Nothing.
She shook the pen again, this time licking the end with her tongue. The bitter taste of ink cheered her and she began to write. But after three letters – ‘My n’ – the ink ran out and no amount of coaxing could yield any more. It had run dry.
Ruby lay amidst the letters, despondent, furious and utterly bereft. She made no attempt to conceal the letters – what was the point? They were all she had now. Her only connection to a world beyond her captor. She would leave them where they were, fanned out around her on the floor. She would spend the rest of her days in the company of three dead girls.
100
The woman entered the dirty bathroom. She locked the door, then began to undress. Soon she was naked. Standing in front of the cracked cabinet mirror, she regarded herself. Leaning in, she turned this way and that as if searching for imperfections. Then tiring of this self-examination, she climbed into the bath. Pulling the clear plastic shower curtain round, she turned on the shower. A begrudgingly small jet of water squeezed out of the showerhead, running over her face, neck and body.
Helen stopped the tape. The young woman on the tape was Ruby. And the whole scene had been watched from on high, from a God-like vantage point.
‘Are there cameras in all the smoke detectors? Or just in the bathrooms and bedrooms?’ Helen asked him, her voice neutral despite her contempt.
Andrew Simpson, flanked by his lawyer, said nothing.
‘We have a full list here of your properties. If you want us to go round and check we will. I’m sure your tenants would be very interested to learn that you’re spying on th—’
‘Just the bedrooms and bathrooms.’
‘How many properties?’
Another pause, then:
‘Twenty.’
Helen shook her head. She wanted Simpson to know what she thought of him, hoped she might rile him. But he just stared at her with those dead eyes. Sanderson had always questioned why ninety per cent of Simpson’s tenants were female. Now it all made sense.
‘How long has this been going on? And before you think of lying to me,’ Helen continued quickly, ‘I have a team of officers at your lock-up on Valmont Road. So be under no illusions – we know the extent of your “activities”.’
Simpson stared at his hands – Helen was intrigued to see they were covered in small cuts – then looked up.
‘Over ten years now.’
‘How many tapes do you have?’
‘Hundreds.’
‘Why do you do it, Andrew?’
Simpson paused and looked at his brief, who gave him a gentle nod.
‘Because I like to look at them,’ he said quietly.
‘How do you feel when you watch these tapes?’
‘How do you think?’
‘Do you masturbate when you watch them?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Why does it arouse you? Is it their bodies? The fact they don’t know you’re watching? Or is it the power you have over them?’
Simpson held her gaze for a second.
‘No comment.’
‘Oh you’re going to have to do a bit better than that, Andrew,’ Sanderson said, taking up the baton. ‘I’ve seen the inside of your lock-up. I know what obsession looks like. Why do you do it?’
‘My client has declined to comment, so I suggest we move on,’ his lawyer interjected. He was a man of nearly sixty, overweight and overbearing – a telling testimony to Simpson’s casual misogyny. He liked to look at women but clearly would never have one as his lawyer. Sanderson looked at her notes and changed tack.
‘When we first questioned you about Ruby Sprackling, why did you direct us towards Nathan Price?’
‘I answered your questions. You asked me about him, I told you the truth. He had the keys to Ruby’s flat –’
‘You didn’t have an extra set cut? Just in case you needed to pop in and check the fire sensors were working?’
‘No,’ Simpson replied, refusing to rise to her sarcasm.
‘We won’t find any extra sets at your house, in your possessions?’
‘No, I’ve told you.’
Sanderson sat back and looked at him, disbelief writ large on her face.
‘Where were you on Friday night?’
‘I was at home.’
‘Do you live alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you were alone all night?’
‘Correct.’
‘Did you take your car out at any point?’
‘No.’
‘Do you own any other vehicles?’
‘No.’
But he looked twitchy when he said it. Helen looked at Sanderson, who wrote a brief note in her notebook.
‘We’ve also found footage of Roisin Murphy, Pippa Briers and Isobel Lansley in your collection. The three dead women from Carsholt beach. Ever been there?’
‘Don’t like beaches,’ Simpson shot back.
‘We’ll see. The sand there has a very specific mineral content. If we find any samples in your house or car, we’ll be able to tell where it’s from. How many hours of tape do you have of Ruby?’
Simpson looked surprised by Helen’s sudden change of tack.
‘You can be honest with me, Andrew.’
Simpson’s face twitched slightly at the sound of his name. Perhaps he didn’t like women calling him by his first name? Or perhaps he didn’t like his name? Was there something deeper going on here? Helen made a mental note to get to the bottom of this.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is it a lot? A little? Somewhere in between?’
‘A lot.’
‘Did you like her more than the others?’
Andrew looked away.
‘You know she has a mother and father, a sister and a brother, who are missing her, right? People who love her.’
Helen let the words hang in the air.
‘I know you coveted her, Andrew. I know you took her. But I’m asking you now to let her go. Show that you’re a bigger man than people say. Show that you can be merciful.’
Simpson looked at Helen, as if trying to read her. Helen hated to be supplicatory to a man like Simpson, but if he liked his women subservient then so be it.
‘I have no idea where she is. I don’t know anything about these girls.’
‘Oh, I’d say you do,’ Helen replied. ‘I’d say you know an awful lot about them. What they look like naked, what they look like when they use the toilet. What they look like when they make love, when they masturbate. You know all these things, Andrew. And more.’
Simpson stared at his hands once more, to avoid Helen’s fierce gaze. Was that a flicker of shame she saw?
‘And guess what? Pretty soon the whole world is going to know too. When they put you in the witness box, they won’t let up, Andrew. They’ll ask you about the home movies, about the underwear and jewellery you stole, about what you did when you thought about these girls. Imagine for a second what that will be like. The judge, the jurors, the press, the public gallery all looking at you, as they force you to talk about what you liked to do –’
‘Inspector, please don’t bully my client,’ said the lawyer, attempting to intervene.
‘But I can help you, Andrew,’ Helen continued, unabashed. ‘I can save you all that scrutiny. All that humiliation.’
Still Andrew Simpson didn’t look up.
‘But I need you to help me. I need you to tell me where I can find Ruby. If she’s still alive, then there is a deal to be done here. Set her free, accept a guilty plea and those details will never leave this room. They will be our secret.’
Finally, Simpson looked up at Helen. She was unnerved to see defiance in his eyes.
‘I don’t know where she is.’
‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘You’ve got nothing on me,’ he spat back sharply.
‘These women were all your tenants. You stalked them, spied on them – you knew everything about them. Their routines, their habits,
their vulnerabilities. They went missing from your properties – no struggle, no break-ins – because you had the keys. You took them, kept them and when you tired of them, you killed them.’
‘You know nothing.’
‘I know that you’re a dirty little pervert. Your mum’s still alive, isn’t she, Andrew? How do you think she’ll feel when all this comes out?’
‘Fuck you.’
‘I don’t have time for this. Neither does Ruby. So I’m going to ask you again – where is she?’
‘I’ve said all I’m going to say to you. And if you threaten me again you stupid bitch –’
‘WHERE IS SHE?’
Helen was halfway across the table, her hand grabbing Simpson by the collar. But Sanderson was on her feet quickly, hauling Helen off Simpson, who had instinctively raised his fist to retaliate.
‘I think we’ll leave it there for now,’ Sanderson said quickly, heading Simpson’s irate lawyer off at the pass. ‘In the meantime, I’d advise your client to think very carefully about cooperating.’
Sanderson flicked off the tape, but paused as she followed Helen out the door.
‘It’s the only play he’s got left.’
101
Tim was waiting for her when Ceri Harwood got home. He had been trying to contact her all day – in the end she’d had to turn her mobile off. She knew at the time that she was just postponing the moment when she had to face him again.
It had been a long day. The confrontation with Helen Grace had left Ceri feeling dispirited and, more than that, concerned. She had fantasized about that moment for months – ever since she’d started this whole thing – and it had proved a big let-down. There was too much defiance, too much certainty in Helen’s voice that she would survive this latest attack. The fact that Anti-Corruption had found no trace of the missing file since then only made matters worse.
‘I’ve been calling you.’
‘I know,’ Ceri replied without enthusiasm, dropping her bag on the floor and sinking into the sofa. She knew they had to have this conversation, but she couldn’t face it. She was dog-tired – all she could think about was crawling into bed and shutting out the world.
‘We need to talk.’
Was there a more unpleasant phrase in the English language?
‘So talk,’ Ceri said, staring at the ceiling.
‘I’m so sorry, Ceri. That you had to see that. That you should find out that way. I … I should have said something to you before. I meant to, but we never seem to be in the same place at the same time.’
‘So this is my fault?’
‘Of course not. Of course not, darling.’
‘Don’t you dare.’
The look Ceri shot him was so severe that Tim held up his hands in surrender, acknowledging his mistake.
‘What I’m trying to say is I should have told you. But it’s a function of our lives that we don’t spend as much time together as we used to.’
There was more than an element of truth in this, but Ceri was damned if she was going to admit it.
‘I’m not blaming anyone,’ he continued. ‘My business needs me and your job is incredibly demanding.’
‘Why did you bring her here?’ Ceri demanded, tired of his self-justification.
‘Because I’m stupid. Because I didn’t think.’
‘Why her?’
A long pause. Ceri watched her husband closely as he searched for the right words. This was the only question she really wanted an answer to.
‘Because I like her. And because she wants to spend time with me.’
‘And the fact she’s young and pretty has nothing to do with it.’
‘No, it’s not that. I know you won’t believe me. But I didn’t chase her. She approached me.’
‘How nice.’
‘Please, Ceri. I’m trying to explain. I didn’t want to hurt you. I haven’t been unfaithful before. To be honest, I never thought I would be. Didn’t want to be one of those men.’
‘How disappointed you must be.’
‘But she wanted to spend time with me. And that was very appealing.’
‘And I don’t?’
‘Do you?’
Ceri was so shocked by the response that initially she wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Of course, I do. You’re my husband.’
‘I haven’t been that for a long time.’
‘Clearly.’
‘I wasn’t talking about me, Ceri.’
Ceri stared at him. Now he looked unrepentant, which unnerved her more.
‘We’ve hardly seen each other the last couple of years. We’ve been living together but … we’re ships that pass in the night. We do stuff with the kids at weekends, but when do we actually see each other?’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed I had one of the biggest cases of my career last year.’
‘I know that. Ella Matthews was a big deal. But that was ten months ago. And I don’t see you any more now than I did then.’
‘Come on, Tim, you know what happened after the shooting. The public inquiry, the IPCC hearing –’
‘That all finished a long time ago. Ella Matthews isn’t the problem. It’s this place.’
‘This house?’
‘Southampton. Ever since we moved here, things haven’t been right.’
‘I thought you liked it down here. We’re close to your parents, the kids love it, you like the sailing –’
‘Ok, you’ve not been right.’
Ceri stared at him. She wanted to refute his assertion, to shout and scream at his stupid, knowing face. But there was a grain of truth in what he was saying. Her eyes flicked to her bag in the hall, then back to Tim once more.
‘I brought someone else into this marriage. And I take full responsibility for that and the pain it’s caused you. But you’ve done it too.’
‘I’ve done no such th—’
‘You think the rest of the world is obsessed with Helen Grace. You’re always complaining about that. But it’s you who’s obsessed, Ceri. It’s you who has driven us apart. And unless you face up to that, then we haven’t got a chance.’
102
‘I’ve let you down.’
Helen stood in Daniel Briers’ hotel room.
‘I’m sure you did what you thought was best,’ Daniel replied.
Helen looked up, trying to see if he was angry with her, but his tone was hard to read. She wanted him to say that he forgave her, to brush away her feelings of inadequacy and shame. But he remained silent.
‘We’ll question Simpson again in the morning – see if a night in prison has any effect on him. He’s staring down the barrel of a long trial, so if he’s got any sense he’ll play ball …’
But did Helen believe it? Simpson had seemed so defiant, so determined not to acknowledge any culpability. Would he hold out and try to beat the rap? Or was there something else going on here? Was this the defiance of innocence? It seemed unlikely – he fitted the profile in so many ways – and yet this nagging thought lingered, unnerving Helen.
Daniel remained silent, so Helen continued:
‘Anyway, I’m sorry for making the situation worse for you. If I’d stayed calm, perhaps I could have got him to cooperate. There’s no excuse for it. Sometimes I … I just see red. I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA.’
Helen wasn’t sure how much she should share, how much Daniel already knew about her, but she felt compelled to explain her debacle in the interview suite.
‘Sometimes when I’m in there, sitting across the table from a guy like Simpson, it’s like I’m twelve years old again. I feel the helplessness, the despair, that someone like Ruby is experiencing and … I see myself and Marianne. In that flat. I remember the things my father did, the things he wanted to do, the things Marianne had to do to protect me. I see these men, I think of her and … I break inside.’
Helen didn’t look up, didn’t want to see Daniel’s reaction. She just wanted to tell him who she was, once and for all.
‘Part of me wants to destroy them. I know that sounds terrible, but it’s true. Their arrogance, their violence, makes me feel sick. I should be able to contain myself, but those feelings are always there. There’s a hatred inside me. I don’t want it, but I can’t get rid of it. Does that make sense to you?’
Finally she looked up. What was she hoping for? Understanding? Censure? Anger? She would have settled for any or all of these, but to Helen’s surprise Daniel was looking out of the window. Helen was shocked by his blank expression – he looked bored.
A long silence, then Daniel turned to her, finally taking in the fact that she had finished talking.
‘Sorry, you don’t need to hear all this,’ Helen said, anger jostling with her deep feelings of embarrassment. She had never confessed her innermost feelings like this before.
‘No, I’d like to hear more about you,’ Daniel replied quickly, but Helen could see the lie.
‘I shouldn’t have come here …’
‘Helen, wait –’
But Helen was already at the door. Turning the handle, she muttered:
‘I’m sorry, Daniel.’
And with that, she was gone.
103
Helen walked away from the hotel as fast as she could. What a fool. What a stupid, naïve, desperate fool. What kind of copper was she? To latch on to the vulnerability and grief of a bereaved father and somehow hope to find something for herself there? She had wanted to feed off it. No, that wasn’t right. She had hoped to find comfort in it, a sense of peace, a place to belong.
What must he think of her now? She had badly misjudged the situation, imposing her own neediness on a man who had neither feeling nor thought for her. He was bored by her weakness and who could blame him for that? He had enough to deal with it as it was.
The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3 Page 19
