Love Me Not: DI Helen Grace 7 (formerly titled Follow My Leader) (Detective Inspector Helen Grace)

by M. J. Arlidge

  ‘They’ve sent a chopper after us …’

  Helicopters weren’t an uncommon sight in Southampton. There were the few rich tossers who flew to the docks and the inevitable traffic choppers. But these moved fast and on well-prescribed routes – this one was taking its time, circling the city, searching, searching, searching …

  The sound seemed to be getting louder, so instinctively he withdrew, pulling her with him. They hid beneath the lip of a lock-up roof, remaining perfectly still as their eyes followed the helicopter’s slow, measured progress. It seemed to linger over them, turning circles, before eventually it cut west, away from the hospital environs. Neither moved until its gentle thrum was a distant sound once more.

  She giggled and he responded. It seemed crazy that a helicopter had been scrambled to search for them – it was beyond what they had hoped for – and it was thrilling to think that they were now the objects of a police manhunt. Had the cops circulated descriptions of them? What did they know? At first he had regretted leaving a witness alive, but it had definitely upped the stakes. Would they catch them now they had something to play with? Or would the fugitives continue to slip through their fingers?

  He was suddenly filled with a feeling of power, of certainty. Like they were untouchable. Able to do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Turning to her, he took her in his arms. She seemed to be feeling it too. Perhaps it was the uppers. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Both felt exhilarated and free.

  She kissed him again and this time he didn’t hold back. Their tongues locked and, as he ran his hands down her back, he felt his arousal growing. Pushing her back on the bonnet, he peeled off her coat, pulled open the buttons on her shirt and thrust his hand inside. She responded, biting his ear. She was hungry like him, exhilarated. And now she took control, sliding off her trousers and knickers in one fluid movement, before pulling her lover on to her.

  34

  11.01

  The vibrations seemed to ripple through her, as the helicopter passed overhead. Anna Sansom was stuck in a traffic jam, her car boxed in, and she had felt the helicopter’s approach before she saw it. It was flying very low, its rotary blades beating angrily, and the whole car seemed to shake as it swept over her and away. Her nerves were jangling enough as it was and it had left her feeling shaken and uneasy.

  She had been trying to get hold of Alan for nearly an hour now, but her calls kept going to voicemail. That wasn’t like him, Alan’s phone was always charged and by his side, in case a supplier or customer tried to contact him. She hoped that he just had no signal, but she was starting to wonder. A neighbour had popped round, telling her that there had been ‘an incident’ at the shopping precinct, enquiring if Alan was ok. Anna didn’t listen to the radio much and had been confused at first, hardly taking in what Joan was saying. Her neighbour had a tendency to exaggerate, to create drama where there was none, and Anna had been confident that a quick phone call to her husband would clear things up. But a dozen attempts later Anna was none the wiser. Was it possible that the mobile networks had crashed, like they had in London during 7/7? The thought made her shiver. Surely they weren’t dealing with something like that?

  But the presence of a police helicopter wasn’t reassuring. It seemed to be fanning out from central Portswood, flying in ever larger circles, moving away from her, then returning towards her once more. Though she hated flying, part of her wished she was up there with them, rather than stuck down here. At least then she would know what was going on. She had fiddled with the radio, dragging the frequency away from Alan’s jazz staple to the local news, but there was scant detail in any of the reports. The police had not given a press conference, provided no tangible information, though the gist of things seemed to be that shots had been fired in a Portswood shop and that there had been casualties. Everything else was speculation.

  Perhaps Alan was helping out, tending to the injured – that would be just like him. He had always had a sense of vocation – while also having a commercial head on his shoulders – and would have wanted to use his training to good effect. Yes, that was probably it. She hoped he wouldn’t be too shaken up by it – he was far more sensitive than he ever let on.

  Anna had her eyes glued to the returning helicopter and jumped out of her skin when her phone suddenly rang. She snatched it up, answering it swiftly, but was surprised to find a female caller on the other end.

  ‘Mrs Sansom?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘My name is Emilia Garanita. I’m –’

  ‘Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait. I’m trying to keep this line free in case my husband calls.’

  Invoking her husband’s name generally did the trick, but the woman on the other end seemed undeterred.

  ‘I’m assuming you’ve heard about the incident in Portswood?’

  ‘What of it?’ Anna said busily, suddenly keen to be rid of this woman.

  ‘Look, Mrs Sansom, I’m a journalist with the News and it’s my duty to pass on what information I have.’

  Suddenly Anna Sansom felt a chill run down her spine.

  ‘What are you talking about? I’ve told you that I’m waiting on –’

  ‘I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but your husband was involved in the incident earlier this morning … The shooting, I mean.’

  ‘I’m not having this conversation.’

  ‘I’m not after a comment,’ the voice on the other end continued, somewhat unconvincingly, ‘but I thought you ought to know. The police are terrible about getting in touch with the next of ki—’

  ‘It’s not true.’

  ‘Believe me, I wish it wasn’t, but –’

  Anna ended the call. Moments later, her phone rang again, but she ignored it. ‘Number withheld’. Who were these people, who’d ring you up out of the blue, suggesting all kinds of things …?

  Anna gripped the steering wheel hard, staring straight ahead. The traffic was beginning to move now, uniformed officers diverting the vehicles away from Portswood. Away from what? Horrible images flooded Anna’s head, but she pushed them away. Alan was fine. She would know if he wasn’t. Somehow she would know.

  Wouldn’t she?

  35

  11.15

  They were walking fast along the corridor, marching towards the incident room. Charlie had been debating how best to broach the subject – or indeed whether to mention it at all – but had not hit on a subtle or clever approach yet. She felt she had to say something, however, so, as the incident room came into view, Charlie took the plunge.

  ‘Before we start the briefing, can I have a word with you about DS Sanderson?’ Charlie said, keeping her voice low.

  ‘What about her?’ Helen responded, barely breaking stride.

  ‘I think she’s feeling a bit exposed at the moment, a bit isolated …’

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘You,’ Charlie said quickly, keen to get it out in the open before they entered the office.

  ‘And why would she be feeling that?’ Helen replied tersely, finally slowing her pace and turning towards Charlie.

  ‘Because of all that’s gone on, the Robert Stonehill investigation, her part in your arrest –’

  ‘We’ve been through this. I sat her down and we talked about it –’

  ‘But you haven’t forgiven her,’ Charlie interrupted, surprising herself by her bluntness.

  Helen said nothing, staring at her. Charlie knew that her boss disliked being reminded of her arrest and her time behind bars – understandably she wanted to move on, start a new chapter in her life – but Charlie had the distinct sense that Helen was punishing Sanderson.

  ‘I know it must be difficult for you to feel you can trust her again – I get that, I really do – but she’s a good police officer and she’s been a good friend to me this past year,’ Charlie went on.

  ‘Is that where this is coming from?’

  ‘No, of course not. I just think we could be using her more –’

  �
�And that’s your call, is it? How I deploy my team?’

  ‘You should talk to her. If there is a problem between you, then you should deal with it. For everyone’s sake.’

  Charlie had hoped to present it as a process that would benefit everyone. And it was true – she was thinking about Sanderson, but also of Helen. She didn’t want her old friend and ally to become bitter, to be permanently damaged by her traumatic experiences.

  ‘Look, Charlie,’ Helen responded carefully, struggling to control her emotions, ‘I know you’re trying to be helpful, but this is neither the time nor the place. Maybe there’s a grain of truth in what you’re saying, maybe I do lean too heavily on you, but we are in the middle of a major investigation –’

  ‘Which is why we need our best people.’

  ‘I’ll decide who I use and who I –’

  ‘Don’t freeze her out, Helen. That’s all I’m say—’

  ‘A woman died in my arms this morning,’ Helen interjected bluntly, raising her voice. ‘I tried to save her, but there was nothing I could do. I had to watch her die in front of me …’

  Charlie stared at Helen, silenced by this sudden outburst.

  ‘My first responsibility now – my only responsibility – is to catch those who killed her. Until we do, all matters relating to … personnel are going to have to wait. Is that clear?’

  Cowed by Helen’s harsh tone, Charlie said nothing.

  ‘Is that clear?’ she repeated, louder this time.

  Helen was staring directly at her, challenging Charlie to defy her. But she didn’t, nodding mutely instead.

  ‘Then let’s get on with it,’ Helen concluded, opening the door to the incident room and marching inside.

  Charlie watched her go, feeling angry and annoyed, then followed suit.

  36

  11.21

  ‘Our first task is to work out who this “J” is.’

  The incident room was busier than usual, officers on leave having been recalled to duty. Charlie joined DC Edwards and DC Reid at the front of the group, casting an eye over the officers’ faces, as Helen began her briefing. The vibe in the Major Incident Team had been odd of late, but today everybody was paying attention.

  ‘Where are we at with Sonia Smalling’s list of probationers?’

  ‘Well, there are thirty-four men or boys whose first name begins with the letter “J”,’ DC Reid replied, pulling the names up on to the big screen.

  ‘That’s too many,’ Helen told him. ‘Let’s narrow it down to men in their early twenties, who’ve had contact with her in the last eighteen months.’

  Reid typed some more and the list swiftly shrank.

  ‘That leaves us with eight names.’

  ‘Now pull up those who have a history of drug abuse.’

  ‘Ok,’ Reid replied, typing.

  ‘And let’s prioritize those who have been accused or convicted of assault, aggravated burglary or possession of a weapon.’

  ‘Three names,’ Reid concluded. ‘John MacDonald, Jason Swift and James Bennett.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Helen turned to McAndrew. ‘DC McAndrew, I want you to take their mugshots to Melissa Hill. Ask her if she recognizes any of these men.’

  ‘Straight away,’ McAndrew acknowledged, gathering up her things.

  ‘The rest of you are going to check out these three suspects,’ Helen continued, turning back to the wider group. ‘Medical history, charge sheets, family background, known haunts and of course any connection to Sonia Smalling or Alan Sansom. Let’s climb inside their lives and see if we can work out what’s caused this sudden explosion of violence.’

  The room was silent now. The officers present could tell Helen wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘There will have been signs that this was coming. The robbery element of these crimes seems like a means to an end – stealing a car to get them to Portswood, amphetamines to keep them going. These murders are about something else. Our perpetrators are angry – with their families, their employers, the community they live in, because of slights or injustices they’ve endured …’

  ‘Does this mean they’re not going to stop?’ DC Edwards asked.

  ‘Probably not,’ Helen continued. ‘These guys are on a roll now – they’ve gone too far to pull back, so they’ll probably keep going until they are arrested or killed, or run out of ammunition. They seem to be well-armed and resourced, so the key is to find them and neutralize them as swiftly as possible.’

  A sombre atmosphere filled the room, so Helen pressed on.

  ‘When you’re checking their medical records, look for a history of self-harm or suicide attempts. We may be looking at a pair of spree killers here – people who want to create as much carnage in as short a time as possible. If so, then it’s likely their worlds have recently caved in for some reason. They are probably depressed, they may be on medication and it’s likely they have attempted to take their own lives in the past. They have no hope and their crimes could be a case of suicide morphing into homicide. There will be a medical footprint pointing us in their direction. If anyone is flagged up, dive into their recent personal history. Visit the family home, talk to neighbours and friends. Nine times out of ten there will be a specific trigger incident – a crime committed, a family row, a death in the family, something that means there is no way back. Find out what it is. Find out who they are angry with and maybe –’

  ‘We can work out where they will strike next,’ DC Osbourne offered.

  ‘Exactly. Obviously we have uniform out on the streets, but it’s our job to predict their movements and try to get ahead of them. If we can, we have a fair chance of bringing them in safely. They may well have committed acts of vandalism against people or institutions they dislike – building up to something bigger – so run the rule over their recent charge sheets. Typically, killers of this kind exhibit a hostility to all forms of authority. So who have they targeted and why? Will they go back to finish the job?’

  ‘What if their targets are random? What if they have no real plan?’ Edwards asked, looking genuinely concerned.

  ‘Then our job will be a whole lot harder. But if they are killing at random, why are they moving around? In those cases, the killings tend to be localized – in one building, one village – but these guys are moving to different areas of the city and they are being careful. Forensics haven’t lifted a single fingerprint or DNA trace off the Audi, so our perpetrators are wearing gloves, they are not dropping hairs. I think they have a plan which they want to see through.’

  ‘And are we sure that Sonia Smalling is an important connection? That we can definitely link our killers back to her?’ DC Osbourne bravely piped up once more.

  ‘No, but have you got any better ideas?’ Helen replied, raising a couple of wry grins. ‘The first murder might be random, but they lay in wait for her and ambushed her, and my gut tells me she wasn’t selected by chance. On the face of it our two victims are very different – Sonia was married with kids, lived in the countryside, whereas Alan Sansom was childless, lived near the city centre. Their social lives don’t overlap, they don’t share the same hobbies, he was born in the UK, she wasn’t, but … I believe their killings are linked. So let’s get out there and find the connection.’

  Helen had said enough and the team now got to work. Charlie organized them, dividing the officers into three separate groups and directing their energies and enquiries as best she could. Helen meanwhile walked back to her office, her mind turning on the morning’s events. As she did so, she saw DC Reid approaching fast. She could tell by his manner that he had news.

  ‘Just had this in,’ he said breathlessly, holding up an iPad for her to view. ‘Sent in by a student in Portswood who heard the news on the radio.’

  Helen took the iPad and stared at the image on the screen. It showed two figures – a tall man and a young woman – in the process of stealing an old Fiat. They were dressed in long, khaki coats and Helen’s eyes were drawn to the young woman – with her blond
e hair, pink cap and aviator shades.

  Finally they had an image of their phantom killers.

  37

  11.59

  ‘These are the two individuals we are looking for.’

  Helen’s voice rang out loud and clear across the packed media liaison suite. The snatched image of the two figures filled the screen above Helen’s head.

  ‘He is over six feet tall, with sandy brown hair. She is five two, five three, with shoulder-length blonde hair. Both are wearing knee-length, khaki-coloured trench coats. They were last seen on Alma Road in Portswood at around 10.30 this morning. We believe they are now in possession of a vehicle – a maroon Fiat Punto, registration number LB05THX. Anyone who thinks they have seen this vehicle or these individuals should contact the police immediately. I would like to stress that the suspects should not be approached.’

  ‘Are you linking these two individuals to the incident at Ashurst and the shooting in Portswood?’ a local journalist shouted out.

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘And how many casualties are we looking at?’

  ‘I’m not going to go into details on that.’

  ‘Any fatalities?’

  ‘As I said, I’m not going to –’

  ‘Is it terrorist-related? IS or Daesh or whatever they are called now?’

  There were a few suppressed chuckles from around the room. Helen was reminded how much she hated these events. Usually she ducked press conferences, but she had no boss to field them for her now, and, besides, this was too important to leave to anyone else.

  ‘No, that’s not a major line of enquiry.’

  ‘So this is what? Two crazy kids? Some kind of vendetta?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call them kids,’ Helen countered quietly. ‘The male suspect is in his early twenties, she is late teens. They are young adults who for reasons we don’t yet know –’

  ‘What do you know for sure?’ was the blunt response from the local BBC news reporter.