The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3 (11 page)

Killing the engine, he leapt into the back of the van, taking care not to trip over the building detritus that littered the van floor. Easing the back door partially open, he slipped out and, crouching down behind the sides of the parked cars, scurried along the road.

Reaching the end of the road, he took cover behind a green Fiat and paused. This last bit was the most important – he could blow it now if he was rash. Counting to ten, he chanced a look round the back of the Fiat towards his van. Sure enough, a plain-clothes copper was peering through the van windscreen, searching for his mark.

‘Imbecile,’ Nathan muttered to himself, as the police officer ran back up the road towards his colleague.

Seeing him turn his back, Nathan took his chance, darting out of his hiding place and around the corner. Now he picked up his pace, sprinting down Winchester Road again, before cutting sharply left into St James’ Park. Pulling his hood up over his face, he slowed to a quick walk now, moving steadily but with purpose. Soon he was on Church Street and finally safe from pursuit.

As he walked home, Nathan felt no temptation to congratulate himself. He had had a lucky escape and from now on he would have to be very, very careful. One slip, one small mistake and the whole house would come crashing down.

41

The sun shone down on the water so brightly that Ruby had to raise her hands to shield her eyes from the glare. It was punishing, but it was a ravishingly beautiful sight nevertheless.

Steephill Cove was a perfect horseshoe bay and it looked resplendent today in the fierce spring sunshine. Ruby and her family had been coming to the Isle of Wight since she was small, and this was their favourite place on the island. Ruby knew every detail of it, right down to her favourite rock pools and climbing crags.

Mum, Dad, Cassie, Conor and their border collie, Max, were haring about on the beach, playing frisbee and splashing in the surf as a prelude to their picnic. They never did these by halves and though it was a pain to lug the hampers down the steep steps to the beach, it was always worth it. The kids would be allowed a swig of the sparkling wine – Dad always fired the cork up into the sea much to Mum’s consternation – to wash down the pies, crisps, sandwiches, home-made cakes and biscuits that Mum had assembled the night before. They always felt sick afterwards of course – but in a good way.

Stripping off to her bikini, Ruby ran into the surf, the
foaming water jumping up at her as she hurdled the waves. Diving in, she swam hard – her arms cutting gracefully through the water – and before long she was far out to sea, her family now distant figures on the beach.

Holding her breath, Ruby plunged under the water. Down, down, down she went, kicking hard away from the churning surface and into the depths below. It was part of a game she’d invented to wind up her mother. She would swim out a long way, then disappear under the waves for as long as she could. Her mother, who wasn’t a confident swimmer and hated the sea, never failed to react, pacing the shoreline, calling to her. Her father, who was used to her tricks, never reacted, which irritated Ruby a touch, but at least she could always rely on Mum.

When she did finally surface, she would wave cheerfully to her as if she couldn’t hear her mother’s cries, before plunging under again. She would keep this up until she eventually took pity on her. Swimming back to shore, she could always be sure of a cuddle and an affectionate reprimand.

Her breath was running out now, her lungs bursting for fresh air, so she turned and kicked hard for the surface. She hadn’t achieved much in life, but she had always been a strong swimmer and Ruby felt elated now as she arrowed upwards, her sleek form cutting through the water.

Bursting through the surface, she took off her goggles and trod water, while drinking in great gulpfuls of air. Sure enough, she heard her mother’s plaintive cries. Smiling to herself, she prepared to dive again. Her mother’s cries were louder now and she resolved to ignore them, but suddenly she felt her mother’s arm on her shoulder, pulling her to shore. How had she got out here? It was miles from –

‘Summer.’

Already her dream was starting to fragment.

‘Summer.’

It wasn’t her mother pulling her to shore, it was him shaking her awake from her reverie.

Her jailer had returned.

42

‘So what do we do now?’

Harwood was to the point as usual. Helen had informed her that Nathan had escaped his surveillance team, with predictable results.

‘Watch and wait,’ Helen replied evenly. ‘We’ve tagged the van, so if he comes back we’ll know and I’ve sent teams to his home, the job he’s currently on –’

‘And are we sure he’s worth all these resources? I’ve no doubt he’s a nasty piece of work, but he has no record to speak of –’

‘He’s the only face in the frame. He has a history of violence and an unhealthy interest in young women, and had access to both women’s flats. If we watch him, I think we’ll get results.’

Helen had soft-pedalled the possible connection between Ruby Sprackling and Pippa Briers until now, but with Nathan Price slipping off the radar, the need for extra resources had forced her to come clean with Harwood.

‘Possibly,’ Harwood replied without enthusiasm. ‘Two days max and I want to be kept up to speed, right?’

‘Of course,’ Helen countered, refusing to react to the implied criticism.

‘Was there something else?’

Harwood was clearly keen to get back to her paperwork and was both confused and mildly irritated that Helen showed no signs of leaving. Helen sized up the situation – it was far from ideal – then ploughed on nevertheless.

‘I’d like to take a POLSA team back to Carsholt beach.’

‘What on earth for? The beach has just been reopened to the public, we’ve got school holidays coming up. What could we possibly gain from sending a full search team down there?’

‘I’m worried about the interval between Ruby’s disappearance and Pippa’s,’ Helen continued quickly. ‘There could be a gap of four years or more between them and, well, that just doesn’t feel right.’

‘What doesn’t
feel
right?’ Harwood countered.

‘Both these girls share a look, they are vulnerable and lonely, both have vanished without a trace. Furthermore, they have both been kept “alive” through the use of texts, Twitter and the like. It looks like it’s the same perpetrator and if it is, then we can say that this guy is organized, determined and most of all driven. He’s looking for a certain kind of gratification that only these girls can provide and is clearly willing to go to great lengths and take great risks in order to get it. Stranger abduction of grown adults from the home is incredibly rare.’

‘So?’

‘So, do we believe he would abduct and murder Pippa, then wait another three to four years before trying again? The level of organization that goes into these abductions suggests to me a level of compulsion that is unlikely to come and go. All the studies show that these sorts of predator –’

‘Please don’t quote your courses at me. I know how well qualified you are in this territory,’ Harwood replied coolly.

‘I’m worried he may have targeted other girls –’

‘And do you have any proof of this?’

‘Not yet. But –’

‘Then, we’ll leave things as they are. I don’t want to alarm the public and until we know more about what we’re dealing with, we sit tight.’

Helen said nothing.

‘It does seem to be my day for saying no, doesn’t it,’ Harwood added breezily, ‘but you know what our budgets are like.’

Helen left shortly afterwards, with as much grace as she could muster. Was she being punished for her earlier outburst? For past crimes? Either way, Helen had the nasty feeling that they had just made a very bad decision and that their failure to act would cost more lives.

43

They stared at each other, neither saying a word. Ruby was still furious at being dragged from the warm cocoon of her dream and enraged by her captor’s patronizing kindness.

‘I’m sorry to have left you alone for such a long time.’

He clearly wanted a response, but she wasn’t going to give him one. What right did he have to wake her up? To keep her here? He was a sick fuck, who deserved nothing but her scorn.

‘Summer?’

Still she stared at him.

‘Are you feeling ok? You look pale.’

‘I’m
fine
, how are you?’ Her tone was withering and she was amused to see that she had hurt him.

‘I’m trying to be nice, Summer.’

‘Go to Hell.’

She had wanted to sound angry, but her voice wobbled slightly. She cursed herself for her weakness.

‘Well, aren’t you going to say something?’ she continued, eyeballing him.

He looked at her for a long time, saying nothing in
response. Then with a small shake of the head, he rose and walked back to the door.

‘Don’t go.’

Ruby found herself rising, the thought of being alone suddenly too much for her to bear.

He paused at the door to look over his shoulder.

‘You brought this on yourself, Summer.’

Then without another word he left, slamming the door behind him. The first bolt was pushed firmly into place. Then the next. Each one seemed to go right through Ruby.

‘Please. I didn’t mean it. Please stay.’

Ruby could hear him walk away. Then the dull sound of another door closing in the near distance.

‘Please,’ she moaned.

But there was no one to hear her now. And Ruby knew as she lay there that it was
she
who was in Hell, not him. With him, she was scared and uncertain, without him she was desolate. Like it or loathe it, there was no escaping the fact that he was her world now.

44

Charlie drummed her fingers on the table, shooting nervous looks at the entrance. Steve often passed by this way on his way to work. If he happened to spot her holed up in a coffee shop with Helen, when she’d explicitly told him she was meeting her mum, she would have some explaining to do.

According to Steve, their life was now back on track following past traumas. The right decisions had been made, with the right results, and now a long and happy life lay ahead of them. Was it just fear – of the birth, of what followed after – that made Charlie uncertain? Or was it that she was a worker at heart, someone with a vocation that could not easily be discarded?

She had been surprised – and excited – by Helen’s text. It read simply:

‘Can you meet this morning? Urgent and discreet if you can.’

With surprising ease, she found herself lying to Steve, slipping on her coat and heading out the door. Did she really miss police work so much that she would drop everything and deceive her husband because of a brief text? Suddenly, Charlie felt a pang of guilt, but before
her misgivings could take hold, she saw Helen hurrying towards her.

‘I’m sorry I’m late. Blame Harwood.’

‘I usually do,’ Charlie replied, their shared antipathy for their station chief drawing a smile from her boss.

‘And I’m sorry to be so secretive, but what I’m about to ask you to do breaks all the rules and could land you and me in a serious amount of trouble.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Charlie said gamely, but was already a little unnerved by Helen’s manner.

‘If you want to say no – and you probably should – then that’s totally fine. But there’s no one else I can confide in.’

It had been a long time since Charlie had seen Helen like this. There was clearly a lot resting on this meeting. Helen didn’t keep her guessing, filling her in on her recent ‘discovery’ of her missing nephew and her subsequent clash with Harwood about her refusal to formally request the unredacted file. Charlie could already see where this was going.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t have any meaningful contacts in the Northamptonshire force, no one I can trust at least. I know this is completely irregular, but –’

Helen’s voice wavered slightly as she spoke, so Charlie put her out of her misery:

‘It’s ok, Helen, I know what you’re asking.’

Charlie’s oldest friend from police college had just
taken a high-profile desk job with Northamptonshire police. DS Sally Mason was the keeper of the administrative gates up there – if anyone could lay their hands on the unredacted material, she could. But Charlie had no idea how she would react to such an outrageous request.

‘Let me mull it over,’ Charlie said.

‘That’s all I ask. If I could think of another way, I would. But … I need to know if he’s ok, Charlie.’

Helen left soon after, Charlie promising to be in touch. Truth be told, she already knew that she would do what Helen asked. Because she felt for her. Because it was the right thing to do in the circumstances. And perhaps – just a little bit – because it would be fun.

45

An hour later, Helen strode into the incident room. She was pleased to see that everyone was busy, the team finally finding its rhythm in the heat of battle. A major investigation had a way of forcing everyone to up their game, make connections and forge new ground together. It always gave Helen a quiet sense of satisfaction to observe it taking place.

Seeing that everyone was fully occupied, Helen seized the moment, pulling Sanderson aside. Marching her into the office would have excited people’s attention, so Helen guided her subtly to the water cooler and, lowering her voice, outlined her plans. For the second time that day she was committing an act of gross insubordination.

‘I need you to do a bit of digging – for my eyes only, right?’

‘Of course, boss, whatever you say.’

Helen had grown to trust Sanderson over the last couple of years. She wasn’t Charlie but she was the closest thing to her at present.

‘I think our perpetrator will have abducted – or attempted to abduct – other girls during the last five
years or so. Someone who’s this committed, this driven, isn’t going to fall in and out of obsession. He’ll be compelled to stalk, abduct or kill.’

Sanderson nodded, so Helen continued.

‘Detective Superintendent Harwood isn’t minded to agree, hence the need for discretion. Choose your moments, but I want you to go through the crime reports on the PNC, as well as trawling the missing persons lists for Southampton, Portsmouth, Bournemouth looking for young women who might fit our profile. Limit yourself to single girls, who are isolated and vulnerable, perhaps just out of a relationship. They probably live alone, are not massively well-off and for now let’s assume they have the same look – black hair, blue eyes. Do it discreetly, but do it quickly. I hope I’m wrong, but if this guy is a serial predator, I want to know. Any crime – or attempted crime – might help us find him. Ok?’