Текст книги "Liar Liar"

Автор книги: M. J. Arlidge

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

98

Helen was half the way down the corridor when she spotted her. Helen had biked straight from the hospital to Southampton Central and was now striding along the seventh floor. She had called the team in for an early briefing and was surprised and relieved to see Charlie, smartly dressed and looking a little refreshed, bending her steps towards the incident room. After a terrible night, it was a boost to see her old friend and colleague back on the case.

‘Everything ok?’ Helen asked as they walked.

‘As ok as it’ll ever be. Thank you for coming round last –’

‘Don’t mention it. I hope you’d do the same for me.’

An unwelcome memory of last night’s violence shot into Helen’s mind, but she pushed it away. She’d have to deal with that later.

‘Of course,’ Charlie replied, ‘though I doubt I’ll ever need to.’

That was nonsense, naturally, but it was said with a smile. It was the first time Helen had seen Charlie smile in some time and it buoyed her up as they pushed through the double doors and into the throng.

‘As DS Sanderson has just pointed out, we’re going to have to disregard previous witness statements and start again. This is a ground-up job, so we need open minds, ok?’

The team nodded, but Helen could sense the deflation among them. So much devastation, so many deaths and still no progress. Helen knew that it was Karen and Alice Simms’s funeral today – this was preying on everyone’s mind, affecting their mood. Helen had to drive the team forward, had to keep them focused, had to convince them that this guy could be caught.

‘I’ve got uniform doing house-to-house near last night’s sites. They will feed any intelligence they gather straight back to the incident room and I’ve asked DCs Lucas and McAndrew to collate and sift the witness statements from all the incidents. Who called the fires in, who was passing by, who’d seen unfamiliar characters hanging around – let’s double-check we’ve not missed anything important.’

‘Yes, boss,’ DC Lucas piped up.

‘And I know it’s laborious, but I’d like DC Edwards and DC Marnie to go over the footage from the fires again, looking for faces in the crowds. Our perpetrator is a superstar now – he’s viral on the internet, he’s made the New York Times, the Sydney Herald – he must be enjoying himself. There’s no way he isn’t forcing himself into the story somehow, so let’s see if we can find him. I know we’ve done it before, I know it can seem like a waste of time, but the small things matter.’

‘No problem,’ DC Marnie acknowledged.

‘DS Sanderson is coordinating a survey of recent police incidents involving psychiatric patients to see if there are any leads there, anyone with a grievance against the city, or a predilection for pyromania –’

‘So we think our perpetrator is crazy now?’ DC Edwards asked.

‘That’s not a word I’d use, but our killer is certainly very driven, very focused. He’s clearly obsessed by fire – or the consequences of fire – and has no regard for human life. The direct nature of the attack on Agnieszka Jarosik suggests that our arsonist is upping his game, becoming less cautious and more aggressive. This might be the end product of his sadism or it might be that he’s feeling under pressure. Either way it’s not good news for us.’

The team digested this, then Helen carried on.

‘There will be a reason why he’s doing this, something that’s driving him, so let’s focus on that.’

‘So we’re now saying the attacks aren’t random?’ McAndrew asked.

‘It was a valid theory – initially at least – but this is too well planned to be random. The commercial sites targeted have their similarities – all small businesses without expensive security in place – but the domestic properties couldn’t be more different in terms of geography, price tag or social class. They were, however, easily accessible, the attacks were methodically executed and even when our perpetrator rushed things – for example, in the attack on Agnieszka Jarosik – he still took the time to lock the door from the outside before leaving. He must have known these people or these properties well, so in addition to witness statements, let’s take an interest in people who knew the families and would have walked past these sites every day. Is there a particular job that would take someone there regularly? Posties, refuse collection, social workers, cold callers – anyone who would know the houses and would have come into contact with these families. It’s very likely our arsonist is hiding in plain sight, so disregard no one, however respectable or stable they might appear on the surface.’

‘We should also look at break-ins,’ Charlie offered. ‘We had a break-in at the Simms residence and, at the others he walked in bold as brass. He is confident at what he’s doing.’

‘Good,’ Helen responded. ‘Let’s also look at stalking incidents – any recent reports that might link the three sites. There has to be a connection.’

Helen nodded at the nearest DC, who hurried off to set this in train.

‘In the meantime,’ Helen resumed, ‘let’s look again at motive.’

‘Could he have a thing against women?’ Sanderson asked. ‘All the murder victims so far have been female. And the attack on Agnieszka was pretty direct. Does he hate women for some reason?’

‘Did he know the husbands would be out? That the boys lived on the top floors and were less at risk?’ DC Lucas said, overlapping. ‘We’ve had two mothers die, one nanny. Is this about kids and their guardians?’

‘Maybe,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘But it was sheer good fortune that Luke Simms and Ethan Harris survived. Both probably should have died. And what about Alice? The arsonist must have known a young girl would be in bed at the time – so why was she targeted?’

A long silence, which Helen leapt to fill.

‘I think we can rule out a financial motive, as the killer has not tried to make contact or issued any demands. Also, it doesn’t appear that there is a professional connection – Denise was on benefits and among the others we have an architect, a small businessman and a psychiatrist. So for me the motivation has got to be personal. We know that Agnieszka Jarosik was internet dating, had seen a few guys. Denise might well have been doing likewise. Had Karen Simms been in touch with any old flames however innocently? Unwittingly raised anyone’s hopes? This killer wants to destroy these people, destroy these families, so let’s climb inside their lives. Everyone has enemies and if we find a link between them, then we have our man.’

There was a brief pause as everyone took this in.

‘Now get on with it,’ Helen urged them. ‘Let’s bring this guy in.’

99

Luke Simms stared at himself in the mirror and felt nothing but shame. He had tried his best for his mum and his sister, but to his eyes he still looked ridiculous. His hair had been cut and styled, and make-up applied to conceal his bruises, and his dad had bought him a smart jacket, shirt and tie. But all he could see was his two preposterous legs, cased in plaster and hoisted up in the air on the end of long metal arms. If he wanted to go to his family’s funeral, this was how it had to be – his father pushing him along in a specially adapted wheelchair – but it didn’t make it any better. He looked comic and it felt as if he was mocking proceedings, rather than paying his respects.

The funeral was only a few hours away now. Luke knew this moment had to come, but now it was here he didn’t feel ready. It still didn’t seem real. His mum and Alice – he had taken their goodness, love and humour for granted, he had taken their presence for granted – and now they were gone. Just like that. Today they would bury them. As if it was all done and dusted. As if they could close that chapter and move on.

They had no home now and only half a family. If Luke was honest, he wasn’t even sure he had that. He had asked his dad to stay with him this morning, but something had come up and he’d had to head into town. Where he was going, he wouldn’t say. He didn’t seem to say much to Luke since they’d moved in here. He looked after him, dressed his wounds, helped him to the toilet, in and out of bed, did everything that could be expected of him. But he didn’t talk. Luke wanted to, wanted to find out if his father felt the same sense of emptiness and desolation, the same sense that this was … a bad dream with no ending. But his dad never gave him the opportunity. He was so caught up in the business of death.

He didn’t really understand how you went about these things. How did you organize a funeral? Perhaps in later life, when he was older, he would reflect that he had judged his father harshly. But he nevertheless felt his father was avoiding him. He didn’t look him in the eye, didn’t engage him in conversations of any length. Was Luke harsh to blame him? Probably. But the truth was Luke missed him. He really missed him. He had lost his beloved mother and sister and now he felt that he was losing his father too.

100

He felt like a marked man.

It wasn’t enough that Helen Grace had ruined his career, destroyed his piece of mind and shredded the last vestiges of his self-respect. No, she had left him with a stain – a stain that everyone could see.

He had been exonerated, for God’s sake. The police knew he wasn’t responsible for any of the attacks, yet what did they do about it? Did they trumpet his release as they had his initial arrest? Did they let the world know that he was innocent? No, they put out a two-line statement confirming he’d been released from custody and left it at that.

To the wider world, Richard Ford was still the face in the frame. The hero firefighter turned villain, betraying his colleagues and his calling, revelling in the destruction of his hometown. He was a pariah in Southampton and wherever he went he sensed people’s hatred. He had lasted all of an hour in the hotel, hiding in a small room that reeked of bleach, unable to venture out for fear of the abuse and insults that the staff, guests and passers-by were happy to heap on him. One of the cleaners actually spat at him in the corridor. He didn’t respond or turn back to seek sanctuary in his room. Instead he broke into a run, sprinting back home.

His house had been defaced of course. Graffiti on the walls and windows, dog shit smeared on the door. But he didn’t care. He knew he would be safe here. Having done a quick recce of the interior, he made a list of all the things he would need: padlocks, chains, a crowbar, perhaps a hammer for good measure. He had no idea what the future held, what he would do with his life, but he had resolved to hunker down in his home until he could see a way out of all the darkness.

The guy in Robert Dyas had been surly and hostile. He obviously recognized him from the papers, as did the halfwit in Tesco’s who glared at him as she bagged his food. Richard could have sworn he heard her mutter: ‘I hope it chokes you’ as he left, but he didn’t care. He was looking forward to getting home and shutting out the world.

Pushing open the garden gate, he hurried up the path towards the front door. Putting down his shopping, he reached into his pocket to pull out his key. Then suddenly he felt himself flying sideways, careering off the steps and landing hard on the paved path. The right side of his head felt strange – numb and tingling – and he raised his hand to it now, but it was wrenched away roughly.

This time he saw the fist coming. He turned his head to avoid it, but too late, the balled fist crunching into his jaw. His head kicked back, connecting sharply with the hard ground. Suddenly everything went quiet – he couldn’t hear properly and his vision was swimming. He tried to wriggle free, but the fist came again. This time he felt two teeth go – though whether he’d swallowed them or they’d fallen out he couldn’t say.

Now the rough hands were circling his throat, squeezing hard. And his attacker seemed to be shouting – coarse, violent words tumbling over one another. Richard Ford swung out a fist, but it was hopeless. He was already beaten and he knew it.

Then as suddenly as it started, it stopped. In his confusion and shock, Richard could see a man being dragged away. His attacker tried to escape the hands that now restrained him, lurching back towards him, but he couldn’t break free. And now he seemed to give up the fight, slumping to the floor, as those who’d intervened stood guard. And as the passers-by who’d saved his life punched numbers into their mobile phones, Richard Ford tried to focus on his attacker. The man was breathing heavily but now looked up. For a second their eyes met and suddenly Richard knew exactly who he was.

And why he’d come for him.

101

Thomas Simms looked up as Charlie entered the room. He stared at her briefly, then dropped his gaze to the floor, unable or unwilling to look at her.

Charlie had run down to the custody area as soon as she’d heard that Simms had been brought in. Her first reaction to news of the attack on Richard Ford had been shock – it was Karen and Alice’s funeral today – then as it became clear that Ford’s injuries were superficial and that he had no desire to press charges, her anxiety was tempered with some relief. Ford’s desire to avoid any further involvement with the police would save Thomas Simms a day in court.

‘Thomas?’

He didn’t look up, his face now pressed into his hands. He looked wrung out, exhausted, his dirty, blood-flecked clothes hanging off his thin frame.

‘Thomas, you’re going to have to talk to me.’

‘I don’t need to be lectured by you,’ he replied suddenly. His tone was abrasive and harsh.

‘I’m not going to lecture you, but we need to talk. I know you’re upset, I know you’re angry, but you can’t go around doing things like this.’

‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,’ Simms replied, now raising his eyes to Charlie. ‘He deserved it for what he did to my girls and as soon as I’m out of here I’ll be straight back round to finish the jo—’

‘He’s innocent, Thomas.’

‘Bullshit. You had him and you let him go. This is on your head, not mi—’

‘He didn’t start the fires. Any of them.’

‘Then who did?’

Charlie hesitated – unsure how best to respond – so Simms renewed his attack.

‘You haven’t got a clue, have you? You’ve been chasing your tails since day one.’

‘We’re doing everything in our power to catch the person responsible,’ Charlie countered. ‘But believe me when I tell you that you have just attacked an innocent man.’

Finally Charlie’s words seemed to land. Thomas Simms glared at her, but said nothing in response.

‘You could have killed him and where would that have left Luke? What would you have said to him when you were in the dock? When you were behind bars?’

Thomas stared at the floor once more. Charlie softened her tone:

‘I know what you’re going through, I know you have doubts about whether we can bring this guy in, but Luke has to be your number one priority now. You will have justice, I promise you that, but that is our job. Yours is to be with your son.’

Charlie braced herself for an angry comeback, but it never came. Thomas looked up at her sharply, but some of the fire seemed to have gone out of him now.

‘Don’t abandon him, Thomas. Don’t let your anger or your desire for revenge drive a wedge between you. Luke doesn’t want any of that. He just wants you.’

Thomas stared at her and then, from nowhere, tears came, running down his cheeks in thick streams. He wiped them away, but a dam had broken now and he crouched down on the floor, all the tension and misery of the last few days escaping, as his body shook with quiet sobs.

Kneeling down, Charlie put a comforting arm around him.

‘Go to him, Thomas. He needs you now more than ever and if you can help him through the days, weeks and months ahead, then you will have done your job. You’re all he has.’

Charlie had leads to chase and duties to fulfil but these were forgotten now as she held on to the man who thought he’d lost everything, but still had one very valuable prize to fight for.

102

It all felt alien and wrong. The last few hours had been a grotesque caricature of their ordered, settled lives, and try as they might to regain some kind of normality, life continued to frustrate them.

Jacqueline Harris’s nerves were shot. She was of course relieved that Ethan was largely unharmed, but their home was a smoking ruin, their nanny was dead and they now found themselves here – in a hastily rented apartment in Upper Shirley. They had taken it because it was large, available and close to their former neighbourhood, but standing here now in the bland, sterile space, Jacqueline suddenly felt they’d made a mistake. The whole place felt cold and unwelcoming.

Ethan had gone to bed to rest – he had a nice enough bedroom out the back with a good view – and Michael had stepped outside to call the nanny agency. She didn’t know whether it would fall to them or the agency to inform Agnieszka’s relatives of her death, but she had ducked the issue anyway, landing that one on Michael. She had enough on her plate already – dealing with Ethan, liaising with the insurance company, organizing a new home help, not to mention fielding the endless press calls and follow-up questions from the police. How had their life suddenly become this?

She’d tried to engage Ethan in conversation, thinking it was better for him to be occupied, but he’d only managed five minutes before flaking out. Leaving her alone in this horrible, unfamiliar place. She hoped that Michael would hurry up and come back. She’d never been very good at being on her own. She checked her emails again – a deluge of sympathy messages – and her BlackBerry for a third time. But it was all just distraction – an attempt to pretend that life was going on as normal. But who was she kidding? Someone had tried to kill their son last night, had razed their house to the ground, and she had no idea why. Would they strike again? Or had they achieved all that they hoped for last night?

Not for the first time today, Jacqueline craved a drink. She knew she shouldn’t – couldn’t – but she longed for one nevertheless. She was lonely, miserable and scared – and terrified of what was still to come.

103

Mandy Blayne was smiling, but it was all an act.

She had cooked Darren a full English as usual and he was wolfing it down opposite her. He never left a scrap and always said it was the best breakfast in Southampton. But that never made him stay. He had dropped several hints during the course of last night that he’d be moving on in the morning – he said it was work, but Mandy was sure that was a lie. She knew he had other women on the go. He always denied it of course, angered by the suggestion, but she could smell it on him when he arrived.

He often turned up unannounced, knowing he’d always get a warm welcome. Mandy was a fool to herself, she knew that, but she loved him. Pure and simple. She shouldn’t but she did. And when he did come, when he was here with her, things always seemed better. They’d have a few beers, watch a bit of TV, then go upstairs for a cuddle. And that’s where they’d stay – often spending a whole weekend in bed. Darren always joked that he needed a good breakfast in the morning to regain his strength after what they got up to.

This time had been different of course. She’d been building herself up to telling him she was pregnant since the moment he turned up on her door with a bunch of roses in his hand. He’d been away from her for nearly seven weeks and her depression this time round was compounded by the realization that she’d missed her period. She had put off buying a pregnancy test, hoping against hope that she was just late, but in the end she had to know. The positive result sent her mood plunging still further, then later when she’d had time to think, she’d half wondered if it might be a good thing. Was this the start of a different future for Mandy?

She’d meant to tell him before they had dinner. Then, having failed to do that, she vowed to tell him before they went upstairs. But when it came to it, she didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to risk spoiling the evening, so they’d tumbled into bed together as usual. He never used protection, it never seemed to enter his head to do so. She thought she’d had this covered, but obviously she hadn’t.

After that the moment had passed. If she told him now, it would be like she’d sprung it on him. Accepted the flowers, the booze, the company and then handed him an unpleasant bill for his services. All her fond hopes that he might actually be pleased evaporated and she knew instinctively that he would run a mile if he thought she was trying to tie him down. She couldn’t risk that, so she said nothing.

She had decided to get it dealt with. She would go to the doctor and see what he could give her. He’d try to talk through the options, but she had made up her mind. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. Wouldn’t wish it on the poor kid anyway.

There’d be no one to comfort her afterwards. She’d come back to her little two up, two down, in St Denys, shut the door and hear the silence. Maybe she’d cry for a bit. Or have a smoke. Either way she’d end up spending the night alone, clutching a mug of tea and watching the TV. And that would be her lot.

Nothing interesting ever happened in her life.