Still nothing. Not a sniff of their fugitive. It was getting late now – 9 p.m. had come and gone – and in the darkness it would be easier for Harris to hide. Helen’s anxiety rose a notch further – where the hell was he? What was he planning?
Should they send the chopper up? Would that help to panic Harris and flush him out? It seemed a ham-fisted option and Helen wondered if Ethan could be rattled in that way. She was still pondering this when DC Lucas hurried up to her.
‘Possible sighting, ma’am,’ she said quickly.
‘From the team?’
‘No, from a member of the public. A young woman saw a man walking through Palmerston Park wearing overalls like those we mentioned in the press release. She went to challenge him, but he brushed her off and continued to walk towards the Esplanade.’
Helen’s mind reeled. That was completely the opposite side of town to where her team were now searching.
‘She lied to us,’ Helen said, as much to herself as to Lucas. ‘Naomie deliberately sent us in the wrong direction to aid his escape.’
‘Escape?’
‘If he’s heading towards the Esplanade, then there’s only one place he’s going,’ Helen replied. ‘He’s making for the train station.’
139
Helen was on the street in under a minute. Central Station was close to their base and Helen knew that she could cut off Harris’s escape if she was quick. Gardam was calling ahead to the British Transport Police, alerting them to his movements, but something in Helen told her that wasn’t enough. Harris had been a wily adversary, capable of hiding in plain sight, and she wasn’t prepared to leave anything to chance. Trains left regularly from Central Station and there would be many possible avenues of escape if he made it that far.
Sprinting up Southern Road, she paused momentarily before throwing herself across the six lanes of Mountbatten Way. Despite the late hour it was still very busy and the trucks and cars roared past, buffeting Helen with their tail winds. Horns blared and drivers shouted, but Helen kept on going. She was making good progress and was nearly at the other side now, but as she made her final lunge towards the pavement, Helen realized she’d misjudged the speed of an oncoming van. The driver saw her and slammed on his brakes, but it was too late. A horrible screeching sound filled the air as the van skidded towards her.
At the last minute, the driver wrenched the wheel round and the van lurched violently to the left. It clipped Helen hard, sending her flying towards the pavement, before toppling over itself and sliding along the road on its side. Helen hit the concrete hard, bouncing beyond it and into the safety barrier at speed.
An odd moment of silence, of blank shock, then Helen was scrambling to her feet. Her head was swimming, a piercing noise filled her brain, but she struggled upright nevertheless. Her first instinct was to run to the van, but pausing, she turned to look at Central Station Bridge. If Harris was coming from Nicholstown, he would have to cross it to get to the station.
And there he was, turning on to the bridge and moving swiftly across it. He was only fifty feet from Helen now and she didn’t hesitate, limping into a run and heading fast away from the bemused motorists. Moving was pure agony – she had caught her knee badly and she could feel blood running down the side of her face – but she kept on going. Harris was making good progress, he was nearly halfway across, but as yet he hadn’t seen her. It was now or never.
Suddenly a gap opened up in the traffic and Helen ran across both lanes, vaulting the pedestrian fence on the other side. She landed with a bump and at that moment, Ethan Harris turned. He recognized her immediately and turned back to run across the remainder of the bridge, in the direction of the train station. But as he did so, two British Transport Police officers moved into view, cutting off his escape route.
Helen moved forward quickly, determined to capitalize on his confusion. Harris spun once more, his eyes scanning the other side of the road.
‘Don’t even think about it, Ethan,’ Helen warned as she continued her approach.
The sound of sirens was growing louder now. Perhaps they were attending the traffic accident or maybe they were coming their way – whichever it was, Helen was prepared to use them to her advantage.
‘You’re a few hundred yards from Southampton Central. We’ve got every officer on the Force heading this way right now, so do the smart thing.’
Harris looked straight at her and Helen was surprised to see that he appeared to be neither panicked nor particularly disappointed by the situation he found himself in. His mind was turning on something, Helen sensed, but what kind of calculation he was making she couldn’t say.
‘I was hoping it would be you,’ he said, casting another half-glance over his shoulder to check on the progress of the uniformed officers. ‘What did you say to me at the hospital: “We’ll get whoever did this to you.” ’
Helen didn’t give Harris the satisfaction of a reply.
‘But are you sure you’re ok, Helen? You look a little off.’
She must have made a pretty sight – blood clinging to the side of her face, her suit battered and torn, but she was determined not to be mocked.
‘All the better for seeing you,’ she countered, wiping the blood from her face with her sleeve. ‘But I’ll be even happier when we’re both in an interview suite.’
‘How did you know I’d be here?’ Harris asked, ignoring Helen’s suggestion.
‘Someone spotted you in Palmerston Park and, well, it’s the obvious place to head for if you need to get away but don’t own a car.’
Harris nodded but said nothing, casting another nervous glance over his shoulder. Helen took a step closer to him, but as she did so Ethan seemed to sense her movement and shifted away. There were only thirty feet between him and the other officers now – time was running out for him, but still he made no move to surrender.
‘I hope you won’t think too badly of me, Helen. I don’t think you liked your folks either, did you?’
Helen said nothing, refusing to get drawn in.
‘Doesn’t leave you with much, does it? If your own flesh and blood despise you. Funny thing is, I used to want their love at first. When they went out – as they did every night – I used to sneak out too. I used to wander the streets looking for them, hoping they’d see me, hoping they’d want me – but it never happened. So after a while I gave up looking, but I continued to walk the streets anyway. I liked the anonymity that darkness gave me. Can you understand that, Helen?’
Helen nodded and took a small step forward. There was no question that Ethan was different – with his soft, Asiatic features, shortened arm and stooped posture – but that would have been fine, Helen thought, if he’d had people who loved him for who he was. His mother clearly hadn’t realized she was pregnant – with a baby she’d never wanted – when she’d been drinking herself under the table every night. But that didn’t excuse her horrendous treatment of her own son, a son she deemed both ill-formed and unwanted. Helen refused to have sympathy for Ethan, given what he’d done, but his pure, aching loneliness struck a chord with her and inwardly she raged at his parents for their casual cruelty and selfishness. They were the true architects of this carnage.
‘I know exactly what you mean. Darkness can be a friend.’
‘I thought you’d understand. But then again you’ve suffered – the whole world knows how you’ve suffered – so perhaps you do know how I feel.’
‘It doesn’t excuse what you’ve done, Ethan. You murdered four people.’
‘If you can call them that.’
‘They were human beings. With husbands, children, friends –’
‘They were evil – all of them. Haters who thought nothing of belittling and abusing others for their own entertainment.’
‘Luke Simms was “evil”?’
‘Well, I guess you had to be there to know what it felt like – the whole school joining in with his taunts. My only regret is that Luke Simms didn’t burn with the rest of his family
.’
For a moment Helen was speechless. Under the bridge a train rattled through noisily, its metal wheels grinding unpleasantly against the rails. It was the perfect accompaniment to Helen’s rising anger and anxiety.
‘Agnieszka was no better. She beat me and abused me. Thought a poor, damaged kid like me wouldn’t fight back. Did Naomie tell you I was in the room when she set that bitch on fire?’
‘She told me that and a lot more besides,’ Helen lied.
‘I’m sure she did.’
‘She told me every little detail of your thoughts, your plans. But do you know what the most surprising thing she said was?’
‘I don’t like playing games –’
‘She told me she loved you.’
For once Ethan had no response. Was it Helen’s imagination or did he suddenly look a little less cocksure? The assisting police officers were very close to Ethan now, but he seemed to have forgotten about them, so focused was he on Helen.
‘Which means you’ve got something over me.’ She was keen to press home the advantage. ‘I’ve read your blog, Ethan. I know how you met, how you feel about her. You called her your “angel”.’
‘She is.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she has beauty. And goodness. And serenity. Because she’s the only person I ever met who didn’t dismiss me before I’d even opened my mouth.’
‘I get all that, but here’s the thing. Naomie’s just a stone’s throw away, Ethan. Sitting alone in a police cell. And right now she’s carrying the can for your crimes. I think you owe her a little more than that, don’t you?’
Ethan said nothing in response. Helen watched his face closely for signs of guilt, signs of surrender, as she carried on:
‘She’s lonely, she’s scared, she needs you. So if you value her as much as you say you do, then let’s end this now. You can make the difference, Ethan. Tell the world it was your idea, that you duped her, that you controlled her. You can still be the hero in this story – you can still save her. But you have to come with me. And we have to do this now.’
Underneath the bridge, the passing trains provided a tense, rumbling accompaniment to their confrontation. Helen stared at Ethan for what seemed like an eternity, willing him to respond, then finally he nodded. Helen felt the tension seep from her body and she took a step forward, pulling the cuffs from her belt.
‘Did Naomie tell you how we met?’ he said suddenly.
Helen nodded, taking another small step forward.
‘Did she tell you where we met?’
‘No,’ Helen answered, unnerved by the tone of his voice.
‘Here,’ he said, gesturing to the bridge. ‘And we’ve met here pretty much every night since.’
And now Helen realized that Ethan hadn’t been heading for the train station after all. He’d been heading for this bridge.
‘Ethan, you have to come with me –’
Helen was moving forward quickly, all pretence at caution now gone, but Ethan seemed unconcerned by her approach.
‘Our special place. Our ten o’clock shot.’
Helen could hear the train getting closer and knew exactly what Harris was intending to do. He darted towards the safety barrier and Helen went with him, determined to cut him off before he could jump. With one fluid movement, he swivelled up on to the wall, but just as he flipped himself over the edge, Helen managed to grab hold of his coat. The train was almost upon them, rattling over the tracks at speed, but Helen refused to let go, dragging Harris back from the brink. This was one fight she was not prepared to lose.
Then suddenly it was Helen was who falling backwards. As she hit the kerb, she realized that Harris had slipped out of his coat and was free of her grasp. She made one last, desperate attempt to stop him, but was left clutching at thin air. Seconds later, she heard the dull crunch as his body smashed into the metal tracks and immediately after that the desperate, anguished cry of the train’s horn, as the driver realized too late what was happening.
Helen turned away, unable to watch. Why hadn’t she realized what he was planning? Why hadn’t she stopped him? But even as she lacerated herself with these futile thoughts, something made her pause and look up. A sound. The sound of church bells marking the time.
And now Helen realized the enormity of her mistake. Ripping her mobile phone from her pocket, she punched in some numbers and began a desperate sprint back in the direction she’d just come from.
140
DC McAndrew raced down the stairs, barging her startled colleagues aside. Helen had just rung off and was haring back to base, but there was no time to lose. Pushing through the double doors, McAndrew sprinted into the custody area.
‘Cell three. I need it open now.’
The custody sergeant looked up, aggrieved at this sudden intrusion.
‘NOW!’ McAndrew roared.
And now he didn’t hesitate, snatching up his keys and marching with her towards the third cell on the left. Without hesitating to open the viewing hatch, he turned the key and wrenched the door open. McAndrew didn’t wait for the standard invitation to enter, pushing past him aggressively.
But she was too late. Naomie Jackson had made full use of the extra blanket she’d requested, fashioning an impromptu noose from which she now swung. Screaming, McAndrew climbed up on to the toilet seat, pulling frantically at the knot, but she knew it was hopeless. Naomie was already dead.
At the end, the lovers would be together in death.
141
It was Christmas Day. A day Thomas Simms had been dreading.
It was less than a fortnight since he’d buried his wife and daughter and the idea of enjoying some Christmas cheer seemed both unreal and obscene. Karen had loved the festive season, Alice too of course, and he knew that even in years to come, when the wounds were perhaps a little less raw, he would always struggle at this time of year. It would remind him of all he had lost.
Fresh on the back of the funeral they’d heard the news that those responsible had taken their own lives in a prearranged suicide pact. This was the final blow as far as Thomas was concerned and for days he’d raged at the police, reporters, family – anyone who’d listen – furious that the family had been denied justice. He felt nothing for the perpetrators and their death provoked no sense of triumph in him, just a sense of emptiness and deflation.
Luke felt the same – he knew that. Thomas’s son said very little these days – he was a far cry from the chatty, optimistic teenager he’d once been – but Thomas could tell that he too seethed with anger and frustration. Luke was furious with the world, furious with Harris and Jackson, but most of all he was furious with himself for the part he thought he’d played in the family’s misfortune.
It had never occurred to Thomas to blame his son. As far as he was concerned, they had been visited by someone else’s madness. But try as he might he couldn’t get Luke to see things his way. The boy was intent on blaming himself, even though there were others who were far more culpable in his view. Jacqueline Harris had actually written to them – the letter arriving three days before Christmas – clumsily expressing her remorse and guilt. But Luke wasn’t interested and Thomas had torn up the letter before he’d got to the end of the first page. It was clear she was seeking absolution – and he wasn’t going to give her that.
There was nothing to celebrate this year, but Christmas had arrived anyway, unbidden and unwelcome. There was no tree, of course, no decorations, no turkey or presents – none of the trappings they used to enjoy. There were cards, however. These had arrived in a trickle at first, then by the dozen, then in great armloads, as relatives, friends and total strangers felt moved to send Luke and Thomas their fervent hopes for brighter days ahead. Luke didn’t want to look at them, so Thomas spirited them away to his bedroom, where he could read them in private.
Some of them made him cry, others made him smile. But all of them were valuable. None more so than the one from Charlie Brooks, who had kept a discreet but vigil
ant eye on them since the conclusion of the investigation. She had her own issues to deal with – had her own family – but her concern and affection for Thomas and Luke was not in question. And as Thomas read her card for a third, then a fourth time, he realized why her card – and many others like hers – had given him such comfort.
Because they reminded him that despite all the darkness out there, there is goodness too.
142
Jessica tore the wrapping paper off and peered at the gift inside. Intrigued, she pulled out the Peppa Pig Carousel and showed it to her parents, before returning her attention to the shiny silver paper. Helen suppressed a smile. Her experience of children was limited, but she knew that toddlers were always more interested in the boxes and paper that contained their presents than the gifts themselves.
‘Sorry, she will play with it, but needs to spend some quality time with the wrapping paper first,’ Charlie said, grimacing.
‘Don’t worry,’ Helen responded quickly, ‘I just like to see her enjoying the day.’
And it was true. At first, Helen had been unsure whether to accept Charlie’s offer to join them on Christmas Day. She didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case and, besides, she had her own little rituals at Christmas that had stood her in good stead thus far. However, the temptation to spend the big day with people who cared for her had proved too strong in the end – and Helen was glad to have exchanged her standard Murgh Zafrani with extra coriander for Steve’s roast turkey with all the trimmings.
She’d wondered if it would feel odd to spend Christmas with someone else’s family but actually she’d had a great time and she chided herself now for her unnecessary fears. The icing on the cake had been the news that Richard Ford had found a new post with a sister fire service in the States and was due there soon. One less thing on my conscience, Helen had thought when she received Gardam’s text. She was sure Adam Latham had swung this for his former colleague and, caught up in the Christmas spirit, Helen felt herself softening towards the man who’d tried to destroy her reputation. For all his faults, he was a leader who looked after his own. Just as she had done, Helen reflected, with Charlie.
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