Helen said nothing, but maintained eye contact, refusing to hang her head, to be browbeaten by this man.
‘You’ve shown extraordinary recklessness and lack of judgement in the way you conducted both your personal and professional life, deceiving senior members of staff, fracturing team morale and compromising investigations in the process—’
‘With all due respect, sir, we’d still be at square one, if it wasn’t for me—’
‘ENOUGH.’
Peters bellowed the word, silencing Helen instantly. Glaring at her, he continued:
‘This station’s reputation is already in tatters. Now we have to deal with the fact that one of our custody officers betrayed us, attempting to murder a suspect in our care. It’s a disaster, an unmitigated shit show that threatens the prospects of everyone at Southampton Central. So, let me be very plain, DI Grace. We cannot afford any more mistakes, any more misfires and the last thing – the very last thing – this station needs right now is a renegade SIO who has no respect for protocol or procedure. From now on, everything is to be done by the book and to the letter of the law, or, trust me, it’ll be your last act under my command. Be under no illusions, Helen …’ his eyes bored into hers, his anger piercing – ‘this is your final warning.’
Chapter 125
Helen slammed through the doors of the incident room, her emotions in riot. Her unpleasant confrontation with Hudson had been followed first by news of Parks’s tragic suicide, then by a humiliating dressing down. Helen was enraged at the poor timing and unfairness of Peters’ accusations, yet still felt shaken by the encounter. For the first time, it genuinely felt as if her career at Southampton Central was in jeopardy.
Ignoring the enquiring glances from her team, Helen marched towards the murder board, desperately trying to recover her focus. Alan Peters had her card marked now, was perhaps looking for an excuse to get rid of her. There was little she could do about that, she was hardly going to morph into a conventional police officer overnight, but one thing that might buy her some time, some breathing space, would be the arrest and prosecution of Alex Blythe. All her energies, all her fury, needed to be directed at him now.
Coming to a halt, Helen took in the photo of Anthony Parks, now pinned alongside the others on the busy display. Only a few days earlier Helen had stared at the same collage of faces and incidents, baffled by the apparently random upsurge of brutality and bloodshed. Now this tapestry of devastation looked very different – now the victims, the suspects, the various lines of enquiry were all joined up, a hideous but elegant diagram which led back to one man, whose photo graced the very centre of the board.
How she wanted to tear Blythe’s photo down, ripping it into a hundred pieces. Not since her shattering confrontation with Marianne all those years ago had she faced an adversary who was so clinical, so precise, so effective. He killed without qualm or conscience, feeding off the agony of those he forced to swallow their consciences. How he must have enjoyed his puppets’ torment, threatening them with exposure, then forcing them to commit a trio of increasingly criminal acts, in a twisted game of truth or dare. In so doing, he’d pulled them ever deeper into his web, desensitizing them each step of the way. They had come to him for help, for salvation, and he had made them murderers.
But even though her anger burned fiercely, she knew she had to control her emotions, to stay focused, galvanizing the team in their hunt for the fugitive. They had what they needed now – written testimony from Lilah Hill outlining his role in this awful cycle of violence. Once Robert Downing became aware of this, once they’d confronted him with the evidence the dive team had recovered from the River Itchen, perhaps he too would see sense, strengthening the growing body of evidence against the psychiatrist. This was not the end of the road; they still had no idea who Blythe’s other clients were, how far this thing went back, but at least they had answers.
Of course, what they really needed was the man himself. There had been no sightings of him in the last few hours and according to Border Force, he hadn’t attempted to leave the country. He was out there somewhere – but where? Did he have a support network? A friend or lover who’d put him up? Surely not, once the alert went out for his capture. What about a former client, then, someone he could blackmail into shielding him? If this was the case, then there was no telling how long he could stay hidden, his hold over his vulnerable patients seemingly absolute.
Troubled by this thought, Helen moved away, hurrying back to her office. She was due to brief the team in twenty minutes and needed to be confident and specific in her instructions. The key thing now was to be decisive, to not waste time on the obvious options, as Blythe would never allow himself to be trapped so easily. She would have to think outside the box if she wanted to catch this deadly killer.
Shutting the door, she rounded her desk, pulling a map of the South Coast in front of her. As she did so, her phone started buzzing, but she ignored it, scanning the shoreline for known smuggling sites, off-grid landing areas from which Blythe could attempt to make it to the continent. God knows this was an area that was hard to police, but the frequency of patrols had been raised recently in response to an influx of illegal migrants. Would Blythe risk such a crossing, entrusting his life to the whims of the sea? Somehow she doubted it; this was a man who liked to be constantly, supremely, in control.
Her phone rang out; Helen was glad of the respite. But then it started up again. Irritated, she snatched it up, demanding to know who it was. To her surprise, the caller didn’t respond at first, so she repeated her question. But somehow even as she asked it, she knew what the answer would be.
‘Hello, Helen. It’s Alex Blythe.’
Chapter 126
‘I’m afraid I must be brief, as I have somewhere I need to be …’
Blythe could hear the rustle of movement on the other end, could imagine Helen gesturing frantically to her colleagues, urging them to trace the call.
‘I just wanted to say goodbye. And thank you. It’s been fun.’
‘You need to come in, Alex. You can’t run from this.’
She sounded breathless, insistent, but he was bound to disappoint her.
‘That’s exactly what I intend to do. But I wanted to leave you a little gift first. And to offer some sage words of advice.’
‘This isn’t the time for playing games,’ she cut in. ‘You need to face up to this thing. You need to tell me where you are and what you’re—’
‘That’s easy enough, Helen. I’m in your flat.’
A shocked silence on the other end, her reaction every bit as enjoyable as he’d been hoping.
‘I must say, I do like what you’ve done with the place, especially the bedroom. Such lovely colours, such character …’
He ran his eye over the austere room, whose bare walls and neutral colouring spoke of an absence of love, of emotion, of security. A blank canvas for an inscrutable woman.
‘Stay right there,’ Helen urged down the line. ‘If it’s me you want to talk to—’
‘I’d love to, but I’m done here. Like I said, I’ve left you a gift, a small token of my affection.’
His eyes came to rest on the bed. Bella’s supine body lay in the middle of the duvet, the spaniel’s neck lolling at an odd angle. Strange how easy it had been, her big, stupid eyes staring up at him, even as he ended her life.
‘You’ll find it waiting for you when you arrive with the cavalry.’
‘Alex, I meant what I said—’
‘Let’s not waste words, Helen. I haven’t got long. I simply wanted to say this. I respect you, I really do …’
As he spoke, he made his way out of the bedroom, crossing the living room towards the door. The patrol cars would be being scrambled even now – it was time to leave.
‘… but there’s no question that you have ruined my plans. I had such big ideas, such elaborate dreams, but you’ve put paid to them. And whilst I applaud you for that, I can’t forgive the inconvenience you’ve caused me
, will cause me for months, even years to come. There must be payback, so consider this a warning.’
‘Don’t threaten me, you piece of shit—’
‘Bluster all you want, Helen, but I’m the one who has the power here, not you. I have dozens of clients, scores of them, in fact, all of whom will be living in fear right now, terrified that I will be apprehended, that their grubby little secrets will be revealed. Well, here’s the thing. I don’t plan to be captured, but I do intend to make full use of the leverage I possess …’
He lingered on the word ‘leverage’, enjoying its slipperiness, its power.
‘I will choose a suitable candidate. I will threaten them with ruin. And then I will offer them a way out. All they have to do to free themselves is to kill a police officer. A very well-known police officer. Do you understand, Helen?’
‘Go to Hell.’
‘Oh, I may well do, but if I do, I’ll see you there. Because there won’t be any escape. I have a dozen willing victims in mind, people who’d stab you in the eye as soon as look at you.’
He paused to take one last look around the immaculate flat.
‘Be under no illusions, Helen, this is the beginning of the end.’
And with that, he rang off, exiting the hushed space, closing the door carefully behind him.
Chapter 127
She burst through the swing doors, sprinting down the steps towards the bike park. Her lungs were burning, but Helen didn’t relent, powering across the tarmac towards her Kawasaki. She knew it was probably futile, that Blythe had most likely already disappeared, but whilst he was so close by, she had to try.
Sirens wailed loudly in the background, as the squad cars fired up their engines. Helen was determined to be ahead of them, sliding to a halt by her bike and unhooking her helmet in one swift, fluid action. Swinging a leg over the saddle, she was about to turn the key in the ignition, when suddenly she ground to a halt. For a moment, she couldn’t quite process what she was seeing – the catastrophic timing of it – but she wasn’t imagining things. Her front tyre was flat.
Dismounting, she bent down to examine the damage. And now Helen’s mystification turned to rage – a long, thin cut in the rubber was clearly visible, presumably made within the last hour. Straightening up, she scanned the bike park, expecting to see Joseph Hudson skulking away. She was all set to fall upon him, to visit her frustration and fury on her former lover, but now she paused. There was no sign of Hudson and, besides, could she be sure it was him? Or was someone else set on stymying her progress? Someone who’d been sent to frustrate her, obstruct her, perhaps even kill her?
‘Need a lift, ma’am?’
Helen looked up to see a squad car approaching, blue lights flashing.
‘Hate you to miss out on the fun …’
The officer was staring at her flat tyre. Helen recognized him by sight and normally would have leapt at the chance – anything to get to her flat as quickly as possible. But now she hesitated. She didn’t know this guy’s name, nor that of the stony-faced officer in the passenger seat, who seemed intent on avoiding her gaze. And even if she had, would she have accepted their offer? Recent events had proved that it was impossible to truly know anyone.
‘I’ll make my own way,’ she replied quickly, hurrying away.
She could tell the officers were surprised, bemused, perhaps, as to why she seemed intent on making her way on foot, but she was not going to waste time explaining. Nor did she want to confess her fears to them, her sense that anyone she encountered from now on might potentially harbour malign intent. She had no idea how far Blythe’s influence stretched, but suddenly his reach seemed limitless, the danger ever-present.
Hitting the street, Helen cast a wary eye around, but there was no one nearby. She was quite alone. So, even as the patrol cars roared out of the station car park, Helen set off, first jogging, then sprinting away down the road. She was focused, determined, driven on by adrenaline and fear. Yet for all her intent, for all her relentless forward movement, she continued to scan her surroundings, her senses on high alert. She would not give up, she would not be broken by his threat, but as the full import of Blythe’s chilling ultimatum now made itself felt, one thing was painfully clear.
From now on, she would forever be looking over her shoulder.
Author Biography
M.J. Arlidge has worked in television for the last twenty years, specialising in high-end drama production, including prime-time crime serials Silent Witness, Torn, The Little House and, most recently, the hit ITV show Innocent. In 2015 his audiobook exclusive Six Degrees of Assassination was a number-one bestseller. His debut thriller, Eeny Meeny, was the UK’s bestselling crime debut of 2014 and has been followed by nine more DI Helen Grace thrillers – all Sunday Times bestsellers. Truth or Dare is the tenth novel featuring his much-loved lead detective, Helen Grace.
@mjarlidge
/MJArlidge
@m_j_arlidge
Also by M.J. Arlidge
DI HELEN GRACE
Eeny Meeny
Pop Goes the Weasel
The Doll’s House
Liar Liar
Little Boy Blue
No Way Back (an eBook novella)
Hide and Seek
Running Blind (an eBook novella)
Love Me Not
Down to the Woods
All Fall Down
OTHER NOVELS
A Gift For Dying
Credits
M.J. Arlidge and Orion Fiction would like to thank everyone at Orion who worked on the publication of Truth or Dare in the UK.
Editorial Emad Akhtar
Celia Killen
Copy editor Marian Reid
Proof reader Clare Wallis
Audio Paul Stark
Amber Bates
Contracts Anne Goddard
Paul Bulos
Jake Alderson
Design Debbie Holmes
Joanna Ridley
Nick May
Editorial Management Charlie Panayiotou Jane Hughes
Alice Davis
Finance Jasdip Nandra
Afeera Ahmed
Elizabeth Beaumont Sue Baker
Marketing Tom Noble
Publicity Leanne Oliver
Production Ruth Sharvell
Sales Jen Wilson
Esther Waters
Victoria Laws
Rachael Hum
Ellie Kyrke-Smith Frances Doyle
Georgina Cutler Operations Jo Jacobs
Sharon Willis
Lisa Pryde
Lucy Brem
AN ORION EBOOK
First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Orion Fiction,
an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd.,
Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK Company
Copyright © M.J. Arlidge 2021
The moral right of M.J. Arlidge to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without theprior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (eBook) 978 1 4091 8848 3
Typeset at The Spartan Press Ltd,
Lymington, Hants www.orionbooks.co.uk
e this book with friends
Truth or Dare: Pre-order the nail-biting new Helen Grace thriller now Page 34
