M. Arlidge - Liar Liar

Naomie spun the bottle one more time, then said:

‘I saw a guy running down the cut-through.’

‘To be clear, this is the cut-through that leads on to Ramsbury Road?’

‘S’right.’

‘When was this?’

‘Just before closing time. I’d left the pub and was going home.’

Helen nodded, not reacting. Charlie shot a look at her, but Helen ignored it. Right place, right time for the CCTV – but Helen wasn’t getting her hopes up yet.

‘Where had you been?’

‘At a pub near the Common. I live in St Mary’s, so was walking back this way.’

‘And what did you see?’

‘This guy came up behind me real fast. Scared me half to death. I was on my own and that and it was dark and you hear all sorts happening to girls -’

‘And what was he doing?’ Charlie interrupted, anxious to keep the girl on track.

‘Running. Running real fast. He ran straight past me, never seemed to clock me at all.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘Dark trousers and boots, I think.’

‘Any coat?’

‘Yeah, maybe. But his arms weren’t covered.’

Helen nodded. The details of the man they were after hadn’t appeared in the media yet, so unless this girl was lying or had seen the stills, then this was the lead they’d been searching for.

‘Did you see his face?’ Charlie asked gently.

Naomie shook her head.

‘He went by too fast.’

‘What about his hair colour?’

‘Brownish, I think.’

‘Height?’

‘ ’Bout six foot maybe.’

‘Anything else?’

The girl shook her head.

‘Anything at all?’ Helen repeated, trying not to sound as anxious as she felt. There was hardly anything in this description that they didn’t already know.

There was a long pause, before Naomie finally replied:

‘There was one other thing. He had a tattoo. On his arm.’

‘What did it look like, this tattoo?

‘It was a star, a big one.’

‘Anything else?’

‘The star had a crown and a flower in it. Kind of weird, you get me.’

Helen’s heart was beating faster now. Without looking, she could tell Charlie was feeling the same way.

‘What kind of flower was it, Naomie?’

Naomie thought hard, then finally said:

‘A red rose.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Yeah, for real. Big one, it was.’

Helen nodded and thanked Naomie for her time. Leaving Charlie to run over the written statement with her, Helen hurried from the room. Already her mind was racing ahead, trying to see a way through the shit storm that now lay before her. Truth be told, there was no simple or obvious way forward. The case had just taken a decisive and unwelcome turn.

For in her own faltering way Naomie had perfectly described the crest of Hampshire’s Fire and Rescue Service.

‘This is complete bullshit.’

Adam Latham’s eyes were blazing and tiny flecks of spit shot from his mouth as he spoke. He was known to be a bullish, uncompromising guy, never more so than when he was defending his beloved Fire and Rescue Service.

‘There is no way that one of my guys would do something like that,’ he said. ‘I know each and every one of the men and women who serve under my command. I trained most of them, for God’s sake, and well… it’s just not possible.’

Helen was about to respond, when Gardam cut in. The three of them were gathered in his office for what had been billed as ‘a chat’.

‘I hear where you’re coming from, Adam,’ Gardam soothed. ‘And I sympathize. But you’ll appreciate that we have to follow up every lead and the witness gave a very precise description of the tattoo.’

‘She’s lying then.’

‘And what grounds do you have for saying that?’ Helen interjected.

‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it. She’s after attention, you know what teenage girls are like.’

This last comment was addressed to Gardam and Helen was about to interject, when her boss once more intervened.

‘Well, I’m not sure I share the sentiment, but we’re both saying the same thing. We must investigate this lead quickly and discreetly. If there is nothing in it, we can all move on.’

Helen let Gardam take the lead, but inside she bridled at his constant interventions. It had been her idea to contact Latham in advance to secure his cooperation and she would have happily handled the difficult meeting herself, but Gardam had insisted on hosting it, hoping perhaps that his superior rank and masculine mateyness might help persuade Latham. Perhaps Helen should have felt grateful for his support, but she didn’t. She had never needed or asked for the protection of a man. She didn’t do white knights.

‘And you think that’s possible, do you? That this little line of investigation can be kept under wraps?’ Latham’s tone was witheringly sarcastic. ‘Your station is as leaky as they come – as soon as you start interviewing my officers the press will know about it and then what happens? The public stop cooperating with us. They start impeding our work, abusing our officers, attacking them even. Something like this can cost lives. Is that what you want?’

‘We want to catch the person responsible,’ Helen shot back before Gardam could step in. ‘I cannot let any other considerations distract me from that goal. But there is no need for anyone to get overexcited. We’re not going to go around kicking in doors -’

‘No? I rather thought that was your speciality.’

‘Only when it’s warranted. For now we’re just making enquiries.’

‘I’ll remember that when I’m visiting my officers in hospital, once you’ve whipped up the mob with your half-baked accusations -’

‘I believe you’re the one jumping to conclusions here, not me. We’ve no reason to believe this girl is lying -’

‘I’m wasting my time, here. Jonathan, can you talk to her?’

Now Helen really wanted to smack him. She hated nothing more than being talked about as if she weren’t in the room. Gardam saw the flash of anger and stepped in decisively.

‘I’m not going to overrule my best officer, Adam. DI Grace must pursue every avenue of investigation. History won’t thank us if we fail to catch our man because of political sensitivities. We’ve heard your concerns and noted them. We will do everything in our power to stop this rebounding on your officers, but we are going to pursue this lead, so I suggest we all start cooperating on the best way to do that, ok?’

There was nowhere for Latham to go now – Gardam held the whip hand in this situation – so very begrudgingly Latham conceded the point, marching from the room without a single look at Helen. Gardam waited until his counterpart was well out of earshot before turning to Helen.

‘At least that’s cleared up,’ he said.

Helen nodded. Gardam was looking at her, but said nothing. Was he waiting for some kind of thanks, for her to congratulate him on rescuing the situation? If so, she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure. She was used to handling worse dinosaurs than Adam Latham.

‘I’ll get on, sir.’

‘You do that, Helen,’ Gardam responded evenly. ‘These sorts of situations require multi-agency cooperation and we’ve just lost the support of one of our key players here. So let’s make the most of it, eh?’

Helen hurried down the corridor towards the incident room, less certain now than ever about her standing with the new station chief. Did he like her? Or dislike her? Was he as progressive as he seemed or an old sexist in sheep’s clothing? Helen had the distinct impression that he wanted to protect her. But to what end? To safeguard the reputation of Southampton Central or for some other reason? Helen’s gut instinct – usually so reliable – was letting her down this time.