M. Arlidge - Liar Liar

‘But that print was made post fire, we need evidence of him setting them. We need paraffin in the house, on his clothes, a print on the residual evidence, footage of him buying cigarettes…’

‘What if we ask Naomie Jackson to ID him? Put him in the frame for the Roberts fire at least.’

‘Wouldn’t stand up. She was clear that she didn’t see his face and it would be easy to disprove. It was dark, she’d had a drink and so on…’

‘So what then?’

Sanderson’s tone was a little too strident for Helen’s liking, but she let it go. They were all wound tight today.

‘I’m going to let him go.’

Sanderson looked so shocked, so disbelieving, that Helen followed up quickly. She didn’t have the time or the headspace for a row with her deputy.

‘We can hold him here, but he’s not going to say anything. I want to get him away from Shapiro. While she’s in play, he’ll keep his head down and do what he’s told. But once he’s out there, isolated and scared, then we’ll see the real Richard Ford. He’ll need to be tailed 24/7 of course and we’ll have to keep an eye out for have-a-go heroes wanting a piece of him. If Meredith or Deborah turns up anything, we’ll pull him straight back in, but until then I think his isolation and paranoia could be our best friends. If there is a site where he’s keeping the paraffin and his tools of the trade, then he may well be tempted to try and destroy it now. If he does, we’ll be waiting for him.’

Sanderson nodded, begrudgingly seeing the wisdom of Helen’s words. Helen knew, were she younger, that she would have been tempted to push Ford through another round of questioning, to try and bulldoze a confession out of him. In some situations this might have worked, but this was different. The Hants Fire and Rescue Service had paid for one of the best legal brains on the South Coast to chaperone their man, so they had to play this smart. Releasing him might destabilize him. He couldn’t return to work while he was still under investigation, so he’d have plenty of time to think. And Helen wanted to see what he would do next.

So, calling McAndrew into her office, she set the plan in motion. She prayed it was the right move. The team were baying for blood now, they wanted justice, and Helen knew they would never forgive her if the killer slipped through their fingers now.

Emilia Garanita jogged up and down, trying to keep warm. The temperature was dropping fast and, despite the many layers she’d put on, she was frozen to the bone. She had always felt the cold – a legacy perhaps of her Portuguese heritage – and had never acclimatized to the raw winter winds that swept up the Solent into Southampton.

This was the part of the job she enjoyed least. Hanging out in doorways, on street corners, outside police stations and courtrooms, waiting and hoping for the story to come to her. Sometimes you got lucky, most of the time you did not. The knowledge that her siblings – all seven of them – were currently at home tucking into a takeaway in front of Gogglebox only made matters worse. She would give anything to be there with them now, enjoying the warmth and banter of a family evening in, rather than here, freezing her arse off in the vain hope of a break.

She would give it another hour or so. Her friendly PC had told her to expect developments but so far there had been no signs of movement. She had been posted in a doorway opposite the discreet back entrance of Southampton Central for nearly three hours now. For the first two of those she’d managed to amuse herself tweeting and surfing for info on Richard Ford. But his Facebook page had been shut down – his lawyer’s work no doubt – and the rest of his digital footprint was very limited indeed. This was a guy who seemed to exist in his own world and was thus a journalist’s worst nightmare. No easy copy, no creepy photos to use, no easy inferences to make and no way to damn him with his own words. Garanita hoped he was guilty just for the trouble he was causing her.

A sound made her look up and suddenly her heart beat a little faster. There was his lawyer, Hannah Shapiro. Normally she would stride out the front, bold as brass. If she was coming out the back, it could only mean…

There he was. He was hard to miss, the severe buzz cut failing to hide the fierce orange tone to his hair. If Ed Sheeran joined the army this is what he’d look like, Emilia chuckled to herself as she raised her camera. To her frustration, Shapiro’s blonde bob popped into view, blocking her shot. Nothing for it, Emilia thought, but the direct approach.

Striding towards him, she called out:

‘Richard? Richard Ford?’

He turned quickly, confused and alarmed by her sudden intrusion. Immediately Emilia fired off three shots. To her surprise, Ford now started marching directly towards her. She backed off, but was too slow – now he was grabbing at her, trying to tear the camera from her. She lashed out with the heel of her boot and prepared to defend herself, but suddenly Ford lurched backwards, dragged away by his irate lawyer.

‘You use any of those and we’ll sue,’ she shouted as she marched her client away to safety.

Like hell you will, Emilia thought to herself, smiling. She had every right to be here and she was very glad she had been.

She had been hoping to hang Richard Ford out to dry and now she had exactly the pictures she needed to do just that.

‘I can’t do anything with her.’

Steve let Helen in, shutting the front door quietly behind her. Jessica was asleep and the last thing they needed now was an inconsolable toddler.

‘I’ve tried to talk to her. To get her to eat something, but…’

‘It’s ok. I’ll take it from here.’ Helen laid a comforting arm on his shoulder and quietly mounted the stairs.

Helen had been to Charlie’s house many times and knew exactly where to go. Ford had been released and had an eight-strong team tracking his every move, so once Helen had checked in with Meredith Walker, her first thought had been for Charlie. She had been keeping a close eye on the Simms family and, knowing her, would take the little girl’s death harder than most.

Charlie was lying on the bed with her face to the wall. She stirred briefly as Helen entered and, on realizing it was her boss, smiled a brave but washed-out smile. Helen smiled back, sitting on the bed next to her and pushing the door to. The pair of them sat in darkness for a second. Helen sought the right words to begin, but before she could do so, Charlie blurted out:

‘I’m not sure I can do this any more. I don’t think I’ve got the strength.’

Tears threatened. Helen let her finish, then said:

‘You’ve had a shock today. We all have. It’s horrible, too horrible, what’s happened. And there’s nothing wrong with feeling like you’re feeling now.’

‘She was doing so well, I was so convinced she was going to make it… What’s going to happen to the rest of them now?’

‘They’ve got a very long road ahead of them,’ Helen agreed. ‘But they have each other. And things will never look as black for them as they do tonight.’

There was another pause, then Charlie said:

‘I really wanted to come back to work. I wanted to contribute , but I don’t think I’m up to it. I could just about handle what happened today, but this? I’m a bloody mess. I can’t bear it for them…’

‘I know.’

‘I came back too early. I’m not ready…’

‘Do you think you ever would be ready for something like this?’

It was a good question and for a moment Charlie said nothing.

‘You can’t prepare yourself for tragedies like this, nor is there an easy way to deal with them. I’d be very worried if you were able to just shrug them off.’