The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3 (9 page)

‘No, I was off to a job in Bournemouth.’

‘So you weren’t at Revolution then? On Friday night?’ Helen fired back.

Finally, a flicker of fear in Nathan’s expression. Helen slid a photo across the table towards him.

‘This is a CCTV still of you queuing up to enter Revolution, a club off Bedford Square. Look at the date and time code. Friday night. Ruby was there that night.’

‘Piss off.’

‘We see you going in, but we don’t see you coming out. A place like that must have emergency exits, somewhere you can slip out. Is that what you did? Before you followed Ruby home.’

‘I never saw her.’

‘Your van was parked in Ruby’s road. Traffic cameras pick you up entering the road just after six p.m. Same camera sees your van driving away at four a.m. But the club shut at two a.m. What were you doing in the intervening two hours, Nathan?’

‘I want a lawyer.’ His tone was angry now.

‘Why won’t you talk to me, Nathan? What have you done?’

Nathan stared at the floor, saying nothing.

‘This is your one chance to come clean. Any denials or lies will play very badly in court,’ Helen continued. ‘We can’t do anything for Pippa now, but if you give up Ruby, then maybe I can help you. So please, Nathan, tell me where she is.’

A long pause. Helen shot a look at Lloyd, then back at Nathan. Slowly the suspect raised his head. All the attitude was gone now, he looked like a cornered animal.

But when he spoke, he simply said:

‘No comment.’

32

The sharp pain had subsided, to be replaced by a dull ache. Ruby lay on the bed, cradling her defiled shoulder, wishing the whole thing would just go away. After he had finished tattooing her, he had seemed quite emotional. Tears hugged the corners of his eyes as he leant forwards and kissed her gently on the head. He left soon after, as if not trusting his composure to hold.

Ruby’s despair was total, her mood black – those early hopes that she might bargain with him, bribe him, were now in tatters. She had cried and cried, the pain of her recent tattoo amplified by her feelings of hopelessness. She realized now that she was his toy. She was his plaything in this doll’s house where everything that looked real was fake.

She had examined every inch of her surroundings now. There was little else to do in the long hours alone and she had spent the time hunting for anything that could be used as a weapon, should the need arise. Though she tried to deny it, she had seen the intense emotion that gripped him when he looked at her, had felt his eyes crawl over her body. If he did force himself on her, how would she fight him off?

There was a kettle on the rickety sideboard, but that was made of plastic and would be cumbersome to wield. There were other strange additions to the room – framed pictures on the walls, a calendar from 2013 and hooks on the walls on which to hang a hat or coat – but nothing of any use. She had tried to rip the hooks off the wall, but they were sealed in concrete and impossible to budge. Why were they there in the first place? It wasn’t as if anyone was going to visit. So why? Why go to such trouble to create a picture-perfect room that was just for show? Ruby buried her face in the sheets, trying to stem a rising wave of nausea.

Try and stay calm. Don’t give in. Ruby forced herself to think of happier things once more. She had only been here a couple of days, but already her anxiety about going mad in this hole was real. Total despair would lead to insanity, Ruby felt sure of that, so she once more turned her thoughts to her family. It was Sunday – what would they be doing? The washing-up from Sunday lunch would have eventually been done by Conor and Cassie – begrudgingly, as always – and Mum and Dad would have taken Max out for a walk –

It hit Ruby like a train, suddenly and without mercy. Her mum. It was her mum’s birthday in two days’ time. She would miss her mum’s birthday …

What would she go through this year? Ruby could picture the stifling mood of anxiety and distress, the total absence of presents or cards, the paralysing awfulness of
a birthday spent missing a daughter who wasn’t there to give her a birthday hug. The horror of it took Ruby’s breath away. This was
real
. This was happening. She had been ripped from the heart of a family who loved her far more than she deserved and would probably never see them again.

Swallowing down her tears, Ruby tried to conjure up their familiar faces again. To relive those moments of family happiness that already seemed a lifetime ago. It was desperate stuff – her family existing only in these pointless imaginings – but this was her lot now. Retreating inside her memory, Ruby felt empty but oddly comforted. This would be her cocoon now.

33

‘My client has told you as much as he knows –’

‘Your client hasn’t told us a single thing,’ Helen barked back, already irritated by the by-the-book primness of Price’s duty brief. ‘And let me give you both a piece of advice. “No comment” is not a good defence. It makes you look guilty.’

Helen stressed the last word.

‘Do you know what you get for abduction and murder, Nathan?’ she continued, determined to keep the pressure up. ‘Fifteen to twenty minimum. How does that sound?’

‘I think we should take a break now,’ the brief resumed predictably.

‘We still have time,’ interjected Lloyd dismissively. ‘More importantly, we still have questions. The
same
questions. What happened in those two hours, Nathan? Did you let yourself into Ruby’s flat? Overpower her? Or had you already slipped something into her drink at the club?’

Still nothing in response.

‘Your client should know,’ Lloyd carried on, ‘that we have impounded his van. We found some interesting things in the back. The usual pots, tools, building stuff
of course, but also a bedroll and several blankets. What are the blankets for?’

‘I sleep in there sometimes when I work. I need blankets,’ Nathan replied.

‘Four of them? In the height of summer? There were hairs on the bedroll, black hairs. You look to me like you’re a natural blond, Nathan, so why are there black hairs there?’

A long pause. Nathan’s brief shot a look at him, clearly waiting for his next move.

‘I’ve nothing to say,’ he eventually replied.

‘So I suggest you charge or release my client,’ his brief followed up quickly.

‘We’re just getting started,’ Lloyd replied, his professional politeness falling away now.

‘You’ve got nothing. You know that, we know that –’

‘Let’s see what the forensics team turn up in the van, shall we?’ Helen replied abruptly. ‘Silly to count our chickens before then. I make it we still have … almost forty hours left to hold your client. Which I’d say is more than enough time for a night in the cells, wouldn’t you, Nathan?’

Not for the first time that day, Helen enjoyed wiping the smile off Nathan Price’s face.

34

Night was slowly stealing over Southampton. The landmarks that had looked unfamiliar and work-a-day in the daylight now took on a more sinister appearance. From his viewpoint on the fourteenth flour, Daniel Briers looked out over the city. To some, the twinkling lights against the night sky would have looked exciting, full of promise. To him, it was just a world of shadows. He imagined all sorts of depraved characters out there – murderers, rapists, thieves – exploiting the darkness, using the cover of night to commit numerous unspeakable crimes.

Pippa had come here and been swallowed by this place. Though he was compelled to stay here now, to see justice done, he already hated Southampton with a passion.

Since Helen had left him, the day had seemed to drag on and on. He had made the necessary phone calls immediately, but they had been brief. He couldn’t trust himself to hold it together during a long conversation. There was no question of him trying to analyse events with others yet. He just imparted the dreadful news and made his excuses. As soon as he had finished the calls, he turned his mobile off, had a whisky and tried to get some rest.

He was exhausted from a sleepless night and the awful events of the day, but he couldn’t switch off. A kaleidoscope of images and memories swirled round his mind – Pippa’s birth, her bitter grief at her mother’s passing, the way she used to make him ‘Dad of the Year’ cards when she was small, her pride in her school prizes, the later arguments and recriminations – most of which had been his fault he now realized. An endless carousel of thoughts and feelings, some bad, but mostly very, very good.
His
Pippa living on, as she would have to now, in his memory.

Was it a wise move to stay here? Kristy, his wife, clearly wasn’t sure – ‘Wouldn’t you be better off here with me and the boys?’ – though she left the final decision up to him. It was hard for her, Daniel now thought to himself. Kristy was deeply shocked by Pippa’s death, as they all were, but she didn’t really
like
Pippa – Kristy felt she was self-oriented and needy – and her grief was necessarily compromised by her feelings, whatever she might say to the contrary.

Even now Pippa was a source of tension between them – someone Kristy didn’t much care for but whom Daniel couldn’t give up on. The ties that bind a parent to a child can never be broken, however awful their relationship might be, those ties just
are
. Even in death, that doesn’t change, which is why Daniel had to stay. There would be many awful things he’d have to face here – he hadn’t yet been to the beach where they found
her – and he hoped he would have the strength to see it through, for Pippa’s sake if not his own.

But looking out over the bleak vista of Southampton, his courage wavered. This place was so alien to him, so threatening. And hanging over everything was the terrible knowledge that out there somewhere, shrouded in darkness was the person who stole, killed and buried his only child.

35

It was chaos. As she had expected it would be. A wall of noise assaulted Emilia Garanita as soon as she entered the hall – a cacophony of shouts, recriminations, laughter and more. Knackered, she plonked her keys down on the hall table and made her way towards the source of the anarchy.

Her father was serving out the remainder of a lengthy prison sentence and her mother had done a bunk nearly a decade ago, meaning that Emilia – the eldest of six children – had been in loco parentis now for more years than she cared to count. She was still young herself, shy of thirty, but she felt much older, particularly today. The briefing at Southampton Central had yielded nothing concrete and the rebuff from Helen Grace had rankled, setting her on edge for the rest of the day. Some days were like that – fruitless, irritating and depressing.

She entered the kitchen to a litany of accusations and counter-claims. The youngest of her five siblings was only twelve, the closest in age to her not twenty-five, so there were lots of fragile, over-sized egos to create conflict and consternation. As ever, Emilia’s presence calmed things and slowly the grievances of the day were
put to bed. As the family sat down to eat together – pork and Chorizo stew, a legacy of their Portuguese heritage – Emilia’s mood slowly began to improve. As exasperating as her family were, they nevertheless loved and accepted Emilia for what she was, warts and all. Some people didn’t like her character, other people despised her because of her job and everyone reacted to her face, half of which was badly scarred following an acid attack by her father’s drug-dealing employers. She had learnt to ignore it, then later took advantage of it, deliberately testing people with her disfigurement to see if they’d react. But, as bullish as she was, the frowns her face provoked still hit home. Not here though – not at home – where she was abused, teased and cherished just the same as everyone else.

Slowly, the younger children sloped off to bed. Her closest sister, Luciana, kept her company through
Game of Thrones
, then she too called it a day. Leaving Emilia alone with her thoughts.

Her career – her life – had stalled. Her disloyalty in selling the sensational Ella Matthews story to the
Mail
, rather than to her employers, had not gone down well and she had very nearly lost her job at the
Southampton Evening News
. The job that had been promised at the
Mail
never materialized, leaving Emilia in the undignified position of having to beg to keep her old job – a job which she still thought was beneath her. She had always hoped regional crime reporting would be a stepping
stone to greater things and even her worst enemies couldn’t deny that she was good at her job. But here she was, still stuck in Southampton, with much less chance of getting promotion than she had had before.

She needed a scoop. Something big that could put her front and centre again. The body on the beach had sounded exciting at first, but would probably end up being some depressing drugs murder or the like. And Helen Grace – the one police officer round here guaranteed to create news – was determined to give her nothing. As she drained the last of her wine, Emilia felt sure that the answer to her present conundrum lay with Helen Grace.

She had to get her back onside – by means fair or foul.

36

Charlie took a deep breath and stepped inside the pub. She had been inside the Crown and Two Chairmen so many times – this drinking hole was a second home to most Southampton Central coppers – but tonight she felt nervous. As she made her way through the crowds towards the knot of familiar faces in the corner, she felt the colour rising in her face, the heat of the pub mingling with her anxiety to give her a distinctly pink hue.

Charlie was greeted with warmth and affection, every man and woman there trumpeting, patting and generally drawing attention to her enormous bump. Charlie smiled and received their enquiries in good humour, but in truth she felt uncomfortable and ridiculous. The baby was particularly active tonight, pummelling her from the inside, pressing down hard on her pubic bone in agonizing fashion. Charlie felt uncomfortable, unattractive and dispirited. She had hoped a night out would raise her spirits, but just getting to the pub had exhausted her and now she found herself chatting to people she barely knew. Helen smiled over at her, but was kept at a distance by the persistent attention of Detective Superintendent Harwood, who was clearly grilling her about operational matters.