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

by M. J. Arlidge

  She was aware of noise all around her. Shouts, sirens and the ever present hum of the police helicopter that was sweeping the area with its roving spotlight. Any second she expected it to alight on her. And then what? Daisy had no idea if there were police officers blocking her escape route or not, but while there was an ounce of energy left in her body, she would keep running. She had to finish this thing on her terms.

  She was coming to the end of the alleyway now, the brick passageway narrowing to an opening. Caution was called for, but desperation drove her on and she burst out of the alleyway into the quiet street. She had her gun raised, but to her surprise there was no one there to stop her. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, laughing at her sheer good fortune. But her relief was short-lived. Suddenly she sensed danger and whirled round to see a car approaching fast, mounting the pavement to cut off her escape route.

  She didn’t hesitate, swinging the gun towards the car and pulling the trigger, before sprinting across the road. She expected to feel bullets whizzing past her ears, but her fire was not returned, so on reaching the other side, she darted down another alleyway. Against all the odds, she was still alive.

  101

  18.39

  Helen burst on to the road, just as the fleeing figure disappeared from view down an alleyway. Without hesitating, she lunged across the street in pursuit. Every part of her hurt – she had been winged by the car as she dived out of its path and had been further injured in the fight – but she knew she couldn’t let Daisy escape. The teenage girl had proved herself to be an accomplished and merciless killer.

  But as Helen bounded across the street, she became aware of a strange, dazzling light. This came not from her own armed units, but from the headlights of a car, which was marooned on the pavement at an unusual angle. Behind the lights, in silhouette, Helen could see movement – a frantic, spasmodic kind of movement that immediately set alarm bells ringing.

  Helen had a split second to make her decision, but now altered her course, darting away from the mouth of the alleyway and back towards the car. She knew that it was a pool car and as she neared it she saw to her horror that the windscreen had been shattered, a large hole having been punched through it. The engine was still running, revving slightly as the accelerator was depressed, but oddly the car was going nowhere. Nor was the officer inside.

  Rounding the car, Helen seized the driver’s door and wrenched it open. Immediately the interior was illuminated and Helen now saw something that nearly stopped her heart. Joanne Sanderson was slumped in the driver’s seat.

  Her face was ashen, her eyes moist and her hand was clamped to a huge hole in her chest.

  102

  18.41

  ‘Officer down!’

  Helen’s strangulated voice came through loud and clear and Charlie’s first instinct was to pick up the radio and respond. But Helen beat her to it.

  ‘Urgent medical assistance required on Garnet Road … single shotgun wound … considerable loss of blood …’

  Other officers closer to the scene now answered, before an Armed Response Unit cut in, asking for an update on the whereabouts of the shooter.

  ‘She’s moving down an alleyway between Garnet Road and … Sandowne Road. Instruct the chopper to follow from the air and cut off all roads around Sandowne Road …’

  Helen petered out, gasping the last few words. Charlie had to struggle to maintain her focus. She was driving back to base with the evidence from the farm, but the distress in Helen’s voice had knocked her sideways, dragging her concentration away from the task in hand. Helen never lost her composure – never – but she was clearly badly shaken. Something had gone very, very wrong.

  Charlie’s hand hovered over the radio – she was sorely tempted to pick it up and make contact with her superior. Her heart was beating fast, her mind conjuring up all sorts of dark scenarios. But once more Helen got in first.

  ‘Please hurry. She’s one of ours. She’s …’

  Helen petered out once more, anguished and overcome. And in that moment Charlie knew.

  103

  18.43

  ‘Look at me, Joanne.’

  Helen meant her voice to be soothing and reassuring, but her words sounded cracked and unnatural.

  ‘It’s me. Helen. You’re going to be ok, but I need you to focus …’

  Sanderson was blinking repeatedly, her eyes rolling in their sockets, as if trying and failing to find a fixed point on the roof of the car. She was still in shock, the impact of the shot paralysing her system.

  ‘Joanne, please look at me,’ Helen barked, desperately trying to get her attention.

  For a moment, the flickering paused. Sanderson’s eyes seemed to lock on to Helen’s and she tried to say something.

  ‘Pleas—’

  A thin trickle of blood spilled from her mouth.

  ‘Don’t speak, conserve your strength,’ Helen urged. ‘The ambulance will be here in two minutes.’

  As she spoke, her ears strained for the sound of sirens, but she could hear nothing.

  ‘We’ll get you to hospital and you will be ok.’

  The flickering started again, faster this time. She seemed to be losing consciousness, so Helen gave her a gentle slap to the face.

  ‘Stay with me, Joanne. I need you to …’

  But she was not responding any more, her body suddenly heavier in Helen’s arms.

  ‘Joanne, please …’

  Her eyes had rolled upwards. Only the whites were visible now. Helen had tears in her own eyes, when she whispered: ‘Please …’

  But it was too late. DS Joanne Sanderson was dead.

  104

  18.47

  Daisy was running for her life.

  She had made it away from the Careers Centre, but the hunt was still on. She could hear the sirens all around her, but what really worried her was the dull thunk, thunk of the police helicopter. Though its harsh spotlight had not yet located her, it seemed to be following her movements, clipping on her heels as she fled north from Ocean Village.

  Their original plan had always been to steal another car before moving on. But that was too risky with the helicopter hovering – she would draw too much attention to herself – so she was having to think on her feet. If she went right she would make it to the river, but this was not a part of the city she knew well and she feared running into a dead end, cutting her off from the water. Even if she did make it to the river’s edge, was she really going to leap in? She wasn’t the world’s greatest swimmer and it would ruin her gun, so instead she fled north towards Itchen Bridge.

  This would leave her pretty exposed, as cars were constantly crossing this busy thoroughfare, but if she acted calm she might get away with it. Her gun was just about concealed, shoved roughly down the back of her trousers, and though her top was torn and stained, she might get away with it as she looked pretty punkish anyway. The problem was her face. Her nose was swollen and she could feel the caked-on blood that clung to her cheeks. Anybody who encountered her now would probably stop to check that she was ok and that was the last thing she needed.

  The whirring of the rotary blades was deafening now and looking up Daisy was shocked to see that the helicopter was directly above her. She was only on Salt Marsh Road, still a few hundred feet from Itchen Bridge. Surely she would be discovered, and then what? She had seen these things before on the TV – joyriders and thieves lit up, tearing about like headless chickens, before eventually running into a trap set by the all-seeing eye above.

  The helicopter’s beam of light swept past, seeming to catch the back of her heels. She was determined to keep going, but was losing power, exhaustion slowly replacing the adrenaline. On the next sweep, they would see her for sure. And then that would be that.

  The helicopter was hovering now and, out of the corner of her eye, Daisy saw the wide circle of light moving steadily, remorselessly back towards her. She had seconds at most in which to react and she suddenly changed course, darting rig
ht towards the crash barriers at the side of the slip road that led to the bridge. Still the light moved towards her, getting closer, closer, closer. With one last lunge, she reached the railings and without hesitation vaulted over them.

  She felt the air rushing past her, then thump, she landed heavily on the tarmac below. Her ankle rolled over as she did so and she cried out in pain. But even before her scream had ended she was clawing her way across the road. She was almost captured by the light hovering above, but Daisy scrambled into the nice, dark space beneath the flyover. It was strewn with rubbish and stank of urine, but it was perfect for Daisy’s intentions. Curling up into a ball, she tried to keep as still and as quiet as possible, ignoring the burning sensation in her ankle. The next few seconds were unbearably tense, but then – unbelievably – the spotlight started to move away, cutting north once more. Leaving Daisy alone.

  She wasn’t out of the woods yet – the surrounding streets were probably crawling with dozens of officers looking for her. But for now at least she was safe.

  105

  18.49

  Suddenly everybody wanted a piece of her.

  Emilia Garanita had almost forgotten what it felt like to be in demand. She had been treading water for months, stuck in a jumped-up graduate’s job on a regional newspaper. She knew she had a tendency to be brittle, but throughout her difficult life she had always put on a bold, assertive front. Some of it was bluster, some of it real, but it had worked – generally people thought that she was a force to be reckoned with. But, of late, she had grown used to conceding a point, to backing down. Partly because she knew she had acted selfishly in the past – treating both her colleagues and her own family with disrespect as she chased her career ambitions – but partly, she realized, because her confidence had been knocked by the experience of being embraced then spat out by the national newspapers.

  However, now they wanted to talk to her again. She was not only the best eyewitness to today’s rampage, but she had also spent time as the killer’s hostage, helping her to engineer an elaborate escape from Meadow Hall School and get through the road block. That was a story worth telling, so she had ignored the numerous calls from Gardener and instead called a contact at Sky News. They were on their way to her house now. The interview would be brief, but it would pay well. She would make sure of that.

  While waiting for them to arrive, she had emailed brief details of her ordeal to her former contacts at The Times and the Telegraph. She wasn’t going to renege on her promise of exclusivity to the TV journalists, but she did want to have other outlets lined up to exploit the minute the interview had aired. Her contacts at the broadsheets had emailed her back immediately, but she had deliberately ignored them, just as she was ignoring her mobile, which buzzed incessantly on the kitchen table. The longer she left them, the more hungry – and generous – they would become.

  ‘You going to answer that thing?’

  Her younger sister, Claudia, passed by, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

  ‘Not yet, honey.’

  Emilia had already decided to do something nice for the family out of all this. Claudia had had to step into the breach when Emilia hightailed it to London and she knew some resentment still lingered. Emilia was determined to make it up to her – to all of them – and was already dreaming of a holiday they could all take together. Florida perhaps? Los Angeles? They had seldom been anywhere as a family and it was high time they spoiled themselves.

  Claudia placed a beer on the table and sat down next to her, laying a supportive hand on hers. Emilia was grateful for it, but she didn’t need it. She had been badly shaken earlier but now could see only the positives that would come from the day’s unusual events. Good times ahead, a place back at the table and an enjoyable night spent watching her phone buzzing unanswered on the kitchen table.

  106

  18.52

  ‘Are you ok, Helen?’

  It was a stupid thing to ask, but Charlie couldn’t think of anything else to say. She had immediately diverted to Ocean Village after hearing Helen’s SOS and found her superior standing alone in the middle of the road, as the paramedics attended to Joanne. It seemed awful but once they had pronounced her dead, the forensics team would move in, garnering evidence from the crime scene. Only after another hour had passed would Joanne’s body finally be removed from view.

  Two paramedics were crammed into the pool car, feeling for a pulse on the cold, pale body. Charlie couldn’t bear to look and had turned away, after briefly checking that it definitely was Joanne in there. But Helen couldn’t take her eyes off the scene playing out in front of her, staring at the paramedics’ forlorn efforts to raise the dead. Charlie could imagine what was going through Helen’s mind. Her recent issues with her DS of course, but also more distant memories, such as Joanne trying to stop Helen from entering a burning house to save Ruby Sprackling. There were countless other examples of both women looking out for each other, one of them covering her the other’s back against dangers both professional and criminal, but now, when it mattered most, Joanne had been alone. Unprotected and undefended, gunned down by a callous killer.

  She had died in service, trying to stop the fleeing fugitive in her tracks. That was something. Something for her parents, friends and colleagues to cling on to in their grief.

  ‘This is my fault.’

  Charlie looked up, startled by Helen’s interjection.

  ‘It’s Daisy Anderson’s fault, nobody else’s,’ Charlie responded quickly.

  ‘I was too hard on her. I was angry with her and I pushed her too hard,’ Helen continued, seeming not to hear what Charlie had said.

  ‘No, this is absolutely not your fault, Helen. Daisy was attempting to murder someone and you asked for units to respond. That was the right call and Joanne was trying to do her job, she was cutting off her escape route –’

  ‘She hadn’t even got a gun. She was no threat to –’

  ‘Do you really think Daisy Anderson cares about that? She just wanted to get away. And in her own fucked-up world, she’s allowed to do whatever it takes. She is allowed to gun down an innocent person in cold blood …’

  Charlie’s voice wavered now, but she pressed on:

  ‘And it is her responsibility, her fault. Nobody made her pull the trigger, that was her deci—’

  ‘But why was Joanne here? That’s what I’m saying –’

  ‘Because you told all units to atten—’

  ‘She was here because she was trying to impress me. I’d frozen her out and she wanted to get back in my good books.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Charlie countered, despite the fact that there was more than a grain of truth in what Helen was saying.

  ‘An armed unit has to take point, Joanne knew that. But she didn’t wait for them, she wanted to be the one to bring Daisy in –’

  ‘Don’t make this into something it’s not, Helen. She was acting instinctively. She saw the suspect escaping and she intervened –’

  ‘You’re being kind, Charlie, but you don’t need to dress things up. I know how I treated her, I know how she felt, I know what she was trying to do. I drove her to the brink and then I gave her a way back, a shot in the arm, and this is the result …’

  Helen’s eyes were still fixed on the car, but Charlie refused to follow suit, turning her attention to the other side of the street. As she did so, she spotted several other MIT officers watching their exchange. They were all too scared to approach their superior, especially when she was so obviously in distress. Charlie was glad that she’d come here to provide support, however difficult this conversation might be.

  ‘She had this on her …’

  Helen’s tone was quieter now, but more hollow. She took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Charlie.

  ‘I saw it in her coat pocket when I was comforting her in the car.’

  Charlie took the sheet of paper, which she realized was spattered with blood. Unnerved, she hesitated, then quickly unfold
ed it. She took in the contents. It was a transfer request, written and signed by Joanne. Charlie digested this, stunned, then turned back to Helen. She wasn’t sure what to say, so Helen said it for her:

  ‘This is my fault.’

  107

  19.18

  Daisy stared at herself in the cracked mirror. She had cleaned the blood off her face, watching it colour the water spinning down the plughole, and looked a little bit more human now. Her nose was still swollen and slightly wonky and the bruising around it was starting to spread, but she wouldn’t turn heads any more.

  She had bought herself some time. They were still out looking for her, but they hadn’t got a bead on her yet. She had remained under the flyover for as long as she dared, hoping against hope that the sound of sirens would die down, that the search parties would disperse. It had seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than ten minutes or so. Eventually she had heard footsteps approaching from the river. She still had no idea if it was a copper, a tramp or a junkie coming to shoot up in peace – she had just fled, sneaking out of the gloom and limping along the road, sticking to the shadows as best she could.

  She had heard activity on the road above and fully expected armed police officers to leap out at her, but on and on she went. Ocean Village had its swanky areas – the high-rise blocks looking out to sea – but she was passing underneath these. Through the flood drains, the back alleys and the derelict plots still waiting to be developed. Slowly she had put a bit of distance between herself and Bray Road and then, as she started to cut back up towards St Mary’s, she’d seen it. The Red Lion was a grim, old man’s pub that she’d once tried to sell some stolen mobiles in. They’d given her short shrift then, but they could do her a favour now.