Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller)

by M. J. Arlidge

  It was pitch dark and no amount of fumbling could locate the light switches, so Ethan pulled the heavy torch from his rucksack and clicked it on. As he did so, a broad smile spread across his face. Sometimes the apples really did fall into your lap. There were several pieces of discarded office furniture – mostly desks and chairs – which would provide adequate fuel, but the real gift was the huge amount of shredded paper that lay on the floor in loose plastic sacks. They would help to get the fire going and after that …

  Ethan quickly set about moving the old bits of furniture to the centre of the room, using his hips to shove the heavier pieces in the right direction. He knew from his mother’s plans that the base of the lift shaft was located here and that’s where he intended to make his fire. The flames would leap up the shaft, spreading quickly to upper floors while also taking the lift out of action as a means of escape. This fire would be the biggest one yet and he couldn’t wait to see it. He could feel his fingers tingle as the excitement grew.

  When he’d first rehearsed this climax to their project with Naomie, she had raised objections. Too much collateral damage – meaning the seven other businesses that occupied this sizeable building. But that made it all the better in his view. By the time the dust settled, everybody would know that his parents were to blame. These deaths would be on their conscience and while his father mourned his mother, he would have plenty of time to contemplate that.

  As planned, there would be no diversionary fires today. There would be no warning of this attack. Ethan walked back now to gather the shredded paper, then suddenly jumped like he’d been shot. A piercing alarm rang out, long and loud, echoing around the dingy brick basement.

  ‘What the fuck … ?’

  This had to be a joke. It had to be. They couldn’t be having a fire drill today. He’d checked his mother’s diary. Fire drills were on the first of the month, regular as clockwork. What cosmic fuck-up could make them have one today … ?

  Now a thought seized him. There was a chance, of course, that this alarm wasn’t a coincidence. That somehow they knew. Naomie wouldn’t have said anything – he was sure of that – and he had only posted his most recent offering an hour or two ago, but even so …

  Now Ethan was on the move. Something told him that Helen Grace was here. That for the first time since this started she was ahead of him. And now he wasn’t thinking of fire.

  He was thinking of flight.

  134

  ‘Everybody out. We need to get everybody out.’

  The alarms were still wailing but the flow of office workers exiting the building was still just a steady trickle. It was what Helen had expected but still it infuriated her. Why did office workers assume every fire alarm was a drill or a mistake? Did it never occur to them that the fire might be real, that the nightmare which had visited several other families in the run-up to Christmas might be visiting them?

  Helen grabbed the fire officers as they presented themselves, urging them to get people moving faster. She couldn’t smell burning, but instinct told her that Ethan Harris was here somewhere, plotting his final move in the game. McAndrew had alerted Helen to Ethan’s latest and possibly final post as ‘firstpersonsingular’, and as soon as Helen read the text of it, she knew that his mother would be his last victim.

  Jacqueline Harris was a workaholic and reading between the lines probably an alcoholic too, so unless he was going to burn down her favourite bar, there was one obvious place to strike. The business she had spent twenty years building up. The realization had sent a chill down Helen’s spine: the number of innocent victims from a fire in this building would be pushing a hundred – and Helen was determined not to let that happen.

  The human flow seemed to be picking up pace now and Helen scanned the faces that went by. If she were Ethan, where would she go? What would be the best place to start a fire? Ethan had taken the lift up, according to the receptionist, but had never arrived at his mother’s office. So where? The floor beneath? Possible but that was an open-plan office – how easy would it be for Ethan to talk his way in there and start a fire?

  Something told Helen that that was too localized anyway, not grand enough for Ethan’s finale. And as her mind turned on this, her eyes alighted on the lift bank. That was more like it. The fire would spread quickly that way, fanning out on to the other floors. If you started a decent enough blaze at the bottom …

  The basement. If he was smart, he would have gone to the basement. Helen’s eyes moved to the left of the lift bank, then to the right. And there it was. A simple, unassuming door marked ‘Staff Only’.

  Helen took a step forward, but suddenly cannoned backwards. Immediately, she raised her arms to defend herself – but it was just a tearful PA racing for the main exit. The mood in the building had changed now, as the fire wardens scoured the floors, accompanied by uniformed officers, urging people to leave. The sight of a police presence had obviously spooked the building’s occupants – perhaps now they were making the connection between this alarm and the spate of recent fires. They looked scared, confused and very keen to be elsewhere.

  Now Helen was fighting a torrent of humanity, surging past her, knocking her this way and that, as she fought her way towards the basement door. She did her best to let them pass, but instinct told her to move fast, so she dodged the fleeing workers as best she could, stumbling as she went. She was so involved in the fight, so determined to get through the human barrier in front of her, that she didn’t see the young guy, dressed in the dirty overalls and cap of the building’s maintenance team, gliding past her on his way to the exit and liberty.

  135

  ‘Where is he?’

  Naomie looked from Helen to Sanderson, then back to Helen again. Was she looking for a soft touch – a place of sanctuary? She wouldn’t find one today. Helen had her on the back foot from the moment she revealed the real name of her lover and accomplice – she could see Naomie trying to work out how they had cottoned on to Ethan when she’d given them nothing – and Helen was determined to press home her advantage.

  ‘His name’s in the press now. We’ve put out an All Ports Warning. He’s got nowhere to run. He’s obviously not going to go back to his parents, so tell me where he might go.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Naomie replied, shaking her head vigorously.

  ‘Yes, you do, and if you care for him, you’ll tell us now.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what will happen to him, if we don’t get to him first?’ Sanderson interrupted. ‘The people out there are angry and scared. What if they spot him, confront him. What if others pile in? You’ve seen what happens to paedophiles on estates, you know what mob justice looks like? Do you want that for Ethan?’

  It was an unpleasant line of questioning, but for the first time the recalcitrant Naomie looked like she was considering offering them something, so Helen seized the opportunity.

  ‘I know you have feelings for Ethan. That’s why you called the fire service so quickly after you set light to his parents’ house, isn’t it?’

  Naomie hesitated, then offered a brief, reluctant nod.

  ‘You love him and you wanted to save him.’

  ‘And I did the right thing. Neither of us thought it would spread that fast.’

  ‘So help us to help him. Only we can guarantee his safety now.’

  Naomie was teetering now between her loyalty to Ethan and the force of Helen’s logic. Helen tried one last throw of the dice.

  ‘Despite everything, I know that you’re not a bad person. I know you have goodness in you. We found a half-built bonfire in the basement of his mother’s office block today. Ethan was about to put the lives of a hundred people in danger. Did you really sign up for that?’

  Naomie shrugged, guilt playing across her features.

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ Helen conceded. ‘But Ethan did. And we stopped him. And I’m very worried about what he’ll do now that we’ve stopped his little game. I know you�
��ve felt powerless and overlooked in your life, but it is now in your gift to help us. So I’m asking you to do the right thing. Help us bring your Ethan in safely.’

  Naomie hung her head and sobbed quietly.

  ‘Think about it,’ Helen told her, determined to make one last push. ‘Think about what you’ve done. Karen Simms, Denise Roberts, Agnieszka Jarosik and little Alice Simms. She was just a little kid, Naomie. Six years old, her whole life ahead of her. You stole that from her – you and no one else. And I think you owe it to her family and all the families you and Ethan have hurt to end this now. I can’t have any more deaths on my conscience and neither can you.’

  There was a long pause, during which Naomie continued to stare at the floor. Helen looked at Sanderson – had she even heard what she’d said? – then Naomie suddenly spoke, muttering a single word that changed everything:

  ‘Ok.’

  136

  He brought the cup of coffee up to his lips, but his hand was shaking too much and he put it back down with a clank. The sudden noise made the café owner look up briefly from his work, before he returned his attention to the business of pushing fatty bits of bacon and sausage round a pan. The smell of the grease made Ethan want to vomit and he was very tempted to get up and go, but caution carried the day. This down-at-heel greasy spoon in Nicholstown was a good little hideaway. The only people who came here were dossers and Polish builders, both of whom had enough problems of their own to worry about him.

  He cut a ridiculous figure in his dirty overalls, but it couldn’t be helped and came in useful now. The TV that hung from the café wall broadcast Sky News round the clock and Ethan was both alarmed and amused now to see his parents sitting behind a table at Southampton Central Police Station, flanked by DI Grace.

  The volume was turned down low, so Ethan shuffled his chair a little closer, straining to hear. He refused to miss this little pantomime.

  ‘If you can hear this, Ethan, please get in touch. We love you, son, and we just want to know you’re safe and well.’

  How much must this be costing them? The lies must stick in their throat but that wasn’t the best bit. They must be cringing inside, being paraded to the world as the parents who bred a killer and never had a clue. Although they had always tried to deny it, he was their flesh and blood. And he would make them pay for that, as they had made him pay.

  ‘There is a number you can call free of charge …’

  His father continued in his familiar stumbling way. Had he been drinking this morning? He wouldn’t put it past him. If he and Jacqueline were ever to acknowledge the extent of their problems, they would probably classify themselves as high-functioning alcoholics. What a misguided label that was. They were successful professionally but there was nothing high-functioning about them. They were cold, cruel and self-absorbed.

  He had always strived to get their attention, and when he didn’t get it, he screamed louder. And when that didn’t work, he resorted to more desperate measures. Abuse, petty acts of violence and later some firestarting. These had always been chalked up as acts of characteristic clumsiness, as the truth was rather harder to swallow. They had tried to control him through medication and later through bitches like Agnieszka, who’d shout at him then lock him in his room when she became bored of his behaviour. Still, good things come to those who wait. They had all been repaid in fine style.

  His mother, still stunned from her ‘brush with death’ had now taken centre stage and was in the midst of a lachrymose appeal. Who, he wondered, was she crying for? Herself? Her marriage? Her life? Or were they tears of regret for her son? That was the only emotion he had ever inspired in her. Not love, not compassion, not even pity – just regret. For one drunken, unprotected screw that had cost them all dear.

  Ethan’s eye drifted away from the screen to find the café owner staring at him once more, curious no doubt as to why his attention was fixed so raptly on the screen. The man dropped his eyes as soon as Ethan looked over, but it made Ethan think. There was one more thing to do – one last act. How long could he move undetected, now that the city was looking for him? How long before someone became suspicious? Or, worse, recognized him?

  Things hung in the balance now. They were so close to the end and as Ethan turned his gaze once more to his pitiful parents, he vowed that he would not be beaten. If Naomie held her nerve, then all would be well. It was only a matter of time now, until the circle was complete.

  137

  ‘How did you two meet?’

  Now that Naomie was talking, Helen was determined to get chapter and verse.

  ‘I found him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was walking home and … I found him. He was lying face down in the street. I saw a couple of other people walk round him, like he was a drunk. But he didn’t look that way to me.’

  ‘He was having a fit?’

  Naomie nodded.

  ‘He’d been out late, walking the streets. And he can feel these things when they come on – he gets a tingling in his hands and feet, his vision goes funny – but that doesn’t mean he can stop them. He’d fallen, hit his head. So I put his head in my lap and looked after him until an ambulance came. He felt he owed me, but I never felt like that.’

  ‘And you became friends?’

  ‘Didn’t have anyone else, did we? His parents liked to keep him inside, boss every second of his life, but he found his way out at night and we used to meet at the same time, same place – we used to joke that it was our ten o’clock shot. A kind of fuck you to my mum and his folks, who thought we were tucked up in bed. Not that they ever bothered to check.’

  ‘What did you get up to?’

  ‘Talked, smoked, walked a bit. We just liked being together.’

  It was said so sweetly that in other circumstances Helen would have smiled. It was hard to believe that Naomie and her lover were multiple murderers, with four deaths on their conscience. Even now that didn’t seem to faze Naomie as much as it should. She seemed more concerned about her boyfriend.

  ‘Was it his idea? The fires?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything about that. You’ll have to ask him yourself.’

  ‘I’d very much like the opportunity, but I’m going to need specifics. Where did you go with him? Where would he go now when he needs time and space to think? Where does he go at night?’

  Naomie looked at Helen. She could tell even now that Naomie was torn – she’d never thought she’d be in the position of having to betray her lover. So it was softly and with some regret when she finally said:

  ‘Itchen Bridge – there’s a spot under that where we used to go. Sometimes to Pear Tree Garden. Mayfield Park. The pitch and putt by Weston Hard. Chamberlayne leisure centre. Millers Pond. He’ll be at one of those tonight.’

  The fight had gone out of Naomie now and for a brief moment Helen felt relief. She was sure she had been the junior player in their deadly enterprise.

  ‘Thank you, Naomie. You’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘Well, it’s all you’re going to get from me. I’ve done more than enough already,’ she said, rising suddenly. ‘I want to go back to my cell now.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I want some hot food and another blanket, it’s bloody freezing in there.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Naomie was staring at Helen with real hostility now – it was amazing how quickly her mood could change. Was she angry with Helen for making her give up her boyfriend? Or did her attitude mask her fear of what might happen next? Either way, Helen was glad she had pushed her. They had the information they needed and, at long last, the end was in sight.

  138

  ‘Let the others go, we need you here.’

  Gardam said it gently, but firmly, leaving Helen no choice but to comply. Her first instinct as always had been to lead the search, but Gardam had argued that someone senior needed to stay at base to coordinate proceedings. The locations Naomie had listed covered a
wide area of the city in Itchen, Woolston and Weston. They would throw all the resources they could at it and it was easy in these situations for the search to become diffuse and unfocused. They would need to do it square mile by square mile, guiding those on the ground from Southampton Central, ensuring no stone was left unturned.

  Privately, Helen wondered why Gardam didn’t take point on this one – he seemed to be spending enough time in the incident room to do her job for her. He had a peculiar gift for becoming your shadow, monitoring your every move without ever actually intervening. Helen still couldn’t work him out. Perhaps he didn’t trust her instinct after all, despite all his words to the contrary? Perhaps he was just a voyeur, uncomfortable at being excluded from the heart of the action? Or perhaps he was just the wrong guy in the wrong job? Helen feared the last option the most. She had never needed or wanted a chaperone.

  The hours flicked by – 6 p.m., 7 p.m., 8 p.m. The team on the ground had covered half of their allotted grid and still there was no sign of Ethan Harris. With each passing minute, Helen’s fears grew. Had Naomie told them the truth? Was she really prepared to collude in the capture of the guy who was her ‘family’ now? How strong a stranglehold did he have on her?

  Gardam was a calming influence, moving around the incident room with coffee and words of encouragement.

  ‘Do you think he’ll come quietly?’ he said to Helen, seizing a lull in operations to pick her brains.

  ‘That depends on how much he loves Naomie,’ Helen replied. ‘If he really cares for her, then he won’t leave her to face this alone. But if he’s been using her for his own ends, if he only truly believes in himself and his own destiny, then he could become violent. He might want to make one last stand – he’s got a lot of prison time ahead of him. But the guys on the team know how to handle it – they’ll allow him to think he’s surrendering on his terms.’

  Even as she said it, Helen wished she was on the ground with them. She knew Sanderson and Charlie could handle it, but there was something in her that was never comfortable taking a back seat. That’s why she had never taken the promotions that had been regularly offered her. She was a front-line soldier, never the general on the hill. Even now she itched to get out there with the team, but she did her best to disguise it, answering Gardam’s probing questions patiently, before returning to direct operations.