The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3 (33 page)

She darted her head into the living room, alive to the danger of ambush, but it was empty. She hauled the dirty rug off the floor, but finding nothing, headed straight into the kitchen. It was covered with heavily soiled lino, which looked secure enough, so ignoring it, Helen headed to the back of the house.

And there it was. A trap-door. It had two bolts on its upper surface to secure it from above, but they had been left unsecured. It was like an open invitation. For the first time, Helen paused. Smoke was billowing out of it and who knew what lay within – was Ruby even there? Was it an ambush – one last stand against those who would deny Ben Fraser his fantasy?

Then a cry. Faint, but urgent. And unquestionably female. Now Helen didn’t hesitate, opening the trapdoor and plunging down into the abyss. The metal rungs of the ladder were already heating up, but Helen’s leather gloves gave her some protection and she made it to the bottom swiftly.

She lifted the tinted visor of her helmet and looked around. It was an amazing sight – a warren of little corridors leading God knows where. At intervals, bare
bulbs covered in plastic casings were attached to the wall, illuminating the path. It was so well manufactured it was almost like being in a mine, a shocking testimony to the concerted, precise nature of Ben Fraser’s madness. The thought made Helen shiver and she gripped her baton a little harder.

Another cry, closer this time. Helen plunged forward, hopelessly waving her arm in front of her to clear the smoke that surrounded her. It was filling her nostrils, creeping into her eyes, it was completely intolerable. A fire in these damp conditions would create great swathes of smoke. Helen slammed her visor down again – it would make her vision darker, but with it up she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

She navigated by sound now, using Ruby’s plaintive cries to guide her. Instinctively she wanted to call out to her, to reassure her that help was on its way, but he was down here somewhere. And she dare not announce her presence.

Helen cannoned off a rough dirt wall, her forward momentum suddenly and brutally checked. Using her free hand she felt her way round the corner, moving carefully but purposefully forward. She had the sense that there was someone with her in the smoke, right behind her, and turning, she swung her baton in wild self-defence. But it connected with nothing, and in the deep gloom Helen could just about make out that she was still alone.

Helen moved forward again. She just wanted to find Ruby and get out of this place. It was getting hotter all the time and harder and harder to breathe. Helen suddenly found herself plunging to the floor, her foot having caught on something solid. In the clear air near the ground, Helen could see she had tripped over the lip of a doorway.

Turning she could make out another open doorway a few yards ahead of her. The heat was less intense lower down, her vision slightly better, so in spite of the obvious dangers, Helen crawled forward, through the threshold and into the room beyond.

The sight that greeted Helen took her breath away. The room was ablaze. A wooden table and chair had already been consumed by the flames and the other fixtures – an old cooker, an iron bedstead – were next in line. Secured to the heavy bedframe and writhing in agony was the thin frame of Ruby Sprackling. A precise ring of fire encircled her, the killer’s sadistic and deliberate method of execution, but Helen was damned if this poor girl was going to die in this hole, so hurdling the flames she sprinted over to her. As she did so, another wave of heat hit her. The fire was freshly made, but fierce and they had only seconds before they would be overcome.

Ruby’s hands were tied tight with nylon cord, secured to the bedframe with a constrictor knot. Ruby’s wrists were already red-raw. There was no way she could wriggle
out of the cord’s grip and the bedframe was too strong and too thick to cut through.

Searching desperately for some means of liberation, Helen spotted a small patch of crumbling brickwork in the far wall. Without hesitating, she plunged towards it. Within seconds she was back by Ruby’s side, clutching the loose brick in her hand, hammering at the metal bedframe. The strut that Ruby was tethered to protested, then bent before finally snapping in two. Pulling Ruby to her feet, Helen tugged the securing knot up, up, and eventually off the severed end of the strut. Immediately Ruby collapsed into Helen’s arms, but Helen propped her up, slapping her gently but firmly in the face.

‘Stay with me, Ruby.’

She half dragged, half walked her through the flames and to the doorway.

‘Keep going.’

Ruby’s eyes rolled in their sockets, the smoke filling her lungs, clouding her brain. Helen could tell she wanted to blank out, to sleep, but they had to keep moving. She pinched her hard – eliciting a small reaction – and they moved on once more.

‘Not far to go n—’

Helen froze, the words stillborn in her mouth. The lights had suddenly flicked off, plunging them into darkness.

He was down here after all.

138

‘Get out of my way.’

‘You’re not going in there.’

‘For the last time, stand aside or I
will
arrest you.’

DC Sanderson was bellowing now, eyeball to eyeball with the fire sergeant who blocked her path. Behind them, black smoke belched from the interior of Ben Fraser’s house.

‘This is my scene now,’ he replied, shouting to be heard above the sirens and activity. ‘This is
my
fire. And until it is under control, you have no authority here. So I would encourage you to step back –’

But Sanderson had already rounded him and was sprinting towards the burning house. There was no way she was leaving Helen alone in there. Her boss had been gone over ten minutes already. The smoke fumes were bad enough out here, what must they be like inside, near the seat of the fire? Helen wouldn’t have stayed down there all this time unless something had gone badly wrong.

Sanderson crested the threshold of the house, but even as she did so she felt herself flying backwards again, away from the house. A pair of rough hands had
her by the shoulders. She lashed out, trying to force her way back into the house, but the heavy, gloved hands of a firefighter dragged her back, pinning her arms by her sides, forcing her to the ground. She continued to thrash but his knee was now pressed into the small of her back, rendering further resistance futile.

As she lay there pinioned and breathless, the enraged face of the fire sergeant lowered itself to her level.

‘If you so much as move a muscle, I will order your colleagues to arrest you, do I make myself clear?’

Sanderson stared at him, refusing to acknowledge his ultimatum. He was only doing his job, but in her eyes he was condemning Helen to a gruesome death. So when she did finally speak, her response was terse and bitter.

‘Go to Hell.’

139

The darkness clung to them. Smoke filled their lungs. The searing heat was becoming unbearable. Any movement risked announcing their location to the man who was now hunting them. But they had no choice – they had to get out of here.

Switching Ruby to her left side, Helen readied her baton once more. She moved forward, stumbling slightly on the lip of the second doorway. But she didn’t hesitate. On and on they went, expecting Ben Fraser to come charging at them at any moment. A change in the heat level made Helen pause. She reached out her hand. She felt a solid dirt wall with space on either side. They were obviously at a junction of some kind. She hadn’t spotted one on the way down. Had she taken a wrong turn somehow?

Ruby was now a dead weight, lolling in Helen’s aching arm. Reaching down to grasp her ankles, Helen hauled her up and over her shoulder into a fireman’s lift. She stumbled slightly with the extra weight, pain ripping through her already damaged shoulder, then making a split-second decision, she plunged to the left, stumbling forward.

The blow sent her reeling sideways. It was so sudden and savage that she slammed into the side wall, spilling Ruby from her grasp. A second blow to her side landed immediately after, robbing her of breath and cracking her ribs. Now Helen saw him coming at her, a hammer raised, fierce intent in his expression. She raised her baton – but too late – the hammer came crashing down on to her head, sending her reeling backwards and shattering her visor. Another blow and she was on the floor, her helmet split.

He raised his hammer again, intent on crushing her skull, but this time Helen lashed out, her baton connecting forcefully with his Adam’s apple. For a moment, he appeared stunned, so Helen swung her free arm with all her might, battering the hammer from his grasp. It fell to the ground with a dull thud.

She pulled herself up quickly, but moved straight into his fist, descending upon her with crushing speed. Her head hit the ground hard, the shattered helmet falling apart like a cracked walnut, rendering her defenceless.

Now his hot hands sought out her throat, encircling it and squeezing hard. The smoke was so thick now they could no longer see each other, but at such close quarters it made no odds. They had a hold of one another and were locked in a fight to the death.

Helen rammed the baton against his elbow, trying desperately to break his grip, but he squeezed harder still. At any moment he would crush her larynx and that
would be it. Helen thrashed at the side of his head with her baton, but it seemed to have no effect. Her killer would not be denied.

In desperation, Helen rolled sideways as hard as she could, crashing Ben into the wall. His grip loosened slightly, and pressing her foot against the wall, she swung back forcefully in the opposite direction. This had the desired effect and Ben toppled off on to the floor. Helen scrabbled on top of him, before he could rise, holding her baton at both ends, pushing the thin steel bar down on to his throat with as much strength as she could muster.

She pushed hard, but his fist lashed out, catching her above the left eye. She held firm, increasing the pressure. He was choking now, but Helen didn’t let up. His fingers sought out her face, scratching at her eyes, trying to dig into her eye sockets. Helen twisted her head to escape his reach, but he caught her hair, yanking her head down sharply towards his face.

She felt his teeth sink into her left ear and she howled in agony, drinking in plumes of smoke. He was biting so hard – any second now he would bite it clean off. Helen could feel the blood pouring down the side of her face and neck.

Then suddenly his grip weakened. Only slightly, but it was enough to tell Helen she was winning. Pushing down harder on his neck, Helen now felt his mouth open and a small gasp escape, as he released his grip on her ear. The fight was over.

Jerking her head up, Helen stumbled away from his corpse, but immediately the tunnel spun around her. She felt faint, nauseous, the smoke filling her mouth and her lungs, rendering her victory meaningless.

She crashed to the floor. Ruby was only a foot from her, but suddenly Helen had no energy to move. The darkness spun around her and for a moment she didn’t know where she was. Her face hit the cold earth on the ground and didn’t move again.

Helen’s eyelids began to droop. Ruby’s innocent face would be the last thing she saw. The last thing she would ever see.

140

DC Sanderson stood by the safety barrier, starring daggers at the fire sergeant, who avoided her gaze as he marshalled the activities of the fire teams who had now entered the burning house. Sanderson cursed herself for her stupidity and cowardice. Why had she let Helen go in alone? She knew her boss – she knew that she would plunge inside the house without any fear for her own safety. Why hadn’t she spoken up earlier – insisting her boss ride with them – instead of swallowing her concerns? Was it out of respect for her superior, as she’d told herself at the time, or just that she was weak?

She shot a look at McAndrew to see if she looked as guilt-ridden as she did, but suddenly she caught sight of movement by the front door. Vaulting the barrier, she sprinted over to see a fire crew emerging with Ruby in their arms, and moments later, Helen too. Ignoring their repeated warnings to stay back, Sanderson kept pace, desperately searching for signs of life. Ruby had sustained some nasty burns and was clearly unconscious. But what about Helen?

Her boss was covered in soot and dirt. A thick coating of blood clung to the left-hand side of her face, oozing
from a deep wound to her ear. Her eyes rolled back in her head – she was unconscious and didn’t appear to be breathing.

‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’

The paramedics ignored her questions as they took charge. Sanderson watched on helplessly as they administered oxygen, chest-pumped and searched for a pulse. Why the hell weren’t they doing more? Why were they being so measured? Then a brief look from one paramedic to the other – sober and serious. What the hell did that mean?

Oxygen masks were now attached to both women and they were levered up on to the ambulance stretchers and hurried into the respective vehicles. Both ambulances took off at speed and as Sanderson watched them disappear into the distance, she felt tears prick her eyes. This was it then. Helen’s life now hung in the balance. Why
hadn’t
she done more?

141

The light was utterly blinding. She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the savage glare, but still multi-coloured shapes seemed to dance about in front of her. Swiftly she turned away from the water, which burned with the reflection of an unseasonably strong sun, turning her gaze instead to the beach beyond.

Autumn had crept up on them and Steephill Cove was nigh on deserted. Ruby cut a lonely figure standing by the swell of the sea. In her old life she would have baulked at the strange isolation of the scene – where were the holidaymakers? The fun? The laughter? – but now it suited her perfectly.

They had driven here almost as soon as Ruby had been discharged from hospital, so strong was her desire to escape the press frenzy in Southampton, to retreat somewhere she felt safe. Her burns were healing well, but she still felt self-conscious about her blistered arms and her short patchy hair. Here she could dress as she pleased, go where she pleased, without the risk of encountering well-wishers who would smile and stare. Everywhere else she was still a newspaper headline – here she could just be Ruby.