‘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.’
35
A large crowd had gathered already and Helen had to shout to be heard, as she barged her way to the front. The burning house was a detached two up, two down on a run-down housing estate. The front garden wasn’t well kept and the house was little better. But whatever unsightliness it offered was now obscured – the whole house was ablaze, huge flames punching out of the shattered windows.
Helen had made it across town in record time, kicking herself all the way for taking her eye off the ball at such a crucial time. Her blood had run cold when Sanderson called her with the news – three more fires had broken out. Helen had detailed other officers to investigate the first two, a furniture showroom in Bitterne Park and an outdoor car park in Nicholstown, while she’d biked straight to the residential blaze in Bevois Mount. This was the third fire that had been called in and instinct drew Helen to it.
Firefighters were battling to get into the property, but the fire was at its peak now. Stalking round the house to see if the crews on the other side were faring any better, Helen was alarmed to see how completely the fire had taken hold. Cheap plywood walls, synthetic flooring, worn-down carpeting – the whole place was a fire hazard. Helen prayed that there was no one left inside it when it went up.
The firefighters at the back were having no more joy than their colleagues. They battled manfully, but it seemed hopeless and Helen could see the weariness on the faces of many of them – they probably hadn’t had any rest since last night’s fires.
Making her way back towards the uniformed officers who were keeping the crowd at bay, Helen’s mind turned on these latest disturbing developments. This was an impoverished part of Southampton – which could provide some sort of link to Gary Spence and the loan sharks who preyed on desperate people. The furniture showroom currently burning in Bitterne Park might also be connected if they had borrowed unwisely, but an outdoor car park? That would be council-owned and the cars there would presumably have been parked at random – no, that smacked of being a diversionary fire. Already Helen had a nasty feeling that both the larger fires were simply there to draw resources away from this smaller, potentially more catastrophic blaze.
‘We’ve got a name, ma’am,’ one of the uniformed officers was now saying.
‘Go on,’ Helen replied, snapping out of her thoughts.
‘The house is owned by a Denise Roberts, forty-two years old, single mother to a teenage boy, Callum Roberts. We know him – he’s got form for possession, a bit of shoplifting – but we’ve nothing on her. Just your average single mum.’
Helen thanked the officer and turned back to the house. If there was anyone in there, they stood little chance of survival. The fire had been going for thirty minutes or more now and still the fire crews hadn’t been able to gain access. It was a bleak scene to behold.
A second spate of arson attacks in twenty-four hours. It was bold to be sure, but did something else lie behind it? Was their arsonist
on a mission? Did they feel compelled to start these fires? If not, why the hurry? What alarmed Helen most was the realization that the perpetrator of these attacks was committed, precise and well organized. The three fires were all in different parts of town, yet tightly timed to make fighting them near impossible. Whoever did this was intent on creating death and destruction on a scale Helen had never seen before.
It was as if they wanted to raze Southampton to the ground.
36
The heat was so intense, the smoke so dense, that for a brief moment Denise thought she had died and gone to Hell. Having blacked out as the wall of fire swept over her, she now came to on the floor, stunned, confused and ripped through with pain. But she was alive. Against the odds, she was still alive.
She tried to raise her head from the floor, but immediately felt so faint that she let it drop once more. What was happening? Where was Callum? Why wasn’t anyone coming to help her? Closing her eyes, she gingerly raised her head once more, working herself up on to her elbows. A wave of nausea swept over her, her vision swam, but she could support herself now and, feeling a little more confident, slowly opened her eyes.
Darkness surrounded her. It was as if she was at the centre of some terrible storm cloud that had blocked out the sun. Pushing herself up further, she looked around her, but she couldn’t find her bearings. Was she still in her bedroom? She assumed she was, but how could she tell?
Looking down, she could just make out that she was naked. Lifting her arm, she ran her hand over her body. There was no sign of her night clothes – they must have burnt clean off. Her skin felt mottled and unfamiliar and as she ran her fingers over her torso, caressing the fresh burns, a huge spasm of pain ran through her. This time she was sick, bringing up the whole contents of her stomach on the floor next to her. It fizzed as it hit the surface.
Denise knew in that instant that she had to move. She was dying by degrees, her body slowly cooking, while her lungs filled with thick sooty smoke. Coughing violently, she brought up another heave of watery bile, then slowly, agonizingly, pushed herself up on to her knees. She had to get out. If not for herself, at least for Callum.
Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) Page 8
