Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (36 page)

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Authors: M. J. Arlidge

BOOK: Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller)

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140

DC McAndrew raced down the stairs, barging her startled colleagues aside. Helen had just rung off and was haring back to base, but there was no time to lose. Pushing through the double doors, McAndrew sprinted into the custody area.

‘Cell three. I need it open now.’

The custody sergeant looked up, aggrieved at this sudden intrusion.

‘NOW!’ McAndrew roared.

And now he didn’t hesitate, snatching up his keys and marching with her towards the third cell on the left. Without hesitating to open the viewing hatch, he turned the key and wrenched the door open. McAndrew didn’t wait for the standard invitation to enter, pushing past him aggressively.

But she was too late. Naomie Jackson had made full use of the extra blanket she’d requested, fashioning an impromptu noose from which she now swung. Screaming, McAndrew climbed up on to the toilet seat, pulling frantically at the knot, but she knew it was hopeless. Naomie was already dead.

At the end, the lovers would be together in death.

141

It was Christmas Day. A day Thomas Simms had been dreading.

It was less than a fortnight since he’d buried his wife and daughter and the idea of enjoying some Christmas cheer seemed both unreal and obscene. Karen had loved the festive season, Alice too of course, and he knew that even in years to come, when the wounds were perhaps a little less raw, he would always struggle at this time of year. It would remind him of all he had lost.

Fresh on the back of the funeral they’d heard the news that those responsible had taken their own lives in a prearranged suicide pact. This was the final blow as far as Thomas was concerned and for days he’d raged at the police, reporters, family – anyone who’d listen – furious that the family had been denied justice. He felt nothing for the perpetrators and their death provoked no sense of triumph in him, just a sense of emptiness and deflation.

Luke felt the same – he knew that. Thomas’s son said very little these days – he was a far cry from the chatty, optimistic teenager he’d once been – but Thomas could tell that he too seethed with anger and frustration. Luke was furious with the world, furious with Harris and Jackson, but most of all he was furious with himself for the part he thought he’d played in the family’s misfortune.

It had never occurred to Thomas to blame his son. As
far as he was concerned, they had been visited by someone else’s madness. But try as he might he couldn’t get Luke to see things his way. The boy was intent on blaming himself, even though there were others who were far more culpable in his view. Jacqueline Harris had actually written to them – the letter arriving three days before Christmas – clumsily expressing her remorse and guilt. But Luke wasn’t interested and Thomas had torn up the letter before he’d got to the end of the first page. It was clear she was seeking absolution – and he wasn’t going to give her that.

There was nothing to celebrate this year, but Christmas had arrived anyway, unbidden and unwelcome. There was no tree, of course, no decorations, no turkey or presents – none of the trappings they used to enjoy. There
were
cards, however. These had arrived in a trickle at first, then by the dozen, then in great armloads, as relatives, friends and total strangers felt moved to send Luke and Thomas their fervent hopes for brighter days ahead. Luke didn’t want to look at them, so Thomas spirited them away to his bedroom, where he could read them in private.

Some of them made him cry, others made him smile. But all of them were valuable. None more so than the one from Charlie Brooks, who had kept a discreet but vigilant eye on them since the conclusion of the investigation. She had her own issues to deal with – had her own family – but her concern and affection for Thomas and Luke was not in question. And as Thomas read her card for a third, then a fourth time, he realized why her card – and many others like hers – had given him such comfort.

Because they reminded him that despite all the darkness out there, there is goodness too.

142

Jessica tore the wrapping paper off and peered at the gift inside. Intrigued, she pulled out the Peppa Pig Carousel and showed it to her parents, before returning her attention to the shiny silver paper. Helen suppressed a smile. Her experience of children was limited, but she knew that toddlers were always more interested in the boxes and paper that contained their presents than the gifts themselves.

‘Sorry, she will play with it, but needs to spend some quality time with the wrapping paper first,’ Charlie said, grimacing.

‘Don’t worry,’ Helen responded quickly, ‘I just like to see her enjoying the day.’

And it was true. At first, Helen had been unsure whether to accept Charlie’s offer to join them on Christmas Day. She didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case and, besides, she had her own little rituals at Christmas that had stood her in good stead thus far. However, the temptation to spend the big day with people who cared for her had proved too strong in the end – and Helen was glad to have exchanged her standard Murgh Zafrani with extra coriander for Steve’s roast turkey with all the trimmings.

She’d wondered if it would feel odd to spend Christmas with someone else’s family but actually she’d had a great time and she chided herself now for her unnecessary
fears. The icing on the cake had been the news that Richard Ford had found a new post with a sister fire service in the States and was due there soon. One less thing on my conscience, Helen had thought when she received Gardam’s text. She was sure Adam Latham had swung this for his former colleague and, caught up in the Christmas spirit, Helen felt herself softening towards the man who’d tried to destroy her reputation. For all his faults, he was a leader who looked after his own. Just as she had done, Helen reflected, with Charlie.

‘Helen?’

Helen snapped out of her thoughts to find Steve and Charlie staring at her, amused expressions on their faces.

‘Sorry, miles away.’

‘This is for you,’ Charlie continued, handing Helen a present. ‘And before you open it, I’d just like to say thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For everything. I … well, we’ve all found it hard, me going back to work, and I think I’d have probably walked if it wasn’t for you.’

Helen accepted Charlie’s gratitude, playing down her role in her decision to stay – the latter was far stronger and more determined than she ever gave herself credit for. But, in order to fend off Charlie’s protestations to the contrary, Helen now opened the present and was surprised and pleased to find that it was a new scarf – a replica of the one she’d lost.

‘I heard you mislaid the last one, so here’s No. 2. Try not to lose it this time, eh?’

Helen smiled and uttered a brief thanks, suddenly
choked with emotion by this thoughtful gift. Wrapping it around herself – much to Jessica’s amusement and delight – Helen vowed that she would take very good care of this one, because of what it meant to her.

For the first time in ages, Helen didn’t feel alone.

143

Christmas was over for another year. The turkey had been eaten and presents exchanged, and the clean-up operation was in full swing. Christmas Day in the Gardam household was always a big deal – Sarah taking it upon herself to up the ante each year to keep the horde of relatives, friends and plus ones entertained. She always complained about it, but Jonathan Gardam knew that secretly she loved it – the excitement, the preparation, and that contented feeling afterwards when you knew it had all gone well.

The TV was on, but nobody was really watching it. Sarah and the kids were playing a board game and his mother was slumbering quietly in the easy chair. Jonathan took this as his cue to slip away. He enjoyed Christmas as much as the next man, but the claustrophobia of it sometimes got to him and then he liked to escape to his office – or his sanctuary, as Sarah labelled it – at the top of the house.

Hovering in the office doorway, he listened for any signs of pursuit. But nobody seemed to have noticed his departure, judging by the raucous and good-humoured accusations of cheating among the board game participants, so he pushed the door to gently and turned the key in the lock. This was probably overkill and might arouse suspicion, but he didn’t want to be disturbed.

There had one been gift to himself that he’d been looking forward to all day. Something special, something secret that nobody but him would appreciate.

Seating himself at his desk, he switched on the light and opened the top drawer. It was stacked full of files as usual, but Gardam lifted these out now, placing them carefully on the nearby coffee table. Beneath them in the drawer was a small plastic bag and within that was his prize.

Gardam slipped his hand inside and was immediately excited by the feel of the material. It was a guilty pleasure for sure – a gift that he had stolen rather than been given – which made it all the more enjoyable. He smiled to himself now as he pulled Helen Grace’s scarf from the drawer.

He held it to his face, breathing in her scent, before gently brushing it against his cheek, revelling in its softness. He closed his eyes and for a moment was transported away from work and family, away from all the things that were as much a duty as a pleasure, to the real centre of his affections.

The enigmatic but compelling DI Helen Grace.