Little Boy Blue: DI Helen Grace 5 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (21 page)

‘I don’t think we have a choice. We have to charge her.’

Charlie’s tone was flinty and unyielding. Despite the failure of Samantha to confess, she seemed determined to nail her for the brutal double murder.

‘If we don’t we’ve got at best another twenty-four hours and I don’t think that’s enough. She’s too confident of herself, we need more time to wear her down.’

‘You really want to dive in again, after what happened last time?’ Sanderson replied, as coolly as she could. ‘We have got to be sure.’

‘She was the last person to visit Paine on the night he died.’

‘That we know of.’

‘And she’s never once protested her innocence, despite numerous opportunities to do so.’

‘Nor has she confessed. So what have we actually got?’

Helen watched her two deputies debate the evidence. It was still early and she was exhausted and irritable after her night-time excursions. She hadn’t slept a wink last night, replaying what she’d seen over and over to see if she could have been mistaken. Her defences were up and every tiny noise had seemed so ominous that in the end she’d given up trying altogether and headed into the
office. She knew that today would be crucial for the investigation, so when Sanderson and Charlie arrived, she called them both into her office.

She had thought about apologizing to
both
of them for her recent behaviour, but the events of last night still hung heavy on her mind and with the clock ticking on Samantha’s custody there was no time to waste. So they’d pressed on with the case, just about managing to ignore the tensions bubbling beneath the surface. Helen would have to force the pair of them to work together if necessary, as they were both good officers whose recent misdemeanours were mostly a product of her own fractured focus.

‘What have we got on the credit cards?’ Helen asked suddenly, interrupting the debate.

‘The Zentai suit and hog ties that killed Paine were bought with a different credit card to the one used to buy Elder’s wet sheets,’ Sanderson replied.

‘Have we cross-referenced the stores and websites that the two different cloned cards were used in? To see who might have stolen the details?’

‘Yes, but it’s already a massively long list. The supermarkets, Boots, W. H. Smith, Amazon, PayPal, iTunes …’

‘Can we link either of the cloned cards to Samantha? We know that as Michael Parker she had form for this kind of thing.’

‘Nothing on her home computer, phones or devices. And we didn’t find any cards at her flat.’

‘Does she work anywhere other than the bar?’

‘Not that we know of.’

‘What about the deliveries of the bondage items themselves?’ Helen said, turning to Charlie.

‘As with Elder, the BDSM stuff was delivered by courier to a vacant address. A domestic property awaiting new tenants.’

‘Get on to the estate agents that rent them out. See if there’s any connection between the different properties and a particular agency.’

‘Sure thing.’

‘What about the boot print?’ Helen continued. ‘Meredith said the print she found at Paine’s was a size six. Parker is a size seven, but that doesn’t necessarily rule her out.’

‘There was loads of stuff in the flat geared towards sizing down, corsets, heels –’ Charlie responded.

‘Trying to make herself as petite as possible.’

‘Exactly. But no sign of any boot or shoe that fits.’

Helen nodded, but her frustration was clear.

‘We’ve got the tread pattern,’ Sanderson interjected. ‘It’s quite unusual, so we’ll chase down which outlets sell it.’

‘Good. We’re not letting Samantha believe she’s anything other than our number one suspect and we exhaust
every
avenue, up to the last minute to link her to these murders. Understood?’

Sanderson and Charlie nodded and left. Helen picked up the phone to dial Meredith Walker, but as she did so DC Reid knocked on the door. Replacing the cradle, Helen beckoned him in. Reid approached clutching a DVD. He handed it to Helen without a word, clearly worried about being the bearer of bad news.

Helen slipped the DVD into her laptop and the screen filled with a CCTV feed.

‘What is this?’

‘CCTV taken from a street near the Eastern Docks. One of the night watchmen down there saw someone matching Parker’s description, so we checked it out.’

Reid reached over and fast-forwarded the footage, before eventually pressing play. Helen leant in, looking closely at the date and timeline.

‘This is the night Max Paine was killed?’

‘Correct.’

The camera gave a decent view of the dockside and Helen now saw a woman walk into view. She paused the image – slicked down hair, a large, light-coloured coat over a skin-tight suit – it was Samantha all right. Helen resumed playing the footage and watched as the woman struck up a conversation with a man idling near a stationary van. Parker appeared to take the man’s hand and put it between her legs. Moments later, the two figures climbed into the back of the van.

‘The van doesn’t move for the next three hours. Then Parker exits. She doesn’t look in a very good state and gets out of there as quickly as she can.’

Helen nodded, but her eye was already straying to the timeline at the bottom of the screen, rewinding the footage to the moment Parker got into the van with her bit of rough. The clock read 22.02.

‘How accurate is the time on this feed?’

‘To the second.’

Helen breathed out, then suddenly stepped forward,
kicking her office chair with all her might. It careered across the room, slamming into the wall before toppling over. Without bothering to offer an explanation, Helen walked out of the door and away across the incident room, dozens of pairs of eyes following her as she went.

‘Not up to my usual standard. But pretty damn good in the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?’

Samantha offered her nails to Helen, clearly pleased with the few cosmetics items she’d managed to source.

‘Very nice,’ Helen told her, keeping her temper in check. It had taken the best part of twenty minutes to pull Samantha up from the cells, but the interval had done little to calm Helen. Jim Grieves had put Paine’s time of death as somewhere between 10.30 p.m. and 6.30 a.m. the following morning. Notwithstanding the fact that Paine died slowly, Parker’s presence at the docks at 10 p.m. meant it was more than likely that someone had visited Paine’s flat after her.

‘I want to keep myself looking my best. You never know what’s around the corner, do you?’

Her tone was teasing and playful.

‘Absolutely. But I don’t want to string this out any more than we have to. I expect you’re anxious to get home.’

Samantha shrugged, disappointed with Helen’s response. Was she expecting – hoping – for more aggression from Helen?

‘You’re right. It doesn’t do to leave my babies alone for too long.’

‘Quite.’

Samantha’s dolls were in fact all in evidence bags at Meredith’s lab. Surely Samantha would have guessed that, so was this yet another game? Helen looked down at her file, leafing casually through the pages, saying nothing. She could see in her peripheral vision that Samantha was twitchy and ill at ease, as if this exchange was not going as she’d hoped.

‘I’d like to clarify a few details about your night with Max Paine.’

‘Of course.’

‘We talked a little about “The Phoenix” last time.’

‘Got your juices flowing, did it?’

‘I want a little more detail about what you got up to specifically,’ Helen demanded, ignoring Parker’s jibes.

‘A lady never tells.’

‘Was it straight S&M or something more exotic?’

‘The latter.’

‘Details, please.’

‘Restraint and suffocation. I want total control.’

‘And how do you achieve that?’

‘Force of personality.’

‘What about the restraints? Do you ever use hog ties, for example?’

‘Of course.’

‘Have you ever used them front ways on? Securing the hands to the ankles so the back is bent forwards?’

‘Yes, it’s more painful that way.’

‘Did you do that to Paine?’ Helen said, looking Parker directly in the eye.

‘Yes,’ she replied, refusing to be intimidated.

‘Did you use any other restraints?’

‘Tape, leather – I was very thorough. I wanted every inch of that boy to be covered.’

‘And can I ask what time you left Paine’s flat?’

‘I honestly can’t remember.’

‘Roughly.’

‘Around eleven, I suppose.’

‘And then you went home.’

‘As I’ve said before, yes.’

Helen sat back in her chair. She had won this battle but lost the war and suddenly felt drained of energy. Her sincere vows to bring Jake’s killer to justice seemed a mockery now.

‘Why are you lying to me, Samantha?’

‘I’m not.’

‘You didn’t leave Paine’s flat at eleven, you left much earlier and headed straight down to the docks for some rough trade.’

‘That’s bullshit.’

‘We’ve got you on CCTV so there’s no point lying. Is that how you got those bruises? Things get nasty in that van, did they?’

‘I was
with
Paine,’ Samantha insisted.

‘Yes, but he was fine when you left him.’

‘I’ve told you what happened, how he died –’

‘You’ve recycled the details of Jake Elder’s death. Max Paine died in a Zentai suit, with his arms tied
backwards
in hog ties. You tried hard, but you were wrong on pretty much every detail.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Did something similar happen at the Torture Rooms? Why
were
you leaving in such a state? Did someone reject you, push you away?’

Samantha hesitated too long, giving Helen her answer.

‘I thought so.’

‘This is bullshit.’

‘You know, this is a first for me. I’ve never had a suspect who’s so keen to be charged with a double murder. You’ve been wasting my time, haven’t you, Samantha?’

‘You’ve got it wrong,’ Samantha said, now visibly flustered.

‘No, you’ve got it wrong,’ Helen said, rising. ‘We’re done here.’

Helen stabbed off the tape and walked to the door, pausing as she opened it.

‘Good luck, Samantha.’

Then, without waiting for a reply, she left.

It was mid-morning and the Pound Shop was heaving. Beleaguered mums juggled maxi packs of Monster Munch, while old age pensioners scoured the shelves for bargains, keen to eke out their weekly budget a little further. It was an odd place to be plotting a murder.

The tall, slender figure sailed through the crowds, amused by the sights on display. All these people were so bound up in their own lives, scrabbling in the bargain bins, ladling pick-and-mix into crumpled bags, that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them. What would they say if they knew? Would they be horrified? Or excited?

The police were no better. Grace’s team had pulled in a messed-up shemale who might interest them for a while. But they were wide of the mark and, though Grace would presumably cotton on soon, she wouldn’t be in time to prevent the next death. It was only hours away and already those same feelings were rising. Excitement. Tension. Control. Release.

This one would be a little bit different though. It wouldn’t do to become predictable and now was the time to really give the police something to think about. Whereas the others had been works of art, this would be
more down to earth, more homespun. This one would make them sit up and take note.

The cashier was ringing through the basket, chatting amiably. In her own mindless way she was becoming an accessory to murder. This was probably the most exciting thing that would ever happen to her and yet she was totally unaware of it, believing that this was just another routine sale of mundane domestic items.

But it was more than that. Much more than that. This was the beginning of the end.

‘I need everything you’ve got.’

Meredith Walker had been about to tuck into a well-earnt sandwich when Helen Grace burst through the doors. Her colleague seemed angry and frustrated and, as Meredith was brought up to speed with developments, it wasn’t hard to see why. The pair of them were now shut away in Meredith’s office, reams of paper spread out on the desk in front of them.

‘Every last detail. The answer
has
to be here somewhere.’

‘You’d think, wouldn’t you?’

‘This guy’s not a ghost, he’s flesh and blood. He can’t just visit these scenes and leave no trace.’

‘I’ll admit it’s odd, but he has clearly been
very
careful. He wears a body suit, perhaps a mask, and never takes his gloves off. There are no prints on Paine’s thermostat, nothing on the door handles or on the Zentai suit, the hog ties –’

‘What about more circumstantial stuff? From the corridors, outside Paine’s flat, in the bins.’

‘We’re still sweeping, but any defence would have a field day with the possibilities of cross-contamination –’

‘I need
something
here.’

‘I understand that, but we can’t magic up the evidence.’

‘What about the Torture Rooms? What have we got there?’

‘Twenty-three different sources of DNA at the crime scene. I think your lot have been over these already.’

‘What else?’

‘We’ve got a number of DNA sources in close proximity to the corridor which we haven’t been able to match.’

‘What do you mean by “a number”? ’

Meredith lifted a file on her desk to reveal another, from which she now pulled a sheet of paper.

‘We have … a few beer bottles, a cigarette butt, a used condom, a glove. All of them containing DNA which we can’t match to anyone on file.’

‘He’s unlikely to have had sex – the MO doesn’t suggest it’s that sort of crime – but perhaps one of the others?’

Meredith half nodded, half shrugged – she looked as unconvinced as Helen sounded. Helen rubbed her face with her hands and stared at the sheets of paper on the desk. So much data, such little progress.

‘Do you think we’ll catch him?’ Helen said suddenly.

‘It’s early days, Helen.’

‘There’s always going to be one that gets away though, isn’t there?’

‘He’ll make a mistake. They always do. And when he does, you’ll be waiting for him. I have every confidence in you.’

Helen thanked Meredith, then headed off. She was
grateful for her support, but the truth was that this case was so unusual and so puzzling that she was genuinely concerned about the outcome.

For the first time in years, Helen was beginning to doubt herself.