M. Arlidge - Liar Liar

Helen had gone straight to Gardam’s office, only to be told he was in the viewing suite with McAndrew, casting an eye over the latest batch of amateur footage from the fires. Instinctively this made Helen feel uncomfortable – officers of his rank usually steered well clear of the coalface and she didn’t appreciate him overseeing her team’s work. She resolved to ask Gardam why he felt the need to impose himself on her investigation but wasn’t given the chance. Having dismissed McAndrew from the viewing suite, her superior cut straight to the chase.

‘Is he our man?’

‘Hard to say,’ Helen replied. ‘His alibi is hardly rock solid, but even if he is telling the truth, that still doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.’

‘Because he’s got associates?’

‘Precisely. Spence likes to throw his weight around, but he’s not stupid. He could have told one of his cronies to start the fires. If he did, then he reduces the personal risk but ups the chances of one of them talking – so our next move is to round up as many of his known associates as we can. They’ve all got mothers, so perhaps Karen Simms’s death will persuade them to help us.’

‘Good.’

‘We’re also going to look into Spence’s finances,’ Helen continued. ‘I want to see if anyone’s putting the squeeze on him or if there’s any reason why he might want to lay down a marker in this way. I’ve got the team on it and I should have more shortly. We’re throwing everything we can at this.’

‘Well, it sounds like you’ve got everything in hand. Keep me posted.’

‘Of course.’

A brief silence followed. Helen had expected the conclusion of her update to prompt Gardam’s departure, but he made no move to leave. Instead, he leant back against the desk, staring right at her, as if trying to read her mind.

‘What’s your feeling on this one, Helen?’

‘My feeling is that I’d like to link Spence to Travell’s Timber Yard. If we can prove that they owed him money or that they’d had a disagree-’

‘But what’s your instinct ?’

‘My instinct is not to trust my instincts. I prefer to deal in facts.’

‘That’s a politician’s answer.’

‘Forgive me, sir, but I’m not quite sure I understand the qu-’

‘I’m only putting you on the spot,’ Gardam interrupted, ‘because I value your opinion. You’re unique, Helen – both at Southampton Central and in the Force. No one’s got your track record when it comes to bringing these complex investigations to a successful conclusion. You did it with Ben Fraser, with Ella Matthews and more besides…’

Gardam had tactfully not mentioned Helen’s sister, but it was clear that she was included in this list of Helen’s ‘achievements’. Her new boss had clearly done his homework on her.

‘So I’m interested to find out how your mind works,’ Gardam said, not missing a beat. ‘I want to know if your gut is telling you that Spence is capable of these crimes.’

Gardam’s gaze never wavered for a second. His eyes were fixed on her, as if she were a rare breed or curiosity. In the hushed, darkened interior of the viewing suite, his close attention made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

‘He’s certainly capable of it,’ Helen replied evenly. ‘The question is whether he has the imagination to pull off this sort of crime. And, in the absence of a confession, only patient and diligent detection will tell us that.’

It was a polite but firm full stop to the conversation. Helen had had a long day – with the scrapes and bruises to prove it – and she had no appetite to undergo an interrogation of her own.

‘We’ll just have to wait and see then, won’t we?’ Gardam said, rising finally, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. ‘Let me know what you find out.’

‘Straight away.’

‘Now, it’s late, so why don’t you get off home?’ Gardam said, crossing to her. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere? I’m heading your way -’

‘Thank you, but I’ve got my bike, so…’

‘Of course, the famous bike. Solo traveller, eh?’

‘Something like that,’ Helen replied.

‘Well, I won’t keep you then,’ Gardam finished, laying his hand gently on her arm, ‘and my thanks again. You did well today, Helen.’

Helen acknowledged the compliment and departed quickly. As she opened the door, she caught McAndrew staring right at her – her junior was clearly intrigued by the interview from which she’d been so pointedly excluded. Helen nodded at her, then hurried off down the corridor. She could feel the colour rising in her face, which made her feel foolish and flustered, like she’d been caught out in some way. She walked on purposefully, keen to escape into the anonymity of the night. But all the while she could feel McAndrew’s eyes on her, which made her wonder: was Gardam watching her too?

Charlie crept into the darkened room, taking care not to make a sound. Jessica was breathing heavily, her little sinuses still blocked with cold, and she had only just gone down, despite the late hour. Secretly, Charlie had hoped she would be up when she arrived home, so she could say goodnight to her properly, but Steve had done his job well, stroking and singing her to sleep. Despite her tossing and turning, she looked content now, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

‘How long did it take you?’ Charlie whispered.

Steve had joined her and both were now gazing down at their slumbering daughter.

‘Two to three hours,’ Steve answered evenly. ‘She was pretty cross.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It was ok. Though I must have gone through my whole repertoire of nursery rhymes at least three times.’

‘I’m glad I was out then,’ Charlie replied, teasing. Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Then he crossed the room, and having doused a tissue with a generous measure of Olbas oil, laid it gently in Jessica’s cot. Immediately, the room was filled with the comforting scent of eucalyptus.

‘Come on, we’d better hit the hay,’ Steve whispered. ‘There’s no telling when she’s going to be up again.’

Charlie nodded. He was right of course but she hadn’t seen her all day and suddenly she didn’t want to leave. Steve moved to the doorway but lingered on the threshold, waiting for Charlie to follow. A brief flash of irritation shot through her – it seemed she wasn’t in control at work or at home now – but then common sense prevailed. She was knackered and needed a shower, so, relenting, she bent down to kiss her goodnight.

‘Don’t.’

Charlie stopped, hovering inches from Jessica’s soft face, taken aback by the sharp tone of Steve’s voice. She turned to him, surprised.

‘She needs to sleep and if you wake her, it’ll take hours to get her dow-’

‘All right, all right’ Charlie responded, straightening up and brushing past Steve without another word. It was a childish response and she knew it. She had no cause to be shirty with Steve, whatever she felt about missing out on quality time with Jessica – but still his chiding irritated her. She was fed up with compromise and making do. She wanted her life to be simple, straightforward and satisfactory – but in reality it was none of these things. These days she seemed to lurch from one mini-crisis to the next, achieving little, pleasing no one, forever facing choices that left her the loser whichever way she jumped. Would she get better at this? Or was this how it would always be? Perhaps the brutal truth was that, whatever she did and whatever she tried, this was one circle that Charlie would never be able to square.

The noise assaulted you as soon as you stepped inside. Helen let it roar over her, enjoying the sensation, as she stood in the doorway of the bar. It was close to last orders now and the place was packed. There didn’t seem to be a quiet night in the city centre any more – Southampton was full of young people who wanted to chat, flirt and drink – and as soon as you stepped inside you were struck by the warmth, energy and excitement of the place.