Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (35 page)

‘Where is he?’

Naomie looked from Helen to Sanderson, then back to Helen again. Was she looking for a soft touch – a place of sanctuary? She wouldn’t find one today. Helen had her on the back foot from the moment she revealed the real name of her lover and accomplice – she could see Naomie trying to work out how they had cottoned on to Ethan when she’d given them nothing – and Helen was determined to press home her advantage.

‘His name’s in the press now. We’ve put out an All Ports Warning. He’s got nowhere to run. He’s obviously not going to go back to his parents, so tell me where he might go.’

‘I don’t know,’ Naomie replied, shaking her head vigorously.

‘Yes, you do, and if you care for him, you’ll tell us now.’

‘Forget it.’

‘Do you have any idea what will happen to him, if we don’t get to him first?’ Sanderson interrupted. ‘The people out there are angry and scared. What if they spot him, confront him. What if others pile in? You’ve seen what happens to paedophiles on estates, you know what mob justice looks like? Do you want that for Ethan?’

It was an unpleasant line of questioning, but for the first time the recalcitrant Naomie looked like she was
considering offering them something, so Helen seized the opportunity.

‘I know you have feelings for Ethan. That’s why you called the fire service so quickly after you set light to his parents’ house, isn’t it?’

Naomie hesitated, then offered a brief, reluctant nod.

‘You love him and you wanted to save him.’

‘And I did the right thing. Neither of us thought it would spread that fast.’

‘So help us to help him. Only we can guarantee his safety now.’

Naomie was teetering now between her loyalty to Ethan and the force of Helen’s logic. Helen tried one last throw of the dice.

‘Despite everything, I know that you’re not a bad person. I know you have goodness in you. We found a half-built bonfire in the basement of his mother’s office block today. Ethan was about to put the lives of a hundred people in danger. Did you really sign up for that?’

Naomie shrugged, guilt playing across her features.

‘Of course you didn’t,’ Helen conceded. ‘But Ethan did. And we stopped him. And I’m very worried about what he’ll do now that we’ve stopped his little game. I know you’ve felt powerless and overlooked in your life, but it is now in your gift to help us. So I’m asking you to do the right thing. Help us bring your Ethan in safely.’

Naomie hung her head and sobbed quietly.

‘Think about it,’ Helen told her, determined to make one last push. ‘Think about what you’ve done. Karen Simms, Denise Roberts, Agnieszka Jarosik and little Alice Simms. She was just a little kid, Naomie. Six years old, her
whole life ahead of her. You stole that from her – you and no one else. And I think you owe it to her family and all the families you and Ethan have hurt to end this now. I can’t have any more deaths on my conscience and neither can you.’

There was a long pause, during which Naomie continued to stare at the floor. Helen looked at Sanderson – had she even heard what she’d said? – then Naomie suddenly spoke, muttering a single word that changed everything:

‘Ok.’

He brought the cup of coffee up to his lips, but his hand was shaking too much and he put it back down with a clank. The sudden noise made the café owner look up briefly from his work, before he returned his attention to the business of pushing fatty bits of bacon and sausage round a pan. The smell of the grease made Ethan want to vomit and he was very tempted to get up and go, but caution carried the day. This down-at-heel greasy spoon in Nicholstown was a good little hideaway. The only people who came here were dossers and Polish builders, both of whom had enough problems of their own to worry about him.

He cut a ridiculous figure in his dirty overalls, but it couldn’t be helped and came in useful now. The TV that hung from the café wall broadcast Sky News round the clock and Ethan was both alarmed and amused now to see his parents sitting behind a table at Southampton Central Police Station, flanked by DI Grace.

The volume was turned down low, so Ethan shuffled his chair a little closer, straining to hear. He refused to miss this little pantomime.

‘If you can hear this, Ethan, please get in touch. We love you, son, and we just want to know you’re safe and well.’

How much must this be costing them? The lies must
stick in their throat but that wasn’t the best bit. They must be cringing inside, being paraded to the world as the parents who bred a killer and never had a clue. Although they had always tried to deny it, he was their flesh and blood. And he would make them pay for that, as they had made him pay.

‘There is a number you can call free of charge …’

His father continued in his familiar stumbling way. Had he been drinking this morning? He wouldn’t put it past him. If he and Jacqueline were ever to acknowledge the extent of their problems, they would probably classify themselves as high-functioning alcoholics. What a misguided label that was. They were successful professionally but there was nothing high-functioning about them. They were cold, cruel and self-absorbed.

He had always strived to get their attention, and when he didn’t get it, he screamed louder. And when that didn’t work, he resorted to more desperate measures. Abuse, petty acts of violence and later some firestarting. These had always been chalked up as acts of characteristic clumsiness, as the truth was rather harder to swallow. They had tried to control him through medication and later through bitches like Agnieszka, who’d shout at him then lock him in his room when she became bored of his behaviour. Still, good things come to those who wait. They had all been repaid in fine style.

His mother, still stunned from her ‘brush with death’ had now taken centre stage and was in the midst of a lachrymose appeal. Who, he wondered, was she crying for? Herself? Her marriage? Her life? Or were they tears of regret for her son? That was the only emotion he had ever
inspired in her. Not love, not compassion, not even pity – just regret. For one drunken, unprotected screw that had cost them all dear.

Ethan’s eye drifted away from the screen to find the café owner staring at him once more, curious no doubt as to why his attention was fixed so raptly on the screen. The man dropped his eyes as soon as Ethan looked over, but it made Ethan think. There was one more thing to do – one last act. How long could he move undetected, now that the city was looking for him? How long before someone became suspicious? Or, worse, recognized him?

Things hung in the balance now. They were so close to the end and as Ethan turned his gaze once more to his pitiful parents, he vowed that he would not be beaten. If Naomie held her nerve, then all would be well. It was only a matter of time now, until the circle was complete.

‘How did you two meet?’

Now that Naomie was talking, Helen was determined to get chapter and verse.

‘I found him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was walking home and … I found him. He was lying face down in the street. I saw a couple of other people walk round him, like he was a drunk. But he didn’t look that way to me.’

‘He was having a fit?’

Naomie nodded.

‘He’d been out late, walking the streets. And he can feel these things when they come on – he gets a tingling in his hands and feet, his vision goes funny – but that doesn’t mean he can stop them. He’d fallen, hit his head. So I put his head in my lap and looked after him until an ambulance came. He felt he owed me, but I never felt like that.’

‘And you became friends?’

‘Didn’t have anyone else, did we? His parents liked to keep him inside, boss every second of his life, but he found his way out at night and we used to meet at the same time, same place – we used to joke that it was our ten o’clock shot. A kind of fuck you to my mum and his folks, who thought we were tucked up in bed. Not that they ever bothered to check.’

‘What did you get up to?’

‘Talked, smoked, walked a bit. We just liked being together.’

It was said so sweetly that in other circumstances Helen would have smiled. It was hard to believe that Naomie and her lover were multiple murderers, with four deaths on their conscience. Even now that didn’t seem to faze Naomie as much as it should. She seemed more concerned about her boyfriend.

‘Was it his idea? The fires?’

‘I’m not saying anything about that. You’ll have to ask him yourself.’

‘I’d very much like the opportunity, but I’m going to need specifics. Where did you go with him? Where would he go now when he needs time and space to think? Where does he go at night?’

Naomie looked at Helen. She could tell even now that Naomie was torn – she’d never thought she’d be in the position of having to betray her lover. So it was softly and with some regret when she finally said:

‘Itchen Bridge – there’s a spot under that where we used to go. Sometimes to Pear Tree Garden. Mayfield Park. The pitch and putt by Weston Hard. Chamberlayne leisure centre. Millers Pond. He’ll be at one of those tonight.’

The fight had gone out of Naomie now and for a brief moment Helen felt relief. She was sure she had been the junior player in their deadly enterprise.

‘Thank you, Naomie. You’ve done the right thing.’

‘Well, it’s all you’re going to get from me. I’ve done more than enough already,’ she said, rising suddenly. ‘I want to go back to my cell now.’

‘Sure.’

‘I want some hot food and another blanket, it’s bloody freezing in there.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Naomie was staring at Helen with real hostility now – it was amazing how quickly her mood could change. Was she angry with Helen for making her give up her boyfriend? Or did her attitude mask her fear of what might happen next? Either way, Helen was glad she had pushed her. They had the information they needed and, at long last, the end was in sight.

‘Let the others go, we need you here.’

Gardam said it gently, but firmly, leaving Helen no choice but to comply. Her first instinct as always had been to lead the search, but Gardam had argued that someone senior needed to stay at base to coordinate proceedings. The locations Naomie had listed covered a wide area of the city in Itchen, Woolston and Weston. They would throw all the resources they could at it and it was easy in these situations for the search to become diffuse and unfocused. They would need to do it square mile by square mile, guiding those on the ground from Southampton Central, ensuring no stone was left unturned.

Privately, Helen wondered why Gardam didn’t take point on this one – he seemed to be spending enough time in the incident room to do her job for her. He had a peculiar gift for becoming your shadow, monitoring your every move without ever actually intervening. Helen still couldn’t work him out. Perhaps he didn’t trust her instinct after all, despite all his words to the contrary? Perhaps he was just a voyeur, uncomfortable at being excluded from the heart of the action? Or perhaps he was just the wrong guy in the wrong job? Helen feared the last option the most. She had never needed or wanted a chaperone.

The hours flicked by – 6 p.m., 7 p.m., 8 p.m. The team on the ground had covered half of their allotted grid and
still there was no sign of Ethan Harris. With each passing minute, Helen’s fears grew. Had Naomie told them the truth? Was she really prepared to collude in the capture of the guy who was her ‘family’ now? How strong a stranglehold did he have on her?

Gardam was a calming influence, moving around the incident room with coffee and words of encouragement.

‘Do you think he’ll come quietly?’ he said to Helen, seizing a lull in operations to pick her brains.

‘That depends on how much he loves Naomie,’ Helen replied. ‘If he really cares for her, then he won’t leave her to face this alone. But if he’s been using her for his own ends, if he only truly believes in himself and his own destiny, then he could become violent. He might want to make one last stand – he’s got a lot of prison time ahead of him. But the guys on the team know how to handle it – they’ll allow him to think he’s surrendering on his terms.’

Even as she said it, Helen wished she was on the ground with them. She knew Sanderson and Charlie could handle it, but there was something in her that was never comfortable taking a back seat. That’s why she had never taken the promotions that had been regularly offered her. She was a front-line soldier, never the general on the hill. Even now she itched to get out there with the team, but she did her best to disguise it, answering Gardam’s probing questions patiently, before returning to direct operations.

Still nothing. Not a sniff of their fugitive. It was getting late now – 9 p.m. had come and gone – and in the darkness it would be easier for Harris to hide. Helen’s anxiety rose a notch further – where the hell was he? What was he planning?

Should they send the chopper up? Would that help to panic Harris and flush him out? It seemed a ham-fisted option and Helen wondered if Ethan could be rattled in that way. She was still pondering this when DC Lucas hurried up to her.

‘Possible sighting, ma’am,’ she said quickly.

‘From the team?’

‘No, from a member of the public. A young woman saw a man walking through Palmerston Park wearing overalls like those we mentioned in the press release. She went to challenge him, but he brushed her off and continued to walk towards the Esplanade.’

Helen’s mind reeled. That was completely the opposite side of town to where her team were now searching.

‘She lied to us,’ Helen said, as much to herself as to Lucas. ‘Naomie deliberately sent us in the wrong direction to aid his escape.’

‘Escape?’

‘If he’s heading towards the Esplanade, then there’s only one place he’s going,’ Helen replied. ‘He’s making for the train station.’

Helen was on the street in under a minute. Central Station was close to their base and Helen knew that she could cut off Harris’s escape if she was quick. Gardam was calling ahead to the British Transport Police, alerting them to his movements, but something in Helen told her that wasn’t enough. Harris had been a wily adversary, capable of hiding in plain sight, and she wasn’t prepared to leave anything to chance. Trains left regularly from Central Station and there would be many possible avenues of escape if he made it that far.

Sprinting up Southern Road, she paused momentarily before throwing herself across the six lanes of Mountbatten Way. Despite the late hour it was still very busy and the trucks and cars roared past, buffeting Helen with their tail winds. Horns blared and drivers shouted, but Helen kept on going. She was making good progress and was nearly at the other side now, but as she made her final lunge towards the pavement, Helen realized she’d misjudged the speed of an oncoming van. The driver saw her and slammed on his brakes, but it was too late. A horrible screeching sound filled the air as the van skidded towards her.

At the last minute, the driver wrenched the wheel round and the van lurched violently to the left. It clipped Helen hard, sending her flying towards the pavement, before toppling over itself and sliding along the road on
its side. Helen hit the concrete hard, bouncing beyond it and into the safety barrier at speed.

An odd moment of silence, of blank shock, then Helen was scrambling to her feet. Her head was swimming, a piercing noise filled her brain, but she struggled upright nevertheless. Her first instinct was to run to the van, but pausing, she turned to look at Central Station Bridge. If Harris was coming from Nicholstown, he would have to cross it to get to the station.

And there he was, turning on to the bridge and moving swiftly across it. He was only fifty feet from Helen now and she didn’t hesitate, limping into a run and heading fast away from the bemused motorists. Moving was pure agony – she had caught her knee badly and she could feel blood running down the side of her face – but she kept on going. Harris was making good progress, he was nearly halfway across, but as yet he hadn’t seen her. It was now or never.

Suddenly a gap opened up in the traffic and Helen ran across both lanes, vaulting the pedestrian fence on the other side. She landed with a bump and at that moment, Ethan Harris turned. He recognized her immediately and turned back to run across the remainder of the bridge, in the direction of the train station. But as he did so, two British Transport Police officers moved into view, cutting off his escape route.

Helen moved forward quickly, determined to capitalize on his confusion. Harris spun once more, his eyes scanning the other side of the road.

‘Don’t even think about it, Ethan,’ Helen warned as she continued her approach.

The sound of sirens was growing louder now. Perhaps they were attending the traffic accident or maybe they were coming their way – whichever it was, Helen was prepared to use them to her advantage.

‘You’re a few hundred yards from Southampton Central. We’ve got every officer on the Force heading this way right now, so do the smart thing.’

Harris looked straight at her and Helen was surprised to see that he appeared to be neither panicked nor particularly disappointed by the situation he found himself in. His mind was turning on something, Helen sensed, but what kind of calculation he was making she couldn’t say.

‘I was hoping it would be you,’ he said, casting another half-glance over his shoulder to check on the progress of the uniformed officers. ‘What did you say to me at the hospital: “We’ll get whoever did this to you.” ’

Helen didn’t give Harris the satisfaction of a reply.

‘But are you sure you’re ok, Helen? You look a little off.’

She must have made a pretty sight – blood clinging to the side of her face, her suit battered and torn, but she was determined not to be mocked.

‘All the better for seeing you,’ she countered, wiping the blood from her face with her sleeve. ‘But I’ll be even happier when we’re both in an interview suite.’

‘How did you know I’d be here?’ Harris asked, ignoring Helen’s suggestion.

‘Someone spotted you in Palmerston Park and, well, it’s the obvious place to head for if you need to get away but don’t own a car.’

Harris nodded but said nothing, casting another nervous glance over his shoulder. Helen took a step closer
to him, but as she did so Ethan seemed to sense her movement and shifted away. There were only thirty feet between him and the other officers now – time was running out for him, but still he made no move to surrender.

‘I hope you won’t think too badly of me, Helen. I don’t think you liked your folks either, did you?’

Helen said nothing, refusing to get drawn in.

‘Doesn’t leave you with much, does it? If your own flesh and blood despise you. Funny thing is, I used to want their love at first. When they went out – as they did every night – I used to sneak out too. I used to wander the streets looking for them, hoping they’d see me, hoping they’d
want
me – but it never happened. So after a while I gave up looking, but I continued to walk the streets anyway. I liked the anonymity that darkness gave me. Can you understand that, Helen?’

Helen nodded and took a small step forward. There was no question that Ethan was different – with his soft, Asiatic features, shortened arm and stooped posture – but that would have been fine, Helen thought, if he’d had people who loved him for who he was. His mother clearly hadn’t realized she was pregnant – with a baby she’d never wanted – when she’d been drinking herself under the table every night. But that didn’t excuse her horrendous treatment of her own son, a son she deemed both ill-formed and unwanted. Helen refused to have sympathy for Ethan, given what he’d done, but his pure, aching loneliness struck a chord with her and inwardly she raged at his parents for their casual cruelty and selfishness. They were the true architects of this carnage.

‘I know exactly what you mean. Darkness can be a friend.’

‘I thought you’d understand. But then again you’ve suffered – the whole world knows how you’ve suffered – so perhaps you do know how
I
feel.’

‘It doesn’t excuse what you’ve done, Ethan. You murdered four people.’

‘If you can call them that.’

‘They were human beings. With husbands, children, friends –’

‘They were evil – all of them. Haters who thought nothing of belittling and abusing others for their own entertainment.’

‘Luke Simms was “evil”?’

‘Well, I guess you had to be there to know what it felt like – the whole school joining in with his taunts. My only regret is that Luke Simms didn’t burn with the rest of his family.’

For a moment Helen was speechless. Under the bridge a train rattled through noisily, its metal wheels grinding unpleasantly against the rails. It was the perfect accompaniment to Helen’s rising anger and anxiety.

‘Agnieszka was no better. She beat me
and
abused me. Thought a poor, damaged kid like me wouldn’t fight back. Did Naomie tell you I was in the room when she set that bitch on fire?’

‘She told me that and a lot more besides,’ Helen lied.

‘I’m sure she did.’

‘She told me every little detail of your thoughts, your plans. But do you know what the most surprising thing she said was?’

‘I don’t like playing games –’

‘She told me she loved you.’

For once Ethan had no response. Was it Helen’s imagination or did he suddenly look a little less cocksure? The assisting police officers were very close to Ethan now, but he seemed to have forgotten about them, so focused was he on Helen.

‘Which means you’ve got something over me.’ She was keen to press home the advantage. ‘I’ve read your blog, Ethan. I know how you met, how you feel about her. You called her your “angel”.’

‘She is.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she has beauty. And goodness. And serenity. Because she’s the only person I ever met who didn’t dismiss me before I’d even opened my mouth.’

‘I get all that, but here’s the thing. Naomie’s just a stone’s throw away, Ethan. Sitting alone in a police cell. And right now she’s carrying the can for your crimes. I think you owe her a little more than that, don’t you?’

Ethan said nothing in response. Helen watched his face closely for signs of guilt, signs of surrender, as she carried on:

‘She’s lonely, she’s scared, she needs you. So if you value her as much as you say you do, then let’s end this now. You can make the difference, Ethan. Tell the world it was your idea, that you duped her, that you controlled her. You can still be the hero in this story – you can still
save
her. But you have to come with me. And we have to do this now.’

Underneath the bridge, the passing trains provided a
tense, rumbling accompaniment to their confrontation. Helen stared at Ethan for what seemed like an eternity, willing him to respond, then finally he nodded. Helen felt the tension seep from her body and she took a step forward, pulling the cuffs from her belt.

‘Did Naomie tell you how we met?’ he said suddenly.

Helen nodded, taking another small step forward.

‘Did she tell you
where
we met?’

‘No,’ Helen answered, unnerved by the tone of his voice.

‘Here,’ he said, gesturing to the bridge. ‘And we’ve met here pretty much every night since.’

And now Helen realized that Ethan
hadn’t
been heading for the train station after all. He’d been heading for this bridge.

‘Ethan, you have to come with me –’

Helen was moving forward quickly, all pretence at caution now gone, but Ethan seemed unconcerned by her approach.

‘Our special place. Our ten o’clock shot.’

Helen could hear the train getting closer and knew exactly what Harris was intending to do. He darted towards the safety barrier and Helen went with him, determined to cut him off before he could jump. With one fluid movement, he swivelled up on to the wall, but just as he flipped himself over the edge, Helen managed to grab hold of his coat. The train was almost upon them, rattling over the tracks at speed, but Helen refused to let go, dragging Harris back from the brink. This was one fight she was not prepared to lose.

Then suddenly it was
Helen
was who falling backwards.
As she hit the kerb, she realized that Harris had slipped out of his coat and was free of her grasp. She made one last, desperate attempt to stop him, but was left clutching at thin air. Seconds later, she heard the dull crunch as his body smashed into the metal tracks and immediately after that the desperate, anguished cry of the train’s horn, as the driver realized too late what was happening.

Helen turned away, unable to watch. Why hadn’t she realized what he was planning? Why hadn’t she stopped him? But even as she lacerated herself with these futile thoughts, something made her pause and look up. A sound. The sound of church bells marking the time.

And now Helen realized the enormity of her mistake. Ripping her mobile phone from her pocket, she punched in some numbers and began a desperate sprint back in the direction she’d just come from.