Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (8 page)

The car sped through the streets, bullying the traffic out of its way. The sirens weren’t on, but the flashing blue light was having the desired effect. The roads were clogged today – it was less than three weeks until Christmas and Southampton was full of out-of-town shoppers – but their progress was swift nevertheless. It was almost as if people knew how important this was and made way accordingly.

Helen always felt more comfortable on two wheels than four, so she’d let Charlie drive. There were three other cars making their way to the scene – Helen wanted to create a secure perimeter around the pub – meaning that for once Charlie and Helen were travelling alone. The road had opened up now and they were finally entering Millbrook. Helen could see the police incident boards on the pavement, appealing for witnesses to the Simms house fire and it refocused her mind on what lay ahead.

Pulling up around the corner from the Hope and Anchor, Helen took out her police radio. She could see one unmarked car in place and wanted to check that the other two were in their positions. A swift radio round established that they were.

‘Right, let’s do this. Ready?’

Charlie nodded, so they climbed out of the car and hurried round the corner to the pub. Some officers – mostly
male – would have advocated a mob-handed approach, going through the front door with a phalanx of uniformed officers in body armour. They thought this was a safer, more effective approach to bringing crooks in than the traditional tap on the shoulder. But Helen didn’t agree. Often you gave the game away before you’d even begun. The people in these sorts of places drink with their eyes and ears open. They are likely to spot a group of coppers gathering in the street. Moreover, such a clumsy approach was, in Helen’s view,
more
likely to lead to trouble, the disturbed criminals reacting violently to such a sudden and heavy-handed intrusion.

As they stood on the threshold, Helen looked to Charlie once more – a silent nod returned – then she pushed the door firmly and went inside. The pub was filling up now – scallywags drinking a ‘well-earned’ pint at the end of another day of ducking and diving – and was noisy and lively as a result. As soon as the two smartly dressed women stepped into the pub, however, the atmosphere changed. Heads turned, voices were lowered – everyone present wondering who had done something wrong.

Gary Spence hadn’t looked to see who these intruders were, but Helen could tell by his body language that he had tensed up. Was he expecting them?

‘Gary Spence?’

There was long pause – nobody was talking now – before Gary slowly put down his pint and turned to face her.

‘Have we met, darling?’

‘I’m DI Grace, this is DC Brooks. We’d like a word with you, please.’

Gary stared at her, saying nothing. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his pint, then said:

‘Fire away.’

‘Not here. We’ve got a car outside.’

‘Serious, is it?’

‘I’d prefer to do this at the station, so when you’re ready.’

Gary looked at her once more. A thin smile spread across his mouth.

‘Have it your way.’

At which he flung his pint in Helen’s face and bolted for the back of the pub. Helen was too startled to react and Charlie a nanosecond too slow. He brushed past her outstretched hand and sprinted for the saloon door. Immediately he came face to face with Sanderson who had sprung from her position.

‘Police. You are –’

But she didn’t get any further. Spence launched himself at her, his beefy shoulder connecting with her head on, sending them both reeling backwards through the door and into the dingy passage outside. Sanderson tried to get up first but felt an elbow slam into her stomach, knocking the wind from her. She was left clutching at thin air as the escaping Spence raced away towards the emergency exit nearby.

Before Sanderson could rise, Helen Grace sped through, hurdling her grounded officer and setting off after the fleeing crook. Charlie paused momentarily to check Sanderson was ok, before following suit. Moments later they were both in the freezing courtyard outside. Spence was nowhere to be seen but the fixed gaze of a
couple of startled smokers now revealed his position. He was climbing the fire escape – Helen had expected him to head out and away, but actually he was heading
up
.

Helen turned to Charlie.

‘Tell the others he’s making for the roof.’

As Charlie radioed this in, Helen ran up the fire escape, taking the steps two at a time. Spence had a head start on her, but carried considerably more weight than Helen and she was hopeful of hunting him down.

One flight, two, three, then finally Helen crested the fire escape, spilling out on to the gravel roof. Immediately she spotted Spence sprinting towards the far edge. She gave chase but he was thirty feet ahead and as he came to the edge of the roof, leapt from it, straining every sinew to get across the large gap that separated the pub from its nearest neighbour. He made the other side, but only just, his right foot sliding off the slippery ledge, threatening to unbalance him, before he righted himself and raced on.

Despite the forty-foot fall that awaited her if she misjudged the jump, Helen didn’t hesitate. The buildings round here were detached, flat-roofed commercial properties. If Spence was quick and lucky he could escape their net altogether via the rooftops. Helen launched herself across the divide, landing safely on the other side. But as she landed, she skidded on the scattered gravel, her legs giving out from underneath her. Feeling herself go, she wrenched her torso round, rolling swiftly and elegantly on the ground, before flipping back up on to her feet.

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?’

‘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.’

‘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?