M. Arlidge - Liar Liar

Charlie had put on a polo neck jumper and woolly hat and smothered her chin in as much foundation as she dared, but she still looked terrible. The colour had not returned to her face and she looked like death. Was Steve worrying that her appearance would alarm Jessica? Possibly. And who’s to say he was wrong?

Nevertheless, she had to be here. Being a loving and attentive mum. A good Mum. Lord knows she seldom felt like that, but today she had to at least pretend that things were normal, that she and Steve had a normal life and were making a go of things.

Steve remained silent as they walked up the pretty, picket-fenced path to the nursery. Truth be told, he didn’t need to say anything – it was clear they were both thinking the same thing.

Had Charlie made a mistake returning to the Force? And, if so, what were they going to do about it?

‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’

Helen didn’t believe in soft-soaping suspects and, having consulted with Sanderson, decided to go straight for the jugular. There would be plenty of time later to talk about his unhappy childhood or low self-esteem.

‘At Travell’s Timber Yard. We had quite a long chat, didn’t we?’

Richard Ford looked at her blankly, while his lawyer, Hannah Shapiro, just seemed puzzled, wrong-footed by this opening salvo from Helen.

‘I don’t recall,’ Ford finally said, his voice listless and monotone.

‘Oh come on, you can do better than that,’ Helen countered. ‘I turned up at Travell’s and you told me to leave.’

‘I’m sure my client was just concerned for your safety,’ Shapiro interrupted.

‘Too right he was,’ Helen replied. ‘The roof was about to give, he had other fires to be at and he didn’t want my death on his conscience. That’s right, isn’t it, Richard?’

Ford looked at her suspiciously, then shrugged.

‘You seem a bit uncertain,’ Helen continued, keeping the pressure up. ‘But you were very sure of yourself that night. You certainly seemed to know a lot about the fires.’

‘Inspector…’ Shapiro intoned, the warning note in her voice clear.

‘What was it you said to me? You said to me that the fires weren’t an accident. You seemed sure on that point, despite the fact that, at that stage, you’d only been to one of them. Why was that, Richard? Why were you so sure?’

Shapiro shot a look at her client and, when it was clear he wasn’t going to reply, waded in on his behalf.

‘My client is an extremely experienced firefighter. He has attended numerous scenes of arson in the course of his duties and, besides, it was the assumption of pretty much everyone in Southampton that night that three major fires in under an hour was suspicious.’

‘And while we’re reminiscing,’ Helen went on, ignoring Shapiro’s speech, ‘let me remind you of the final words you said to me. You said: “Someone’s been having a bit of fun.” Why do you think you used those words, Richard?’

‘Can you prove my client actually said any of this?’ Shapiro interrupted.

‘Why, Richard?’

‘Because it was obvious. Like she said, three fires in under an hour…’

‘Were you supposed to be working that night?’

A little pause, then Ford answered:

‘No.’

‘Like many other off-duty firefighters, he volunteered as soon as he became aware of the scale of the problems facing the emergency services that night,’ his lawyer elaborated.

Helen looked at her blankly, then turned her gaze back to Ford. She really was a piece of work, determined not to let her client speak if she could possibly prevent it. Helen could understand why. Close up he was not an attractive specimen. He had a shaved head, bad skin and teeth that could have done with more regular brushing. But more than his physical appearance, it was his demeanour that was offputting. He refused to look you in the eye, his gaze seeking out the farthest corners of the room – when he wasn’t staring at his feet. He spoke in a gruff whisper and his whole manner was furtive, secretive and suspicious. Had he ever had a girlfriend? Did his mother love him? He gave off the distinct vibe of having turned against the world, having found it not to his liking.

‘So according to your watch captain you arrived at Travell’s at just after midnight,’ Helen said. She was pleased to see that Ford flinched at this. Perhaps he’d thought that this was going to be a cosy chat. The fact that Helen had already grilled his boss for the particulars of his movements showed that it would be anything but.

‘That’s right.’

‘Other volunteers met at the station but you turned up at the scene by yourself in full battle dress. Why was that?’

‘Because I live nearby. I had the uniform at home -’

‘So you live near to the first fire site? It’s convenient for you?’

‘Come off it, Inspector…’ Shapiro interjected.

‘It’s a perfectly reasonable question,’ Helen asserted, refusing to be knocked off course.

Ford thought for a moment, then nodded.

‘For the benefit of the tape, Mr Ford is nodding. Let me ask you about your uniform. You’re not supposed to take it home, are you? But you do.’

‘Yes.’

‘But technically it is breaking the rules?’

‘Suppose.’

‘Then again, there’s a lot of stuff in your house that you’re not supposed to have, isn’t there?’

Ford briefly met Helen’s gaze, then resumed staring at his feet.

‘How many tours of the fires did you do that night?’

‘Just the one.’

‘You absolutely sure about that?’

‘Course.’

‘The fires at both Bertrand’s Emporium and the Simmses’ residence started well before midnight. I would estimate it’s only a fifteen-minute journey back to your house from Millbrook, allowing you plenty of time to change into your uniform and head back to the site of the first fire.’

‘No.’

‘It would have got going nicely by then, wouldn’t it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, I think you do, because you caught it on camera.’

‘No law against that,’ Ford shot back.

‘But it’s not your job, is it? That’s the work of fire investigators. You’re job is to fight the fire. Yet we found footage of your house of all three fires that night. According to the time code on the tapes, this footage was recorded around two thirty a.m., well after you and the other volunteers had left the scene of the fire in Millbrook. The others went home to clean up presumably, but you went back.’

Ford said nothing.

‘So that makes at least two tours of the sites. And I’d like to suggest that actually you made three tours – if you include the one where you set the fires.’

‘No way.’

‘Do you smoke, Richard?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Which brand?’

‘Don’t answer that,’ Shapiro said quickly.

‘We’ll come back to that,’ Helen continued.

‘I’d like to talk to you a little bit more about that footage, if I may?’ DS Sanderson piped up. It had been pre-agreed that she would wade in at the appropriate point, to keep the opposition on their toes. ‘Can you confirm that the recordings – of all six recent fires – were made by you personally?’

Ford shrugged.

‘Yes or no?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you record the fires?’

‘For professional purposes,’ Shapiro intervened.

‘I’m asking Mr Ford, not you,’ Sanderson said brusquely.

‘It’s my job. I’m interested in it, like.’

‘Fire interests you?’

Ford said nothing.

‘I’d say it interests you very much,’ Sanderson suggested, unabashed. ‘I think you spent most of your time in that little room at the top of the house. You wouldn’t believe the amount of newspapers, empty pizza boxes, cans and so on we found up there. Have you been living in that room? Do you sleep in that room?’