M. Arlidge - Liar Liar

‘We know you took your responsibilities to your staff very seriously,’ Charlie said, overlapping. ‘Many of them had families just like you and they needed to be paid. But the money just wasn’t there, was it?’

A beat, then Thomas nodded.

‘What were you going to do?’ Charlie continued softly. ‘How were you going to keep going?’

There was a long pause as Thomas Simms struggled for an answer. Then:

‘Keep digging.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Keep digging myself a bigger fucking hole to jump into.’

‘I don’t follow, Thomas. What do you mean by that?’ Charlie prompted. She could tell Helen was following the conversation intently, waiting for Thomas Simms’s next move.

Another long pause. A furious internal debate seemed to be taking place within the bereaved husband. Charlie half expected a bitter ‘No comment’ but then suddenly Thomas blurted out:

‘I kept borrowing, didn’t I?’

‘More credit cards?’ Helen replied.

‘No. I… I couldn’t get any more. Too many unpaid bills. Bad credit history.’

The bitterness oozed from him. Helen could tell he blamed the moneymen for his current predicament.

‘Who did you borrow from, Thomas?’ Helen pressed gently but insistently. ‘Those unaccounted-for cash payments – where did they -’

‘A loan shark,’ Thomas interrupted. ‘A bloody loan shark.’

His face was turned to the floor – the full extent of his shame was now becoming clear.

‘We’ll need a name,’ Helen said as neutrally as she could. The mere mention of loan sharks had her alarm bells ringing.

‘I can’t give you a name.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t.’

‘Not good enough, Thomas,’ Helen replied. ‘If you’ve borrowed money from an unregistered lender, then we need to know. If you’ve been threatened, we can offer you protection -’

‘I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?’ was the bitter response.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing,’ he replied after a brief pause. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘ Were you threatened?’ Helen persisted.

Still nothing from Thomas Simms.

‘Give us a name and we can help you. If there’s been any harassment or threats, we can have them for intimidation. We have the powers to deal with these people. Please, Thomas. Tell us what happened.’

‘I… I borrowed five grand from a guy – just to tide me over. The business was in trouble, Luke’s school fees are astronomical, then there’s Karen, Alice… I thought it would be a one-off. But then I borrowed another five. Then another.’

He paused, but neither woman felt the need to jump in. Whatever was coming was coming now – he needed to confess.

‘I tried to pay him back but suddenly the interest payments went up. I couldn’t meet them. And…’

His voice caught as a deep misery stole over him. Charlie could feel her heart pounding inside her chest, her anxiety rising in sympathy with each word.

‘And he came to the house one night. When I was out. He… he threatened Karen. She didn’t know anything about my… problems. I’d kept all that crap from her and the kids. And now… and now this.’

Thomas Simms buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed.

‘Dear God,’ he whispered suddenly. ‘Is this my fault?’

Helen watched him as he wept, nodding to Charlie who extended a hand to comfort him. Helen had never really bought Thomas Simms as a suspect for the arson attack, but it was clear now that he still might be responsible for the attacks. It was their best lead and he had kept it from them. Helen knew that if that meant Karen’s killer escaped justice, it would go hard with him. As Helen knew herself, your soul is never at ease when you have another person’s death on your conscience.

‘The loan shark’s name is Gary Spence.’

Helen was marching away from the hospital, her phone clamped to her ear. She’d opted to bring Gardam up to speed immediately – knowing the kind of character he was, she was sure he’d expect nothing less.

‘What do we know about him?’

‘Nasty piece of work,’ Helen went on. ‘Convictions for ABH, GBH, extortion, extracting money with menaces. He also escaped a possible conviction for attempted murder – because of an eyewitness pulling out at the last minute.’

‘Any history of firestarting?’

‘A couple of juvenile offences, plus an insurance fraud five years ago. Burnt down a warehouse he owned to cash in on the £150,000 policy on it.’

Gardam digested this but said nothing. Helen was still making up her mind about her new boss. He was less political than his predecessor, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be trouble. Some bosses were lazy, some too concerned with self-promotion, others were micro-managers. Helen had already filed Jonathan Gardam in the latter camp. He wanted to be fully involved in investigations. Was he a control freak? Did he miss life on the front line? Or did he not trust his new colleagues?

‘He’s obviously not above this kind of thing, but does he fit the MO?’ Gardam finally replied.

‘MOs develop over time,’ Helen responded, ‘so we can’t rule it out. And we know for a fact that Spence had also lent money to Bertrand’s Antiques Emporium. It’s a very hand-to-mouth business. It’s dressed up as antiques but actually it’s a glorified rag and bone shop. Bertrand Senior operates on the edge of legality – he’s had problems with HMRC and others – and on a few occasions he’s borrowed money from Spence. He swears he paid the last lot back -’

‘But he might be lying to avoid trouble with his insurance company,’ Gardam interjected.

‘Precisely. Spence is our best bet, so I’ve scrambled the team to his home, office, known associates, mistresses – everything. We’ll have him in custody before the day’s out.’

‘See that we do. We’ve already had a sustained assault by the press on this one and we owe it to the family to solve this brutal crime quickly. So no excuses from your team. We need to bring him in.’

Helen agreed and, ringing off, climbed on to her bike. Gardam had tactfully aimed his warning at her team, but really it was aimed at her. It had taken a while to come, but her new chief had finally bared his teeth.

Sanderson sipped her drink and cast a discreet look at her watch. She had been here for over an hour now and she had the distinct impression she was starting to arouse the regulars’ curiosity. The Hope and Anchor was a pub on the edges of Millbrook that had seen better days. The wallpaper was bubbling, the carpets were worn and the whole place had the feel – and smell – of a waterhole gone to seed. The lager was cheap and the clientele cheaper, so it still attracted a certain type of crowd. Sanderson had dressed down to try and fit in with the ex-cons and wannabe villains who patronized this establishment, but she had the feeling she still stood out too much. Her clothes were a bit too new, a bit too clean in comparison to the stained tracksuits and hoodies worn by the other drinkers. Moreover, she’d washed her hair last night, which couldn’t be said for the gaggle of girls touting for free drinks and cigarettes at the bar. Their lank hair and scruffy appearance suggested they didn’t think much of other people’s opinions and probably not much of themselves either.

Sanderson picked at one of the corners of her coaster and cursed her luck. What was the point in her arranging dates? Something always seemed to come up to put the kibosh on it. It wasn’t Helen’s fault – someone senior needed to be running the stakeout and her boss didn’t know she had dinner plans – but still. The simple truth of it was that she was tired of being single and irritated by the fact that work always got in the way. Before she’d joined the Force she’d had a run of boyfriends – handsome, fun, likeable guys whose company she’d enjoyed. But as soon as you put on the uniform, something changes. It’s not just that your life is not your own any more or that you often work nights. It’s something to do with being a copper. Women are supposed to like men in uniform, but it doesn’t work the other way round. Are men intimidated by female police officers? Are they uncomfortable with the authority they have over them? Are they worried that they will be pulled up for every minor vice or misdemeanour? Whatever the reason, they seem to back off. No doubt about it, the uniform was a massive turnoff.