The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3 (29 page)

Helen nodded, suddenly feeling huge sympathy for the spiky Gemma. Her bitterness was the result of her daughter closing the door on her. Had she too hoped for a reconciliation, a greater closeness later in life?

‘She was security-conscious?’ Helen offered gently.

‘Of course. She didn’t go to great extremes – didn’t have the cash – but she had a very strong lock, a spyhole
in case anyone rang the doorbell. And she’d always tell deliverymen to leave things on the doorstep. She hated the idea of coming into contact with strangers.’

‘And yet she must have come into contact with them every day on her way to and from college?’

‘She did, but it was on her terms. She always took the same route at the same times of day, she knew the faces along her route extremely well – not that she’d ever talk to them of course.’

Helen tensed, sensing a breakthrough.

‘Do you remember her route?’

‘Of course. We walked it several times with her when we were over. We stayed in a hotel – obviously.’

‘That’s very helpful and if you can I’m going to ask you to sit down with one of my officers and go over that route. It could be of crucial importance to know where she went and what time of day she went there.’

Gemma nodded without enthusiasm.

‘You think that whoever did this … saw her on her route to and from …’ Alastair petered out, unable to finish this unpleasant thought.

‘If she had few friends and was security-conscious, then yes, it might be that he followed her home.’

Alastair closed his eyes – not wanting to go there – but Gemma looked straight at Helen. She wanted – she needed – the details.

‘Did he hurt her? Was there … a fight?’

‘We don’t think so. When we interviewed the tenants,
nobody remembered hearing anything like that. There was no sign of a break-in, no sign of a struggle –’

‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ Alastair butted in. ‘She wouldn’t let anyone in. They must have forced their way in.’

‘Unless they had a key.’

Gemma’s thought hung in the air. Helen had come to the same conclusion already, but hadn’t wanted to say it out loud.

‘Would she have given a key to anyone? A trusted friend? A figure of authority?’ Helen asked.

‘Absolutely not. Not even if she’d been threatened with eviction or expulsion from college – she would never compromise her security in that way,’ Alastair shot back. ‘I really think you’re barking up the wrong –’

‘She had her lock changed,’ Gemma said suddenly.

‘When?’ Helen asked, without hesitation.

‘About … about six months before you say she …’

‘Went missing. Why did she change the locks?’

‘Somebody wrecked the old one. Squirted superglue into it. We thought it was kids at the time, but now …’

It was all starting to make sense.

‘So she got her locks changed?’

‘Yes. I remember it was quite a to-do. She asked her college tutor to come round as she didn’t want to be alone with the locksmith. He obviously thought she was mad but obliged anyway.’

‘Do you remember who changed the lock?’

‘No, but the receipt might be in her effects. She was quite particular like that.’

‘Do you know how many keys were provided?’

‘Two I think. She kept one on her key ring and wore one round her neck as a back-up.’

‘Would she have slept with the key round her neck?’

‘No, she wasn’t that mad. Why?’

‘It might be important, but let’s focus on the keys. So you believe there were two and neither was out of her possession.’

‘No, that’s not quite true,’ Alastair offered. Helen swung her gaze towards him.

‘She had some more cut. I know that because she sent one to us. She gave the other one to her landlord, I believe. Much against her better judgement, but those were the rules.’

‘And do you know where she got the extra keys cut?’

There was a long pause as both parents racked their brains for a half-forgotten memory, the tiny events of yesteryear, before eventually Alastair looked up and wearily said:

‘I’m afraid we’ve no idea.’

119

Andrew Simpson looked up sharply as Helen burst into the room. He and Sanderson had been locked in one of the remoter interview suites for hours already – Helen could tell by the musky scent of his BO that filled the room – and his files were spread out like a blossoming fungus across the table.

Helen leaned on the table and, dispensing with formalities, got straight to the point.

‘Isobel Lansley had her locks changed.’

Simpson stared at her, still startled by her sudden arrival, then slowly he nodded.

‘Her lock was glued up I think. So she had it changed. What of it?’

His defences were already up, sensing another attack.

‘How do you remember that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You didn’t give a shit about your tenants’ lives or the hovels they lived in. Why would you remember such a small detail?’

‘Because it’s in the records, the financial records, I mean. Every time something like that happens, I charge a … small fee. For the administrative hassle.’

‘I bet you do,’ Helen thought to herself, but swallowed the insinuation.

‘This is really important, Andrew. Did any of the other girls – Ruby, Roisin or Pippa – have their locks changed at any point?’

Andrew thought for a long time.

‘Roisin definitely did. Was told to by her boyfriend of the time, I believe. And we could check the records of the other two …’

Helen was pleased to see that Sanderson was already leafing through Pippa Briers’ tenancy file. Her finger ran down the columns at breakneck speed.

‘There. A £25 administration fee. Would that be it?’ she said, turning to Simpson.

He looked at it.

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘Dated one month before she went missing.’

‘Because of Nathan Price,’ Helen said, as the pieces slowly started to fit together. ‘She was scared of her ex, so she changed the locks to keep him out.’

‘And look here.’

Sanderson was now holding Ruby’s tenancy file.

‘An administrative charge of £25. Six weeks ago. Just over a month before she went missing.’

‘No great surprise,’ Simpson piped up. ‘That girl was incredibly scatty. She probably lost them or had them pinched. Never knew if she was coming or going.’

‘He kept an extra key.’

Helen shivered as she said it out loud.

‘Say they all got them cut at the same place, somewhere central, somewhere they all knew. What’s to stop him cutting an extra one for himself, while doing theirs?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘And when they came back to collect the keys, all he’d have to do is shut up shop and follow them home.’

‘He’s a textbook stalker,’ Sanderson said, picking up Helen’s thread. ‘He would then know where they live and could watch them at his leisure. He could find out what their family situation is, if they have partners, flat-mates, what their daily routine is –’

‘But what separates this guy from ordinary stalkers is that he has a key,’ Helen interjected. ‘He could enter their flats whenever he wanted. He could even do dummy runs while they were out, to make sure the abduction was perfect.’

‘No sign of a struggle, no forced entry.’

‘No need,’ Helen replied, the awful simplicity of it hitting home. ‘
Because he was already in their flats when they came home
. He was waiting for them, hiding in a wardrobe, loft, spare room. He was waiting for them to come back and go to sleep.’

Helen could scarcely believe it, but it made perfect sense.

‘They thought they were back safe at home. But in fact they had just walked right into his trap.’

120

He kept a good distance behind, so as not to alert her to his presence. He had eventually found his tongue and responded to her concern for his cut finger, before taking the job from her – a simple boot re-heel – promising to have it ready first thing tomorrow as recompense for her kindness and sympathy.

After she’d gone, he’d remained at his work station for a silent count of twenty, then switched off the shop lights, flipped the ‘Closed’ sign and hurried out, locking the door behind him. Experience had taught him not to dawdle during this process – you risked losing your quarry among the crowds of shoppers, if you were too cautious. You just needed enough time for her to clear the immediate vicinity of the shop.

He scanned left and right, before spotting her a hundred yards away, idly window shopping. Her crisp navy suit and smartly tied-back hair made her quite distinctive among the loafers and driftwood that usually populated this place. Tired of daydreaming, she moved off again. And he went with her, as always at a discreet distance.

She meandered slowly homewards. She had finished work for the day – she really did look smart and
professional – but clearly had no one to rush home to. She stopped to look in various shop windows, to buy a copy of the
Big Issue
, but she looked like she was killing time. As if she were waiting for something to happen. Or someone to come along.

They passed through Bedford Place, then through Portswood to the cheap flats that lay near the university. Though she was well turned out, she clearly wasn’t well-off, living among the detritus of the city. This was in character too, he thought to himself, suppressing a smile. You grow older, but you don’t really change.

He stopped abruptly. He had momentarily lost himself to memory and inadvertently had walked too close to her. She had stopped at a door – not ten yards from him. If she turned round now, she’d see him. So he upped his pace, thankfully clearing her without exciting her interest. Crossing the road, he chanced a backward look – just in time to see her enter a sorry-looking flat.

Hugging the corner of the street, he found a decent vantage point behind a hedge. He watched with interest as the lights came on up on the first floor. He didn’t know whether to stay or go. The working day was coming to an end and workers would be filling the streets soon – he couldn’t risk being spotted or, worse, reported. But, as always, she made the decision for him, appearing now in the first-floor window.

There was no way he was leaving now. He had the perfect vantage point – to watch her, to admire her, to
drink in every detail of her life. She made no attempt to draw the curtains, she just looked down on to the street below. Looking for hope. Looking for love.

Looking for him.

121

‘Why did you lie to me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I asked you to your face if Roisin had ever had her locks changed and you denied that she had. But that wasn’t true, was it, Bryan?’

Roisin’s awkward ex-boyfriend attempted to usher Helen towards a quieter part of the garage, but she stood her ground.

‘Why did you lie?’

Bryan shot a look at his fellow mechanics, who stared with undisguised curiosity at the strikingly attractive woman who was now hauling their apprentice over the coals. Was that something resembling respect in their eyes?

‘Because of Jamie,’ he eventually murmured.

‘Who’s Jamie?’

‘Roisin’s ex. Before me, I mean. He used to live with her. Still had his key. I … I found out he’d been coming round, letting himself in, you know …’

He didn’t need to elaborate. Roisin needed affection and clearly wasn’t picky where she got it from.

‘So you made her change the locks.’

‘I couldn’t stop her seeing him, if that’s what she wanted. But I wasn’t having him thinking he could come and go as he pleased, letting himself in at any time of day or night.’

‘You do know lying to the police is a serious matter.’

‘I know all right … I didn’t want to, but I wasn’t going to say nothing with
her
sitting right next to me.’

He meant Roisin’s mum – his former mother-in-law. Did he clam up to avoid making himself look foolish or to avoid telling Sinead Murphy that her daughter was faithless and generous with her favours? Helen hoped it was the latter.

‘Who changed the locks?’

‘A mate of mine – Stuart Briggs at LockRite.’

‘I’ll need his contact details.’

‘Sure, but he’s got nothing to do with this.’

‘We’ll see. Did you get any more cut?’

‘Sure. We only got two with the lock and her mum needed one, so –’

‘Where? Where did you have them cut?’

Helen failed to conceal the urgency of her request.

‘Roisin did it. But still stung me for the cash.’

‘Where, Bryan?’

‘She showed me the receipt, but it only had the cost on it – five quid or so. It was just a bit of till roll.’

Helen stared at Bryan, knowing she would get no more from him. Whoever their killer was, he was meticulous, precise and ultra-cautious. A pro. But this only
made Helen more determined to catch him. And as each small piece of the jigsaw fitted together, she felt she was getting closer to the moment when they would finally be face to face. At times like this Helen had no thoughts for her own safety – she would die doing this job, she knew that – and she longed for that encounter. Things were building to a climax now – Helen felt sure of that – and she was determined to be in at the death.

122

‘I don’t expect your forgiveness and I don’t deserve it. I could try to explain myself, my reasons, but I won’t embarrass myself. What I did was wrong, pure and simple, so I’ll get my things, write my resignation letter and be out of your hair.’

Lloyd Fortune hadn’t once looked up as he said this, the words tumbling out in a sudden rush. He clearly wanted this to be over as quickly as possible.

Even though he and Helen were closeted away in her office, Lloyd could tell the team outside had half an eye on proceedings and he wanted to be away from their curiosity and censure.

‘I would like to know why, Lloyd,’ Helen replied slowly. ‘Because I think you’re a good copper and basically a decent guy, so I would like to know why.’

Lloyd hung his head – he had been afraid she might take this line.

‘But we don’t have time for that now. I’ve had officers resign on me before because of personal indiscretions, officers who I miss now, so I’m going to ask you not to write that letter.’