Little Boy Blue: DI Helen Grace 5 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (18 page)

‘What in God’s name were you thinking?’

Helen had sped to Ellesmere Heights as soon as she had got Sanderson’s call. Charlie had disobeyed a direct order by apprehending the suspect alone, so in spite of the presence of Sanderson, Lucas and numerous SOCOs, Helen didn’t hesitate in taking her to task.

‘You could have been killed or injured … You call, then you wait for backup, you
always
wait for backup.’

‘Like you do, you mean,’ Charlie retaliated, wiping the last remnants of Parker’s saliva from her face.

‘Excuse me?’ Helen countered, stunned by Charlie’s aggressive tone.

‘You’ve broken protocol on numerous occasions. And have you
ever
been pulled up on it?’

Charlie would not normally have answered back, but she had just brought in the prime suspect and was not in the mood to be lectured.

‘Only in life-or-death situations and besides it’s different for me. You have a family –’

‘So it’s one rule for you, one rule for everybody else.’

‘Why the hell are you doing this, Charlie?’ Helen replied, beyond exasperated. ‘You’ve got nothing to prove to me, nothing to prove to yourself. There’s no need to keep putting yourself in danger like this.’

‘I didn’t know what she was doing in there,’ Charlie countered. ‘I could have waited another five minutes, but what if she’d done something to herself? You can see what state she’s in – drunk, emotional, unpredictable –’

‘Come off it, Charlie. You’ve always been impulsive, but that’s not what this is. This is about you getting one over on Sanderson. This was
her
lead.’

‘So why didn’t she bring him in?’ Charlie retorted, casting a quick glance at her rival, who loitered by the flat entrance nearby.

‘I told every member of the team to report back to me straight away with any developments, but you deliberately kept this to yourself. You missed an important briefing, went off on your own. To prove what? That you’re willing to risk your life for your career? You’ve got to get a handle on this – it’s affecting your judgement, your ability to do the job –’

‘Well, that’s rich coming from you.’

Helen looked ready to explode, but Charlie continued:

‘Ever since we found Jake Elder you’ve been acting oddly.’

‘Don’t think our friendship gives you the right to talk to me like that. I am your superior officer,’ Helen snapped back, anger flaring in her.

‘Then try acting like one,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘You were in pieces after we found Elder and you’ve been aggressive, over-emotional and unpredictable ever since. Take a look in the mirror, Helen, it’s not me that’s acting weirdly. It’s you.’

Charlie turned and walked away towards her car.
Helen’s first instinct was to go after her but even as she took a step in her direction, she became aware of the large audience watching on. There was no question of continuing the argument now. Helen had already let herself down by rowing with another officer – the same crime she’d pulled Charlie and Sanderson up on only a day ago – and she risked losing all authority if she made their confrontation look personal.

But in truth it
was
personal. Charlie had always been Helen’s closest friend and ally at Southampton Central, but now it looked very much like her old comrade had cut her off for good.

Are some wounds too deep to heal? Is damaged love ever beyond repair?

Sally Jackson sat by her husband’s bedside, clinging doggedly to his hand. She’d kept a vigil here since he’d been released from ICU, hoping that her support and encouragement might speed his recovery. Hoping that the Paul she knew would come back to her.

He was out of danger now, but he still found it hard to talk and was asleep for much of the time. Sally didn’t mind – she’d hated being excluded from the intensive care unit, powerless to influence events and ignorant of what was happening within. Here at least she could try to help. In Paul’s waking hours, she kept up a constant chatter, talking to him about mundane family matters as well as looking forward to things they might do with the boys once he was better.

Sally had no idea if it was true or just wishful thinking. It was hard to imagine they could ever go back to the way things were given the trauma of the last forty-eight hours. He had been in such a dark place, so despairing and rejected, that he had tried to leave them. Perhaps in her position some people might have felt rejected, but she didn’t. She just felt guilt. Paul had asked for her help, for her understanding, and she had been too
weak to give it to him. Paul had betrayed her – of course he had – but she had repaid him in kind and it made her feel dreadful.

Her conversation had petered out a while ago now. Much as she tried to remain upbeat, it was hard not to be consumed by dark thoughts. She’d overheard the nurses gossiping about a second victim and she suspected they were wondering if her husband would be the third. None of it made any sense and it filled her with trepidation for the future. Yes, she was here, doing all the things she should do, but really what hope was there for the future when the fissure in their lives was so great?

Wiping a tear away, Sally chided herself for being so morbid. There was no point looking too far ahead, she had to keep her mind anchored on the here and now. The rest – the future – was another world for them. She would remain here and do what was needed for Paul, for the twins. She would stay because she still cared deeply for her husband. She just didn’t know him any more.

‘This is your opportunity to tell us what happened. If I were you I’d take it.’

Samantha said nothing in response. She had seen the station doctor and was calmer now, though it was clear that she wasn’t comfortable in these surroundings. She fidgeted endlessly, shifting in her seat, tugging at her clothes, obsessing about the broken nails she’d suffered when being escorted to the station. On more than one occasion, she had asked for replacements, as well as foundation, lipstick, mascara, but Helen had refused her requests. They would be good bargaining chips in the hours to come.

‘What would you like to know, Helen? May I call you Helen?’

‘If you like.’

Helen tried to keep the edge from her voice, but didn’t wholly succeed. She was still stewing on her argument with Charlie and was not in the mood to be teased or mocked. Charlie had never spoken to her that brutally before – such an open act of defiance not only threatened their relationship but also morale within the team. It was tempting to blame Charlie’s sudden and unexpected promotion for this problem but actually Charlie was right. Helen
had
been behaving oddly – this case
was messing with her head, making her act in ways that were both unprofessional and unkind.

‘And what should I call you?’ she asked, trying to put these troubling thoughts from her mind.

‘My name is Samantha.’

‘Samantha Parker?’

‘Just Samantha.’

Helen noted her aversion to her given surname – a small but telling sign. Opening her file, Helen digested the contents, taking a moment to compose herself. Her anger and discomfort still burnt, but the details of the case, and the rhythm of questioning, were comforting and familiar. Helen hoped that slowly she would regain her equilibrium in the hushed confessional of the interview suite. She was leading it alone, which was unusual, but in the circumstances what choice did she have? To include either Charlie or Sanderson would seem like favouritism. Another rod for her own back, Helen thought to herself.

‘Samantha it is, then. But you’ve been known by other names, haven’t you?’

‘We all have many different personalities within us.’

‘And, of course, there’s your professional work as a drag act which requires an alter ego?’

‘We’re called performance artistes and, yes, a little creativity is required.’

‘Would you say you’re well-known on the club scene?’

‘Pretty well.’

‘And in the wider BDSM community?’

‘It’s a larger world than you’d think and, yes, I play my part.’

Helen nodded but said nothing, noting that Samantha was happy to be led towards an obvious trap.

‘So you’ve visited the Torture Rooms then?’

‘On occasion.’

‘And you’ve run into Jake Elder during your time. If you need to refresh your memory here’s a phot—’

‘I believe I’ve seen his face around,’ Samantha said, without looking down at the photo. ‘At Munches, events and so forth.’

‘And what about Max Paine? Have you ever met him? Ever used his services?’

‘Once or twice. He’s got a bit of a reputation, but then again every girl likes to be slapped sometimes, doesn’t she?’

Helen ignored the assertion. ‘Last night he had an appointment. His diary said he was meeting “S”. Was that you?’

‘Don’t tell me something’s happened to him?’ Samantha came back calmly.

‘Please answer the question. Was that you?’

Samantha sat back in her chair.

‘Yes.’

‘So you kept your appointment?’

Samantha nodded.

‘Did he beat you?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘So how did you get your bruises?’

For the first time, Samantha hesitated, her cockiness temporarily deserting her.

‘I forget.’

‘Not good enough.’

‘I honestly can’t remember. I was in a bit of a state last night.’

‘Why?’

‘None of your fucking business.’

It was aimed directly at Helen. She sidestepped it and continued:

‘Where were you between the hours of ten thirty p.m. and six thirty a.m. last night?’

‘At my flat.’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

‘No.’

‘How about Tuesday night? Cast your mind back three days – where were you then?’

‘Out.’

Helen said nothing. The silence sat heavy in the room.

‘I was at the ball, ok? It’s a very popular event.’

‘To be clear, you were at the Annual Ball at the Torture Rooms nightclub.’

‘The Torture Rooms
nightclub
– Jesus Christ, you sound like my grandmother.’

‘Yes or no?’

‘Yes.’

Helen scribbled a note to herself to call Meredith. If Samantha’s presence at the club that night could be confirmed, it would make a massive difference to their case. Otherwise they would always be open to the defence of false confession – a thorny problem in high-profile cases.

‘Did you encounter Jake Elder on Tuesday night?’

‘I saw him mooching about like a bear with a sore head. Poor boy looked like he needed cheering up.’

‘Did you talk to him? Interact with him?’

‘Did I … interact with him?’ Samantha replied, wrapping her mouth round the words. ‘Not that I recall, but then the night is a bit of a blur. As your colleague has probably told you, I have an issue with alcohol. I’d pay for the good stuff, but as it is …’

‘So nothing out of the ordinary happened that night?’

‘No. Same old, same old …’

‘Have you ever used wet sheets?’ Helen asked, changing tack sharply.

‘Of course.’

‘Other forms of restraints? Leather straps, hog ties –’

‘Who hasn’t?’

‘A witness – a cabbie – picked you up that night after the Annual Ball. Said you were in a terrible state. Angry, distressed, unpredictable. If it was such a mundane evening, why were you so affected by it?’

Samantha said nothing, but Helen could see her eyes narrowing.

‘What happened that night, Samantha?’

There was a long pause, as Samantha toyed with a broken nail. Then she leant forward, rewarding Helen with an ample view of her cleavage as she did so, before whispering:

‘That’s for me to know. And you to find out.’

Gardam leant against the two-way mirror, his eyes glued to the contest in front of him. In his younger days, he had loved the tussle of suspect and interviewer, revelling in the feints and parries, the carefully laid traps and elegant evasions, but he seldom got the chance to enjoy it now. His was a desk job, important but managerial, far from the front line, far from the fun. So he had to amuse himself vicariously, watching others do the job he once loved.

The experience was always sweeter when the interview took place under high pressure. The discovery of a second body and the ensuing media excitement had left no one in Southampton Central in any doubt about the need for a quick resolution to the case. Two men had been sadistically murdered, but worse still their initial suspect now languished in hospital, following a botched suicide attempt. Southampton was being made to look like a den of vice and its police force far from competent – Gardam had already had the police commissioner, the local MP
and
the Mayor on the phone, bending his ear about it.

His get-out-of-jail card in these situations was always Helen. She was an officer of such standing that nobody – least of all the local politicians, who liked to appear
strong on law and order – could take serious issue with the way investigations were run. Yes, there were false starts and accidents, and you could never predict how people caught up in cases like these would react, but Helen’s track record at getting results in the big investigations was second to none.

Gardam had used her name many times to smooth ruffled feathers, assuring his critics that justice would prevail, and in his heart he
did
believe that this case would be no exception. But another part of him knew that it was already very different. He and Helen had worked together on complicated investigations before, but never as closely as this. Something profound had changed in their relationship.

Was he genuinely falling in love with her? He’d had office crushes before, but he’d never been tempted to act on them. This was something else. She had opened herself up to
him
. He had replayed their recent conversation over and over in his mind. Did she know how he felt about her? Was it even possible she knew that he watched her? He hoped not because that made her confession even more unprompted. She had bared her soul to him, revealing things she hadn’t confided to anyone else. He had the strong sense that she did this not just to unburden herself, but also to test him, to see how he would react. If he’d been obviously shocked or judgemental she might have backed off, but he had been accepting and encouraging, so she had elaborated, drawing him into her world. He hoped in time she would go further.

But that was for another day. Now there was work to
be done. Still, it didn’t stop Gardam drinking in his subordinate now, noting the way she spoke, the way she held herself, the manner in which she teased and coaxed her suspect towards her traps. It was magical to watch and Gardam knew that his other duties would be neglected until she was done. While she was here, performing for him, the rest of the world could go hang.