Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) Page 7

  She was slowly gaining on Spence, those many hours spent busting her lungs round Southampton Common finally paying off. She was lean and agile, cresting the next gap with ease, landing safely on the other side. Spence was visibly tiring now – he was full of cheap lager and had been expecting an easy night – so Helen upped her speed.

  Then suddenly Spence ground to a halt. Helen did likewise, keeping herself at a safe distance. She could see why Spence was hesitating. The next gap was wider – nearly ten feet – and he lacked the puff to be confident of making it. Slowly he turned. As he did so, she cast an eye over her shoulder. Charlie was a couple of properties back – Helen couldn’t rely on help from that quarter in time, so she would have to handle Spence alone.

  As he stared at her, reeking anger, she pulled out her baton and extended it.

  ‘Well, that’s hardly a fair fight, is it?’

  ‘Needs must, Gary. Shall we call time on this one?’

  ‘Fuck you’ was the terse reply as Spence burst forward, trying to dodge past Helen, back in the direction of Charlie.

  He had a nanosecond’s advantage, but Helen had been expecting this move. She lunged left to stop him, bringing her baton down hard on his kneecap. Spence yelped in pain, stumbling forward and into Helen’s shoulder, which was braced low against him. For a moment, he took off then landed flat and hard on the roof floor, the gravel scraping the skin off his cheeks. Helen was on top of him in a flash and before he could rise, she had her knee in his back and the cuffs on. As Spence swore and spat gravel from his bleeding lips, Helen afforded herself a brief smile.

  ‘I think it’s time we had a little chat, don’t you?’

  27

  ‘So, how’s business?’

  Helen was back in the interview suite at Southampton Central opposite a deeply hostile Gary Spence. He had been seen by a doctor, given time to shower and change and consult with his lawyer – but none of this had improved his mood. He scowled and swore at every opportunity – making a point of firing personal insults at Helen and DI Sanderson whenever he could.

  ‘You know this will go a lot easier if you just answer the questions, Gary,’ Helen continued. ‘How is the loan shark business?’

  ‘My client provides credit –’ his lawyer interjected, but Helen wasn’t in the mood to split hairs.

  ‘Whatever you want to call it,’ she interjected. ‘Is it treating you well?’

  ‘Keeps the wolf from the door,’ Spence eventually replied.

  ‘I’d say it’s more than that,’ Sanderson responded. ‘You’ve got a nice big house in Merry Oak. And rumour has it you’re in the market for a place in the New Forest. Business must be good.’

  Spence just shrugged, then looked at his watch theatrically.

  ‘What happens when they don’t pay back what they owe you, Gary? When they can’t pay?’

  ‘My client will always attempt to renegotiate any problem loan, change the sums or intervals of payment if necessary –’

  ‘But if they default, then what? I’d like your client to answer that, not you, Ms Fielding.’

  Spence’s brief said nothing, but Helen knew she’d antagonized her. She was a young and intelligent brief, keen to flex her muscles against a renowned DI. Helen only wished she’d found a more worthwhile cause on which to bestow her undoubted talents. Spence had four grams of cocaine on him when arrested. He swore blind that this was why he’d done a runner – but Helen wasn’t convinced.

  ‘They lose their collateral,’ Spence said evenly.

  ‘Meaning you take their car, their property –’

  ‘Whatever the money is secured against.’

  ‘And what about for smaller, unsecured loans? A few grand, ten maybe. What happens if they borrow that from you, then can’t – or won’t – pay it back?’

  Spence shrugged – seeming to imply that such sums were beneath him.

  ‘What about Thomas Simms for example?’

  ‘Jesus Christ, is that what all this is about?’

  ‘He borrowed money from you and when he couldn’t pay it back, you threatened his family.’

  ‘Whoa, whoa. You’re going to have to rewind a bit there. Who says my client threatened the Simms family?’

  It was offered aggressively, but Helen could see Fielding hadn’t been expecting this line of questioning and was rattled as a result.

  ‘Your client came to the door and told Karen Simms that if he had to come back again, she would regret it. Sounds pretty much like a threat to me, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘That’s bullshit,’ Spence barked back, earning a silent but pointed look from his lawyer. But Spence didn’t seem to be care. ‘I never went near that bloody house,’ he continued, ‘and anybody who says I did is lying out their arse.’

  ‘We have the date when you visited – November 30th. Around nine p.m. apparently. What’s the betting that street cameras and your phone signal put you there around that time, Gary?’

  For a moment, Spence said nothing.

  ‘Ok, maybe I went round there for a quick word,’ he offered finally, earning yet another look from his lawyer, ‘but I was looking for Thomas Simms. I never threatened no one.’

  ‘Of course not. You’re good as gold, aren’t you?’ DI Sanderson said, picking up the baton. ‘Not that you’d know it from your record. ABH, GBH, attempted murder –’

  ‘I was never convicted of that!’ Spence protested.

  ‘Lucky break then, because you did throw a live grenade into the property of one of your particularly troublesome debtors, didn’t you?’

  ‘Don’t answer that,’ Spence’s brief cut in.

  ‘And you’ve got a bit of form with fire, haven’t you?’ Helen persevered, keeping the pressure on.

  ‘A one-off mistake,’ Spence dead-batted in return.

  ‘Is that what you’d call it? I think you like to teach people who won’t pay a lesson,’ Helen continued. ‘I think you like people to know that no one, absolutely no one, gets away with ripping you off. Am I right?’

  Spence said nothing in response. Neither did his lawyer.

  ‘The attack on the Simmses’ house was determined, organized and personal. Let me tell you what I think happened. I think you threatened Simms and when he didn’t pay you, you went back to his house. We’ve applied for a warrant to check your phone records – it won’t take long to find out where you were, Gary.’

  Spence just scowled, so Helen carried on:

  ‘We know you’d had words with Bertrand Senior. Had you also lent money to Travell’s? Was this payback? A one-night spectacular to punish Thomas Simms? A warning to keep all your other debtors in line? I must say, Gary, I admire your style. You think big.’

  Spence breathed out slowly. He looked weary and angry now.

  ‘Keep talking, Inspector. But know this. I was in bed last night. With my wife. And if my Pug could talk he’d tell you he was there too, sitting on the end of my bed from nine p.m. till six a.m. the following morning. I didn’t do it and you can’t say I did. So do your work, run down your dead ends and then let me go. Interview over.’

  28

  ‘What do you think?’

  Helen had gone straight to Gardam’s office, only to be told he was in the viewing suite with McAndrew, casting an eye over the latest batch of amateur footage from the fires. Instinctively this made Helen feel uncomfortable – officers of his rank usually steered well clear of the coalface and she didn’t appreciate him overseeing her team’s work. She resolved to ask Gardam why he felt the need to impose himself on her investigation but wasn’t given the chance. Having dismissed McAndrew from the viewing suite, her superior cut straight to the chase.

  ‘Is he our man?’

  ‘Hard to say,’ Helen replied. ‘His alibi is hardly rock solid, but even if he is telling the truth, that still doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.’

  ‘Because he’s got associates?’

  ‘Precisely. Spence likes to throw his weight around, but he’s not stupid.
He could have told one of his cronies to start the fires. If he did, then he reduces the personal risk but ups the chances of one of them talking – so our next move is to round up as many of his known associates as we can. They’ve all got mothers, so perhaps Karen Simms’s death will persuade them to help us.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘We’re also going to look into Spence’s finances,’ Helen continued. ‘I want to see if anyone’s putting the squeeze on him or if there’s any reason why he might want to lay down a marker in this way. I’ve got the team on it and I should have more shortly. We’re throwing everything we can at this.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like you’ve got everything in hand. Keep me posted.’

  ‘Of course.’

  A brief silence followed. Helen had expected the conclusion of her update to prompt Gardam’s departure, but he made no move to leave. Instead, he leant back against the desk, staring right at her, as if trying to read her mind.

  ‘What’s your feeling on this one, Helen?’

  ‘My feeling is that I’d like to link Spence to Travell’s Timber Yard. If we can prove that they owed him money or that they’d had a disagree—’

  ‘But what’s your instinct?’

  ‘My instinct is not to trust my instincts. I prefer to deal in facts.’

  ‘That’s a politician’s answer.’

  ‘Forgive me, sir, but I’m not quite sure I understand the qu—’

  ‘I’m only putting you on the spot,’ Gardam interrupted, ‘because I value your opinion. You’re unique, Helen – both at Southampton Central and in the Force. No one’s got your track record when it comes to bringing these complex investigations to a successful conclusion. You did it with Ben Fraser, with Ella Matthews and more besides …’

  Gardam had tactfully not mentioned Helen’s sister, but it was clear that she was included in this list of Helen’s ‘achievements’. Her new boss had clearly done his homework on her.

  ‘So I’m interested to find out how your mind works,’ Gardam said, not missing a beat. ‘I want to know if your gut is telling you that Spence is capable of these crimes.’

  Gardam’s gaze never wavered for a second. His eyes were fixed on her, as if she were a rare breed or curiosity. In the hushed, darkened interior of the viewing suite, his close attention made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  ‘He’s certainly capable of it,’ Helen replied evenly. ‘The question is whether he has the imagination to pull off this sort of crime. And, in the absence of a confession, only patient and diligent detection will tell us that.’

  It was a polite but firm full stop to the conversation. Helen had had a long day – with the scrapes and bruises to prove it – and she had no appetite to undergo an interrogation of her own.

  ‘We’ll just have to wait and see then, won’t we?’ Gardam said, rising finally, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. ‘Let me know what you find out.’

  ‘Straight away.’

  ‘Now, it’s late, so why don’t you get off home?’ Gardam said, crossing to her. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere? I’m heading your way –’

  ‘Thank you, but I’ve got my bike, so …’

  ‘Of course, the famous bike. Solo traveller, eh?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Helen replied.

  ‘Well, I won’t keep you then,’ Gardam finished, laying his hand gently on her arm, ‘and my thanks again. You did well today, Helen.’

  Helen acknowledged the compliment and departed quickly. As she opened the door, she caught McAndrew staring right at her – her junior was clearly intrigued by the interview from which she’d been so pointedly excluded. Helen nodded at her, then hurried off down the corridor. She could feel the colour rising in her face, which made her feel foolish and flustered, like she’d been caught out in some way. She walked on purposefully, keen to escape into the anonymity of the night. But all the while she could feel McAndrew’s eyes on her, which made her wonder: was Gardam watching her too?

  29

  Charlie crept into the darkened room, taking care not to make a sound. Jessica was breathing heavily, her little sinuses still blocked with cold, and she had only just gone down, despite the late hour. Secretly, Charlie had hoped she would be up when she arrived home, so she could say goodnight to her properly, but Steve had done his job well, stroking and singing her to sleep. Despite her tossing and turning, she looked content now, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

  ‘How long did it take you?’ Charlie whispered.

  Steve had joined her and both were now gazing down at their slumbering daughter.

  ‘Two to three hours,’ Steve answered evenly. ‘She was pretty cross.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It was ok. Though I must have gone through my whole repertoire of nursery rhymes at least three times.’

  ‘I’m glad I was out then,’ Charlie replied, teasing. Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Then he crossed the room, and having doused a tissue with a generous measure of Olbas oil, laid it gently in Jessica’s cot. Immediately, the room was filled with the comforting scent of eucalyptus.

  ‘Come on, we’d better hit the hay,’ Steve whispered. ‘There’s no telling when she’s going to be up again.’

  Charlie nodded. He was right of course but she hadn’t seen her all day and suddenly she didn’t want to leave. Steve moved to the doorway but lingered on the threshold, waiting for Charlie to follow. A brief flash of irritation shot through her – it seemed she wasn’t in control at work or at home now – but then common sense prevailed. She was knackered and needed a shower, so, relenting, she bent down to kiss her goodnight.

  ‘Don’t.’

  Charlie stopped, hovering inches from Jessica’s soft face, taken aback by the sharp tone of Steve’s voice. She turned to him, surprised.

  ‘She needs to sleep and if you wake her, it’ll take hours to get her dow—’

  ‘All right, all right’ Charlie responded, straightening up and brushing past Steve without another word. It was a childish response and she knew it. She had no cause to be shirty with Steve, whatever she felt about missing out on quality time with Jessica – but still his chiding irritated her. She was fed up with compromise and making do. She wanted her life to be simple, straightforward and satisfactory – but in reality it was none of these things. These days she seemed to lurch from one mini-crisis to the next, achieving little, pleasing no one, forever facing choices that left her the loser whichever way she jumped. Would she get better at this? Or was this how it would always be? Perhaps the brutal truth was that, whatever she did and whatever she tried, this was one circle that Charlie would never be able to square.

  30

  The noise assaulted you as soon as you stepped inside. Helen let it roar over her, enjoying the sensation, as she stood in the doorway of the bar. It was close to last orders now and the place was packed. There didn’t seem to be a quiet night in the city centre any more – Southampton was full of young people who wanted to chat, flirt and drink – and as soon as you stepped inside you were struck by the warmth, energy and excitement of the place.

  ‘Tonic over ice, please,’ Helen shouted at the barman, as she pushed her way to the bar. As he obliged, she took in the scene, her eye wandering over the first daters, the groups of friends, the hangovers-in-waiting and more besides. Helen didn’t drink – hadn’t done for years – but she liked these places. Things could turn ugly where drink was concerned and Helen had had to intervene on a couple of occasions to defuse unpleasant situations, but young people as a rule seemed to be drinking rather less than previous generations – the whole scene was more a social thing than an excuse for binge-drinking. That was especially the case around here, so close to Southampton University, where the pubs and bars were full of twenty-somethings who couldn’t afford vast rounds of drinks even if they’d wanted to.

  Helen had come here straight from work as she couldn’t face going back to her flat. Her meeting with Gardam was still bothering her
and if she went home she would only obsess about it further. Better to be here, enjoying the buzz, than stewing alone.

  As her eyes swept the crowds, she became aware of someone waving sheepishly to her from a table on the other side of the room. It took her eyes, her brain, a couple of seconds to process the sight, but there was no doubt about it.

  Jake. Helen had never seen him in a social context – barring one exception, she had only ever encountered him in his workplace, where he played the role of dominator to perfection, never letting the real Jake through. He was on his way over now and for a second Helen was surprised to find that she was panicking, wondering what to say to him in a conversation that she hadn’t paid for.

  ‘I thought it was you.’

  He leant in and kissed her gently on the cheek. Unlike her, he seemed completely at ease. More than that, he seemed happy.

  ‘I didn’t expect to find you somewhere like this,’ he continued lightly.

  ‘Neither did I, but it’s been a tough day, so I thought I’d come and inhale a bit of youthful optimism.’

  Jake smiled, but the accidental subtext of Helen’s reply was lost on neither of them. Previously Helen had run to Jake when work had got to her, but not now.

  ‘How about you?’ Helen continued quickly.

  ‘I’m on a date,’ Jake said, pretending to be embarrassed, as he nodded towards a handsome young man, who smiled awkwardly back at them from across the crowded room.

  ‘Good for you,’ Helen responded, though her brain was still playing catch-up. She knew that Jake was bisexual, but such was his interest in her that she’d always assumed he was more romantically attracted to women.

  ‘Is this a new thing … ?’ she went on.

  ‘Not really,’ Jake answered, diplomatically.

  ‘And it’s going well?’

  ‘Well tonight is our sixth date, so …’

  ‘Wow.’