Truth or Dare: Pre-order the nail-biting new Helen Grace thriller now

by M. J. Arlidge

  ‘Of course it does. Someone is targeting us.’

  ‘Because of my actions, because I stuck up for you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps you think you’d be better off without me?’

  ‘Of course not …’

  ‘Maybe you think that if you put some distance between us, you’d feel happier, safer …’

  As he said it, he extricated his fingers from hers, wrapping them around her wrist instead, as if binding her to him.

  ‘Have I ever said anything to make you think that?’ she protested.

  ‘No, but you’ve thought it, I know you have …’

  The pressure of his grip was increasing, his fingers pinching her skin.

  ‘That’s not true. I love you, I love this place, it’s our home …’

  ‘Admit it, you want out. You want to leave me behind, cut your losses—’

  ‘No, no. Please, Martin you’re hurting me …’

  The pain was getting worse, his nails digging into her flesh.

  ‘Then admit it.’

  ‘No, no I won’t. Because it’s not true.’

  She was determined not to crumble, not to play his game.

  ‘I love you. I’ll never leave.’

  Without warning, the pressure dissipated, Martin releasing her wrist and breaking into a relieved smile.

  ‘And I love you too. Always will.’ Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘And ignore me. Guess I’m more wound up by this stuff than I thought …’

  Lilah nodded, but said nothing, cradling her throbbing wrist.

  ‘Now how about we order a pizza? I could eat a horse …’

  Without waiting for an answer, he headed into the hallway. A moment later, he called through, asking what she wanted. Lilah answered mechanically, but in truth she didn’t care what he ordered. Her nerves were shot and her spirits at rock bottom – food had no appeal.

  ‘Yes, can I place an order please?’

  Martin was in the hall, safely out of view, in conversation with Domino’s. Lilah paused for a moment, wrestling with herself, then she leaned down to clip open her handbag. Delving deep into the interior, she retrieved a half-bottle of vodka, cracking open the lid in one, practised movement. She knew it was the wrong thing to do – reckless, stupid, weak – but it was what she needed right now. So, swallowing down her distress, she pressed the bottle to her lips and began to drink.

  Chapter 24

  His eyes remained glued to the road as he jabbed the accelerator repeatedly, bullying the cars out of the way. It was late, but there were still a few stragglers on the streets, commuters wending their way home. Joseph Hudson ached to put the siren on, to scatter them, but he dared not announce their presence, not when success was so close at hand. Instead he had to rely on the blue light and some audacious overtaking manoeuvres to keep them on track.

  ‘What’s our ETA?’ he demanded, without turning to his companion.

  ‘Two minutes,’ DC Reid replied, his eyes fixed on Googlemaps. ‘The traffic thins out after this.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘McAndrew and Edwards are just behind us. A minute or so max …’

  Angling a look in the rear-view mirror, Hudson spotted a small blue light in the distance.

  ‘Good. Any word from base?’

  ‘Nothing yet. Do you want me—?’

  ‘No, we can handle this.’

  ‘Course.’

  Hudson stole a look at his companion, seeking signs of disaffection. But, unlike that perennial pain in the arse Malik, DC Reid appeared unconcerned – in fact, he seemed excited. Hudson was pleased he’d spent so much time cultivating him. Reid was a talented and ambitious officer, with one eye to the future, who might in time prove a valuable ally.

  Returning his eyes to the road, Hudson raised his speed. The traffic had cleared now and he was determined to take full advantage. Like Reid, Hudson’s blood was up. Ever since they’d got a possible address for Lee Moffat, he had been energized and focused, mentally spooling forward to the young thug’s apprehension and arrest. With any luck, he’d be picked up, processed and safely in the interview suite before Helen Grace was any the wiser. The less she had to do with this successful result, the better.

  They were approaching the junction and, signalling left, he swung around the corner, diverting off the main road. Not all such operations were enjoyable – he’d had a high-speed car chase six months ago that had gone disastrously wrong – but when the wind was at your back, few things could compare. Tonight he felt in control, in command, as if he could bend the world to his will.

  ‘It’s this next street on the right. You might want to—’

  Hudson was one step ahead of him, killing the strobing light. A gap now opened up in the adjacent lane and Hudson didn’t delay, executing a long, slow lazy turn across the road and into the narrow street.

  They were deep in Woolston now, never a particularly attractive part of town and even less so after dark. Ocean View was visible across the water, but the affluent harbour apartments and eateries seemed a world away from the decaying houses and warehouses on this side of the Solent. This was not an area of town where you came to be seen. It was a place where you came to hide.

  ‘Which one is it?’

  ‘Hold on …’

  Reid was scanning the darkened doorways, trying to make out numbers.

  ‘Bit further, keep going. There, that’s the one …’

  Dropping his speed, Hudson brought the car to a halt, killing the engine. Looking out of the window, he took in the sad building opposite him. Perhaps it had once been full of life, a happy, noisy dwelling for dock workers, but now it seemed lonely and forgotten. The windows were boarded up, the door secured with a steel shutter. It appeared to all intents and purposes to have been abandoned, but their intelligence was specific and clear – Lee Moffat had met several body-shop owners here recently to make deals, one of whom had, under duress, revealed that Moffat actually resided here. This latter witness had clocked him here not two days ago, claiming he could usually be found here early evening, getting high. Which suited Joseph Hudson perfectly.

  A sound made him look up and he spotted McAndrew and Edwards pulling up. He nodded at Reid and they both climbed out, hurrying towards their colleagues.

  ‘Phones to silent.’

  Reid responded, fiddling with his phone settings. As he did so, Hudson took advantage of his distraction to send a swift message, before silencing his phone too. Content, he turned to the reinforcements, who approached, looking tense but focused.

  Without further conversation, Hudson led the way to the front door. He was not surprised to see that the padlock had been severed. Gently wrapping his fingers around the metal handle, he teased it open, making sure not to drag the door’s heavy frame over the hard floor. And now the interior opened up before them, pitch-black and unwelcoming.

  Turning to his colleagues, a smile spread across his face, Hudson whispered: ‘Ready?’

  Three nodding heads, so, turning, Hudson pulled his baton from his belt and stepped into the darkness.

  Chapter 25

  Helen pushed into the room, then ground to a halt. The incident room, which should have been pulsing with activity, was virtually deserted. Three lonely faces, isolated and intent at their terminals, were the only officers present.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ Helen demanded, marching up to DC Malik.

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘The rest of the team. Where are they? I don’t remember telling anyone they could clock off.’

  ‘Oh, they haven’t gone home,’ Malik countered, springing to her colleagues’ defence.

  ‘So where are they?’

  ‘Following up a lead, guv.’

  ‘What lead?’

  Now Malik hesitated, apparently uncertain how to proceed.

  ‘Well … DS Hudson, he – he and DC Reid got a possible last-known address for Lee Moffat, so they’ve headed there to pick him up.�
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  ‘That doesn’t account for everyone else.’

  ‘DC Edwards and DC McAndrew have gone to assist …’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘They’re investigating two other possible addresses for Moffat, in Portswood and Fremantle …’

  Helen didn’t know how to respond, couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. DS Hudson, her deputy, had scrambled pretty much the whole team to chase up his lead, without bothering to consult her. She suspected he’d have taken the entire team if he could have, but he knew not to push it with DC Malik, who was not a fan. This was perhaps not surprising, given that he’d nearly killed her in a high-speed car chase not six months ago. Spinning on her heel, Helen retrieved her phone, but even as she punched in Joseph Hudson’s number, she heard Malik clearing her throat.

  ‘Yes?’ Helen asked, her finger hovering over the call button.

  ‘There was something else, something I wanted to show you …’

  Her manner was tentative but insistent and Helen knew to take this intervention seriously. Tucking her phone away, Helen returned to her desk.

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Well, so far, we’ve managed to chase down seven of the fifteen local people who bought the Rick Owens hoodie. Five of them check out, they’ve got strong alibis, but there are a couple more I think we should look into. There’s a Sam Becker, who appears to be declining our calls, and this guy …’

  She handed Helen a printout, which was dominated by a glossy profile picture of a handsome middle-aged man, with a neatly trimmed beard and a bright orange turban.

  ‘Amar Goj,’ Helen intoned, scanning his particulars.

  ‘He’s Southampton born and bred, well known in the Sikh community. Very involved at the main temple and with local charities, features a lot in good news stories in the Evening News …’

  ‘Seems an unlikely arsonist …’

  ‘Sure, but he did buy one of these hoodies, about three months back, and here’s the curious bit. He works at Southampton Children’s Hospital, as a manager in procurement …’

  ‘Isn’t that where our stabbing victim worked?’ Helen asked, her eyes darting to the murder board. ‘Alison Burris was in the same department, I think.’

  ‘Better than that,’ Malik replied. ‘Amar Goj was her boss. She worked under him for the past year or so.’

  And now Helen looked down at Goj’s smiling, confident face again. It was certainly true that the handsome professional didn’t look like a midnight assassin, but the link between him and the recent murder victim was too intriguing to ignore.

  ‘Well done, DC Malik. You can get off now.’

  Turning away, Helen walked swiftly to the door, grabbing her helmet and keys en route. Hudson could chase his lead, she would chase down hers.

  It was time to meet Amar Goj.

  Chapter 26

  He was in here somewhere. The question was where.

  Padding across the uneven floor, Hudson kept his torch steady, slowly arcing it left to right. The beam was strong, throwing up huge, sinister shadows, the outlines of numerous engines, car seats, even whole chassis projected onto the walls. At first it looked like a wrecking yard, but on closer inspection turned it out to be a kind of showroom, Hudson’s torch picking out the insignias of BMW, Mercedes, Audi, even Porsche. It was like an Aladdin’s cave of cannibalized car parts and accessories. No wonder black-market dealers and mechanics beat a path to Moffat’s door.

  The four police officers spread out, keeping pace with each other, never letting their guard drop. Moffat and his crew had no fear of the police – they’d been in and out of prison since they could crawl – and as recent events had shown, were happy to mete out extreme violence. Their only real anxiety was getting caught – their liberty to enjoy their ill-gotten gains paramount in their minds – and they would fight tooth and nail to avoid this fate. Hence the need for extra caution.

  Hudson scanned the vast room in front of them. It was an old dockside warehouse, littered with car parts and chassis, all of which might provide cover for anyone wishing to remain hidden. Was Moffat in the room even now, concealed, waiting to run, waiting to pounce? Hudson’s heart was thumping, he sensed victory, but it wouldn’t do to get a screwdriver in the guts, so he approached each obstacle cautiously, ensuring the coast was clear, before moving on. Any slip now could cost him or his colleagues dear.

  On he went, past the chassis of a BMW saloon, stripped clean like a carcass in the desert. It seemed wrong, sinister even, the luxury vehicle now just a skeleton, and it made Hudson shiver. Somehow, illuminated by his piercing torch beam, it seemed to presage decay, even death. Faster now his eyes scanned the path ahead, fearful of ambush.

  They were nearing the far end of the room now. If Moffat had scurried away as they’d entered, then it would be here that he would make his final stand. Again, Hudson wondered if he should have called for armed backup, but he pushed the thought away. There was no way of doing so without alerting Helen Grace, so they’d have to handle the situation alone. Still, he felt exposed with just a police baton to protect him, as he crept towards the shadowy corner of the room.

  At the very rear of the room, by some barred double doors, was a new vehicle. A black Lexus, seemingly intact. Unable to see through it, Hudson paused, wondering if Moffat had hunkered down behind the boot, weapon in hand. Gesturing towards McAndrew, Reid and Edwards, he watched as they spread out, approaching the vehicle in a wide, trident formation. If their quarry was here, this was the moment he would bolt – but still he made no move.

  Nodding to the others, Hudson held up three fingers, silently counting down. Three, two – Reid pre-empted him, suddenly moving forward, nerves overcoming him. Now Hudson moved too, Edwards and McAndrew just behind, racing around to the back of the vehicle. The adrenaline was coursing through Hudson, his baton raised and ready, even as a loud noise to his right made him spin round – but it was just a false alarm, an apologetic-looking McAndrew having just crushed an empty Coke can.

  Angry, distracted, Hudson turned his attention back to the gloomy space behind the vehicle … but there was no one there. Just the four of them standing breathless and frustrated, the echo of the crushed can hanging in the cavernous space, insistent and sinister.

  Hudson cursed silently. Any element of surprise was gone, now it was all about speed. The building was on several levels, with any number of potential exit points and, picking out a pair of rickety stairs leading up, Hudson hurried over to them. He took them nimbly, two at a time, ascending to another vast storage area. This too was littered with car parts – just how big was Moffat’s operation? – and in the corner another staircase led up to a further floor.

  Hudson’s heart sank. Maybe Moffat was on this level, maybe the one above, or even the one above that. Or maybe he’d already slipped out of one of the old loading bays, making good his escape. It didn’t bear thinking about – having to return to base empty-handed to explain himself to Helen. He stared out into the inky darkness, his spirits plummeting, but even as he began to accept the possibility of defeat, an idea struck him. Something simple, but effective, something he should have thought of at the very start.

  Retrieving his phone from his pocket, Hudson scrolled quickly through his emails, until he alighted on Lee Moffat’s most recent mobile number. He clicked on it, pressing ‘call’. Now it connected, but no sound was heard in the building – in fact, nothing at all disturbed the sepulchral quiet of the warehouse. But over in the far corner, in a pool of deep shadow, a bright yellow light suddenly glowed, illuminating a tall, skinny figure.

  ‘Hello, Lee.’

  Chapter 27

  It was as if she’d stepped into another world, a world where only love, happiness and laughter were allowed.

  Helen Grace paused on the threshold, marvelling at the sight in front of her. Having failed to raise Amar Goj at home, Helen had resorted to seeking out his neighbours, in the process discovering that Amar, and pretty much the
entire local Sikh community, had decamped to an events suite at St Mary’s Stadium, home to the much-loved Saints. Hastening there, Helen was surprised to find that not only was Amar Goj present, he was also hosting the affair – a lavish party to celebrate the engagement of his eldest daughter Kaya to local businessman Chirjot Bajwa.

  Parties at St Mary’s were often sober, corporate affairs, but not this one. The whole room was a riot of colour, scores of bright red and orange turbans perfectly complimented by the ladies’ elegant salwars. Everyone was resplendent, decked out in their finery, yet even so it wasn’t hard to divine which of the attendees was the object of Helen’s interest. Amar Goj, slightly more portly in real life than in his profile picture, stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by well-wishers. His daughter and her fiancé were nominally the stars of the show, but you wouldn’t know it, with Goj holding court at the heart of the proceedings, receiving congratulations from one and all. He looked every inch the happy paterfamilias and local dignitary, confident, respected, beloved.

  A young couple walked past Helen, shooting her a curious look, giving her pause for thought. She had at least taken off her biking leathers, but even so, she looked curiously out of place in her navy work suit. This space, full of music, jollity and chatter, was a happy place, a sanctuary from the world’s ills and she knew no one would thank her for intruding. But then she remembered the hideously injured Declan McManus, and Alison Burris’s lifeless corpse, reminding herself that she had not joined the police force to make friends.

  Crossing the floor, she skirted a waitress offering her a fantail prawn, before diving into the crowd. It seemed to shift and weave in front of her, a rainbow of vivid colours forming a protective sea around the party’s host. Eventually, however, Helen glimpsed Goj, deep in conversation, a phalanx of patient well-wishers surrounding him.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  The music was so loud, nobody even reacted.

  ‘EXCUSE ME.’

  A couple of heads turned, displaying first confusion, then a dawning apprehension that her business here was official, not social. Helen took full advantage, manoeuvring her way to the front. Even as she did so, Amar Goj turned towards her. He was no doubt expecting more praise, more back-slapping, more love, and his face was a picture as it turned from benign condescension to consternation. He had no idea who this woman was or what she was doing here – she certainly wasn’t on the guest list.