M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

‘Nobody moves unless I say so.’

Sanderson signed off and waited for the other members of the team to confirm that they would hold their positions. She had been keen not to repeat Charlie’s mistake and had summoned backup as soon as she had pinned down where Paine’s device was being used. It was routing via a server that was registered to an estate agent’s on Banner Street in Portswood. It was pushing 11 p.m. so the agency was closed, but a light was burning in a third-floor window. The buzzers by the door adjacent to the agency suggested that the second and third floors of the building were flats. Perhaps they had an agreement to share the router or perhaps whoever was upstairs had gained access to it by some other means. Either way, they were about to find out.

Sanderson had tried and failed to contact the estate agency via its out-of-hours number, leaving her with no choice but to apply for a warrant. This had taken a couple of hours to source, but now she had the authority she needed to act. She rang the buzzer for the third-floor flat. No response. She rang it again, but still nothing. Losing patience she gestured to the nearby WPC to barrel charge the door. The weak lock yielded easily, the door swinging wide open, and Sanderson was inside and bounding up the stairs.

She moved past the second-floor flat, which appeared to be unoccupied and quiet. Another burst of speed and she crested the top landing. Marching straight to the flat door, she hammered on it.

‘Police. Open up.’

She beat the door again, then moved aside quickly, allowing her uniformed colleague a proper run-up. Giving her the nod, she pulled her radio from her pocket.

‘On the count of three. One, two…’

The door to the flat suddenly opened, prompting the uniformed officer to abort her swing at the last second. Sanderson hurried forward – to be confronted by a sheepish-looking student.

‘What gives?’ he said, trying and failing to be insouciant.

Sanderson pushed past him. She scanned left and right, darting in and out of the cramped rooms, but she already knew that this was not their killer’s lair. It was a down-at-heel student flat – nothing more. You could tell by the smell of weed, the laddish posters, the unwashed pots and pans and, most tellingly of all, by the sight of an unshaven young man in his pyjamas playing Minion Rush on a battered tablet.

Samantha lay on her bed, staring at a spider crawling across the ceiling. It was a while since she’d been in a proper police cell. Normally they just put her in the custody cage with the drunk and the violent. This time they’d moved her to a solo cell. Had they done this to give her more time to reflect? To try and isolate her? Either way, it showed that they had plans for her.

She watched the spider scuttle its way to the corner of the room, settling itself back into its web to lie in wait for its prey. Was this Helen Grace’s tactic too, lying in wait in the darkness, hoping that Samantha would offer herself as a sacrifice? If it was, she’d be a long time waiting. Grace had built up a considerable reputation over the years and Samantha had been surprised and disquieted at having to face her. She had thought she might get to talk to Brooks. But instead she had found herself opposite the boss, dancing on a wire.

Grace was determined, resourceful and well-prepared. Oddly, she was also adept at putting you at your ease, which made her more dangerous still. You could never be entirely sure what her next move would be, which was unnerving at first, but as she’d grown into the interview Samantha had begun to enjoy the sudden changes of direction and the attempts to wrong-foot her. It reminded her a little of the ghastly fencing displays she’d had to sit through during her brief period in private education. Lunge, retreat, parry, riposte. Lunge, retreat, parry… Grace hadn’t landed a telling hit yet, though Samantha could tell she thought she was close. Was she out there right now, drawing all the strands together until she was ready to pull the net tight?

What she wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall, watching Grace sifting the evidence with her team and debating her next move. She had seemed so confident, so business-like when they started the interview, as if it were only a matter of time before she got her ‘man’. But, by the end, her frustration was coming through loud and clear as she pressed Samantha for a confession. She had enjoyed refusing to play ball – that bitch was clearly full of herself and needed taking down a peg or two.

Grace was used to getting her way, to being on the winning side. But not this time. Perhaps she would be patient, waiting for her prey to come to her. Or perhaps her next move would be a full-frontal assault. Either way, one thing was clear to Samantha. DI Grace was clutching at straws.

‘It would have been a lot easier if you’d contacted us earlier, Mr Simons.’

David Simons said nothing in response – he looked about as pleased to be in the interview suite as Charlie did. She’d been on the cusp of calling it a day when he had finally presented himself at the custody desk. Sanderson had just returned to the station and was locked in a private briefing with Helen, leaving Charlie no choice but to field the interview, as the only senior officer available.

‘I might say the same thing to you,’ Simons replied. ‘I’m the only person on this planet who gave a shit about Jake Elder and yet I’ve no clue what’s happening. Are you going to charge this guy Parker or not?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t comment on an ongoing operation -’

‘Yada yada yad-’

‘But I can assure you we are making good progress,’ Charlie interrupted, resisting the temptation to punch Simons in the face.

The truth was of course a little different. Samantha was in custody but had not been charged, which made Charlie very nervous indeed. There was a lot riding on this for her, especially after her bitter argument with Helen.

‘In the meantime, I’d like to go over a few details with you. Starting with where and how you first met Jake Elder?’

Begrudgingly, David Simons began to talk, giving brief details of his relationship with their first victim. Charlie listened, nodding and taking notes when necessary, but in truth her mind remained elsewhere. She didn’t expect any revelations from Simons and her thoughts were full of the day’s traumatic events. Her shoulder still ached from her fight with Samantha, but she would have happily worn that if she had helped bring this troubling case to a conclusion. As it was, she had all but destroyed her relationship with Helen, and Samantha remained a suspect, but no more.

Had the price been worth paying? She was determined not to come second best to Sanderson – but had it really been necessary to confront her mentor and friend so harshly? She and Helen had always got on and though it was true that Helen was in a very troubled place at the moment, she owed her more than bitterness and aggression. She had been right to call Helen out on her behaviour, but a lot of what Helen had said about her had also been on the money. Charlie did need to get a grip on herself. The fact that she wasn’t planning on telling her partner Steve about her fight with Samantha told Charlie all she needed to know about the wisdom of entering that flat alone.

Would an apology cut it? Was it even advisable? Charlie had brought Samantha in and while there was still a good chance that she would be charged, it was probably best to say nothing. Once she had put Sanderson in her place, then she could try to repair her relationship with Helen. For now, there was nothing for it but to hunker down and see things through to the bitter end.