The Doll's House: DI Helen Grace 3

by M. J. Arlidge

  20

  They were caught in a strange kind of hell. This one came complete with plastic flowers, a statuette of Jesus and tired sofas. Many people, having discovered the worst, fled the mortuary, wanting to get as far away from the reality of their tragedy as possible. Others, like Daniel Briers, simply didn’t have the strength in their legs. Which is why Helen now found herself sitting by his side in the mortuary relatives’ room.

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’ Daniel Briers hadn’t said a word since he’d identified his daughter. Now, a full thirty minutes later, he was trying to process the awful news, cradling a full cup of cold tea.

  ‘She texted me, wrote tweets,’ he continued. ‘I replied to her texts for God’s sake.’

  ‘Did she ever reply directly to your texts? Within the following day or so, say?’

  Daniel looked at her, but didn’t speak. It was as if he didn’t understand the question.

  ‘Daniel, I know that none of this seems real, that you’re in shock, but it’s really important that you answer my questions, if you can.’

  He looked at her for a moment, his mind scrolling back, trying to connect to his past with his daughter.

  ‘No. It’s true, there were always large gaps between the texts. And the tweets.’

  His mind was whirring with the awful possibilities this presented.

  ‘It did seem odd,’ he continued. ‘But she’d left under such a cloud that I thought this was her way of keeping control of the situation, of letting us know that she was in charge.’

  At this point, he finally broke. The last words cascaded from him and were then swallowed up by huge, racking sobs. His misery was primal, elemental – a towering, imposing man howling in grief for his lost daughter. Helen had witnessed this scene many times before and always felt deeply for those left behind. She knew what it was like to lose a loved one and feel responsible. But this time her sympathy was particularly acute.

  Not only was Daniel Briers grappling with the fact that his daughter had died before they could be reconciled – he was also beginning to realize that all recent communication between them had been fake, fabricated by a devious killer. Someone had been keeping his little girl alive from beyond the grave.

  21

  ‘Put them on.’

  Ruby stood by the bed, under the glare of the sodium lights that had suddenly snapped on. It seemed part of her captor’s technique now to half blind her before opening the door.

  She turned her gaze to the bed, where he had laid out a complete outfit for her. Knickers, tights, a short denim skirt, low-cut top, hoop earrings. A funky Saturday night outfit or a hooker’s uniform, depending on how you wore it.

  ‘Now.’

  His raised voice made her jump. This time she kept her nerve – though her bottom lip quivered as she picked up the skimpy black thong – she was not going to give him the satisfaction of crying again. She undressed and dressed quickly, not wanting to be naked for long. Even so she faltered as she put the earrings in. Unlike the clothes, these were not new – they looked tarnished and old. Somehow they felt like death to Ruby.

  ‘Let me look at you.’

  She turned to face him. At first he didn’t react, but then a smile crept over his unshaven features.

  ‘Good.’

  He stared at her, enjoying the moment. All the while Ruby tried to swallow down the bile that crept up her throat.

  ‘As it’s Sunday,’ he continued cheerily, ‘I thought we’d eat together. I know how you like a roast.’

  Ruby now spotted the tray on the table. It had drinks on it and two plates covered with plastic food warmers. Ruby didn’t want to play ball, but she was so, so hungry. He removed the covers to reveal a ready-meal Sunday lunch. It was a travesty of the real thing … but the gravy smelt good. Ruby sat down and fell on the meal, cramming great forkfuls into her mouth.

  ‘Don’t give yourself indigestion.’

  He seemed amused by her hunger. She slowed her intake slightly, but was not about to let a feast like this go begging.

  ‘It’s good you’ve got your appetite back, Summer. You always were a good eater.’

  Ruby paused momentarily, then carried on eating, trying to quell the fear rising inside her.

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘Why not? It’s your name.’

  ‘It’s not my n—’

  ‘What else would I call you?’

  Ruby’s fork clattered down on to the table, gravy splashing messily around. Tears were already streaming down her face, her strength suddenly evaporating.

  ‘Please don’t do this. I want to go home. I want to be with my family –’

  ‘You are home, Summer.’

  ‘I want to see my mum and dad. And Cassie and Conor –’

  ‘WILL YOU FUCKING SHUT UP!’

  As he bellowed this, he struck her hard across the cheek, the rings on his fingers connecting sharply with her cheekbone. She stumbled a little, falling back off her chair, but before she could hit the ground, he had hauled her back up, dumping her unceremoniously back on the chair.

  ‘JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND EAT – YOUR – LUNCH.’

  His eyes were blazing as he screamed at her. Ruby froze, the thought that she might be only moments from a brutal death paralysing her completely.

  ‘Eat,’ he said more quietly, fighting to contain his rage.

  Slowly, Ruby lifted the fork to her lips. But the cold meat now felt alien and unwelcome in her mouth. She held it there but didn’t chew it, powerless to do as she was told.

  ‘That’s better,’ he continued, placing a small greyish potato in his mouth. ‘Now let’s try and enjoy the rest of our lunch.’

  22

  They ate in silence, pushing the food around their plates. The leg of lamb, Maris Piper potatoes and posh broccoli had been bought with a celebration in mind – Ruby’s return home. But in her absence, the family Sunday lunch felt more like a wake. Jonathan had wanted to throw the food in the bin and forget the whole thing, but Alison had refused. It wasn’t in her nature to bin expensive food and, besides, she couldn’t give up on Ruby yet.

  Did she really think that by cooking the meal she could make Ruby somehow appear? She couldn’t answer that question, couldn’t really explain what she was doing, but she felt compelled to keep the home fires burning nevertheless. As she basted the meat, as she trimmed the broccoli, she kept one eye on the front door, hoping against hope that the key would turn in the lock and Ruby would enter, full of excuses and half-baked apologies.

  It’s funny how these things turn out. She had waxed and waned in her attitude to Ruby, one minute castigating her for her unpleasant behaviour, the next trying to understand what she was going through. Now Alison knew she would forgive her anything – never say a word in reproach ever again – if she just walked through the door. Would Jonathan do the same? Alison found it hard to tell. Usually such a ball of energy, he had been oddly quiet since her disappearance.

  Was it possible that Ruby had run off? Changed her mind about coming home? Surely it was, as there had been so much fuss and upset recently. Alison cursed herself for ever having supported Ruby in her quest to find her birth mother. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time – it’s what liberal parents should do, isn’t it? – but look where it had got them.

  She and Jonathan had fought so hard for their family. They’d always wanted three kids, but Alison couldn’t conceive. When they first found out, Alison feared Jonathan might leave her, in search of a more fertile mate. But oddly it had drawn them closer together. Terrible though the adoption process was, she and Jonathan had been determined not to be beaten by it and over the years they had managed to create a loving, stable home for Ruby, Cassie and Conor. Until Alison – or, more truthfully, Shanelle – had torn it apart.

  Conor and Cassie were scared – that much was obvious. They read the news, watched TV – they knew how stories of missing girls sometimes end up. Alison had worked overtime to convince them
that this wasn’t the case here, that things would be ok. Sometimes she even believed it herself. In the absence of fact, of certainty, all that was left was hope – and the stupid superstitions of a heartbroken mum.

  Which is why the four of them now sat in silence in the dining room, eating food nobody wanted and thinking about the girl that everybody missed.

  23

  Nathan Price was not at home. His wife had been very certain on that point. On everything else, she was frustratingly vague. Sanderson had pushed Angela Price as hard as she could, but had learnt only that Price worked away a lot and was currently on a job – though she didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back.

  Price was a freelance painter and decorator who went where the work took him. He had a few regular maintenance contracts with local landlords – Sanderson had checked these out, but they too had yielded little. So she was left with Angela as her ‘best’ hope of a lead.

  Scanning the small flat, Sanderson felt curiously depressed. The place reeked of defeat and despair. Angela and Nathan didn’t have kids and, as far as Sanderson could tell, didn’t have much of a relationship either. They had been together several years and yet there were no photos of them anywhere, no signs that they were a happy, committed couple. Angela didn’t work and was reliant on Nathan for cash to top up her benefits. She was overweight and lacking in confidence, spending her time waiting to see if her errant husband would return. Sanderson sensed a sadness in her, as though she knew she was second best. For once in her life, Sanderson was glad to be single. Better to be alone than somebody’s doormat.

  Sanderson left empty-handed, her frustration simmering. Who was this guy that he left such a small footprint on the world? Was it deliberate? If it was, it would make him hard to find. Which was bad news for Sanderson.

  And even worse news for Ruby.

  24

  The Great Southern Hotel was not the plushest hotel in town, but it was central – just off Brunswick Place – and more importantly quiet. The Saturday night revellers had checked out by now and the whole place had a peaceful Sunday feel. It had been Helen’s first thought when Daniel Briers insisted on staying in Southampton, rather than returning home.

  Daniel was still in shock, so Helen did the formalities for him, checking him in with the minimum of fuss. Moments later, they exited the lift on the fourteenth floor and entered Daniel’s well-appointed room. Helen knew she should really have asked a Family Liaison Officer to do this bread-and-butter stuff, but something told her not to abandon Daniel today. This strong, optimistic man suddenly looked very fragile. Having wrecked his world, Helen felt responsible for his safety and well-being. She couldn’t leave him until she was sure he was ok.

  Sitting on the bed, his raincoat still on, he stared into space, seemingly oblivious to Helen’s attention.

  ‘I’m going to stay,’ he said suddenly, interrupting her. ‘For the duration.’

  ‘Of course. You must do what feels right,’ Helen replied. ‘But you should be aware that our investigations take weeks, sometimes months –’

  ‘I abandoned Pips once, I’m not going to do it again.’

  It was said without self-pity. His tone was one of quiet determination.

  ‘I need to understand what happened to her,’ he continued. ‘Where I … went wrong.’

  His voice quivered a little now, before he went on:

  ‘She was my little girl, Helen. I want to stay here until you catch …’

  He petered out, grief robbing him of the breath to finish his sentence.

  ‘And we will,’ Helen responded quickly. ‘We’ll catch whoever did this to Pippa. You have my word on that.’

  It was a stupid thing to promise and Helen knew she would regret it, but it was what Daniel needed to hear now. The only thing he could hear that would give him the strength to keep going. He looked up at Helen, his eyes full of gratitude, the colour suddenly returning to his cheeks. It was as if her words had briefly brought him back to life.

  He reached out a hand and took hers.

  ‘Thank you, Helen.’

  The pair sat in silence for a moment. Then, having checked once more that Daniel had everything he needed, Helen left. Daniel had phone calls to make – the worst phone calls he’d ever have to make – and Helen had work to do.

  Walking away from the hotel, Helen was suddenly fired with determination to get justice not only for Pippa, but for Daniel too.

  25

  ‘So what do we know about Pippa Briers?’

  Helen was addressing the team who had now assembled in the incident room at Southampton Central.

  ‘Born in Reading in 1990 to Daniel and Samantha Briers,’ Helen continued. ‘Her mum died when she was six. Shortly afterwards Pippa was diagnosed as suffering from brachycardia – her heart beat too slowly – so she had a pacemaker fitted when she was ten. Her dad remarried shortly afterwards. It didn’t go down well and Pippa moved south following a bust-up with her stepmum, staying first with her friend Caroline Furnace in Portsmouth – have we tracked her down yet?’

  ‘Spoke to her on the phone this morning,’ DC Grounds replied. ‘Caroline’s had the occasional text, read the occasional tweet, but hasn’t seen Pippa for over three years now.’

  Helen let this thought settle before continuing:

  ‘So she ends up in Southampton, having got a job at the Sun First travel agency in WestQuay shopping centre. What are they saying?’

  ‘She worked there as a travel agent for nearly six years,’ DC McAndrew replied. ‘Quiet girl, good worker, well liked. Great appraisals and attendance records, then one day she just didn’t turn up. Sent them a brief email from her BlackBerry saying she’d had enough of organizing other people’s holidays and wanted to travel herself. And they never heard from her again. They were irritated because she was supposed to work a month’s notice, but …’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Three years ago.’

  ‘Which is within the time frame of her abduction. Where did she live?’

  ‘She moved around a lot,’ piped up DC Stevens, one of the new officers on the team. ‘Bitterne Park, Portswood, St Denys. Mostly studio flats or bedsits, nothing very high end. Last known address was in Merry Oak. We’re checking it out.’

  ‘Quick as you can, please,’ Helen replied, with just the right mixture of admonishment and encouragement. They needed facts, not possibilities.

  ‘Friends? Boyfriends?’

  ‘We’ve taken a look at her phone records, her email accounts,’ DC Lucas, the new female DC, offered. ‘Plenty of socializing and lots of internet dating. Nearly all short-lived apart from one – an on/off boyfriend whom she dated for a year, then dumped when he turned out to be married.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Nathan Price.’

  26

  His eyes remained glued to her as she crouched over the bucket. She hated being watched while she urinated and consequently she had held off as long as she could. But her bladder was in agony and he had made no move to leave, so in the end, she had relented, tugging down her knickers and emptying her bladder into the old builder’s bucket as quickly as she could. The sound of her urine hitting the plastic echoed round her brick prison.

  Finishing, she tugged up her knickers and headed swiftly back towards the bed.

  ‘Come here.’

  He had been watching her silently for a long time, as if plucking up the courage to say something, so she was startled by this sudden instruction. She paused, flicking a glance up at him, afraid of what he might want.

  ‘Come,’ he repeated.

  She walked slowly over to him.

  ‘Sit.’

  She did as she was told, sitting next to him by the battered dining table.

  ‘Roll up your right sleeve. Higher. I want to see your shoulder. Good, now put your elbow on the table. Like that. Grip the top of my chair with your right hand, keep your arm steady.’

  ‘Please …’

  ‘It may stin
g a bit at first, but it won’t do you any permanent damage.’

  He reached down now and brought out a leather case, which he opened and unfolded on the table. Needles, inks, designs – a tattoo artist’s instruments.

  ‘Please don’t do this. I don’t want you to do this.’

  Ruby was begging now. She had always had a massive thing about needles – she had fainted several times when faced with injections – and she was sickened by the thought of him taking a needle to her bare flesh. In response, he gripped the underside of her arm, pinching and turning her skin so fiercely that it brought tears to Ruby’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t fight me, Summer,’ he said calmly, twisting the skin round still further.

  Ruby screamed and cried, but it made no difference. He refused to release his grip. Through tears, she saw the fierce intent in his eyes and the long needles that lay on the table before her. Though the thought of what was about to happen horrified her, she knew that there was no point resisting. She hung her head, whimpering quietly.

  ‘That’s better.’

  Releasing his grip, he set about his work. Carefully, he opened the jar of black dye. Slipping the steel tip and barrel on to the body of the tattoo gun, he chose a needle, dipped it in the dark ink and readied himself to begin.

  Ruby shut her eyes, tensing herself against the inevitable pain. As the needle punctured her skin, she swallowed down a yelp. He moved it over the surface of her skin and the pain immediately increased – it felt like a cat’s claw dragging across her flesh. Despite her obvious discomfort, he didn’t hesitate, his concentration never wavering, as he meticulously carved out the outline of his design. After ten minutes’ patient work he paused, smiling briefly at Ruby, before moving on to the blue ink. Ruby’s respite was brief and he applied himself again, the same sharp pain jagging through her as he worked.