The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3 (32 page)

‘I’d like to talk to you about your brother. And about Ben Fraser.’

Her eyes narrowed. Was that suspicion Helen saw there? Anger? The elderly woman stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, then slipped off the chain and opened the door.

‘You’d better come in, then.’

Nodding her thanks, Helen stepped inside, the heavy door slamming firmly shut behind her.

132

Ben walked towards the WestQuay with a spring in his step. After all the recent trouble, things were shaping up nicely. Summer seemed her usual trusting self and as for Ruby, well … she wouldn’t be a problem for much longer. She believed she was going to be released, which would buy him a day or so before the shouting and moaning started. When would she realize that she had been abandoned? And how would she react? The first one had resisted for nearly two weeks, banging at the door, screaming and shouting. And the third one was just as bad. The second one was less bright and had given up more quickly, which was much less fun. He liked it when they ranted and raved and begged. He couldn’t hear them upstairs of course, so he had to descend into the basement when he wanted to listen to them. As soon as they heard his footsteps approaching, they started up with the pleading. He would never open the door, though sometimes he teased them, slipping the key into the lock before removing it again. The thought still made Ben smile.

Of course, this time the disposal would be more complicated. Carsholt beach had been perfect for him
in its wild isolation – but events had forced the change. He had already made the decision to bury Ruby in the New Forest. If he took her there in the dead of night, he would be unmolested and he had to admit there was a pleasing symmetry about burying her where he had first burned her clothes. The vegetation was so thick round there, the chance of anyone stumbling upon the burial site was remote.

Ben was so wrapped up in his thoughts that only now did he realize that he had walked straight past his shop and all the way to the end of the arcade. Shaking his head, he turned and began to head back towards WestKeys. He was already late opening – he didn’t want to arouse anyone’s suspicions by …

Suddenly he ground to a halt. Instinctively, he turned to look in the shoe shop window next to him. Sweat was already breaking out on his forehead and he was surprised to see his hands were shaking. Was he over-reacting? Seeing things that weren’t there? He walked into the shoe shop to gather himself and, turning, looked through the shop window back into the concourse. The young black man in the shirt and jacket was sitting at the café opposite WestKeys, but his attention was definitely directed towards the shop, rather than towards the newspaper that sat uselessly on the table in front of him.

Directing his gaze upwards, Ben spotted another one. A young woman on the upper concourse. She seemed
to be texting, yet her gaze kept straying to the WestKeys frontage. Ben was out of the shoe shop now, walking steadily but quickly past his shop. En route, he saw one more – a young man, sitting by the water feature, looking at his watch, as if waiting for someone.

Ben knew exactly who he was waiting for and wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Hurrying towards the emergency exit, he burst into the stairwell and ran towards the exit.

133

The incident room was empty, which seemed fitting. Ceri Harwood stood alone, her eyes flicking over the board, taking in the pictures of Pippa, Roisin, Isobel and Ruby. The entire team was out hunting Ben Fraser – this major operation was reaching its climax. With luck, Fraser would soon be in custody, but this thought gave Harwood little pleasure. She would be excluded from the triumph, isolated in defeat.

How had she misjudged things so badly? There had been other DIs, women especially, who had threatened her position before. She had crushed them easily, exiling them from her unit, replacing them with ambitious, compliant officers who would dance to her tune. But Helen Grace had refused to buckle, had always found ways to evade the traps laid for her. Perhaps it was time to acknowledge that she lacked the imagination to deal with Helen Grace. Perhaps she was too bound by protocol, by rules and regulations, to deal with an adversary who was constantly surprising. In the final analysis, she just wasn’t good enough to beat her.

It was time to go and see Fisher now. She had typed out her resignation letter, had her excuses ready – the
easy lie of wanting to spend more time with her family. That bit almost made her laugh. She had the girls of course, but their family was fractured now – weekend visits to their dad would be a constant reminder of that. Even now this seemed such an odd thought. They had come to Southampton so full of optimism and yet the end result had been catastrophic for everyone. She would have to rebuild her career, her life, elsewhere now – it was time for someone else to take the lead. Please God, Fisher doesn’t give the job to Grace, Ceri Harwood thought, as she left the incident room. She had suffered enough indignities already.

134

Alice Loughton stared at Helen Grace. Was that suspicion in her eyes? Or worse, incomprehension? She had said nothing since Helen started outlining the urgent reason for her visit and Helen had a nasty feeling that she wasn’t taking in the import of her words. Finally, however, the old woman opened her mouth and said in a croaky whisper:

‘You’re sure?’

‘We are.’

‘And how long … ?’

‘We’re not sure, but we believe he’s been targeting women in the Southampton area for nearly five years.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

This is what Helen had been afraid of.

‘I know it’s hard to take in – and I’d like to reiterate that neither you nor your brother are in any trouble – but we do need your help –’

‘I only met him once or twice, but he always seemed such a gentle boy.’

‘I appreciate that –’

‘Edward found him sleeping in the shopping centre. In one of the loading bays. He was only small – fourteen
or so. Edward offered to take him back to his mother but the boy begged him not to. So he went to a hostel instead –’

‘Where does he live now, Alice?’

‘Edward took an interest in him after,’ she replied, seeming not to hear Helen’s question. ‘Gave him a job in the shop. He’s been working there – Lord knows – well over ten years now. Edward
relied
upon him. He was a damn sight more reliable than some of the people in his other shops.’

‘I do understand that, Alice, but it’s vitally important we talk to him now. If he is innocent, then we can exclude him from our investigation and move on –’

‘Edward was like a father to him, which was why he was so generous in his will.’

‘He left him money?’

‘No! Edward didn’t like money – not in the way you mean. He liked assets – houses, businesses and so on.’

‘So he gave Ben Fraser property?’

‘Don’t look so surprised. It’s a tumbledown affair in a dubious part of town, but all these places have their day, don’t they, as the town expands? Edward thought it would see Ben right in the long term.’

‘And do you know where it is?’

‘Of course I do, I’m not completely doolally,’ she replied, giving Helen a hard stare.

‘Then tell me, please. A young woman’s life is at stake.’

The old woman sized Helen up, as if trying to work
out if she could trust her or not, before eventually she replied:

‘He lives at 14 Alfreton Terrace. It’s not five minutes from here.’

135

Ben let out a roar and drove his fist into the glass. The mirror shattered and fell to the floor as the blood oozed from his lacerated knuckles. Without hesitation, he stamped on it, his heavy boots pounding it to oblivion.

How? How? How?

How had they found him so quickly? Those bodies were dug up less than a week ago and already they were staking out his shop. It was purely a matter of luck – and their incompetence – that they hadn’t caught him there and then. He let out an anguished howl and drove his head against the exposed brick wall. It couldn’t be happening, not when Summer had just come back into his life, when he was so close …

How long would it take them to find this place? The home that he had so lovingly constructed for their future happiness? It couldn’t be long now. Once they found out who owned the shop, they would talk to that old bitch. If he was lucky she might be barmy by now, but he couldn’t take that chance. There was nothing for him to do but disappear.

He still had the van. They wouldn’t know about that. And the fake plates would make it hard for them to find
him. He could visit Summer tonight. He had never made such a direct approach before, but needs must. If they could be together before the evening news broke, then they might make it away completely.

Marching to the utility room, Ben picked up the squat glass bottle. The rubber bung was still firmly in place and he could see that there was enough clear liquid inside for his needs. He snatched up a couple of old rags and shoved them in his pocket. He turned to leave, then paused. This place would be like a treasure trove when the cops turned up. This distillation unit, his mementoes of Summer, not to mention that thing in the doll’s house downstairs. Bitterness gripped his heart as he thought of those faceless policemen and women passing judgement on him as they patiently fingered his possessions …

Suddenly Ben knew what he had to do. Throwing the cardboard boxes aside, rifling through the detritus of this small room, he found what he was looking for. A large can of turpentine. And nearby it on the shelf, an old lighter, a relic of his smoking days.

Picking them both up, he stalked over to the trap door and hauled it roughly open.

136

Ruby looked up hopefully as the door swung open. Was this it then? But as soon as she saw the look on his face, all hope died within her. He looked at her with ill-disguised contempt and, worse, with intent. Ruby scrabbled off the bed as he approached, bounding towards the other side of the table. But she wasn’t quick enough, his left fist slamming into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

As she doubled over, his knee connected sharply with her nose and for a moment she blacked out. When she came to, she found herself lying on the floor. Her wrists were pinched and hurting – when she turned she saw that he was securing her bound hands to the metal bedstead.

‘Please.’

He ignored her, instead producing a battered metal can, whose contents he now poured on to the floor around her. The smell of the clear liquid was overpowering. Suddenly Ruby had an inkling of what he was going to do – but it didn’t make any sense. This was
his
doll’s house. Why would he destroy something that he’d created? What had gone wrong?

‘Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything. Please don’t kill me.’

The can was now empty and he tossed it aside. Ruby’s pleas seemed to have no effect on him – he now produced a cigarette lighter from his pocket.

‘I’ll be your Summer. I
am
your Summer, please don’t hurt me.’

Still he refused to look at her, instead igniting the lighter. He looked at the dancing flame in his hands and as he did so a thin smile crept over his face. Finally he looked up, his eyes boring into her:

‘See you on the other side.’

And with that, he tossed the lighter towards her.

137

Helen wrenched the throttle towards her and the bike kicked forward. Cutting down Queen’s Drive, she cornered sharply on to the ring road, immediately upping her speed to 90 mph. Finally they had the lead they wanted – the breakthrough they had been searching for since Pippa’s body was discovered – and yet Helen suddenly felt with total conviction that every second counted. It was as if time had just sped up, pushing them towards some desperate and uncertain conclusion.

Six unmarked cars followed her. They would arrive silently – no sirens, no lights – and once the Firearms Unit arrived to support them, they would go in swift and hard. There was no telling how a psychopath like Ben Fraser would react to the realization that his carefully constructed universe was about to implode. Many serial predators killed their victims and then themselves. Others tried to take some police officers with them. You could never predict how they would react.

Suddenly Helen saw it and her heart skipped a beat. A thin plume of smoke rising up into the sky. He
knew
. Helen didn’t know how, couldn’t even say for sure yet that the smoke was coming from Alfreton Terrace – and
yet what other explanation could there be for this sudden and unexpected sight in a lonely part of town?

There were no school mums or passers-by round here, so Helen upped her speed still further, hurtling down Constance Avenue and into Alfreton Terrace. There it was – number 14 – a horrible, decaying impression of a Victorian home. Lifeless, rotting and nondescript – apart from the smoke that now seeped from the ill-fitting windows.

Helen leapt off her Kawasaki while it was still moving, the discarded bike sliding awkwardly to a stop in the yard. Sanderson was only a minute or two behind in the car, so Helen squeezed her radio, as she ran towards the house.

‘Call the fire service. I’m going in.’

There was a shout of protest from Sanderson, but Helen didn’t respond, ramming the radio into her leather jacket, as she sprinted towards the door. Without stopping, she launched herself at it. Pain seared through her shoulder as it connected with the heavy wooden door. The door buckled but stood firm, denying her entry. A bolt at the bottom was drawn, barring her way. It suggested that their killer was safety-conscious – and, more than that, that he was within.

Helen drew her baton and kicked at the stubborn bolt. Her steel-capped boots connected aggressively and, after a couple of kicks, the bolt flew off its hinges. The door fell crashing to the ground behind, sending up a huge plume of dust. Helen hurried inside, Sanderson
and McAndrew pulling up outside just in time to see her disappear into the burning house.

Helen scanned the front room for signs of life, but there were none. Her only thought was to find a way down. His victims had been kept in darkness, so if there was a basement …