Little Boy Blue: DI Helen Grace 5 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (24 page)

‘Now tell me, what happened to your colleague? DC McAndrew, was it? I rather liked her.’

Sanderson smiled tightly, as Maurice Finnan presented her with a cup of tea and ushered her towards the living room.

‘On operational duties, I’m afraid.’

‘And now they’ve sent a sergeant along. I
am
going up in the world.’

It was said lightly, but Sanderson sensed the question behind Maurice’s joke. Clearly he was sharp as a tack beneath his cultivated eccentricity.

‘Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. Just some follow-up work.’

Maurice sipped his tea and said nothing.

‘You very helpfully provided us with a list of vehicle registrations that you’ve seen near Jake Elder’s flat.’

‘I did.’

‘Would you mind if we went through a few of them with you now … ?’

Maurice was only too happy to help, so Sanderson crossed the room and sat down next to him. Maurice pulled his reading glasses from his top pocket and cast an eye over the list of registrations.

‘This one, DE59 VFB. A blue Transit. Can you remember the driver at all?’

Maurice thought for a second, then replied:

‘No, I’m afraid I can’t. Normally I’ve got a pretty good memory for these things, but …’

‘What about this one? BD05 TRD – a Corsa.’

‘Little fellow. Raincoat, with one of the little rucksack things for computers –’

‘Laptop bag.’

‘That’s it.’

‘And VF08 BHU. An Astra estate –’

‘Big guy, unshaven, a labourer or something like that.’

‘Very good and what about this one – LB52 WTC?’

‘Well, that was an unusual one – a motorbike.’

‘Right. And the driver?’

‘A woman. That’s what made her stand out. I didn’t think they were into that kind of thing.’

‘Could you describe her for me?’

Sanderson took down the particulars, barely believing what she was hearing. She hadn’t wanted to believe Emilia at first, telling her to take a running jump. But as the journalist had laid out the evidence in front of her, troubling questions had been raised in her mind. Garanita had photographic evidence going back several years that suggested Helen had used Jake Elder’s services and it appeared she knew Max Paine too. Why had she withheld this from her team? What did she have to hide? Sanderson’s head had been spinning by the
end of their conversation and she had hurried here, hoping against hope that Maurice would contradict Emilia’s story, but he hadn’t. Quite the opposite. He had in fact just given her a perfect description of Helen Grace.

She’d called in sick, but actually had never felt better – her lie was simply designed to let her work at home in peace. In the past, when she was still learning the ropes, she’d come a cropper by being too open about her stories. Leads had been ‘borrowed’, witnesses snaffled, and suddenly her exclusives had become yesterday’s news. There was no way Emilia was making the same mistake again. Not with the story that was going to define her career.

It was clear from her chat with Sanderson that no suspicion had yet alighted on Helen Grace. The loyal DS was disbelieving at first, but over the course of their chat she could see a step change in her perception of her boss, but also in her view of Emilia. She sensed that Sanderson was dissatisfied professionally and she’d played on that – highlighting the opportunities Grace’s exposure might throw up, while also appealing to her sense of duty. One bad apple can make the whole force look bad, she’d said, somehow managing to keep a straight face as she did so.

Sanderson had bitten on it and run off to do her bidding, leaving Emilia free to write her copy. She had already drafted the leader page – a masterpiece of pithy exposé – and had the building blocks in place for
pages two and three. What she needed now was some context.

People thought they knew Helen Grace, but she’d had such a rich and difficult life that it was a story that was always worth retelling. It was Emilia’s profile piece at the centre of the paper that would be the true heart of this story – after all, nobody had better access to or a deeper history with Grace than she did.

In the interests of fairness, Emilia had listed Grace’s many triumphs – the unmasking of Ella Matthews, her heroics in rescuing Ruby Sprackling, not to mention her apprehension of a pair of serial arsonists. Set against this was Grace’s propensity for violence – the fatal shooting of her own sister most notably – and her dark obsession with sado-masochism.

Like Emilia, Helen Grace was a woman with two faces. Looked at from one side, she was Southampton’s finest serving police officer. Looked at from another, she was a deeply troubled woman who seemed to curse everything and everyone she touched. Some, like her loyal comrade Charlie Brooks, survived the ordeal, but others were not so lucky. Mark Fuller had killed himself while in captivity, her nephew, Robert Stonehill, had had to flee after Helen exposed him, and at least three serving police officers – two of them at Detective Superintendent level – had had to resign after crossing swords with her. Disaster, death and violence seemed to stalk Helen wherever she went.

Her whole life seemed to have been a prelude to the events of the last few days. Jake Elder had been obsessed
with her – he had stalked her and been assaulted as a result. Max Paine had also pushed his luck with her and, by the looks of the photo his widow had given Emilia, had been viciously attacked. Emilia had asked around and discovered Paine had a predilection for unwanted advances. Emilia could see the scene clearly – Paine trying it on and receiving a nasty beating for his pains. In their differing ways – one emotionally, one sexually – they had both tried to force themselves upon Helen Grace and paid a heavy price for their boldness.

How had this all come about? Had their paths crossed together by chance or was it by design? Had they threatened to expose Helen, as Emilia had previously, unless she played ball? Or had Helen’s anger been simmering for years, just awaiting a spark to ignite it?

Emilia had historic photos of Grace visiting Elder, plus a positive ID and testimony from David Simons confirming that they had a troubled relationship. She also had robust evidence from Dinah Carter and a decent ID – how many well-known female officers with a penchant for sado-masochism were there? Emilia had most of the answers now, but still this final piece of the puzzle eluded her.

Why had Helen Grace finally crossed the line? What had finally pushed her into becoming a murderer?

He didn’t have to wait long. The front door opened slowly and moments later she emerged, hurrying off down the street in the direction she’d come from. From his elevated position, she seemed so small, so vulnerable, that for a moment he almost felt sorry for her. But it was only a fleeting emotion – the rage that had sustained him for so long devouring this brief spasm of pity.

What was she thinking now? She had been at the scene for a short time, but had reaped a bitter harvest. By contrast, he had enjoyed himself enormously. This murder had been the most meaningful. And the most satisfying. Angelique had begged for mercy once she realized what was happening – as much as you can beg when you’ve got a plastic ball clamped into your mouth. But he had barely heard her as he went about his business – it was so much noise in the background. She was just an offering – an offering to lay at the feet of Helen Grace.

Helen had almost reached the end of the road now. Had she left her bike out of sight to avoid drawing attention to herself? If so, she was wasting her time. This was about her – this had always been about her.

Suddenly she slipped from view, disappearing around the corner and away from him. But their meeting was not far away now.

You can run, Helen. But you can’t hide.

The Incident Room was deserted. Sanderson had left it until late to return to base, hoping that the rest of the team would have called it a day, given that there were no breaking leads. As she teased the handle of the main door, she was pleased to find it locked – she didn’t want to have to explain her presence here. Letting herself in quickly, she secured the door behind her. She couldn’t risk being disturbed, given what she was about to do.

Picking her way through the desks, she made her way to Helen’s office. Her boss always operated an open-door policy and never bothered locking her office. Helen liked to be one of the foot soldiers and was at pains not to erect false barriers between her and the team. This was useful now, as Sanderson walked into her office unimpeded, but it made her betrayal all the worse. Whatever she thought of Helen now, she had always been an inspirational figure in Sanderson’s life.

Crossing to the desk, she opened one drawer, then another. But it was as she opened the bottom drawer that she found what she was after. Helen had long straight hair and always kept a hairbrush in her office, in case she suddenly found herself facing top brass or, worse, the press. Slipping on latex gloves, Sanderson picked up the brush and carefully extracted three hairs
from the bristles. Dropping the hairs into a small evidence bag, she sealed her haul and placing the brush back in the drawer, pushed it firmly to.

Twenty minutes later, she was buzzing herself into the Police Scientific Services building. It was a short hop up to the lab on the third floor, where she found Meredith Walker waiting for her.

‘This had better be good,’ Meredith said on seeing her. ‘I’m missing
First Dates
to be here.’

‘New lead in the Elder case. DNA source. We need it done –’

‘Asap, I know.’

The forensics officer turned to begin her work.

‘Oh and Meredith …’

She turned to look at Sanderson once more, intrigued by her serious tone.

‘It’s for my eyes only.’

They ate in silence. Jane was well tuned to his moods and could tell when Jonathan had had a bad day at work. Her default tactic in those situations was not to probe or hassle him; instead she would hand him a glass of cold white wine and get on with the business of cooking their dinner.

She had cooked one of his favourites – linguini alle vongole – but he could barely taste it tonight. He was on auto-pilot, twirling the pasta slowly round his fork then lifting it to his mouth, barely conscious of what he was eating. He didn’t care a jot for the consequences of his actions today – he felt confident he could ride out any formal complaint Helen might make. It was the betrayal that burnt. He had wanted her like he hadn’t wanted any woman for years and she had pushed him away. Why had she toyed with him if she wasn’t interested?

Gardam finished eating and pushed his bowl away. Looking up, he caught Jane staring at him. She’d obviously been concerned when he returned home with two deep scratches on his cheek, but seemed to accept his story of a jogging accident. Now, though, Gardam wondered if she was having her doubts. The scratches were long, straight and clean. Would you expect that type of injury from a low-hanging branch? The question was
whether she would respond to these doubts, asking him outright. He wanted her to ask. He would tell her that he hadn’t slept with another woman, but he wanted to. He would tell Jane that he found her predictable, bourgeois and anodyne – both in the bedroom and out. He would tell her that their marriage was comfortable and routine, characterized by his career ambition and her appetite for a nice, middle-class lifestyle, but that when you boiled things down, when you got down to primal needs and desires, she meant little to him. Helen was the woman who occupied his thoughts now. Despite her savage rejection, she remained there still – in his brain, in his gut, but worst of all in his heart.

It was nearly midnight and the air was biting cold. Helen walked briskly through the trees, working her way to the deepest part of the wood. She had come this route many times during her runs and knew it like the back of her hand. She was following a path that few knew of, which gave her some comfort, some respite from the paranoia now gripping her. Here at least she would be safe.

Angelique had been left for her to discover. This was a new phase in a game that was clearly directed at her. All three victims were known to Helen – she had used their services and allowed them to see a part of her that no one else did. Was jealousy driving someone to destroy these people? Or something else? And what did the text message sent by Angelique’s killer summoning Helen imply? That she was being set up? Or just that she was meant to know? Perhaps the killer had just lost patience with the real target and had decided to bring her into the game.

Time would tell, but if Helen wanted to survive, she would belatedly have to get smart. Pulling her private mobile phone from her jacket, she flipped open the back and removed the SIM card. She looked around for any signs that she was being watched, but seeing nothing, removed her lighter from her jeans and ignited the flame.
It was an oddly beautiful sight – the plastic melting slowly as the metal chip of the SIM card blackened and distorted. Holding it in her gloved hand until it was destroyed, Helen dropped it to the ground, into a small hole she’d dug with the heel of her boot. Kicking earth over the hole, she then moved away quickly, clutching the phone in her hand.

On the edge of the woods, she hesitated. A couple were wandering home across the Common, arm in arm. Helen waited until they had disappeared, before venturing on to open ground. She had always felt at home here, but now she felt exposed and vulnerable. Upping her pace, she soon found herself sprinting, keen to get this over with.

Within minutes, she was by the cemetery lake. Checking the coast was clear, Helen pulled the body of her phone from her pocket and threw it as hard as she could, watching it arc through the sky before landing in the water with a splash. The noise echoed briefly then died away.

Helen had already turned on her heel and was marching towards the southern exit. She had to regroup now, which meant heading back to her flat. She would have to search every inch of it and secure every lock before she would feel safe, but she would do whatever was necessary. It was her home after all – her only safe space now – and she was damned if she was going to be driven from it.