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

by M. J. Arlidge

  ‘Go on,’ Helen replied, intrigued by McAndrew’s evident excitement.

  ‘Well, the point is, I recognize her. In fact, I’ve spoken to her.’

  ‘So, who is she?’ Helen replied, genuinely surprised.

  ‘I’m ninety-nine per cent certain that it’s Amanda Davis.’

  Even as McAndrew said it, alarm bells started ringing. It took Helen a moment to place the name, then it hit her like a sledgehammer.

  ‘That’s the wife of the guy—’

  ‘Who was killed in an aggravated burglary a few weeks back. Her husband was very rich, liked to brag about it in the press, so we put his death down to that. But looking at the file again, only a handful of the most obvious items were stolen from their house during the burglary. You’d think if you were willing to kill, you might make it worth your while. Look for a safe, take the TVs, the top-of-the-range audio equipment …’

  Helen said nothing, stunned by McAndrew’s report. In many ways, it made perfect sense. A half-hearted ‘burglary’ and a brutal, failed attempt at ‘sexual assault’, both, in fact, clumsy attempts to disguise cold-blooded murder. It fitted the pattern of the other killings, the logic, the approach, crystal clear, but still the implication of McAndrew’s discovery was devastating.

  Just how big was this thing?

  Chapter 75

  Lilah picked her way through the cars, keeping low to the ground.

  Her body was tense, her senses alert, expecting danger. If she was spotted, if someone clocked her and called out, she would turn and run. Run and never look back. But so far, everything had gone precisely according to plan.

  Crouching down next to the wheel arch of a pristine Nissan, she peered round the bonnet, taking in the scene. There were dozens of cars here, scores even, all in the process of being hoovered, cleaned and polished, ready to be driven back to various Hertz outlets throughout the city. Some time ago, the company had made the decision to centralize its cleaning operations, all cars now delivered to this industrial estate in Freemantle, meaning she had a host of options to choose from.

  Scanning the handful of finished vehicles, Lilah weighed up her options. Should she go for the Toyota SUV nearest to her or one of the other cars that were slightly further off? They would be riskier to get to, but were closer to the exit, so there was less chance of someone slamming the chain-link gates shut before she’d had a chance to escape. Plus, they were smaller, less conspicuous, more ubiquitous – Fiat 500s and the like – and less easy to pick out in the Southampton rush-hour traffic.

  Yes, that was it. She would aim for the red Fiat that was roughly forty feet from where she was hiding. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for what was to come. How she regretted her gin bender now; she felt drained and nauseous, her head pounding and her mouth bone dry. She felt awful, as if she’d gone twelve rounds in the ring, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Yet there was no question of wimping out. This had to be done today.

  Swallowing down the bile that was rising in her throat, she tried to focus. All she really wanted to do was climb into bed and pull the duvet over her head, but she was here to do a job, so once more she scanned the yard, searching for potential dangers. Happily, there weren’t many cleaners on site today and those who were here seemed to be hard at work, their heads buried in the poky interiors, their forms lost in the arcing mist, as their high-pressure hoses buffeted metal and glass.

  This was it, then. Now or never. She crept forward, scurrying over the scrubby ground to the safety of the high-sided Toyota. She braced herself for discovery, fully expecting to be challenged, but the world continued to go about its business, unaware. Round to the front or round to the back? Scuttling backwards, she leaned into the Toyota, praying its alarm wouldn’t scream out at her. Most of these cars were unlocked, the keys still in the ignition, but, even so, she could catch a bad break …

  Fortunately, all was still. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. Her heart was pounding, beating in rhythm with her poor head, but she had to press on, so now she broke cover, this time crawling over the ground on her hands and knees to the red Fiat. Reaching up, she grasped the handle and tugged. But to her horror, it wouldn’t move.

  ‘What the fuck …’

  Swallowing her expletive, she gathered herself and tried again. This time she squeezed harder and to her immense relief, the catch gave, the door inching open. This was the most difficult, most dangerous, part of the operation. She would have to sit upright in the car, fully visible to anyone who turned her way, and pray that the keys were in the ignition …

  Peeking inside, she saw them dangling down, tantalizing and tempting. Mastering her fear, Lilah scrambled into the vehicle, sliding into the seat, keeping herself low. Peeking through the windscreen, she was pleased to see that there was no one nearby, though a couple of the sprayers had paused to chat, tired out already from their early shift. She didn’t dare shut the door, for fear of alerting them, so she slipped her seatbelt on and gently turned the key in the ignition.

  The engine purred into life and she took full advantage. Slipping the car into first, she began to edge forward. As soon as she did so, the car’s warning system started to ping loudly. Desperately scanning the dashboard, Lilah noticed that a yellow triangle icon was flashing next to a picture of an open door. The onboard computer clearly didn’t like the fact that the driver door was ajar, but she didn’t bother to shut it. She could see heads starting to turn, so, instead, she jammed her foot down on the accelerator, ramming the gear stick into second.

  The car leapt forward, the engine roaring, as the revs shot off the scale. She was over-gunning it, torturing the gears, but speed was of the essence now, the vehicle shooting forward towards the open gates. The ground was rough and uneven, the car bouncing around, and Lilah felt the driver door beginning to swing open. Desperately, she reached out, grabbing it and slamming it shut. Immediately, the sound of the outside world receded, a blessed relief for her pounding head. Looking up, she realized she was nearly free and clear. The gates were just ahead of her, wide open and welcoming, and she sped through them now with a profound sense of relief.

  She had done it. She had got the car, stealing it from under their noses. Even if anyone had spotted her, they wouldn’t have anything to say, except that someone dressed in a burgundy hoodie and jeans had stolen one of their cheaper models. Lilah suddenly felt a surge of optimism, of joy, but as she looked in her rear-view mirror, her joy was tempered by the sight of one of the workers staring after her, his phone clamped to his ear.

  He was presumably calling the police, phoning it in. Which meant the clock was ticking. The only question now was whether she could stay at liberty, keep the car under wraps for long enough, until the time came to use it.

  Chapter 76

  ‘This really isn’t a good time, Helen …’

  Alexia Downing was clearly having a bad morning, the presence of a police officer in her kitchen doing little to improve her mood.

  ‘I’ve got to drop the boys off at my mum’s and the traffic’s going to be terrible …’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,’ Helen replied politely.

  ‘Even so, can it wait until later? I’m already late for work—’

  ‘No, I’m afraid it can’t.’

  Something in Helen’s voice gave Alexia Downing pause. Helen could see the crease of concern in her features, the growing sense that something bad had just landed on her doorstep. Tossing two dirty cereal bowls into the sink, Alexia cried, ‘Boys? Teeth, then blazers and bags. We leave in ten.’ Turning back to Helen, she smiled tightly whilst gesturing to her to sit. Helen returned the compliment, but didn’t respond to her ultimatum. She would be the one who decided when their interview was over.

  ‘I’d like to talk to you about Robert.’

  ‘Right …’

  It was said cautiously, tightly, as if she was loath to give anything away. Was this out of loyalty to Robert? Or just anxie
ty strangling her response?

  ‘I understand you’re currently in the middle of divorce proceedings—’

  This was unnecessarily formal – Helen had bumped into Alexia socially a few months back and had commiserated with her on the break-up of her marriage – but it was how it had to be.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Could you tell me how things are progressing? Is it running smoothly or is it protracted? Is it harmonious? Acrimonious?’

  ‘It’s a bloodbath.’

  She said this with no sense of triumph, or even bitterness. Just excessive, pained weariness.

  ‘It’s been going on for months now. I had hoped we could settle it out of court but that’s going to be impossible.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Because Robert wants equal custody. And I won’t sanction that.’

  ‘Right. Can I ask why?’

  ‘Because his professional and personal situation won’t allow for it. He works too hard and is often away for days at a time. He has no partner, no family locally, so who’d look after the kids when he’s working? When court proceedings overrun?’

  ‘So it’s purely a matter of logistics?’

  ‘Of course. The boys have been through enough disruption already. What they need is stability, parents who’ll actually be around.’

  ‘You and your new partner?’

  ‘That’s right. Graham is his own boss, so he’s very flexible. And I can generally choose my hours, fitting them around the kids. We’re only in this mess this morning because Robert dumped them on me out of the blue last night. It really is bloody typical of him.’

  Concern arrowed through Helen now, unnerved by this sudden change in Robert Downing’s plans, but she kept this to herself.

  ‘And can I ask what type of arrangements you’d suggested regarding the custody of the children?’

  There was a short pause, Alexia for the first time looking a bit self-conscious.

  ‘Full custody.’

  ‘I see,’ Helen responded, surprised. ‘So, he wouldn’t get to see them at all or—’

  ‘Of course he’d get to see them. During the holidays, on special days, the odd weekend, but it would be when we – when I thought it appropriate.’

  She said it defensively, aware it might sound cruel, but defiantly too, as if convinced it was the right course of action.

  ‘And was this your position from the off? When you started proceedings?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I’m not judging you or Robert, I know nothing of the circumstances, but usually people only push for full custody when there’s a serious problem, a question of safeguarding or—’

  ‘Like I said, it was just a question of logistics. You know what Robert’s like—’

  ‘Yes, I do. And I know that he adores his kids.’

  ‘That’s never been in doubt, but that’s not the point …’

  ‘I also know you a little. And you don’t strike me as being cruel or irrational or vengeful—’

  ‘It’s nothing like that.’

  ‘Then what? Why were you – are you – so determined to cut him off from his sons?’

  The question hit home, Alexia Downing looking both angry and upset. Was there regret too, that a happy marriage had come to this?

  ‘Alexia, please. I need to know. For Robert’s sake, for your sake, for the boys …’

  At their mention, Alexia shot a look upstairs, where the boys could be heard laughing. Then, taking a deep breath, she continued in a low voice, ‘Look, I don’t want the boys or Graham knowing about this, but when – when Robert and I were together we occasionally used recreational drugs. Amongst friends, when we were away from the kids …’

  ‘What drugs?’

  ‘Cocaine, ecstasy,’ she replied, dropping her eyes. ‘Cannabis, of course …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it was common in our circles and we only did it occasionally, as we both had high-powered jobs to hold down. It was a weekend thing, really.’

  Helen said nothing, letting the silence do the work.

  ‘But when our marriage hit the rocks, when it became clear that I’d found someone else and was planning to leave him – well, Robert started using drugs more regularly.’

  ‘Coke? Ecstasy?’

  ‘At first.’

  ‘But then …?’

  ‘Well, after I’d left, taken the boys, I think it got steadily worse.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I think – well, I heard from friends – that he was using more and more, that he had resorted to stronger drugs.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well …’ she replied, breathing out hard, ‘crystal meth was mentioned.’

  It clearly hurt her to say this, the idea of her husband resorting to Class A drugs, driven to it by their break-up.

  ‘Obviously, now I was seriously worried. He was still seeing the boys, still a part of their lives, so I went round to his house unannounced. He was in a really bad way. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, was unshaven – plus, the house was a mess. He claimed he’d had a bug, but I knew he was lying. That was when I decided to push for full custody.’

  ‘So why on earth is he still seeing the boys, still looking after them?’

  ‘Well, after that visit, he seemed to clean up his act. He applied for a temporary access order, which the courts granted, of course.’ It was said bitterly.

  ‘But why didn’t you bring up his drug use then? Surely it would have been relevant.’

  ‘I wanted to, but my lawyers advised me against it. We only had hearsay and rumour to go on at that point; it would have been his word against mine.’

  ‘Because you had no hard evidence.’

  Even as Helen said it, another piece of the jigsaw slid into place.

  ‘Yet still you’re pushing for full custody. Something you’d be unlikely to get – unless the situation had changed. If somehow you managed to get concrete evidence of Robert’s drug use – well, that would change everything. In that scenario, you’d be nailed on to get what you wanted, cutting Robert out of the boys’ lives completely.’

  Alexia Downing continued to stare at the table.

  ‘Does the name Declan McManus mean anything to you?’

  Alexia’s eyelids fluttered but she said nothing, staring down at the table.

  ‘Did your lawyers instruct McManus to investigate Robert, to tail him?’

  A long, heavy silence.

  ‘Alexia, if you did, if they did, I need to know. Right now.’

  And now, finally, Alexia capitulated, nodding briefly.

  ‘They said they’d used him before,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘That he got results.’

  ‘And did he? Did he get the evidence you needed?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her voice cracked now, a single tear running down her cheek. ‘McManus told the lawyers that things were progressing well, then suddenly he went quiet. Next thing we know, his name’s all over the papers, because he’s been attacked, killed.’ She let out a brief sob, desperately trying to hold herself together.

  ‘And at any point did you think that Robert might have been responsible for the attack on him? Or might have sanctioned it at least?’

  There was silence as Alexia appeared to wrestle with her conscience, then, finally, she looked up. And Helen now saw her eyes were brimming with tears.

  ‘Honestly? I have absolutely no idea.’

  But Helen did.

  Chapter 77

  ‘You really think Downing’s involved in this?’

  Chief Superintendent Peters looked incredulous, clearly concerned that Helen had finally lost the plot.

  ‘Yes, I do. He was the first person I spoke to in connection with the McManus murder and from the very start I’ve felt that something was off …’

  ‘Even so, it seems very far-fetched.’

  ‘According to his wife,
Robert Downing’s drug use was out of control. If McManus had obtained evidence – testimony, footage even – of Downing using a Class A drug, then that would be it, his life as he knew it would be over. He’d lose custody of the kids, be struck off by the Bar Association, could even be hauled up in court. He would be humiliated, disgraced – the same fate faced by Belinda Raeburn and Amar Goj, before their particular tormentors met a nasty end.’

  ‘I can see there are some unpleasant coincidences, connections even,’ Peters responded, ‘but where’s the evidence? Where is the footage? The testimony? What did Alexia have over her husband?’

  ‘We don’t know; in fact, we may never know.’

  Not an answer that satisfied Peters, but Helen had to be honest.

  ‘Think about it. Someone, presumably Amar Goj, tried to access McManus’s home, then later stole his laptop from his car. My guess is that whatever evidence McManus had obtained about Downing was on that laptop. Having secured it, Goj then targeted the man himself, in the process destroying any paper trail that might lead back to Downing, or his wife’s lawyers …’

  ‘But why had McManus not passed the evidence on? You say Mrs Downing is not aware of anything McManus uncovered …’

  ‘I think that perhaps McManus spotted an opportunity to sting Downing first.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘I can’t see any other reason why McManus would contact his target personally. He called him once, then a few days later collared him face to face, at his home. He doesn’t gain anything by doing that – he was supposed to be shadowing Downing, not confronting him. My guess is that he was trying to extort money from him.’

  Peters said nothing, regarding her suspiciously, apparently unsure whether to entertain Helen’s line of thought or dismiss the whole theory as wild speculation.

  ‘And Downing confirmed that he was accosted by McManus?’ he eventually responded.

  ‘Yes, he confirmed as much to me personally.’

  ‘Why would he admit that?’

  ‘To cover himself. I think he was worried we’d find out that McManus had been in his street, that they’d talked, and he wanted to shut down that avenue of investigation. So, he made up a story about McManus touting for work with his firm.’