Love Me Not: DI Helen Grace 7 (formerly titled Follow My Leader) (Detective Inspector Helen Grace)

by M. J. Arlidge

  Teasing open the driver’s door, she looked inside. She had been hoping to find a sat nav, something that might tell her which targets the killers had scoped in advance of today’s bloodbath, but the interior was empty, save for a crumpled magazine on the backseat and an empty Diet Coke bottle. She would have to ask forensics to take a look at them of course, but there was no telling whether these items had been left by the suspects or the car’s owner.

  Pushing the door to, Sanderson straightened up, stretching her aching back – too much time spent hunched over computer terminals of late. As she did so, she pulled her mobile from her pocket. She punched in the number for the incident room and was about to press ‘Call’ when suddenly she paused. She hadn’t investigated the boot yet and now she had spotted something. A piece of fabric peaking out from under the lip.

  It was a dull khaki colour. The hem of a trench coat perhaps, caught after having been discarded by their suspects? It seemed an odd decision to dump their coats, given how useful they were in concealing bulky weapons. Suddenly Sanderson’s head was full of questions. What were this pair planning next? Were they changing their MO? Were they ridding themselves of their clothes, before attempting to flee undetected?

  And she noticed something else. Fresh blood on the ground. A spatter of it, just beneath the rear of the car. Was this a new victim or …?

  Sanderson could feel her courage failing her as her anxiety steadily rose, so, stepping forward decisively, she grabbed the handle of the boot and yanked it open.

  59

  14.10

  Daisy strode along the pavement, casting nervous glances at her watch. Her whole body was shaking and she felt cold, despite the heavy coat she was wearing. She was behind schedule now, in danger of missing her opportunity, so she upped her pace, half stumbling as she hurried down the street.

  She hadn’t wanted to do it. But what choice had she had? They were only a few hours into their operation and already one of their identities had been blown. She had no idea how the police had worked out who Jason was. Was it something they’d left behind at one of the scenes? Something they’d said? Had someone recognized them and contacted the police? No, that was impossible …

  Once they’d realized that the police were looking for Jason, they’d faced a stark choice. Continue regardless or pull the plug on the operation? Daisy had dismissed the latter option instantly. So much planning had gone into this – and it felt so right – there could be no question of backing out now. They had to keep going, but she could see that Jason was getting distracted, seduced by his sudden celebrity, trying to catch the eye of passers-by. It was unforgivable – they had a plan, a plan they’d both agreed on …

  She refused to cry for him, despite the tears that now threatened. Had she loved him? No, but she had been very fond of him. He had been her rock, the only person who ever stood up for her, and he was loyal. Loyal as a dog and just as enthusiastic. She hadn’t needed to sell her scheme to him, he’d wanted to hurt people as much as she did. Her feelings for him had grown during their brief relationship, though she suspected he’d always felt more for her than she had for him. They were shipwreck victims, clinging to each other amid the wreckage … but nothing more. Once he had jeopardized all they’d worked towards – strutting down the street like he was seven feet tall – he’d effectively made the decision for her.

  That hadn’t made it any easier and she breathed in and out slowly now, trying to calm her jangling nerves. She cast another look at her watch – 14.10. She would just make it. She could see the crowd ahead now and hurried towards them, buttoning up her coat to hide the large bulge in the inside pocket, before once more checking that she had the additional shells. She fingered them nervously in her side pocket, praying for luck.

  This was it then. She hadn’t planned to do this solo, but she had no choice. Discarding her cap and shades, she pulled off her blonde wig and tossed it into a nearby bin. Opening her backpack, she then pulled out a bobbed black wig and slipped it on to her head, securing it carefully. Caution was the name of the game now. She could already see a few familiar faces and she had no intention of announcing her presence just yet. The crowd started to move, so, keeping her head down, Daisy slipped in among the bodies, shadowing their progress towards the building. As they reached the door, she waited patiently, then slid her ID into the card reader. The light pinged green, as it had on their recce, and the door sprang open.

  Gratefully, she slipped inside.

  60

  14.12

  ‘Our suspect’s name is Daisy Anderson.’

  Helen’s voice rang out loud and clear. She was feeling a little calmer now, though she was still reeling from the speed of the developments in this exceedingly complex case. She handed out photocopies of Daisy’s charge sheets and social services reports, as she continued:

  ‘She’s eighteen years old, a young offender with a string of convictions and cautions for shoplifting, drunk and disorderly, vandalism, affray. We think she met Swift during her last stint of Community Payback.’

  ‘And do we think she’s responsible for …?’

  DC Bentham didn’t need to spell it out. An agitated Sanderson had called moments earlier with news of her grim discovery – Swift’s bloody corpse, wrapped in his coat and stuffed into the boot of the Punto, which she’d located in an alleyway in Itchen. Helen had spoken to her personally, thanking her for her good work, before despatching a forensics team to the scene. Sanderson would remain there until they arrived and Helen had been tempted to join her, before deciding to pull the team together instead, to process the latest developments.

  ‘Meredith Walker will tell us more, once she’s examined the body, but it seems highly likely. According to DS Sanderson, Swift had been shot at point-blank range with a shotgun.’

  ‘But why would she do something like that? She and Swift have obviously been together for some time, he was helping to facilitate these murders …’

  ‘We’ll have to ask Daisy that, when we catch her,’ Helen replied forcefully. ‘Maybe they fell out, had a disagreement about what to do next –’

  ‘Or maybe she was rattled?’ Charlie interjected. ‘Jason Swift’s name is all over the TV, the radio …’

  ‘Whatever the reason, Swift can’t tell us much now. DS Sanderson undertook a brief search of the body – he doesn’t have anything on him other than ammunition and there’s nothing of significance in the car.’

  ‘How long had they known each other?’ Reid queried.

  ‘Six months or so,’ Helen answered. ‘I think his role was as an enabler. He probably sourced the guns from the dark web, helped her plan the attacks –’

  ‘But she decided the targets?’ Osbourne asked.

  Helen turned to look at Charlie. Was it his age, his height or his gender that had led them to assume that Jason Swift was the leader? Whatever the answer, they had got it badly wrong, wasting valuable time.

  ‘That’s our working theory,’ she went on. ‘Daisy Anderson probably harboured feelings of bitterness and resentment towards Alan Sansom, and Sonia Smalling’s colleagues have confirmed that the probation officer recently “failed” Daisy, because of her frequent absences from her Community Payback programme. Daisy was potentially looking at a custodial sentence –’

  ‘And in her anger she turned to Swift. Who was already pretty angry himself …’

  Helen nodded – it was a pretty toxic combination. A young disenfranchised man, with a simmering anger towards society and a clear interest in guns, and Daisy, a young woman who clearly felt she’d been wronged. Had she used him to cover her tracks, getting him to source the guns while she remained off grid? Or had she genuinely felt something for her accomplice?

  ‘Daisy’s the product of a broken home, she lives with her dad on a farm in Hedge End. The Punto was dumped a few miles from there, but I don’t think she’s heading home – it’s too far to attempt on foot. We’ll despatch units to the farm, but I want us to focus on her past convictio
ns, places of work, schooling, friends, relatives. Does anyone she might have a grudge against live or work in Itchen?’

  ‘She was picked up in Topshop, but that’s more central,’ DC Osbourne said, flicking through Anderson’s charge sheet.

  ‘There is an affray charge in Woolston,’ DC Bentham suggested. ‘That’s pretty close. An assault on another teenager …’

  ‘Someone known to her?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it …’

  The officers desperately looked through their documents. Helen did likewise, poring over the pages, until she suddenly stopped and looked up.

  ‘Meadow Hall Secondary School. Where is it?’

  The surprised officers raced to google it.

  ‘Itchen,’ Osbourne said quickly, handing her his phone.

  Helen took it, looking at the school’s location on the map. It was only a few hundred yards from where the car had been dumped.

  ‘What do we know about it? Does she still go there? Were there any proble—’

  ‘She was kicked out,’ Charlie said solemnly, consulting her file. ‘She was excluded.’

  ‘When?’ Helen demanded.

  Charlie paused momentarily, before replying:

  ‘Six weeks ago.’

  61

  14.14

  Squeak, squeak, squeak.

  Her trainers made an enjoyably unpleasant noise as Daisy marched across the polished wood floor. Moments earlier the corridor had been full of students, laughing and joking as they made their way to their afternoon classes. Now it was all but deserted, the sound of her shoes echoing around the empty space.

  She walked slowly, firing glances left and right to see if anyone had seen her arrival. Nobody had taken much notice so far and her progress had been smooth and unimpeded. The occasional student looked up as she passed, mildly curious, before returning their attention to the whiteboard. No wonder the results from this place were so good.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Daisy stopped in her tracks, turning quickly to find a portly man in overalls hurrying towards her.

  ‘Excuse me?’ she replied.

  ‘This is a school. You can’t just come wandering in off the street –’

  ‘I’m a pupil here.’

  ‘No, you’re not. I know everyone who comes in and out of those gates and I don’t recognize you …’

  The man came to a halt just in front of her. Now he scrutinized her more closely – Daisy thought she began to see the tiniest flicker of recognition there.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he demanded.

  Smiling, Daisy stepped forward, ramming her left knee into the man’s groin. The shocked caretaker gasped in pain, but his agony was short-lived. The butt of her shotgun now crashed into his face. The impact was brutal and her victim crumpled to the floor, his legs giving out beneath him.

  Slipping her gun back into her coat, Daisy spotted a clutch of students moving to the window of a nearby classroom. They looked down at the prone caretaker, then back up at her. But she was already on the move. Ruining the fat man’s day had not been part of the plan and it wouldn’t pay to get distracted.

  She had work to do.

  62

  14.15

  The school campus was impressively large. Emilia marvelled at the size of it – her secondary school had been far smaller and much less well resourced. From where she was standing she could see an astroturf pitch, a swimming pool, a tennis court, not to mention a swanky science block. Emilia hadn’t attended school much, thanks to her father’s misdemeanours, but she would have killed to have gone somewhere like this.

  Having investigated the graffiti at the probation offices in Totton, Emilia had gone back over her research, flicking through the numerous photos on her laptop, casting an eye over the various institutions which had suffered during the latest spree of graffiti. It had been tedious and irritating, but eventually it had paid dividends. Emilia had felt sure there was at least one other place she’d visited that had been marked with the distinctive serpent and, after half an hour of patient research, she’d remembered which.

  It had taken her a while to locate the graffiti from memory but on the back wall of the school, out of sight near the municipal waste tip, she discovered the freshly painted serpent devouring itself. It was sufficiently recent for Emilia to be able to breathe in the paint fumes – a smell she had always loved. A shiver of excitement ran through her as she inhaled the rich, chemical odour.

  Ahead of her, the playing fields and recreation areas were largely empty, the students having returned to their classrooms. After scaling the chain link fence at the back of the school, standing comically on top of her Vauxhall Corsa in order to do so, Emilia had a pretty clear run towards the main buildings. There didn’t seem to be much security to speak of and the gardener had just headed off to dispose of his grass cuttings, so she emerged from the shadows.

  Was she doing the right thing? Should she call the police? The coincidence of the graffiti was striking, but it was possible that it was just that – a coincidence. Besides, would anyone take her seriously, now that her stock had fallen so low? No, she needed more, before she revealed her hand. So, keeping a watchful eye out for the gardener, she padded across the grass towards the school buildings.

  63

  14.21

  Helen tore up the steps and hurried into the school atrium. An armed unit flanked her and the rest of her team weren’t far behind. It would be their job to secure the site, until they knew for sure whether or not Daisy intended to come here.

  No sooner had Helen set foot in the cavernous reception area than she saw them – a small crowd of startled students huddled around a prone figure. Raising her warrant card, Helen ran towards them. The crowd parted to reveal a stocky, middle-aged man lying on the floor. His face and overalls were sticky with blood, but Helen was relieved to see that his injuries were relatively minor, a sodden handkerchief being clamped to a nasty gash on his temple.

  ‘Has anyone called an ambulance?’ Helen demanded.

  One of the students nodded dumbly, so Helen turned to the injured man.

  ‘Can you tell me where she is?’

  The man looked up at her, but he seemed to be having trouble focusing.

  ‘I need to find Daisy Anderson. Can you tell me which direction she went in?’

  Now the man seemed to stir. Grimacing in pain, he raised a finger and pointed down the main corridor. It gave on to several classrooms and led to a large stairwell. Thanking him, Helen rose and gestured to the armed unit to proceed. Carbines readied, they moved carefully, but purposefully, down the corridor. The shocked students watched them go, clearly alarmed by the heavy-duty weaponry that was on display. Some looked like they were on the verge of tears – their school had always been a safe, fun environment, but terror had breached its walls today.

  Gesturing to Charlie to join her, Helen hurried away down the corridor. The armed officers were making good progress, moving in and out of the ground floor classrooms. Finding nothing, they hurried to the stairwell. Helen nodded to them to proceed, so they pushed on, moving cautiously up the stairs. Helen gave them a tiny head start, then followed suit, keen to be in on the action.

  They were only minutes behind Daisy Anderson now.

  64

  14.22

  The door burst open and Daisy marched into the classroom.

  Sarah Grant looked up, faltering slightly in her delivery. Despite holding the position of deputy head, Grant still taught a full roster of lessons, taking great pride in the school’s French and German results. She was slightly in love with the sound of her own voice and was often to be found reading aloud to her students. That was the case now, but she stumbled, then halted altogether as the intruder marched up to her desk.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she said, trying to sound calm.

  ‘You guys can help me …’ Daisy replied, turning to the class, ‘… by getting the fuck out of here.’

  As she spoke, she p
ulled the sawn-off shotgun from her coat. There was an audible intake of breath from the students.

  ‘Now!’ she roared.

  Chairs scraped back as the young men and women rose from their desks and hurried towards the doorway. Daisy watched them go. When the last one was free and clear, she slammed the door shut, before ramming a desk up against it, barricading them in.

  ‘Just you and me now,’ she said, turning back to the startled teacher.

  ‘Look, if you want money, my pho—’

  ‘On your knees.’

  ‘What are you … what are you talking about?’ the teacher blustered.

  ‘Do it now,’ Daisy replied, raising her shotgun to eye-level.

  Grant suddenly obliged, her legs buckling beneath her.

  ‘Why are you doing this? I haven’t done anything to you …’

  ‘Don’t you recognize me, Sarah?’

  The teacher stared up at her attacker, taking in her features properly for the first time.

  ‘Daisy? Is that you …?’

  ‘Go to the top of the class.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know what this is about but … please …’

  She was fumbling for words, terrified by the twin barrels pointing directly at her.

  ‘I have a family,’ she continued, falteringly.

  ‘You should have thought of that before …’

  ‘Before what? What have I done?’

  ‘You’re a bitch and bitches need to be put down.’

  ‘No, Daisy, no … I’m not an animal, I’m a human being …’

  But her captor just shook her head, dismissing these pleas for mercy.

  ‘Look, if you run now, they might not catch you. My students will be calling the police, you must know that, so don’t hang around to get caught …’