M. Arlidge - Liar Liar

After that the moment had passed. If she told him now, it would be like she’d sprung it on him. Accepted the flowers, the booze, the company and then handed him an unpleasant bill for his services. All her fond hopes that he might actually be pleased evaporated and she knew instinctively that he would run a mile if he thought she was trying to tie him down. She couldn’t risk that, so she said nothing.

She had decided to get it dealt with. She would go to the doctor and see what he could give her. He’d try to talk through the options, but she had made up her mind. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. Wouldn’t wish it on the poor kid anyway.

There’d be no one to comfort her afterwards. She’d come back to her little two up, two down, in St Denys, shut the door and hear the silence. Maybe she’d cry for a bit. Or have a smoke. Either way she’d end up spending the night alone, clutching a mug of tea and watching the TV. And that would be her lot.

Nothing interesting ever happened in her life.

‘I’d like to start by apologizing.’

Helen was anxious to get this over with so came straight to the point. So much had happened since her awkward interview with Gardam last night that for a while she had put it from her mind. But there was too much going on in the investigation, too much overlap between her and her boss, for the issue not to be addressed.

‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you last night. That was never my intention.’

‘It’s fine, Helen. There’s no need to apologize.’

‘There is and I’ve done so, so I hope we can move on -’

‘And not mention it again. It was just a misunderstanding, nothing more.’

‘I’m glad you see it that way. Thank you.’

‘Of course and the offer still stands. Sarah and I would like to have you round at some point, so we can get to know you in a less formal environment.’

‘That sounds very pleasant. We’ll find a date.’

Helen tried to sound upbeat and enthusiastic, though in truth she had no desire to be given a tour of Gardam’s home and marriage. There seemed no way she could wriggle out of it now, however, so it was probably best to bite the bullet and follow through on her promise.

‘Good. Well that was all I came to say, so I’d better -’

‘Is everything ok, Helen? I don’t mean between us, I mean more generally. I noticed you wincing just now, when you sat down. Have you hurt yourself in some way?’

Helen said nothing, ambushed by Gardam’s question. The truth was she ached all over today. Her back and shoulders were black and blue and her neck felt like it had seized up completely. It was excruciatingly painful and though her stash of painkillers had taken the edge off it, she wasn’t moving any more freely.

‘I know you’re the sort to put a brave face on it,’ Gardam continued. ‘But it’s my job to make sure my best officers are fit and happy. You always put your body on the line, for which I know you receive very little gratitude from the public or indeed our friends in the fourth estate.’

‘I know we’re under scrutiny, sir, but you don’t need to worry about me.’

Gardam was referring to the latest edition of the Southampton Evening News , a copy of which languished in his bin. Pretty much the entire paper was a hatchet job on Helen’s handing of the investigation. It had riled Helen when she first saw it – Emilia Garanita revealing her true colours by choosing the very worst moment to break their truce – but she had put it from her mind now. There was too much going on to worry about tomorrow’s chip paper.

‘I’m not concerned about what the papers say,’ Gardam assured her, ‘or what our two-faced MP is accusing us of on the phone-ins. What I do care about is the smooth and effective running of our investigations and hand in hand with that the health and well-being of my best officer.’

Helen nodded, as Gardam asked:

‘So is everything ok? I don’t want to overstep the mark here, but is anything bothering you? Is there anything I can do to help?’

Helen looked at Gardam, knowing she had to make a split-second decision. The right thing to do was to tell Gardam about her confrontation with Max Paine and let him decide what to do about it. If she didn’t and her leadership of their present investigation was compromised by subsequent revelations, then he would have to suspend or sack her – and rightly so. It wouldn’t be fair on him, the investigation or the victims’ families to lie about her actions, but even as she opened her mouth to begin, she found herself saying:

‘Old war wound. I’ll be better in a day or so.’

Gardam asked her a few more questions – he seemed to be genuinely concerned for her – but eventually appeared satisfied with her explanation. As Helen left she knew that whatever the rights and wrongs of it, she didn’t feel able to let someone else into her own private – largely dysfunctional – world. She knew that she would have to deal with Paine herself and already had a sense of what needed to be done. She was so deep in thought, turning the various possibilities over in her mind, that she initially didn’t realize McAndrew was standing in front of her, blocking her path.

‘Sorry to disturb you, boss. But I think I may have found something.’

Helen and McAndrew were closeted away in Helen’s office, a list of dates and times in front of them. The door was closed, the blind down – this was a private conversation for now.

‘So I went back over the witness statements, the call operator logs, emergency service reports, and I found something interesting about the most recent fire. Agnieszka Jarosik crashed out on her sofa after a busy day’s work and while she was watching TV sent a few texts, posted a little on Facebook. The last text was sent at eleven fourteen p.m. The text looks genuine, so we can assume that she was still awake at that point. She probably fell asleep soon afterwards. Not long after that our arsonist entered the house.’

Helen nodded – so far nothing unexpected. They had found partial footprints outside the back door, but nothing that was of any tangible use.

‘Several people called the fire in. They were mostly neighbours who saw the smoke and flames and were worried that their own million-pound houses were about to go up.’

Helen let that one go – she knew McAndrew lived in a one-bed flat and was vocally bitter about it.

‘These calls came in in a flurry. Call operator logs show that they came in at 11.50, two at 11.51, 11.53, 11.54 – pretty much the whole street got in on the act.’

‘I’m sure they did.’

‘But one call came significantly earlier than that. At eleven thirty-eight – a full twelve minutes before the others.’

Now McAndrew had Helen’s attention.

‘Interestingly, this call didn’t come from a neighbour, it came from a payphone. And here’s the thing. It came from a payphone two streets away – there’s no way the caller could have seen the fire from there.’

‘So they saw the fire and ran to the nearest payphone?’

‘Possibly, but how come they saw this fire a full twelve minutes before anyone else? And why didn’t they stick around to help? If Agnieszka stopped texting at eleven fifteen p.m., she probably didn’t go to sleep immediately, so the arsonist gained entry at, what, eleven twenty-five p.m.? Eleven thirty? The fire was initially contained in the basement. The sofa burnt well, but it took a while for the fire to spread upwards as the basement stairwell did not connect with the main stairs.’

‘So on that basis,’ Helen said, picking up McAndrew’s thread, ‘the most likely explanation is that the arsonist set the fire at around eleven thirty p.m., left and walked the five-minute walk to the nearest payphone and called it in.’