M. Arlidge - The Doll's House

There was no movement within, so Helen rang the bell again. Please God, let her be in. Still nothing. She turned back to the street and was surprised to see Sanderson and McAndrew pulling up fifty yards away. They had made it here quickly, but had their journey been for nothing?

A sound made her turn. What was that? Footsteps. Yes, definitely, slow, measured footsteps approaching the front door. Through the mottled glass a figure appeared. Some fussing with the locks and then the door crept open, and an elderly woman’s face appeared above the security chain.

‘Can I help you?’ she intoned suspiciously.

‘DI Helen Grace,’ Helen replied, raising her warrant card for inspection.

‘What can I do for you?’ Alice replied, never once taking her eyes off the warrant card.

‘I’d like to talk to you about your brother. And about Ben Fraser.’

Her eyes narrowed. Was that suspicion Helen saw there? Anger? The elderly woman stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, then slipped off the chain and opened the door.

‘You’d better come in, then.’

Nodding her thanks, Helen stepped inside, the heavy door slamming firmly shut behind her.

Ben walked towards the WestQuay with a spring in his step. After all the recent trouble, things were shaping up nicely. Summer seemed her usual trusting self and as for Ruby, well… she wouldn’t be a problem for much longer. She believed she was going to be released, which would buy him a day or so before the shouting and moaning started. When would she realize that she had been abandoned? And how would she react? The first one had resisted for nearly two weeks, banging at the door, screaming and shouting. And the third one was just as bad. The second one was less bright and had given up more quickly, which was much less fun. He liked it when they ranted and raved and begged. He couldn’t hear them upstairs of course, so he had to descend into the basement when he wanted to listen to them. As soon as they heard his footsteps approaching, they started up with the pleading. He would never open the door, though sometimes he teased them, slipping the key into the lock before removing it again. The thought still made Ben smile.

Of course, this time the disposal would be more complicated. Carsholt beach had been perfect for him in its wild isolation – but events had forced the change. He had already made the decision to bury Ruby in the New Forest. If he took her there in the dead of night, he would be unmolested and he had to admit there was a pleasing symmetry about burying her where he had first burned her clothes. The vegetation was so thick round there, the chance of anyone stumbling upon the burial site was remote.

Ben was so wrapped up in his thoughts that only now did he realize that he had walked straight past his shop and all the way to the end of the arcade. Shaking his head, he turned and began to head back towards WestKeys. He was already late opening – he didn’t want to arouse anyone’s suspicions by…

Suddenly he ground to a halt. Instinctively, he turned to look in the shoe shop window next to him. Sweat was already breaking out on his forehead and he was surprised to see his hands were shaking. Was he over-reacting? Seeing things that weren’t there? He walked into the shoe shop to gather himself and, turning, looked through the shop window back into the concourse. The young black man in the shirt and jacket was sitting at the café opposite WestKeys, but his attention was definitely directed towards the shop, rather than towards the newspaper that sat uselessly on the table in front of him.

Directing his gaze upwards, Ben spotted another one. A young woman on the upper concourse. She seemed to be texting, yet her gaze kept straying to the WestKeys frontage. Ben was out of the shoe shop now, walking steadily but quickly past his shop. En route, he saw one more – a young man, sitting by the water feature, looking at his watch, as if waiting for someone.

Ben knew exactly who he was waiting for and wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Hurrying towards the emergency exit, he burst into the stairwell and ran towards the exit.

The incident room was empty, which seemed fitting. Ceri Harwood stood alone, her eyes flicking over the board, taking in the pictures of Pippa, Roisin, Isobel and Ruby. The entire team was out hunting Ben Fraser – this major operation was reaching its climax. With luck, Fraser would soon be in custody, but this thought gave Harwood little pleasure. She would be excluded from the triumph, isolated in defeat.

How had she misjudged things so badly? There had been other DIs, women especially, who had threatened her position before. She had crushed them easily, exiling them from her unit, replacing them with ambitious, compliant officers who would dance to her tune. But Helen Grace had refused to buckle, had always found ways to evade the traps laid for her. Perhaps it was time to acknowledge that she lacked the imagination to deal with Helen Grace. Perhaps she was too bound by protocol, by rules and regulations, to deal with an adversary who was constantly surprising. In the final analysis, she just wasn’t good enough to beat her.

It was time to go and see Fisher now. She had typed out her resignation letter, had her excuses ready – the easy lie of wanting to spend more time with her family. That bit almost made her laugh. She had the girls of course, but their family was fractured now – weekend visits to their dad would be a constant reminder of that. Even now this seemed such an odd thought. They had come to Southampton so full of optimism and yet the end result had been catastrophic for everyone. She would have to rebuild her career, her life, elsewhere now – it was time for someone else to take the lead. Please God, Fisher doesn’t give the job to Grace, Ceri Harwood thought, as she left the incident room. She had suffered enough indignities already.

Alice Loughton stared at Helen Grace. Was that suspicion in her eyes? Or worse, incomprehension? She had said nothing since Helen started outlining the urgent reason for her visit and Helen had a nasty feeling that she wasn’t taking in the import of her words. Finally, however, the old woman opened her mouth and said in a croaky whisper:

‘You’re sure?’

‘We are.’

‘And how long…?’

‘We’re not sure, but we believe he’s been targeting women in the Southampton area for nearly five years.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

This is what Helen had been afraid of.

‘I know it’s hard to take in – and I’d like to reiterate that neither you nor your brother are in any trouble – but we do need your help -’

‘I only met him once or twice, but he always seemed such a gentle boy.’

‘I appreciate that -’

‘Edward found him sleeping in the shopping centre. In one of the loading bays. He was only small – fourteen or so. Edward offered to take him back to his mother but the boy begged him not to. So he went to a hostel instead -’

‘Where does he live now, Alice?’

‘Edward took an interest in him after,’ she replied, seeming not to hear Helen’s question. ‘Gave him a job in the shop. He’s been working there – Lord knows – well over ten years now. Edward relied upon him. He was a damn sight more reliable than some of the people in his other shops.’

‘I do understand that, Alice, but it’s vitally important we talk to him now. If he is innocent, then we can exclude him from our investigation and move on -’

‘Edward was like a father to him, which was why he was so generous in his will.’

‘He left him money?’

‘No! Edward didn’t like money – not in the way you mean. He liked assets – houses, businesses and so on.’