Ruby closed her eyes, hoping that it would be over quicker if she didn’t focus on it. The worst was over – she had consented to be decorated – now there was nothing to be done but see it through.
‘You can look now.’
When she opened her eyes, she found he was holding up a small mirror for her to admire his handiwork. For a brief second, she stared straight into his eyes, defiant, refusing to look in the mirror. But his intense gaze was too strong and, defeated, she dropped her eyes to the mirror. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but the result still surprised her.
Her pale skin looked sore, a wide red circle of irritation adorned her shoulder. And in the centre of the circle, innocent and strangely at odds with its unhappy surroundings, was a small bluebird.
27
DC Sanderson sat across the desk in Helen’s office, files spread out in front of her. The door was firmly shut, the blinds down – this was not a conversation for public consumption. In some ways Helen’s desire for privacy was pointless – several officers in the team knew that Nathan Price was a person of interest in the Ruby Sprackling case and had no doubt made the connection themselves, but Helen didn’t want anyone speculating about a possible link between the two investigations until they were sure there was a connection. The lowered blinds and closed door made this point eloquently.
‘I need exact times,’ Helen said, as Sanderson skimmed Ruby Sprackling’s phone records.
‘Ruby sent her first goodbye tweet yesterday at around one p.m.,’ Sanderson replied.
‘Where was it sent from?’
‘Still trying to pin the exact location down, but it’s somewhere on the eastern fringes of the New Forest.’
Helen kept her expression neutral, despite the fear rising inside her.
‘And the second?’
‘Sent this morning at around ten a.m., Southampton city centre.’
There it was. An exact match to the times and locations when Pippa Briers had texted and tweeted her latest offerings. The relative briefness of the messages and the generalized, anodyne contact were concerning, as was the fact that both phone signals were on only briefly before vanishing again, presumably having been switched off. It looked very much like a third party was keeping the girls’ digital presence alive. The killer obviously didn’t know that Pippa’s body had been found and identified. Helen was glad that this discovery had been kept away from the press, as it now gave the lie to these fake tweets and texts.
‘I want this link kept quiet for now,’ Helen continued, after she’d filled Sanderson in on her thinking. ‘But Nathan Price is now our number one suspect in both cases and I want him found. Give his photo to uniform, get people back to his house, circulate his van registration details to traffic – and get Stevens down to Pippa Briers’ flat in Merry Oak. There may still be tenants in the building who remember Pippa and Nathan. We need as much info as we can, as fast as we can.’
Sanderson nodded and hurried off to do Helen’s bidding. Helen watched her go, her emotions churning. They were making progress and Helen could already see Sanderson’s orders energizing the team – the latest developments could herald the safe return of Ruby Sprackling if they moved with speed and purpose. On the other hand, their latest breakthrough had confirmed Helen’s very worst fears. They were dealing with a serial offender. A skilled and experienced predator. Helen had caught two serial killers already in her short career. But would her luck hold a third time?
28
‘The body was found on Saturday morning and has since been identified as being that of Pippa Briers from Reading, a woman in her mid-twenties. The family have been informed.’
Detective Superintendent Ceri Harwood’s delivery was crisp and authoritative. Sitting next to her, Helen privately conceded that Harwood was made for this sort of thing – the massed ranks of the press spread out in front of her like an adoring audience – and she always came across as calm and in control. Helen by contrast often found it hard to suppress her impatience in these situations. She knew the press was a valuable tool for an investigation, but she hated the inactivity of sitting here answering questions, when she could be out chasing leads.
‘How did she die?’ Emilia Garanita asked.
As ever, the Crime Correspondent of the Southampton Evening News got the first question in. She had an uncanny ability to talk over her colleagues in the press. Her question was aimed directly at Helen, but before she could answer, Harwood jumped in.
‘The post-mortem examination is ongoing. We will release more information as and when we have it.’
‘Is the beach safe? Should the public be worried?’ Emilia replied with hesitation. Helen could see her searching for the story, the sensation. But once again Harwood played a straight bat.
‘The beach is perfectly safe. I must stress that the body appears to have been buried several years ago – this is not a recent incident. The beach has been reopened and the public should feel free to use it as usual.’
‘Any leads, Inspector?’ asked Tony Purvis from the Portsmouth Herald, nipping in just ahead of Emilia.
‘We’re pursuing several lines of enquiry,’ Helen replied, ‘and we would ask anyone who knew Pippa Briers socially, or who worked with her at the Sun First travel agency, to contact the incident room. Any details – no matter how small – about her life in Southampton could be extremely helpful. She had several piercings and a tattoo, an image of which is in your briefing notes, which we believe was done during her time in Southampton. If anyone recognizes it or knows where it was done, we would ask them to get in touch.’
‘Any suspects? Anyone you’d like to talk to?’ Tony continued.
‘Not at this time,’ Helen said firmly. ‘But obviously we’ll let you know if that changes.’
Helen had debated long and hard about whether to release Nathan Price’s name to the press. But Harwood had urged caution and for once Helen had agreed with her. Naming him might drive him further underground, which was the last thing they wanted.
The briefing wound up shortly afterwards. As Helen was leaving, she felt a familiar tap on the shoulder. She turned to find Emilia Garanita facing her. They were old foes, but Emilia had nevertheless gone out of her way to be publicly supportive of Helen recently. During the investigation into the Ella Matthews murders, Emilia had seriously overstepped the mark, illegally tracking Helen’s movements during the hunt for the killer – and she was still eating humble pie because of it.
‘Any further titbits for the News? We’d love to help in any way we can.’
Helen smiled inside. Emilia clearly found it quite a struggle to be friendly – full-frontal assault was her default setting.
‘Nothing yet, Emilia. But I’ve got your number.’
Emilia watched her go. She had had precious little from Helen since they called a truce a year ago and the pain of being nice was beginning to tell on her. She was working her ass off to get some new purchase on Helen, but it was abundantly clear that she was still frozen out. Irritated, she gathered up her things and followed the rest of the assembled journalists towards the exit. She’d hoped this case might be a way back in – a chance to get her career back on track – but already it was looking like another horrible dead end.
29
She was going to break his neck this time. She was going to march right in there and break his stupid neck. What a mug she’d been. Sticking up for him, lying for him, when all the time he’d been lying to her. About where he was, what he was doing, who he was with …
Angela Price’s fury was at fever pitch, yet still she hesitated. A girlfriend had tipped her off that she’d seen Nathan in Southampton city centre, when he’d specifically told Angela he would be working the week in Bournemouth. He’d probably been up to no good – boozing, chasing girls, being the faithless little shit he always was. Why did she put up with it?
She’d been round his usual haunts – the builders’ cafes, pool halls, drinking dens – and eventually found him
in the Diamond Sports Bar. There he was – not thirty feet away – watching the rolling TV news intently, totally oblivious to her presence. Her hand was on the bar door, she could walk in there right now and call him out. Embarrass him in front of his mates, call him every name under the sun, let the world know what he was really like …
‘Out the way, love.’
A thirsty punter barged past her, irritated by her hovering presence at the doorway. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going in there. She looked like death – lank hair, no make-up, bags under her eyes – and would only embarrass herself. It was all blokes in there and they’d only laugh at her pathetic display. She would be the one who’d end up looking ridiculous, not him.
Tears pricked her eyes as she walked away. Why was she such a massive waste of space? She would never be anything but a doormat, something for Nathan to pick up and toss aside whenever he wanted …
She slowed as a thought occurred to her. There was one way she could get her own back on the faithless bastard, one thing she could do to scupper him once and for all.
Summoning her courage, she pulled out her battered Nokia and after a moment’s hesitation dialled 999.
30
‘Get your hands off me, girl.’ It was said with a smile, but the aggression beneath was clear. ‘I know you want to get in my trousers, but I’m a married man, so get your fucking mitts off me.’
Sanderson didn’t dignify Nathan Price’s outburst with a reply. He’d been effing and blinding since she’d picked him up and, besides, she wouldn’t put it past him to do a runner. One hand on his cuffs, one hand on his collar – that was the best way to keep hold of him. If she was honest, this was one of the small perks of the job, cutting violent, unpleasant men down to size. She bustled him roughly through the doors, only releasing him when they reached the custody sergeant.
‘Got a nice one for you, Harry,’ Sanderson said, depositing Price at the front desk. The formalities were soon done and they were buzzed through to the custody area. As they neared the interrogation suite, DS Lloyd Fortune approached.
‘All right, fella, what did they get you for?’ Nathan asked with mock sympathy.
Ignoring Price’s racist jibe, Lloyd turned to Sanderson.
‘I’ll take this charmer off your hands.’
For a moment, Sanderson said nothing. Price was her suspect and more importantly her collar.
‘It’s all right, I’ve got it.’
Sanderson should have backed down immediately of course, but something – pride? anger? – stopped her.
‘DI Grace suggested that she and I lead on this one.’
Was this true? Was she being elbowed aside? Whatever the truth of the matter, she couldn’t argue the point with Nathan Price hanging on their every word, visibly enjoying the tension between the two officers.
‘Lovers’ tiff?’ he offered helpfully. ‘Like a bit of black, do you?’
‘Watch your mouth,’ Lloyd barked back, hauling the grinning suspect away towards the custody suite.
Sanderson watched them go. There was prejudice here all right but it wasn’t just coming from Price. Sanderson was the more experienced, better-qualified officer, with far more investigation hours and convictions under her belt, yet Lloyd Fortune had still been promoted over and above her. He’d only been at Southampton a little over a year – to her four – and already he’d shot past her. She knew the reason why – though of course she could never say it in public. It was political correctness pure and simple and it made her blood boil. Lloyd was keen to justify his promotion, to get a high-profile conviction under his belt, and Sanderson would suffer as a result. She understood this, she might even have done the same if she were in his shoes. But was Helen complicit too? She didn’t go in for that kind of thing normally, but had the landscape changed?
Walking back to her desk, Sanderson felt the ground subtly shifting under her feet and she didn’t like it one little bit.
31
‘Tell me about your relationship with Pippa Briers.’
Helen sat opposite Nathan Price, flanked by Lloyd Fortune. Now facing a Detective Inspector, Price had lost a little of his cockiness, the seriousness of the situation finally impressing itself upon him. Helen was keen to press home the advantage.
‘What do you want to know?’
Answering a question with a question. Price had never been charged with anything but Helen didn’t doubt he’d been in a custody suite before.
‘How long were you seeing her for?’
‘Nine, ten months.’
‘Did you live together?’
‘On and off. I had a wife at home, so you know …’
He was unrepentant, enjoying his status as a low-rent seducer.
‘And how did you get on?’
‘Good. She liked a drink, a dance. She was all right.’
‘Did you argue?’
‘Sometimes. When she went on about things.’
‘Like the fact that you had a wife and hadn’t told her about it.’
Nathan shrugged – he wasn’t going to deny it.
‘Am I right in thinking Pippa ended the relationship, when she found out you were two-timing her.’
‘Three-timing her, actually. I don’t know what it is about the girls round here.’
‘And how did you react when she dumped you?’
Helen clocked the tiny reaction from Price, a little spike of anger at the word ‘dumped’, which he quickly suppressed.
‘What are you going to do?’ he replied casually, but Helen wasn’t buying it.
‘You went nuts, didn’t you?’
‘No. I di—’
‘You didn’t like being dumped and you blew your stack. I have a witness statement here from one of Pippa’s colleagues at Sun First. Says you barged in there, caused a massive scene.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Apparently you had to be hauled out by security. We also have a statement from a long-term tenant at Bedford Heights in Merry Oak who confirms that you turned up drunk several times, banging on Pippa’s door, demanding to be let in.’
‘She’d changed the lock and I didn’t have a key. It was no big deal.’
‘Why had she changed the lock, Nathan?’
For once, Nathan didn’t have a ready reply.
‘Because she was scared of you? She told colleagues she was scared of you. Said you were stalking her.’
‘No way.’
‘You didn’t want to let her go, did you, Nathan? I think you liked her. Where did you take her?’
A long silence, as Nathan stared back at Helen. Then he dropped his gaze.
‘I want a lawyer.’
‘A duty brief is on the way. She should be here in a few minutes. But I’d like to keep going with these general questions, unless you’d specifically like me to stop for some reason.’
Another long pause, then a dismissive shrug.
‘Tell us about Ruby Sprackling,’ Lloyd said, taking up the baton.
‘Don’t know her.’
‘Pretty girl. Similar look to Pippa. You’re fixing a leak in her flat.’
‘Oh yeah, I got you.’
‘Still got keys to her flat, have you?’
‘I did until you took them off me.’
‘And where is Ruby now, Nathan?’
Another long beat, then:
‘No idea.’
‘When did you last see her?’ Helen countered quickly.
‘A couple of days ago. She was heading out to the shops or something –’
‘She disappeared on Friday night, hasn’t been seen since. Did you see her Friday night, Nathan?’
‘No, I was off to a job in Bournemouth.’
‘So you weren’t at Revolution then? On Friday night?’ Helen fired back.
Finally, a flicker of fear in Nathan’s expression. Helen slid a photo across the table towards him.
‘This is a CCTV still of you queuing up to enter Revolution, a club off Bedford Square. Look at the d
ate and time code. Friday night. Ruby was there that night.’
‘Piss off.’
‘We see you going in, but we don’t see you coming out. A place like that must have emergency exits, somewhere you can slip out. Is that what you did? Before you followed Ruby home.’
‘I never saw her.’
‘Your van was parked in Ruby’s road. Traffic cameras pick you up entering the road just after six p.m. Same camera sees your van driving away at four a.m. But the club shut at two a.m. What were you doing in the intervening two hours, Nathan?’
‘I want a lawyer.’ His tone was angry now.
‘Why won’t you talk to me, Nathan? What have you done?’
Nathan stared at the floor, saying nothing.
‘This is your one chance to come clean. Any denials or lies will play very badly in court,’ Helen continued. ‘We can’t do anything for Pippa now, but if you give up Ruby, then maybe I can help you. So please, Nathan, tell me where she is.’
A long pause. Helen shot a look at Lloyd, then back at Nathan. Slowly the suspect raised his head. All the attitude was gone now, he looked like a cornered animal.
But when he spoke, he simply said:
‘No comment.’
32
The sharp pain had subsided, to be replaced by a dull ache. Ruby lay on the bed, cradling her defiled shoulder, wishing the whole thing would just go away. After he had finished tattooing her, he had seemed quite emotional. Tears hugged the corners of his eyes as he leant forwards and kissed her gently on the head. He left soon after, as if not trusting his composure to hold.
The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3 Page 6
