Текст книги "Liar Liar"

Автор книги: M. J. Arlidge

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

28

‘What do you think?’

Helen had gone straight to Gardam’s office, only to be told he was in the viewing suite with McAndrew, casting an eye over the latest batch of amateur footage from the fires. Instinctively this made Helen feel uncomfortable – officers of his rank usually steered well clear of the coalface and she didn’t appreciate him overseeing her team’s work. She resolved to ask Gardam why he felt the need to impose himself on her investigation but wasn’t given the chance. Having dismissed McAndrew from the viewing suite, her superior cut straight to the chase.

‘Is he our man?’

‘Hard to say,’ Helen replied. ‘His alibi is hardly rock solid, but even if he is telling the truth, that still doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.’

‘Because he’s got associates?’

‘Precisely. Spence likes to throw his weight around, but he’s not stupid. He could have told one of his cronies to start the fires. If he did, then he reduces the personal risk but ups the chances of one of them talking – so our next move is to round up as many of his known associates as we can. They’ve all got mothers, so perhaps Karen Simms’s death will persuade them to help us.’

‘Good.’

‘We’re also going to look into Spence’s finances,’ Helen continued. ‘I want to see if anyone’s putting the squeeze on him or if there’s any reason why he might want to lay down a marker in this way. I’ve got the team on it and I should have more shortly. We’re throwing everything we can at this.’

‘Well, it sounds like you’ve got everything in hand. Keep me posted.’

‘Of course.’

A brief silence followed. Helen had expected the conclusion of her update to prompt Gardam’s departure, but he made no move to leave. Instead, he leant back against the desk, staring right at her, as if trying to read her mind.

‘What’s your feeling on this one, Helen?’

‘My feeling is that I’d like to link Spence to Travell’s Timber Yard. If we can prove that they owed him money or that they’d had a disagree—’

‘But what’s your instinct?’

‘My instinct is not to trust my instincts. I prefer to deal in facts.’

‘That’s a politician’s answer.’

‘Forgive me, sir, but I’m not quite sure I understand the qu—’

‘I’m only putting you on the spot,’ Gardam interrupted, ‘because I value your opinion. You’re unique, Helen – both at Southampton Central and in the Force. No one’s got your track record when it comes to bringing these complex investigations to a successful conclusion. You did it with Ben Fraser, with Ella Matthews and more besides …’

Gardam had tactfully not mentioned Helen’s sister, but it was clear that she was included in this list of Helen’s ‘achievements’. Her new boss had clearly done his homework on her.

‘So I’m interested to find out how your mind works,’ Gardam said, not missing a beat. ‘I want to know if your gut is telling you that Spence is capable of these crimes.’

Gardam’s gaze never wavered for a second. His eyes were fixed on her, as if she were a rare breed or curiosity. In the hushed, darkened interior of the viewing suite, his close attention made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

‘He’s certainly capable of it,’ Helen replied evenly. ‘The question is whether he has the imagination to pull off this sort of crime. And, in the absence of a confession, only patient and diligent detection will tell us that.’

It was a polite but firm full stop to the conversation. Helen had had a long day – with the scrapes and bruises to prove it – and she had no appetite to undergo an interrogation of her own.

‘We’ll just have to wait and see then, won’t we?’ Gardam said, rising finally, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. ‘Let me know what you find out.’

‘Straight away.’

‘Now, it’s late, so why don’t you get off home?’ Gardam said, crossing to her. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere? I’m heading your way –’

‘Thank you, but I’ve got my bike, so …’

‘Of course, the famous bike. Solo traveller, eh?’

‘Something like that,’ Helen replied.

‘Well, I won’t keep you then,’ Gardam finished, laying his hand gently on her arm, ‘and my thanks again. You did well today, Helen.’

Helen acknowledged the compliment and departed quickly. As she opened the door, she caught McAndrew staring right at her – her junior was clearly intrigued by the interview from which she’d been so pointedly excluded. Helen nodded at her, then hurried off down the corridor. She could feel the colour rising in her face, which made her feel foolish and flustered, like she’d been caught out in some way. She walked on purposefully, keen to escape into the anonymity of the night. But all the while she could feel McAndrew’s eyes on her, which made her wonder: was Gardam watching her too?

29

Charlie crept into the darkened room, taking care not to make a sound. Jessica was breathing heavily, her little sinuses still blocked with cold, and she had only just gone down, despite the late hour. Secretly, Charlie had hoped she would be up when she arrived home, so she could say goodnight to her properly, but Steve had done his job well, stroking and singing her to sleep. Despite her tossing and turning, she looked content now, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

‘How long did it take you?’ Charlie whispered.

Steve had joined her and both were now gazing down at their slumbering daughter.

‘Two to three hours,’ Steve answered evenly. ‘She was pretty cross.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It was ok. Though I must have gone through my whole repertoire of nursery rhymes at least three times.’

‘I’m glad I was out then,’ Charlie replied, teasing. Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Then he crossed the room, and having doused a tissue with a generous measure of Olbas oil, laid it gently in Jessica’s cot. Immediately, the room was filled with the comforting scent of eucalyptus.

‘Come on, we’d better hit the hay,’ Steve whispered. ‘There’s no telling when she’s going to be up again.’

Charlie nodded. He was right of course but she hadn’t seen her all day and suddenly she didn’t want to leave. Steve moved to the doorway but lingered on the threshold, waiting for Charlie to follow. A brief flash of irritation shot through her – it seemed she wasn’t in control at work or at home now – but then common sense prevailed. She was knackered and needed a shower, so, relenting, she bent down to kiss her goodnight.

‘Don’t.’

Charlie stopped, hovering inches from Jessica’s soft face, taken aback by the sharp tone of Steve’s voice. She turned to him, surprised.

‘She needs to sleep and if you wake her, it’ll take hours to get her dow—’

‘All right, all right’ Charlie responded, straightening up and brushing past Steve without another word. It was a childish response and she knew it. She had no cause to be shirty with Steve, whatever she felt about missing out on quality time with Jessica – but still his chiding irritated her. She was fed up with compromise and making do. She wanted her life to be simple, straightforward and satisfactory – but in reality it was none of these things. These days she seemed to lurch from one mini-crisis to the next, achieving little, pleasing no one, forever facing choices that left her the loser whichever way she jumped. Would she get better at this? Or was this how it would always be? Perhaps the brutal truth was that, whatever she did and whatever she tried, this was one circle that Charlie would never be able to square.

30

The noise assaulted you as soon as you stepped inside. Helen let it roar over her, enjoying the sensation, as she stood in the doorway of the bar. It was close to last orders now and the place was packed. There didn’t seem to be a quiet night in the city centre any more – Southampton was full of young people who wanted to chat, flirt and drink – and as soon as you stepped inside you were struck by the warmth, energy and excitement of the place.

‘Tonic over ice, please,’ Helen shouted at the barman, as she pushed her way to the bar. As he obliged, she took in the scene, her eye wandering over the first daters, the groups of friends, the hangovers-in-waiting and more besides. Helen didn’t drink – hadn’t done for years – but she liked these places. Things could turn ugly where drink was concerned and Helen had had to intervene on a couple of occasions to defuse unpleasant situations, but young people as a rule seemed to be drinking rather less than previous generations – the whole scene was more a social thing than an excuse for binge-drinking. That was especially the case around here, so close to Southampton University, where the pubs and bars were full of twenty-somethings who couldn’t afford vast rounds of drinks even if they’d wanted to.

Helen had come here straight from work as she couldn’t face going back to her flat. Her meeting with Gardam was still bothering her and if she went home she would only obsess about it further. Better to be here, enjoying the buzz, than stewing alone.

As her eyes swept the crowds, she became aware of someone waving sheepishly to her from a table on the other side of the room. It took her eyes, her brain, a couple of seconds to process the sight, but there was no doubt about it.

Jake. Helen had never seen him in a social context – barring one exception, she had only ever encountered him in his workplace, where he played the role of dominator to perfection, never letting the real Jake through. He was on his way over now and for a second Helen was surprised to find that she was panicking, wondering what to say to him in a conversation that she hadn’t paid for.

‘I thought it was you.’

He leant in and kissed her gently on the cheek. Unlike her, he seemed completely at ease. More than that, he seemed happy.

‘I didn’t expect to find you somewhere like this,’ he continued lightly.

‘Neither did I, but it’s been a tough day, so I thought I’d come and inhale a bit of youthful optimism.’

Jake smiled, but the accidental subtext of Helen’s reply was lost on neither of them. Previously Helen had run to Jake when work had got to her, but not now.

‘How about you?’ Helen continued quickly.

‘I’m on a date,’ Jake said, pretending to be embarrassed, as he nodded towards a handsome young man, who smiled awkwardly back at them from across the crowded room.

‘Good for you,’ Helen responded, though her brain was still playing catch-up. She knew that Jake was bisexual, but such was his interest in her that she’d always assumed he was more romantically attracted to women.

‘Is this a new thing … ?’ she went on.

‘Not really,’ Jake answered, diplomatically.

‘And it’s going well?’

‘Well tonight is our sixth date, so …’

‘Wow.’

‘Yes. Wow.’ Jake laughed at himself easily and confidently.

Helen smiled, but couldn’t think of the appropriate way to respond, so said nothing. She knew so little of Jake’s romantic history that she didn’t really know if this was a big development or not. She suspected it might be.

‘And you’re ok?’ Jake queried.

‘Oh you know. Same old same old.’

Jake smiled and nodded. Conversely he knew an awful lot about Helen and understood exactly what she went through during a major investigation. For a moment, the conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, then Helen said:

‘Don’t let me keep you, Jake. I’d hate to sabotage young love …’

‘You’re right, I’d better go. Take care of yourself, Helen.’

He leant in and kissed her once more, this time giving her a brief hug with it. She responded, but felt a sharp and sudden stab of sadness as she did so. This felt very much like Jake finally cutting loose.

She watched him return to his date and hung around for another ten minutes, not wanting Jake to think he’d driven her out by his presence. But as soon as he and his boyfriend were once more engaged in happy, tactile conversation, Helen slipped out into the night.

Walking back to the flat, she reflected on her strange evening. She had gone to the bar seeking solace, but had found something else instead. She had the strange feeling that her life was changing for ever, moving past her in a way that she could neither prevent nor control. Worse still was the fact that Jake’s happiness made her miserable. She pushed the thought away – it was so unpleasant to feel sad about someone else’s joy and yet there it was. Deny it though she might, the truth was that she had never felt so alone as she did tonight.

31

Blog post by firstpersonsingular.

Wednesday, 9 December, 23.30

More bullshit today. Where do these people get off? With their half-arsed statements and brain-dead journalism. Why does everything have to end up being a fucking soap opera?

Know what I mean?!?☹☹☹☹

She could have written about anything. She could have written about it. But instead she wrote about them. Not many pictures of the fire and even those were blurred. It’s not hard, people …

Lots of pictures of the dad though. And his poor ickle son. So brave. Both of them. Really. I mean it.

They may have suffered, but here’s the thing. At least someone cares. At least their pain registers.

You must know what I mean. And before you dismiss me as just another troll, think about it.

Because it’s not the pain that matters. It’s the context of that pain. Do you follow?

People give a shit. The dad. The son. Even the crispy sister. They’ve lost their momma, their anchor/rock/mainstay (delete as appropriate), but they’ve got each other. In a fucked-up way, they’re closer now than they ever were.

So before you expend all your sympathy on them, think. Do they need it? Do they want it? No, they have everything right there in their tight little family.

They are the lucky ones. I’ve been alone from the moment I was conceived.

32

‘Nice to meet you, Eleanor. I don’t usually accept spur-of-the-moment clients, but just this once I’ll make an exception.’

It was said pleasantly enough, making it hard for Helen to tell whether there was innuendo lying beneath it or not.

‘So, why don’t you tell me what I can do for you tonight?’

The final sentence was loaded with possibility. With Jake sex was never part of the deal – he was a dominator pure and simple – but she got the distinct impression that Max Paine was a very different animal. He was incredibly well built and seemed to take pride in displaying as much of his body as possible. Was that to impress or intimidate? Helen couldn’t tell.

‘Let’s keep it simple to start with. I don’t want to be touched, I don’t want to be teased. I just want you to do what I ask and nothing more.’

‘You’re in charge.’

‘Exactly. A leather riding crop should do us fine. Twenty minutes max. My safe word is “release”. If you hear tha—’

‘Then everything stops. I have done this before, Eleanor.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

Helen stared at him, refusing to show that she was embarrassed or nervous. But she was both – unsure of her footing in this strange, new environment. Jake’s room had had a bizarre cosiness to it – which matched his personality. This place was something different – bigger, more elaborate. Helen wondered what secrets these walls could reveal.

‘That’s pretty clear, so shall we get started?’ Max continued, pointing Helen towards a small, curtained, changing area. Helen obliged, removing her coat and scarf and stepping inside. She undressed quickly, but her fingers fumbled over the buttons of her blouse, gripped by a sudden anxiety. Had she made a mistake coming here? She didn’t know who he was, hadn’t checked him out at all. She had been stupid and reckless. And yet the alternative – sitting at home trying to resist the temptation to hurt herself – seemed even worse.

Now in her underwear, she stepped out of the changing area. Max was waiting for her by the restraint wall, which was decorated with an assortment of chains, clasps and cuffs. Helen moved swiftly over to him, choosing a fairly normal-looking pair of restraints in the centre of the wall. Max snapped her wrists into them, then bent down.

‘Not the legs,’ Helen said quickly.

‘You’re the boss,’ Max replied with a broad smile. ‘Ready?’

Helen nodded and turned her head to the wall.

Moments later, the first blow struck. Then the second, harder this time. A brief pause and Helen whispered:

‘Again.’

The blows rained down now, each impact jarring Helen’s body, causing her to cry out. And slowly she started to relax, the pain taking her away to another place, away from life, away from herself. The tension that had been building up inside her for weeks was already receding, replaced by a relaxed exhaustion that was familiar and comforting. Perhaps it hadn’t been a mistake to come here after all.

33

At first, she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. Someone – or something – was pressing down hard on her, depriving her of breath. She lashed out with her arm, expecting to meet resistance, but connected with … nothing. Now she started to cough – savage and harsh – and rousing herself, slowly opened her eyes.

She wasn’t dreaming – but still none of this made sense. She’d had a good night with Darren and they’d come upstairs together around 10 p.m. He said he’d stay the night with her, so why was her bed now empty? He’d done a bunk before, broken his promises, but still it must be the middle of the night, given how dark it was. Denise fumbled for the clock radio, but couldn’t find it. Why was it so bloody dark in here?

She coughed some more. Painful, rasping, insistent coughs. Suddenly Denise couldn’t stop coughing, bringing up great clods of mucus and even a little of tonight’s dinner. She swallowed it back down, but the acidic taste of vomit lingered in her mouth, along with something else. The taste of smoke.

Now Denise was wide awake. Why hadn’t she noticed this before? The whole place stank of smoke. The whole place was full of smoke. A horrible fear now gripped Denise and her mind immediately whirled back to a promise she’d made to herself some weeks back to replace the batteries in her smoke alarms. Why hadn’t she done it? Why was she such a lazy cow?

Her hand fumbled its way to the bedside light and she clicked it on. As she did so, her free hand shot to her mouth. Black smoke was pouring in under the closed bedroom door, invading the room and claiming it as its own.

Throwing off the duvet, Denise stumbled towards the door. Grogginess was making her clumsy, while her rising panic made breathing hard. Was Callum in? Had he come home or stayed out with friends? Denise grabbed the door handle, determined to run straight to his bedroom – then pulled her hand away sharply. The cheap metal handle was red hot. Looking down she saw a long livid line forming on the palm of her hand, as a biting pain took hold. Whimpering now, Denise stood stock still, the horrible craziness of this situation temporarily paralysing her. Then thoughts of her son forced their way back into her consciousness, spurring her on. Grabbing a drying vest from the radiator, she wrapped it round her good hand and worked the handle again.

It wouldn’t move. This made no sense – there was no lock on this door. She tried again harder, yanking the handle back and forth, and this time she became aware of a noise. It was the sound of the wooden doorframe bending and buckling in the intense heat.

‘Please God, no. I can’t die here. I don’t want to die here,’ Denise muttered to herself through tears as she pulled and pulled to no avail. Suddenly she let go of the handle, fear and exhaustion robbing her of her conviction. Sweat was pouring off her now, but it evaporated almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving a sticky, salty residue clinging to her body. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe – she would only last another minute at best – so summoning what courage remained, Denise grabbed the door handle and pulled it for all she was worth.

This time the door gave, swinging violently and unexpectedly towards her. It all happened so quickly thereafter that Denise only had a moment to react to what she saw, a second in which to throw up her arms to her face in horror. A vast wall of flame was charging directly towards her, destroying everything in its path.

34

Callum Roberts took a big drag, inhaling the smoke slowly and letting it hang in his mouth, before exhaling. He felt the rush immediately and drew heavily on the joint again, before offering it to Dave, who was waiting impatiently for it. As his friend reached over to take it, Callum pulled it away again, having one last toke from it and earning himself a punch on the shoulder for his cheek.

Slowly his mood was lifting. He hated it when his mum had that man over. It was bad enough just thinking about what they got up to. It was even worse having to listen to it through the paper-thin walls. His own mother giving it away to someone who wouldn’t hang around once he’d got what he came for. Callum could always tell when her date nights were coming up – a sudden burst of cheerfulness, followed by steadily rising anxiety as the day approached, punctuated all the while by endless trips to buy perfume, dresses, new underwear. The whole thing made him sick to the stomach.

Marching to the fridge, Callum pulled out a can of beer and drank half of it down in one go. He always made himself scarce when his mum had company, seeking refuge with whichever of his mates would have him. As it turned out, Dave’s parents were away for the night, meaning Callum could stay over without having to face their sly looks and whispered, disapproving comments. Strange really how Dave could be so sound, yet they were such total dicks.

Quite a few people had come round to Dave’s now, word having spread of an impromptu party. With the new arrivals had come booze, dope and more besides, all of which Callum helped himself to, despite the fact that he had arrived empty-handed. To his mind, he deserved it after his shitty day.

He felt pleasantly light-headed as he made his way across the room towards the balcony. Dave lived on the top floor of a sixties apartment block. All the flats here were originally council-owned, but were later snapped up by smug homemakers like Dave’s folks. Now they were pretty plush and every flat came with a small balcony, commanding decent views over Southampton.

From across the room, Callum spotted the pretty blonde again – what was her name? Kerry? Carrie? She had been round Dave’s on previous occasions and, even though she was a stunner, she never seemed to have a boyfriend in tow. Callum had a mind to do something about that, given half a chance.

When he stepped out on to the balcony, he was immediately struck by the noise and energy of the banter – unusual for these potheads. He’d planned to sidle up to the blonde and get to work on her straight away, but everyone seemed to be staring out from the flat towards something that lay beyond. There was a definite charge and excitement to their chat and curiosity now got the better of Callum – he brushed past his intended target in the hope of getting a better view.

There was a fire. Smoke was billowing into the sky nearby, and if you stood on tiptoe, you could just make out the tops of the flames leaping into the night sky. Sirens could be heard in the distance and closer there was a strange buzz, as the fire drew local residents out on to the street. What was that buzz? Fear? Or excitement?

Already a disquieting thought was starting to arrow its way through Callum’s brain and he pushed his way further forward, straining to get a better sense of the exact location of the fire. He got a few muttered Fuck’s sakes from the people he barged aside, but he didn’t care. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead now, despite the bitter cold, as dread slowly crept over him.

He suddenly realized Dave was at his side – he too had been drawn out by the sight of the fire. And he seemed to echo Callum’s growing fears, as he turned hesitantly to his friend and muttered:

‘Looks like it’s over your neck of the woods, mate.’