M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

‘But why? Why would she do something like this?’ Charlie virtually shouted.

‘Maybe they blackmailed her and she killed them. Now she’s trying to cover her tracks, make it look like a serial killer, when actually she’s just covering her arse. Or maybe she’s just snapped, she’s been doing this stuff for so long and nobody has a closer affinity to this type of killer than her. After all, it runs in the famil-’

At this point, Sanderson’s phone rang out, loud and shrill. Apologizing to Gardam, she answered it and retreated. Charlie saw this as her opportunity and leapt in.

‘With the greatest of respect to my colleague, I really don’t think arresting DI Grace is the right thing to do. We need to evaluate these leads, for sure, but I don’t think an arrest – with all the attendant publicity – is a smart move.’

Gardam looked at her, but said nothing.

‘Look, I know hunches and personal relationships don’t count for much,’ Charlie acknowledged, ‘but I’ve known Helen Grace longer than anyone here and she just isn’t capable of these crimes. Her first and only priority is to save lives, to serve the ends of justice. Whatever may have happened in her personal life, she wouldn’t do this. She would never murder someone in cold blood, so for everyone’s sake, let’s not rush into something we’ll regret. She is innocent , please believe me.’

Charlie finished her impassioned speech and now became aware of Sanderson standing by her side.

‘That was Meredith Walker at the lab,’ Sanderson said, failing to keep the note of triumph from her voice. ‘We’ve got a match, sir. A cigarette butt found in the corridor by the crime scene at the Torture Rooms has DI Grace’s DNA on it. She was there that night.’

Charlie felt physically winded, stunned by this development. And her discomfort increased still further as Gardam now turned to them both and said:

‘Ok. Let’s bring her in.’

Helen checked her mirrors, but the car was still there. She’d first noticed she was being tailed when heading north up Kingsway. She had sped fast round the Charlotte Place roundabout, then forked left up The Avenue. The grey saloon kept pace without ever seeming to speed up or slow down. The tactics she recognized, the car she didn’t – which made her very nervous indeed.

It had to be police, but who and why? Helen suddenly had the nasty feeling that she hadn’t walked away from Angelique’s flat unseen after all. Were they watching her then? If so they would have photos of her entering and leaving the flat – photos that would look pretty damning if given the right twist. If they were following her from the flat, then had they followed her on to the Common too?

She could see the large expanse of green to her left now, as she flashed past on her bike, though trees shielded the lake from view. Were the police there right now? Searching for evidence? There was an alternative scenario – that they had just picked up her tail this morning, following her to Wilkinson’s and beyond. But that scarcely made her feel any better. They clearly still had their suspicions about her. In normal circumstances she would have gone straight to her boss to get the lowdown, but how could she do that now? Failing that she would have gone to the team, to her DSs, but perhaps even they were working against her? Someone must have raised concerns with top brass.

Helen tugged at the throttle, speeding north. The tailing car kept pace. Helen could call Charlie to try and get the lie of the land, but it was an inherently risky play. Her communications might be monitored, and even if Charlie was onside – as Helen fervently hoped she was – it would put her in a terribly difficult position. Nobody had called her this morning, which was unheard of. They were deliberately giving her a wide berth, which meant that something was up.

There was no one she could turn to, so she would have to handle things herself. Someone was intent on setting her up and it was up to her to resolve the situation. But first she would need to lose her tail.

Highfield Lane was fast approaching. Helen lowered her speed, then suddenly cut hard right, yanking the throttle once more. Her back wheel skidded, screeching loudly, then suddenly she was shooting forward. Moments earlier she’d been heading due north, now she was tearing west, testing the speed limit as she did so. She was expecting the blues and twos to come on, but the grey car remained as unobtrusive – but persistent – as ever. She raised her speed now – 40 then 50 mph. She could get pulled over for speeding, but that was the last thing on anyone’s mind at the moment. The fact that they hadn’t pulled her in meant either that this was just a surveillance gig or that they wanted to do so discreetly.

They would obviously be radioing her progress in and there was every chance she might be riding into a trap. Cobden Bridge was coming up – this was a good place to trap a fleeing suspect, as they generally didn’t fancy a swim. It looked clear, but… Helen pumped her speed up to 70 mph, overtaking three cars before zooming back into lane. At any moment she expected unmarked cars to appear, blocking the other end of the bridge. But as she ate up the yards to the end of the bridge, the way remained clear. As she reached the end, she dropped down on to her right knee, biting hard into the tarmac as she spun down Bullar Road. She roared down it, then braked hard, not daring to cross Bitterne Way without looking. It was busy today, vans and lorries speeding along, and as Helen awaited her opportunity, she flashed a look in the rearview mirror.

The grey car was still with her, moving fast down Bullar Road towards her. It was fifty yards away, now forty, now thirty… Throwing caution to the wind, Helen tore across the four-lane carriageway, narrowly avoiding another bike, before speeding on. The pursuing car bided its time and Helen now became aware of a red estate car up ahead that seemed to be taking its time to reach Freemantle Common, almost as if it were waiting for someone.

The road was pretty quiet today. It would be a great place to strike and sure enough the Astra now pulled across the road, blocking her route. The blue light was out now, the doors opening in readiness for an arrest. The grey car was not far behind, so Helen didn’t hesitate, lowering her speed, then ramming back the throttle to mount the pavement. The officers were already getting back into their car, so Helen raced down the empty pavement before joining the road and speeding off.

There was no need for stealth – now it was all about speed. She sped through Merry Oak and Itchen, paying heed only to the space in front of her, ignoring the traffic signals that attempted to arrest her progress. And as she reached Weston, Abbey Hill cemetery came into view in the distance.

This had been her destination all along. If she could get there she had a chance of escape. The pursuing cars were not far behind, their high-powered engines helping them to keep pace with her Kawasaki. Now Helen was leaving the main road, mounting the single-track road to the cemetery. There was no way down now – she was boxed in – so she cut loose, ripping her speed up to the max. Within moments, the cemetery gates appeared in front of her. Jamming the brakes, Helen skidded to a halt in front of them and was off and away before her bike had stopped moving.

As she vaulted the gates, she heard the cars pull up but Helen didn’t hesitate, darting off down the main path towards the far end of the cemetery. This was her terrain and she planned to use her knowledge of it to her advantage, cutting diagonally across the minor paths, making maximum use of the cover the tombs and statues provided. She could hear shouts behind her, but they seemed a way away – she had a few minutes’ grace now but she would have to use them wisely.