had been for Charlie. She had been keeping a close eye on the Simms family and, knowing her, would take the little girl’s death harder than most.

Charlie was lying on the bed with her face to the wall. She stirred briefly as Helen entered and, on realizing it was her boss, smiled a brave but washed-out smile. Helen smiled back, sitting on the bed next to her and pushing the door to. The pair of them sat in darkness for a second. Helen sought the right words to begin, but before she could do so, Charlie blurted out:

‘I’m not sure I can do this any more. I don’t think I’ve got the strength.’

Tears threatened. Helen let her finish, then said:

‘You’ve had a shock today. We all have. It’s horrible, too horrible, what’s happened. And there’s nothing wrong with feeling like you’re feeling now.’

‘She was doing so well, I was so convinced she was going to make it … What’s going to happen to the rest of them now?’

‘They’ve got a very long road ahead of them,’ Helen agreed. ‘But they have each other. And things will never look as black for them as they do tonight.’

There was another pause, then Charlie said:

‘I really wanted to come back to work. I wanted to contribute, but I don’t think I’m up to it. I could just about handle what happened today, but this? I’m a bloody mess. I can’t bear it for them …’

‘I know.’

‘I came back too early. I’m not ready …’

‘Do you think you ever would be ready for something like this?’

It was a good question and for a moment Charlie said nothing.

‘You can’t prepare yourself for tragedies like this, nor is there an easy way to deal with them. I’d be very worried if you were able to just shrug them off.’

Charlie looked up at Helen as she continued:

‘You’re a good officer because you care Charlie, not in spite of it. You’re the most determined, committed, honest copper I know. You won’t believe me, I know, but you are and that is why whatever you feel now, you mustn’t give up. Because you’re going to be one of the best police officers this Force has seen.’

‘Please –’

‘I mean it, so cry your heart out, cry all night if you want to, but I want to see you back in tomorrow fighting fit. The Simms family will need you and we will need you if we’re going to get justice for them. We have to bring their killer to book now.’

Charlie lowered her head, but didn’t fight back.

‘So please don’t give up on me, Charlie.’

75

Luke Simms lay in bed, listening intently to the voices in the hall downstairs. He’d heard the key turn in the door, then earnest, fast conversation – he could tell by the deep tone of one of the voices that his father had returned from the hospital. He had rushed off there as soon as he got the call. None of them could believe the news and Luke knew that his father would have to see Alice before he could accept that it was true.

There was no way Luke could accompany him, so he’d had to stay where he was, laid up in his aunt’s spare room. Mary and her husband had popped in intermittently to check up on him and to offer him some consoling words, but they didn’t really know him and were tongue-tied anyway. So, after a while, he said he’d try to sleep and they’d left him alone.

But he couldn’t sleep of course. All he could think of was Alice. The games they used to play, the languages they invented, the way she used to fight dirty when they scrapped. She was so much younger than him but had always been mature beyond her years. She often came across as the more sensible of the two – the Grade A student to his football obsessive. She was also a brilliant manipulator, able to wrap their father round her little finger whenever she chose to. Luke had never had that gift and he envied her. For it was just him and his dad now.

He heard the landing creaking and immediately closed his eyes. Moments later, his door opened gently and he heard his father creep in. He had wanted his father to stay, so he could talk to him, be with him, but now he was back he suddenly felt overwhelmed with the misery of their situation. He didn’t want to add to his dad’s worries so, keeping his eyes closed, he pretended to sleep, working hard to calm his breathing to complete the fiction.

His father hovered above him, then suddenly leant in, planting a gentle kiss on Luke’s cheek.

‘Love you,’ he whispered, his voice quivering as he spoke.

He rose and Luke heard his footsteps receding as he crept from the room. His father hesitated in the doorway and Luke kept stock still, willing himself not to blow it now. Then his father pulled the door to and Luke was alone once more. He lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering if Alice was at peace.

As his thoughts turned on his beloved sister, he was startled by a new noise. Something he’d not heard before in his short life.

His father, in the room next door, crying his heart out.

76

Helen walked briskly away from Charlie’s house. She had left her old friend in a decent place, despite the traumas of the day. Charlie had agreed to rest up and think about things – Helen didn’t want her making any snap decisions that she would come to regret. It was very easy in the heat of the moment to make the wrong call. Better to sleep on it and come again at the problem the following day. Helen hoped she would return to help the team, but she couldn’t be sure. It was a long time since she’d seen Charlie as shaken as this.

It was all a far cry from the happiness that she, Steve and Helen too had enjoyed in their cosy family home. Jessica’s arrival had transformed all their lives and Helen had enjoyed her role as godparent. She didn’t really do the religious side of things – she had long since given up believing in anything like that – but she took the rest of her duties seriously – buying her toys and books and spoiling her with treats when her parents weren’t looking.

Helen had no children of her own, had never had younger siblings or nephews and nieces to care for and she had found it an oddly moving experience holding the tiny little girl in her arms. Helen had taken delight in watching Jessica blossom into a cheeky little girl, marvelling at her ability to walk and ‘talk’. Human beings really were little miracles when you thought about it. She had taken plenty of snaps of the growing girl, many of which now decorated her flat, giving the formerly sterile space a sense of life and hope. But the joy they all felt towards her, towards life in general, had been tarnished by recent events. The death of little Alice would stay with them all for a long time.

A bitter wind was ripping through the city tonight and Helen realized she didn’t have her scarf. Charlie had given it to her this time last year and Helen was vexed now to think that she couldn’t remember where she’d left it. She’d kick herself if she’d lost it for good. She would need it in the days that lay ahead.

Southampton was now swathed in darkness. Night had settled upon it, bringing with it a distinct air of menace. Helen felt it keenly, as did the many officers who were out on the streets now, keeping a watchful eye for fresh trouble. Helen had pulled every uniformed officer back from leave and even requested auxiliary numbers from neighbouring Forces. Along with the extra fire service resources, it was a big show of strength and Helen hoped that it would be enough to prevent more devastation. Ford was under surveillance, the city was on red alert, everything should be ok.

So why did Helen feel so anxious? Under the cover of darkness, terrible things had happened. Three lives had been taken and many more touched by these awful fires and somehow Helen knew in her gut that it wouldn’t end here. Was she missing something? Was there more she could yet do? Helen sensed those familiar feelings creeping up on her again. She didn’t seem to be in control of this situation, she felt hopeless and helpless, and, in spite of everything she’d done, her instincts now told her that more people would die before this thing was over.

77

DC Lucas pulled up Google and typed in ‘Kardashian’. Immediately, dozens of links offered themselves, an endless array of portals inviting further dissection of the celebrity family. Lucas didn’t really do reality TV, nor was she a big Kanye West fan, but she thought this was a decent cover. She was dressed in casual clothes, hair down and untethered – she could pass as a bored, lonely twenty-something with nothing to do but stalk the rich and famous.

She had chosen her position in the café carefully. In the reflection of her screen, she could see Richard Ford at his terminal, tapping away intently. He had been here for a couple of hours now. Lucas, McAndrew and Edwards were in charge of surveillance and had done a decent job so far, dovetailing neatly as they rotated to avoid detection. Shapiro had dropped him off near his home in Midanbury, but as Ford turned the corner to his road, it became clear that going home was not a viable option. The police forensics team had departed, but a small knot of journalists were trawling the street, tapping up neighbours and searching for dirt – sent no doubt by Emilia Garanita, who had aggressively doorstepped Ford as he’d left Southampton Central earlier. Ford wisely thought better of another confrontation with the press and turned on his heel, walking straight past McAndrew, who carried off her role well, seeming to struggle with heavy Lidl bags which were in fact full of empty cereal packets.

Ford didn’t seem to smell a rat and hurried away, ending up at Al’s Internet Shack ten minutes later. He had been holed up here ever since, barely moving from his seat. What was he up to? Why was he typing so furiously? What was he planning?

Lucas had been tempted on more than one occasion to get up and pass behind him. She couldn’t see his screen from her seated position – he had chosen a terminal in the far corner of the room – and would only be able to do so by inventing an excuse to pass by. But there was no toilet here, no drinks machine, nothing that could legitimately take her in his direction. She had considered talking to him – asking him for a pen – but had chickened out. If there was any hint in her manner that she was not what she seemed, if she gave herself away by even the briefest of glances at his screen, then she would have blown their cover. They had all worked too hard and too well for her to allow that to happen and, besides, she wouldn’t fancy facing DI Grace to explain that, so she stayed where she was, scrolling through yet more pictures of Kim Kardashian’s backside, wondering to herself what was going through the mind of Richard Ford.

78

Blog post by firstpersonsingular.

Thursday, 10 December, 21.00

When people come to judge me, they will see that none of this is my fault. Some people have addictive personalities. If you’ve experienced that sense of compulsion, you’ll know what I’m talking about. I’m not in control of this thing any more.

Just stop.

Well, I would, but that would hardly be fair. Who would I stop for? There’s no one out there who gives a shit and now that I’m on the side of the angels, why should I stop? Too much has already been done and the road ahead is long. There is so much more to do. It makes me feel funny just thinking about it.

More boots on the street. As if that can stop this thing. It just gives me more puppets to play with. Do you ever step outside yourself and look down? I do all the time. What do I see? Ants, loads of tiny little ants, scurrying around, crawling all over each other. Panic, panic, panic. And what do you do with ants? You tread on them. Tread on them until they don’t move any more.

I read an e-book recently called ‘Footprints in History’. By an American dude who took out his entire class with a Mac-10. He was a smart guy with a bitch of a mother and a dad who liked to hold his son’s head to the stove. They told him he was a worm, a germ, a piece of shit who should never have existed. But he did more than any of them. He did something, then wrote a book about it. He’s going to be as famous as Hitler or Jeffrey Dahmer.

I don’t have a book in me, not got the patience. And my hands get tired with all the typing. Perhaps I should get a speech recognition program??? I would but I can’t say out loud what I’m thinking. I’d say LOL if it wasn’t so dated. Anyway, I’m rambling now, so I’ll sign off. You can talk all you want, but it’s actions that count and I can’t sit here gossiping all day.

I have work to do.