Текст книги "Liar Liar"

Автор книги: M. J. Arlidge

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

117

Everybody loves a love rat.

The journalist in Emilia bridled at that sentence – the use of the word ‘love’ twice in quick succession – but it was true nevertheless. Love rats made good copy, offering up plenty of salacious material while playing on the fears of their female readers. Throw a series of major crimes into the mix and the story becomes irresistible.

Helen Grace had kept the fourth estate away from Sharon Jackson for now, posting uniformed coppers front and back to keep the hacks away. Emilia hadn’t wasted any time there, taking off immediately to do door-to-doors in the neighbourhood, before visiting the local GP’s surgery, as well as Naomie’s former school. In Emilia’s experience, the professionals – head teachers, doctors, social workers – always remained tight-lipped, but those who assisted them were more willing to talk. Many a story had been culled from the loose lips of a PA, receptionist, nurse or even school caretaker, especially when flattery and a few free drinks were offered. And so it proved now as Emilia quickly put together a picture of a lonely, disenfranchised young woman who had often arrived at school with unexplained bruises. She would never point the finger at her mother, but, then again, why would she? The poor kid had nowhere else to go.

And when she was at home, what did she find? Her mother fawning over a man who just wanted to get his leg over without offering anything in return. The other mothers on Sharon Jackson’s estate had been only too glad to talk about their neighbour, who it now turned out had been harbouring a serial killer – painting a picture of her as an insecure, needy woman who had never managed to hold on to a man and took what pleasures she could when they were offered.

And in the end it had cost her. One of her love rivals – Denise Roberts – was already dead, while another had just had her house razed to the ground while she took a bath. Every punch, every clipped ear that Sharon Jackson had given Naomie had been paid back with interest, and though she would never betray this in print, Emilia felt a sneaking regard for the young woman who’d refused to take her punishment lying down. Her mother would rue taking her daughter’s submission for granted.

Emilia typed fast, the adrenaline of a big story driving her on, helping to craft the story by instinct rather than forethought. It was all taking shape very nicely and had played just as she’d hoped. She had been the first one to speak to Naomie and, though she couldn’t locate her now, she would ride that connection for all it was worth. This coup had been the result of clever investigative work – something she prided herself on – and she was pleased to see that her coverage of the arson attacks had already engendered a sea change in relations at the News. The national dailies had picked up on her interview with Naomie, she’d been on the radio discussing it and was due to appear on TV later today in an interview with BBC South – all of which had helped raise the paper’s profile and massively boosted sales. Her editor had certainly changed his tune – offering her a bonus and hinting at promotion. It had all worked out well, and though she had sacrificed her good relations with Helen Grace in the process, it had been worth it. Her career was on the up at last and she was happy to weather any fallout that was coming her way.

‘Bring it on,’ Emilia thought to herself, as she continued to type.

118

The battle was over. They had survived.

Mandy Blayne was swaddled in an emergency blanket and being loaded into an ambulance. They would need to check her out at the hospital – principally for the effects of smoke inhalation. But the initial tests conducted by the paramedics had been encouraging and Helen knew that she would be fine – shaken up, but fine. During the course of the paramedics’ examination Mandy had admitted she was in the early stages of pregnancy, a revelation that hit home with Helen. They had been so much on the back foot in this investigation that it felt good to have saved not one, but two of Naomie’s intended victims. Did the fact that Mandy was pregnant have anything to do with the attack? Did Naomie know about it? Did she feel threatened? It was a bleak picture that was now emerging.

Helen submitted herself to the paramedics’ attention but refused a hospital visit, despite the fact that her whole body was racked with pain. Her bruises from her beating were still livid and her heroics in rescuing Mandy had only added to her injuries. She had never really liked the phrase ‘walking wounded’ but she was the very definition of it now. Still, she was determined to lead from the front so, having obtained a couple of painkillers from the paramedics, she joined Gardam and Sanderson in conference outside Mandy Blayne’s house.

Gardam was solicitous, offering to run the show for her if she needed rest, but Helen dismissed the idea out of hand. She could tell he had news and wanted to know what it was.

‘We’ve had a sighting of Naomie Jackson,’ Gardam told her. ‘A train driver reported a bizarre game of chicken he’d played with a young girl who refused to get off his tracks until the very last second. He was pretty shaken up by it and caught site of Naomie’s mugshot on the local news as he was resting up back at base. He’s convinced it’s the same girl.’

Helen digested this, then said:

‘Ok, let’s get everyone out – the whole of MIT as well as uniform. How long ago was this?’

‘An hour or so?’

‘Where?’

‘Northam Junction.’

‘Ok, let’s focus on her known haunts near there. We must presume she’s seen the publicity about herself so won’t be returning home any time soon. Her mother mentioned a few places she likes to go – the city library, the pubs on Oakland Street, the Common, the skateboard park, the WestQuay centre. Let’s concentrate our fire on those sites nearest Northam and scroll out from there. If we’re in luck, she’ll still be in the neighbourhood.’

‘Good,’ Gardam replied. ‘In the meantime, we’re liaising with the Transport Police, it’s not impossible she might try to run.’

‘Maybe, but she seems very committed. I think she’ll see this through to the end, so we should check out old friends, former schoolmates, anyone who might be sheltering her in the local area. Only those who know her well will want to shield her now.’

Which was exactly what was worrying Helen. She didn’t say this to Sanderson or Gardam, but the simple fact was that Naomie didn’t have any friends. So what would she do – now that her latest attack had been foiled? Would she ever contemplate giving herself up or would she be in this to the bitter end? Privately, Helen feared the latter. The question was how it would play out. And, more importantly, who would she take with her?

119

Charlie walked along the quiet path, her eyes ranging over the bleak expanse of Hoglands Park. By day, the large swathe of green was a pleasant enough city centre picnic spot, complete with cricket ground, a skateboard park and a small kids’ playground. But no sensible person came here at night, when the drug dealers and sex workers drifted in. Now it was a desolate, threatening place, full of shadows and menace. Charlie suddenly felt exposed, pounding the paths alone at this hour.

There were uniformed officers in nearby Sussex Place and Houndwell Park, plus she had her baton to defend herself if need be, but still there was something about the feel of this place after dark that affected you. Charlie’s mind took flight across town to Jessica – Steve would be putting her in her bath now – but she pushed the thought away. No point making herself more unhappy by thinking about where she really wanted to be.

It had been a strange and unsettling day so far. She had attended Karen and Alice Simms’s funeral, which was why she was still dressed in her dark, charcoal-grey suit that seemed so out of place amid the dope-smoking kids who were now making their presence felt in the park. She had been there to support the family in a professional capacity, but like everyone there had been deeply affected by the ceremony. It was positive and celebratory, but you couldn’t escape the fact that the Simms family had been rent in two, a deeply loved mother and daughter snatched from Luke and Thomas in the most horrific of circumstances. Nobody mentioned the fire – it was the elephant in the room – but it pervaded everything, from the carefully worded euphemisms of the vicar to Charlie’s own presence at the service. Just when you got lost in the happy family memories, it would hit you again – somebody did this to this family. Somebody wanted Karen and Alice Simms to die.

Charlie walked on, her mind twisting around this notion, attempting to settle on a reason why they might have been targeted. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she stumbled on the group of skateboarders lounging in the grass before she saw them. They were amused by her – assuming she was just a dimwit suit who’d lost her way – but the sight of her warrant card shut them up. As soon as she pulled it from her pocket she felt the mood change and immediately clocked that more than one of those present flicked their eyes nervously towards another, smaller group of dope smokers, idling by the main skateboard ramp.

Instinct took over now and Charlie didn’t stop to ask questions, marching instead towards the small knot of kids who were only fifty odd feet away. Her approach was fast – she was forty feet away, now thirty – but not fast enough, for as she neared the group, one of them took off at speed. The lighting wasn’t good in this part of the park, but Charlie could make out the frizzy hair and bulky form and she knew immediately that she had stumbled on Naomie Jackson.

Charlie wrenched her radio from her pocket as she ran. She was wearing long boots and her tight suit trousers were irritatingly restrictive – she now regretted her lack of gym time since returning to work. But still she hoped to have the edge on Naomie, who had never been much of an athlete.

‘Pursuing suspect through Hoglands Park in the direction of Kingsland Place. I need back-up and officers on South Front, Kingsway Place. I’ll cover Hoglands if she tries to double back.’

Charlie clicked off – it was hard to run and speak – and picked up her speed. If Naomie was smart she’d dart across Kingsway Place and into the City College, whose many buildings and walkways offered decent hiding places. But instead Naomie was heading straight for the northern exit of the park – she was in full flight now, panic driving her forward. She was surprisingly fast and Charlie laboured to keep up with the fugitive. Her breathing was already short and painful – her lungs burning – and she realized how long it had been since she’d been in an all-out sprint. In her early days it had been a feature of day-to-day work, but now it was an unpleasant anomaly.

‘Requesting back-up and officers on Kingsway Place and South Front,’ Charlie gasped into her radio, before clicking off once more. Nobody had responded and she was suddenly gripped by the fear that Naomie might escape her. This girl who had done so much damage, who’d done such terrible things. Charlie could stop her tonight – but only if she could get to her in time.

They were reaching the edge of the park now. And suddenly Charlie realized what was happening. There was an industrial estate just beyond North Front – a depot and a couple of warehouses surrounded by ageing chain link fences. Did Naomie know this terrain? Did she already have a specific escape route in mind?

Naomie was nearly clear of the park now, despite Charlie’s efforts to chase her down. Charlie strained to keep up, but she could feel her pace slowing. Only fractionally but it would be enough to ensure Naomie’s escape.

Then suddenly and without warning, it was over. Two uniformed officers appeared at the mouth of the park just as Naomie reached it. Her forward momentum was too great now and even as she tried to turn back, the officers pounced. By the time Charlie finally caught up with her, she was already being read her rights.

As Charlie got her breath back, she looked down at Naomie – and she was surprised by what she saw. She’d been expecting anger and defiance, as their killer fought to preserve her liberty. But Naomie was exhibiting none of these emotions. Her head was pointing down, her chin almost touching the floor and, instead of directing any hostility towards her captors, she was simply crying quietly to herself.

120

‘Do you self-harm, Naomie?’

It was a strange question for Helen to ask, but one she hoped would get a reaction. So far Naomie had just sat there, slumped in her chair, flanked by a pernickety brief and an earnest social worker, refusing to offer anything except the standard ‘No comment’. The usual questioning – why, when, how – would get them nowhere, Helen sensed – Naomie wasn’t that kind of collar. As she ran the rule over their prime suspect once more, Helen took in the unkempt hair, the muffin top, and the fresh scarring on her left palm. It had been obvious from the start that Naomie had chronic self-esteem issues and Helen had decided to confront these head on.

For the first time in their interview Naomie looked directly at Helen, before dropping her eyes to the floor once more.

‘I’m not judging you, Naomie, or asking you to tell me your life story. I know what it’s like. I know that sometimes things get so bad that you feel you have to hurt yourself. And that it can feel like a release, when you can’t see a way forward, when the world seems determined to hurt you.’

Naomie shrugged, which was progress of sorts, so Helen pressed on.

‘That cross on your palm. It doesn’t look accidental. Did you do that?’

‘Yeah, I did it,’ Naomie mumbled.

‘How?’

‘With a lighter.’

‘And did it make you feel better?’

‘For a bit.’

Helen let that settle, then:

‘Can you tell me why you did it? Was it something your mother did? Your father?’

‘My dad does nothing. Never has.’

‘But you still love him?’

‘Maybe,’ she replied, shrugging once more. ‘Do you love yours?’

It was such an unexpected response that for a moment Helen was speechless. How much did Naomie know about her past? It had all been in the press of course, but that was a few years back and Naomie didn’t look like much of a reader. On the other hand, the internet is a repository of everyone’s misdemeanours and Helen suspected that there was more going on with Naomie than people expected – perhaps she was seeing some of that now.

‘No, I don’t think I do. But perhaps you already know that.’

Naomie looked briefly at Helen, then looked away. Sanderson shot a glance at Helen – she seemed keen to step in – but Helen shook her head gently. She wanted to stay on this.

‘How did you feel when your dad went AWOL for long periods?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Did you ever talk to him about it? Ask him to stay?’

‘He wasn’t interested in talking to me. To him, I was just a stupid, fat kid.’

‘How did your mum react when he moved on?’

‘She used to follow him at first. Have it out with the other women. Then he put a stop to that.’

‘What then?’

‘You’ve seen the state of me – take a guess.’

‘She beat you?’

‘After she’d had a drink.’

‘How many times has she beaten you over the years?’

Helen knew this would be manna from heaven for Naomie’s defence team, if and when this came to trial, but this was about more than the mechanics of justice now. Helen wanted to get to the truth.

‘Twenty, thirty, I don’t know. But that wasn’t the worst of it. After she’d finished, she just ignored me, wouldn’t say two words to me.’

‘So who did you talk to?’

Naomie shrugged again, her defiant pose suddenly deserting her.

‘Did you talk to schoolfriends, teachers, neighbours?’

‘I left school when I was thirteen, didn’t I? And as for the neighbours, have you seen the state of our place?’

Helen nodded, but said nothing. She had seen the graffiti that had nearly been scrubbed clean from the Jackson family home. The sentiments weren’t pleasant and most of them were directed at the overweight young woman. Many of them had nasty racial overtones.

‘And is that why you self-harm?’

Naomie said nothing, picking now at the scar on her hand. Helen noted that her stronger, right hand remained clear of injury, presumably because she needed it to carry out her attacks.

‘Naomie, I’ve already said that I’m not judging you, I just want to understand. Why do you hurt yourself?’

‘It’s just my thing, innit? I just like to feel.’

‘Where do you do it?’

‘In my room. Mum never comes in, so what’s to stop me?’

Naomie’s defiance had returned again, but her eyes were glistening, and despite everything Helen felt a sharp stab of sympathy for their firestarter. Naomie had been belittled, ignored, assaulted, and as Helen looked at the slumped teenager she was gripped by a strong sense of the crushing loneliness this young woman must have felt day after day. While it didn’t excuse her actions, it certainly made sense of them. When the world offers you absolutely nothing, is it any surprise that you turn on it?

‘Did you want your dad to come home? It seems you didn’t get on that well.’

‘Still my dad though. And she was much nicer when he was around. There were some times that were ok, y’know? But it would never last – she knew he would never stay.’

‘Is that why you burnt down Denise Roberts’s house? To deny your father that bolthole?’

‘Maybe,’ Naomie answered in non-committal fashion.

‘And Mandy Blayne? Did you want her off the scene too?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Naomie, please. Do yourself a favour here. We’re testing the clothes we picked you up in, but I’m reliably informed that the sleeves and the pockets stink of paraffin. We also have a box of matches among your possessions. We can place you at the scene of at least two fires – the Simms house and the Harris house – and probably more besides. You have motive, opportunity and means and I note for the tape that you’ve not once denied your involvement in these crimes. Now you’re not a stupid girl, so start talking to me, because despite appearances I’m your only friend here.’

Naomie looked up once more, hurt and anger playing out in her expression.

‘I just wanted my dad back,’ she said eventually, despite the advice of her brief to say nothing. ‘That’s not a crime.’

‘No, it isn’t. And what about the Simms house? And the Harris family? Why did you target them?’

This was what Helen really wanted to know, the question she’d been building up to over the last two hours.

‘No reason.’

‘Don’t take me for a fool, Naomie. Everything you’ve done has been planned down to the last detail.’

Naomie looked directly at Helen once more, seeming to size her up before she replied:

‘I just wanted what they had.’

‘Which was?’

Naomie breathed out heavily, the fight seeming to go out of her at last, before she muttered:

‘A happy family.’

121

‘So do we charge her?’

Gardam dispensed with the formalities, getting straight to the point. Helen could tell he was wound up, so forgave him his unusually brusque manner. There was a lot riding on this call.

‘I don’t think we’ve got enough yet.’

‘I’m not going to teach you to suck eggs, Helen, but if we press charges then maybe she’ll realize there’s no virtue in continuing to hold out on us.’

‘But if we go too early we might lose her. Too many people have had their lives ruined by these attacks to let the perpetrator escape justice. We owe it to them to proceed carefully.’

‘I accept we don’t have chapter and verse but she has confessed. The interview was handled in exemplary fashion with a “thumbs up” from both the attending brief and the social worker. There can be no question that she was coerced. She confessed.’

‘So why the urgency to charge her? She’s not going anywhere. Let’s take the time we’ve got to continue questioning her and see if we can find more robust connections to the two fires she called in.’

‘What are you thinking?’

‘I want to know more about her connection to the Simms and the Harris families. She says she envied them, wanted what they had. But why them specifically? Why choose their homes above all others?’

‘She could have chosen them at random.’

‘But they are in such different areas of the city. She wouldn’t have passed these properties on a day-to-day basis and they were staked out with such precision, such patience. All of these attacks feel personal to me. The intent to kill was so clear. I can’t believe they were random. Can you?’

Gardam said nothing. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t refute Helen’s arguments either.

‘I’ve sent Charlie to the Simmses and Sanderson to the Harrises to see if we can unearth a tangible link to Naomie Jackson. In the meantime, I’m going to ask Meredith Walker to go back to the sites of the second and fourth fires. Naomie had a clear motive to attack these properties, but as yet we have no tangible forensic evidence linking her to the crime scenes. There’s no witness statements placing her there, nor did she call them in. Why change her MO for the second and fourth fires? It doesn’t quite fit and I won’t be comfortable until it does.’

‘Then we keep on it. But after another twenty-four hours we’ll have to make the call. We can’t give the impression of drift on this one.’

‘Understood.’

‘So let’s find the evidence we need and bring this one to a close, right?’

Helen left Gardam’s office shortly afterwards, his gentle ultimatum still ringing in her ears. The team had clear lines of enquiry to pursue now and she hoped in time this would yield the breakthrough she felt they needed. She would be on it too, but not for the next hour or two. It was pushing midnight now and she had told the team to go home and get some rest. She craved sleep too, a moment’s peace, but there was somewhere she needed to be.

Or, more accurately, there was someone she needed to see.