The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3 (4 page)

‘You said that she had been in contact with her birth mother recently?’ Sanderson continued.

‘Not recently, but on and off during the last two years.’ Ruby’s father
was
keen to talk about this topic. ‘She was a terrible influence,’ he said further, ‘got her into drugs, skipping school, there was trouble with the police. Ruby completely ballsed up her A-Levels because of that bloody woman.’

A sharp look from Alison made him rein in his anger. He ceased his rant but was unrepentant. He knew what he thought of Shanelle Harvey and wasn’t minded to change his opinion. His promising daughter had gone completely off the rails in the last year, prompting furious bust-ups and recriminations within the family – all because of an innocent and well-intentioned desire to create a bond with her biological mother.

As he filled her in on the details, Sanderson couldn’t help feeling that Ruby would have been better off sticking with what she had. Shanelle Harvey had turned out to be a small-time fence, thief and dealer with questionable hobbies and even more questionable boyfriends. Not the plucky but poor earth mother that Ruby had perhaps been hoping to find.

‘You said you weren’t too worried at first, but now …’ Sanderson got the conversation back on track.

‘I wasn’t,’ Alison agreed. ‘Ruby can be unreliable and impulsive – it’s not impossible that she would wind herself up and take off for a bit. But she’s posted one tweet since last night and, believe me, that is seriously out of character. Her phone’s turned off – I’ve tried her a dozen times …’

‘What about keys? Purse?’

‘It looks like she’s got those with her,’ Alison conceded.

‘So she packed a bag … ?’

‘Her rucksack’s not here. And it’s true she’s taken most of her clothes.’

‘Was there any sign of forced entry?’

‘No, the lock’s new and pretty decent and the windows seem ok, but even so …’

Sanderson felt herself mentally switching off, dismissing Alison as a mother in denial, then mentally slapped herself back into concentrating. Helen Grace was very hot on missing persons cases – she always said
that they were just the stepping stones to murder cases, rape cases – and Sanderson knew Helen would expect her to leave no stone unturned.

‘Her inhaler.’

Now Alison had Sanderson’s attention.

‘She’s asthmatic?’

‘Since birth. She had several bad attacks when she was a kid. Ended up in hospital twice. Now she
always
has her inhaler with her. It’s her little mantra going out the door: “Keys, purse, inhaler …” She would never take off without it.’

‘And?’

‘And I found it by the side of her bed. It must have fallen off her bedside table on to the floor. Even if she was in a rush, even if she did want to get away, she would be too scared to leave without her inhaler.’

‘And if she’d forgotten it?’

‘Then she’d come back, regardless,’ Jonathan said firmly, equally concerned it appeared, despite his chequered history with his stepdaughter.

Sanderson asked some more questions, then wrapped things up. This missing persons case had just taken on a more sinister hue. As scrupulous as she was to reassure Alison and Jonathan, the detail of the forgotten inhaler alarmed Sanderson. It’s the kind of thing someone else might miss, but not Ruby, who’d been scarred by asthma since birth. Which raised the question: had Ruby really taken off? Or was a third party involved?

10

Sometimes it was tough being a parent. Scratch that, it was
always
tough being a parent. Detective Superintendent Ceri Harwood mounted the stairs to the third floor of her fashionable townhouse in a dark mood. She had been nagging her kids to go to bed for nearly an hour now, but still they defied her, finding endless excuses to avoid doing what they were asked. It had been a long day – she didn’t need to be marching up and down the stairs all night, when she could be snuggled up on the sofa with a glass of wine.

‘If you’re not in bed and quiet within two minutes, the PS4 goes into the cupboard for a week.’

It felt good to threaten a week – she had never threatened a whole week before. It had the desired effect. The fourth floor suddenly went very quiet as feet scurried, lights were switched off and peace descended. Harwood waited a further few minutes, then crept up to the top floor and poked her head round the door.

Both girls were fast asleep and, despite her irritation and tiredness, this made her smile. They had had busy days with school, swimming, music lessons, but even so Harwood marvelled at her kids’ ability to drop off to
sleep within seconds. It was not a skill she possessed – stress and the fag end of her daily caffeine intake often keeping her awake and restless into the small hours.

It had been a hard year. A year spent swallowing Helen Grace’s heroism and popularity day after day. Grace had brought in two serial killers now and had achieved legendary status within the Force as a result. Outside, in the real world, it was little better: the subject of Helen Grace often came up at dinner parties Harwood attended, people peppering her with questions about the Detective Inspector’s character and talents. It was all Helen, Helen, Helen.

In the professional sphere, Harwood had behaved impeccably. She had patted Helen on the back, congratulated her on her official commendation and made sure she had all the resources she needed. Her success ultimately reflected well on Harwood – but none of this made her feel any better. She remembered Helen’s withering character assassination of her, as they came to blows during the Ella Matthews investigation. Infuriated at what she perceived as Harwood’s attempts to run her out of the Force, Helen had dismissed her as a glorified politician, unfit to wear the police badge. Helen had not mentioned the row since, but Harwood recalled it word for word.

Still, there
were
some things Ceri had that Helen didn’t. The superior rank. A loving husband. Two beautiful daughters. Harwood stared at the sleeping girls now and
her despondency ebbed away. She had always been a fighter and despite having been in Helen Grace’s shadow for so long, where there was life there was hope.

As she descended the stairs once more, Harwood knew that there would be payback. Some day soon, she would settle the score. She had lost the battle after all. She had not lost the war.

11

The seventh-floor office was quiet as the grave. It was after hours now and the rest of the Major Incident Team had headed home, leaving Helen alone. Which is how she liked it. She didn’t need an audience for what she was about to do.

Double-checking that there was no one lurking in the corridors, Helen parked herself in front of a computer terminal and fired it up. Using someone else’s machine was a low trick, but a necessary one – it was strictly forbidden to access the PNC for personal use.

Within a minute, she was in the system. She didn’t hesitate, typing swiftly, ‘Robert Stonehill’. As the system searched for any crimes or incidents linked to that name, Helen tried to ignore the faint fluttering of hope inside her. Her nephew had dropped off the radar nearly twelve months ago now – he had had no contact with his adoptive parents or his friends – and Helen’s constant searching for him had yielded nothing. Her feud with Emilia Garanito had prompted the vindictive local journalist to publicly out Robert as the biological son of Helen’s sister, Marianne. Learning for the first time
about his mother’s awful crimes, while the press besieged his poor parents’ house, had tipped the young man over the edge. He had fled in order to draw the press pack off. Helen had assumed he would reappear when the furore died down, but he hadn’t. Robert wanted to stay hidden.

His continued absence was crushing for Helen. He was the only family she had left and during their brief acquaintance she had made a promise – to herself and to Robert – to be his guardian angel. To protect him from a dark world that had taken his mother’s life and blighted hers. But she had failed utterly – and now he was lost to her for good.

The search came up blank. As it always did. Suppressing the deep sadness that rose inside her, Helen turned off the terminal and hurried out.

The short ride to Charlie’s house helped restore her spirits. She and Charlie had been through a lot together – good and bad – yet Helen always felt welcome. Steve and Charlie’s home wasn’t grand, but it was a happy one. Even more so than usual now, with the impending arrival of their baby girl.

‘You’re looking well,’ Helen said, as they sat in Charlie’s living room.

‘Is that code for enormous?’ Charlie countered.

‘No. It suits you.’

‘Bloated ankles and stretch marks – it’s a good look,’
Charlie replied, casting an envious eye over Helen’s trim figure. ‘Let’s hope it catches on.’

‘How are you and Steve getting on?’

‘Outwardly, excited. Inwardly, terrified.’

‘You’ll be fine. You’re both naturals.’

‘Maybe. If Steve and I are still married in twelve months’ time, we’ll be able to say it’s a job well done.’

Helen smiled and sipped her tea. Helen never drank, so was a good companion for a mum-to-be.

‘And how are you? McAndrew told me about your beach body,’ Charlie continued. ‘Sounds … unusual.’

Helen could tell by Charlie’s tone that she was already missing police work. Steve had been insistent she quit the Force after what had happened with Marianne, and Charlie had initially agreed to do so. But the unexpected discovery of her pregnancy had helped Charlie hedge her bets, opting for a back-room role and then a year’s maternity leave, taking her out of the firing line. Though she’d never say it aloud, Helen hoped Charlie would come back to Southampton Central when the time was right.

‘It is. It was clinically done – and some time ago – which makes me worry –’

‘What he’s been up to since?’ said Charlie, completing Helen’s sentence.

Helen nodded.

‘And how are the team shaping up in my absence?’

‘Still finding their feet,’ replied Helen diplomatically.

‘And Lloyd – how’s he doing?’

Helen sensed that this was what Charlie really wanted to know. The sudden elevation of this talented, but inexperienced officer to the role of DS had stuck in Charlie’s craw. She put it as much down to Detective Superintendent Harwood’s mistrust of Charlie, as she did to Lloyd’s individual merits. There’s nothing worse than losing out to politics and, despite Charlie’s good heart, Helen knew she was hoping Lloyd wouldn’t cover himself in glory.

‘Early days,’ Helen replied, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. Whatever she might feel personally, she could never let on that she was anxious about her current team.

Helen left shortly afterwards, wishing Charlie well and promising to return before D-Day. She was walking to her bike, when her phone rang. It was DC Grounds.

‘Sorry to disturb you late, Ma’am, but we’ve had results back on the pacemaker.’

Helen stopped walking.

‘The dead woman is Pippa Briers. She would be twenty-five now. Next of kin is her father, Daniel Briers. We’ve got a Reading address and phone number. Do you want me to make the call?’

‘No, I’ll do it. Text me the details.’

Helen rang off. Moments later, Grounds’ text came through. Helen steeled herself for what was to come. She couldn’t put it off – she owed it to Daniel and Pippa
Briers to make the call without delay. Still she took a second to compose herself. However many times you’ve done it, it is never easy to tell a parent that their beloved daughter is dead.

12

Ruby came to, scared and disoriented. She had been determined not to let her guard down, but had dozed off nevertheless. She scanned the room quickly, alive to the danger despite her continued grogginess and aching head, but there was none. She was still alone.

What time was it? Ruby had no watch and the clock on the wall was frozen at quarter past twelve. She could have slept for five minutes or five hours, she had no way of knowing, which unnerved her deeply. She was like Sleeping Beauty down here, trapped in a living death. Except this lonely girl had no one to rescue her.

Ruby shivered, her body numb with cold. It must be night-time by now, because the temperature in the room had dropped markedly. It was a horrible damp kind of cold that got into your lungs and head. Ruby knew already that she would become ill here. Or worse. And she’d spent the whole day asking herself why.

She had tried to place her captor. Tall, thin, with a curious manner, there was something familiar about him – was it his face? Or the smell he gave off? – and she had tortured herself trying to think where she had seen him before. If she could work out who he was, then she
could work on him, persuade him to see the harm he was doing. But he eluded her and her attempts to identify him only served to crush her spirit further.

Why? Why? Why?

Why was she here? What had she done?

At first, she had assumed he was going to kill her. Or worse. But he had made no attempt to harm her. Then she’d assumed he wanted money. But he didn’t. He wanted her. This strange room with its pastiche of homeliness – the stopped clock, the empty shelves, the freshly laundered sheets – was designed to be a home, not a prison.

How did he know her so well? Had something she’d done prompted her abduction? Was she in some way
responsible
?

In the shivering darkness, this explanation had made the most sense. She had been a terrible daughter and a bad friend. Since Alison and Jonathan had adopted her, her life had been steady and productive. Unwanted at birth, Ruby could have gone badly wrong, but thanks to the kindness and charity of her adoptive parents she had had a decent start in life. And she had thrown it back in their faces. Her intentions had been good. The knowledge of her abandonment by her birth mother had never left her and she needed to meet her, to see if, years later, she cared for her child at all.

What had she found? A calculating, manipulative criminal, interested only in how her abandoned child
could benefit her. Ruby cursed herself for her stupidity in ever having trusted her. Because she swallowed her lies, because she desperately wanted her attention, she had spurned the only people who had ever shown her any real love. And when they reacted badly to her craziness, she had rewarded them with vitriol and abuse. She had called them every name under the sun, spat at them, clawed at them. She was under the influence – in more ways than one – when she committed those crimes against her family, but that didn’t excuse her behaviour. She had been vile to those who least deserved it.