Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (26 page)

Encouraged by his parents, Ethan Harris leant forward and took the plastic spoon in his mouth. He had been officially released from the burns unit two hours previously and was now tucked away in a private room, where he would remain until a car came to pick him up. He had come off the drip now since dehydration was no longer a concern, but he needed to build his strength up again – he needed to eat – and milky Weetabix was all he could face. His throat had been irritated and inflamed by the hot smoke, so taking anything more solid was out of the question.

The seventeen-year-old had tried to feed himself but his hand shook too much to guide the spoon properly. This was partly a result of his medical condition – he had suffered from cerebral palsy since birth – but partly due to the shock of his experience. The boy could barely keep still, the rhythm of his trauma seeming to resonate through his shaking body. He had come very close to death last night, and even though in the end he’d had a very lucky escape, the legacy of his experience would linger for years to come.

Helen knew how he must be feeling. She had stared death in the face, had found herself in situations that took her beyond ordinary fear to a much darker place. So she let the boy take his time, helped and guided by his
parents. At least he had his mother and father to support him, Helen thought. Others, such as Luke Simms and Callum Roberts, were not so lucky.

After a few mouthfuls, Ethan decided that he’d had enough. His parents took the bowl from him and placed it on the side table, then turned to face Helen. They weren’t exactly hostile, but they didn’t seem keen to encourage questions either, which Helen understood. In their shoes, she’d have felt exactly the same.

‘I know you need to take it very easy, so I’ll keep this brief. If at any time you want me to stop just say so, ok?’

Ethan nodded, so she continued.

‘According to your parents, you usually turn the light out at around ten thirty p.m. on a school night. Is that what happened last night?’

‘Yes,’ Ethan croaked, immediately wincing as he did so. The smoke damage to his larynx and throat was not severe, but it was painful. He had a small burn on his left palm and some abrasions on his face – but overall he’d been remarkably fortunate, given the intensity of the blaze.

‘What happened after that? Did you read at all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Until what time?’

‘Eleven p.m.’ he replied.

‘And then you went to sleep?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you hear or see anything after that which alarmed or surprised you? Anything out of the ordinary?’

Ethan shook his head.

‘You don’t remember the doorbell ringing? Or a phone
call or anything between your turning the light out and discovering the fire?’

‘No.’

Helen took this in.

‘How had Agnieszka been with you that evening? Was she ok in herself? Normal?’

‘She was good. Fine.’

‘She hadn’t been having any problems recently?’ Helen said, now addressing herself to Jacqueline and Michael Harris. ‘Any boyfriend problems? Money worries?’

‘Not that she told us of,’ Michael responded. ‘She seemed very steady. Then again, she’d only been with us for three months, so whether she would have felt comfortable coming to us, I don’t know.’

‘So the first thing you encountered that was out of the ordinary was your discovery of the fire?’ she said, turning back to Ethan once more.

‘Yes.’

‘Can you describe to me what happened?’

Ethan took a deep breath. Whether this was to brace himself for the physical pain that was to come or because of the emotions his memories aroused, Helen wasn’t sure.

‘I was in bed. The smell of smoke was very strong and … when I switched on the bedside light, I still couldn’t see anything.’

‘What then?’

‘I called for Agnieszka but … I didn’t hear anything. I was panicking – I knew what was happening. So I got out of bed and walked to the door and then I felt it …’

He paused, asking his parents for some water, which he
drank down greedily, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.

‘Felt?’

‘I could tell a seizure was coming on. I get a tingling feeling in my hands and feet first and then my vision goes. Everything takes on a kind of glow and well … I guess I knew I had to try to get out before it came on properly.’

Helen nodded but said nothing. She could see his parents were affected by his description. It must have been terrifying trying to escape the fire with that kind of time pressure hanging over you.

‘Next thing I know, someone’s carrying me. And it’s hot, hotter than I could ever have imagined. Did Agnieszka get out ok?’

Helen glanced quickly at Ethan’s parents. She had thought they might have broken the news to their son, but they’d obviously decided he wasn’t ready for it yet. They gave Helen a small nod to proceed.

‘I’m afraid she didn’t make it. I’m very sorry.’

Ethan took this in, shaking his head slightly.

‘How did she die?’

It was a tough question to answer, especially to a kid.

‘The fire started in the basement. It would have been very quick – she wouldn’t have suffered.’

Ethan nodded, then turned to his parents. They were quick to comfort him. Everyone present was thinking that Ethan could have ended up the same way.

‘That’s enough for now. I’m going to leave my card with your parents. If you think of anything else that might be relevant, please do get in touch. In the meantime, rest
up and try not to worry. We’ll get whoever did this to you – you have my word.’

Helen took her leave. She walked down the corridor fast, her thoughts tumbling over each other. So far they had no real witnesses, nothing tangible from CCTV and still no clear motive. Helen had resisted the idea of a curfew when it had been mooted – it seemed a gross overreaction – but given the proficiency and determination of their killer, it was beginning to feel like they no longer had a choice.

Helen was half the way down the corridor when she spotted her. Helen had biked straight from the hospital to Southampton Central and was now striding along the seventh floor. She had called the team in for an early briefing and was surprised and relieved to see Charlie, smartly dressed and looking a little refreshed, bending her steps towards the incident room. After a terrible night, it was a boost to see her old friend and colleague back on the case.

‘Everything ok?’ Helen asked as they walked.

‘As ok as it’ll ever be. Thank you for coming round last –’

‘Don’t mention it. I hope you’d do the same for me.’

An unwelcome memory of last night’s violence shot into Helen’s mind, but she pushed it away. She’d have to deal with that later.

‘Of course,’ Charlie replied, ‘though I doubt I’ll ever need to.’

That was nonsense, naturally, but it was said with a smile. It was the first time Helen had seen Charlie smile in some time and it buoyed her up as they pushed through the double doors and into the throng.

‘As DS Sanderson has just pointed out, we’re going to have to disregard previous witness statements and start again. This is a ground-up job, so we need open minds, ok?’

The team nodded, but Helen could sense the deflation among them. So much devastation, so many deaths and still no progress. Helen knew that it was Karen and Alice Simms’s funeral today – this was preying on everyone’s mind, affecting their mood. Helen had to drive the team forward, had to keep them focused, had to convince them that this guy
could
be caught.

‘I’ve got uniform doing house-to-house near last night’s sites. They will feed any intelligence they gather straight back to the incident room and I’ve asked DCs Lucas and McAndrew to collate and sift the witness statements from all the incidents. Who called the fires in, who was passing by, who’d seen unfamiliar characters hanging around – let’s double-check we’ve not missed anything important.’

‘Yes, boss,’ DC Lucas piped up.

‘And I know it’s laborious, but I’d like DC Edwards and DC Marnie to go over the footage from the fires again, looking for faces in the crowds. Our perpetrator is a superstar now – he’s viral on the internet, he’s made the
New York Times
, the
Sydney Herald
– he must be enjoying himself. There’s no way he isn’t forcing himself into the story somehow, so let’s see if we can find him. I know we’ve done it before, I know it can seem like a waste of time, but the small things matter.’

‘No problem,’ DC Marnie acknowledged.

‘DS Sanderson is coordinating a survey of recent police incidents involving psychiatric patients to see if there are any leads there, anyone with a grievance against the city, or a predilection for pyromania –’

‘So we think our perpetrator is crazy now?’ DC Edwards asked.

‘That’s not a word I’d use, but our killer is certainly very driven, very focused. He’s clearly obsessed by fire – or the consequences of fire – and has no regard for human life. The direct nature of the attack on Agnieszka Jarosik suggests that our arsonist is upping his game, becoming less cautious and more aggressive. This might be the end product of his sadism or it might be that he’s feeling under pressure. Either way it’s not good news for us.’

The team digested this, then Helen carried on.

‘There will be a reason why he’s doing this, something that’s driving him, so let’s focus on that.’

‘So we’re now saying the attacks aren’t random?’ McAndrew asked.

‘It was a valid theory – initially at least – but this is too well planned to be random. The commercial sites targeted have their similarities – all small businesses without expensive security in place – but the domestic properties couldn’t be more different in terms of geography, price tag or social class. They were, however, easily accessible, the attacks were methodically executed and even when our perpetrator rushed things – for example, in the attack on Agnieszka Jarosik – he still took the time to lock the door from the outside before leaving. He must have known these people or these properties well, so in addition to witness statements, let’s take an interest in people who knew the families and would have walked past these sites every day. Is there a particular job that would take someone there regularly? Posties, refuse collection, social workers, cold callers – anyone who would know the houses and would have come into contact with these families. It’s very likely our arsonist is hiding in plain sight, so
disregard no one, however respectable or stable they might appear on the surface.’

‘We should also look at break-ins,’ Charlie offered. ‘We had a break-in at the Simms residence and, at the others he walked in bold as brass. He is confident at what he’s doing.’

‘Good,’ Helen responded. ‘Let’s also look at stalking incidents – any recent reports that might link the three sites. There
has
to be a connection.’

Helen nodded at the nearest DC, who hurried off to set this in train.

‘In the meantime,’ Helen resumed, ‘let’s look again at motive.’

‘Could he have a thing against women?’ Sanderson asked. ‘All the murder victims so far have been female. And the attack on Agnieszka was pretty direct. Does he hate women for some reason?’

‘Did he know the husbands would be out? That the boys lived on the top floors and were less at risk?’ DC Lucas said, overlapping. ‘We’ve had two mothers die, one nanny. Is this about kids and their guardians?’

‘Maybe,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘But it was sheer good fortune that Luke Simms and Ethan Harris survived. Both probably should have died. And what about Alice? The arsonist must have known a young girl would be in bed at the time – so why was she targeted?’

A long silence, which Helen leapt to fill.

‘I think we can rule out a financial motive, as the killer has not tried to make contact or issued any demands. Also, it doesn’t appear that there is a professional connection – Denise was on benefits and among
the others we have an architect, a small businessman and a psychiatrist. So for me the motivation has got to be personal. We know that Agnieszka Jarosik was internet dating, had seen a few guys. Denise might well have been doing likewise. Had Karen Simms been in touch with any old flames however innocently? Unwittingly raised anyone’s hopes? This killer wants to destroy these people, destroy these families, so let’s climb inside their lives. Everyone has enemies and if we find a link between them, then we have our man.’

There was a brief pause as everyone took this in.

‘Now get on with it,’ Helen urged them. ‘Let’s bring this guy in.’

Luke Simms stared at himself in the mirror and felt nothing but shame. He had tried his best for his mum and his sister, but to his eyes he still looked ridiculous. His hair had been cut and styled, and make-up applied to conceal his bruises, and his dad had bought him a smart jacket, shirt and tie. But all he could see was his two preposterous legs, cased in plaster and hoisted up in the air on the end of long metal arms. If he wanted to go to his family’s funeral, this was how it had to be – his father pushing him along in a specially adapted wheelchair – but it didn’t make it any better. He looked comic and it felt as if he was mocking proceedings, rather than paying his respects.

The funeral was only a few hours away now. Luke knew this moment had to come, but now it was here he didn’t feel ready. It still didn’t seem
real
. His mum and Alice – he had taken their goodness, love and humour for granted, he had taken their presence for granted – and now they were gone. Just like that. Today they would bury them. As if it was all done and dusted. As if they could close that chapter and move on.

They had no home now and only half a family. If Luke was honest, he wasn’t even sure he had that. He had asked his dad to stay with him this morning, but something had come up and he’d had to head into town. Where he was going, he wouldn’t say. He didn’t seem to say much to
Luke since they’d moved in here. He looked after him, dressed his wounds, helped him to the toilet, in and out of bed, did everything that could be expected of him. But he didn’t
talk
. Luke wanted to, wanted to find out if his father felt the same sense of emptiness and desolation, the same sense that this was … a bad dream with no ending. But his dad never gave him the opportunity. He was so caught up in the business of death.

He didn’t really understand how you went about these things. How
did
you organize a funeral? Perhaps in later life, when he was older, he would reflect that he had judged his father harshly. But he nevertheless felt his father was avoiding him. He didn’t look him in the eye, didn’t engage him in conversations of any length. Was Luke harsh to blame him? Probably. But the truth was Luke missed him. He really missed him. He had lost his beloved mother and sister and now he felt that he was losing his father too.