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by M. J. Arlidge

  ‘Alcoholism, a fairly serious case of it.’

  And there it was. All the suspects, all the perpetrators, neatly lined up in a row. All of them receiving treatment from Alex Blythe.

  ‘You’re the link.’

  The words hovered in the air, terrorizing the young psychiatrist. ‘The link to what?’

  ‘All these individuals have committed murder or have plans to do so.’

  ‘No, no. I’ve told you before, that’s impossible …’ He was desperate, insistent. ‘You tell me Amar Goj is a killer, and I say he can’t be. Whatever trouble he was in, it’s not in his nature to hurt others.’

  ‘The evidence doesn’t lie.’

  ‘And the others? Amanda, maybe, yes, I can see her getting into a difficult situation, a dark place – but Lilah? Robert? Belinda? These are well-educated, professional people with their whole lives ahead of them. However troubled they were, however desperate, they wouldn’t kill …’ Blythe protested.

  ‘You’d be surprised what people can do when they’re backed into a corner. My only question is who made them do it.’ There was a brief pause, as the weight of her accusation made itself felt.

  ‘You think – you think I’m involved in this?’

  ‘What other explanation is there? You’re the only one who knew their secrets.’

  ‘But I was trying to help them.’

  ‘I only have your word for that.’

  ‘No, no, you’re not pinning this on me. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  He looked petrified, shrinking into himself as he spoke. Where he had once seemed charismatic and impressive, now he just seemed weak, pitiful even.

  ‘So how do you account for it?’ Helen continued, keeping up the pressure.

  ‘I can’t …’

  ‘Then you’re the link.’

  ‘No, I’d never use confidential information against my clients. It goes against everything I believe in—’ He was staring at her imploringly, but he could sense her disbelief. ‘I’ve dedicated the past fifteen years of my life to helping people. Why would I undo all that by doing something so – so sick?’

  ‘That’s what I intend to discover.’

  This bald statement of fact seemed to undo him, the fight in him suddenly evaporating.

  ‘Right, can I suggest that we continue this discussion at Southampton Central—’

  ‘Look, if I co-operate, can we – can we try and keep my name, the name of this practice, out of the papers?’

  It was said more in hope than expectation.

  ‘Co-operate?’ Helen queried.

  ‘Yes, if I tell you what I know, can we—’

  ‘We don’t do deals, Dr Blythe. You’ll tell me what you know, freely and willingly, or I’ll charge you with obstruction of justice.’

  Another hammer blow, the psychiatrist looking ever paler.

  ‘Fine. If you’re not going to talk, I can put the cuffs on you right now—’

  ‘I had a data breach, OK?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Three months ago, I – I had a data breach. Someone, some organization, gained access to my systems.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Malware. I received an email purporting to be from a scientific journal that I subscribe to – only it wasn’t that at all, it was a way of someone getting past my firewall, remotely accessing my computer, my files, once I’d clicked on it. It was a stupid, stupid mistake; I hadn’t noticed that the email address didn’t quite match the regular one, and I let them in.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Then nothing. I was aware that my system had been breached, that files had been downloaded, and I was expecting whoever did it to make contact. To demand payment, protection money, whatever the scam is these days. But I never heard anything, still haven’t …’

  Helen stared at him, weighing up his words. ‘Why didn’t you report it?’

  ‘Why do you think?’

  Helen was taken aback by the aggression in his response.

  ‘I’ve spent years building up my practice. What do you think would have happened if I’d reported the breach, if it somehow got out that my patient files had been accessed, stolen – all my clients’ most private confessions, problems, issues out there in the public domain? I would have been ruined. People come here because they need to talk, talk without being judged. They don’t visit me so that their secrets can be paraded for all the world to see …’

  ‘So you did nothing? Said nothing?’

  And now she saw his shame.

  ‘Look, I should have said something, of course I should. But I was scared. Scared of what it might mean for me. For them …’

  ‘So you kept your mouth shut to protect yourself.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And as a result of your cowardice, I’ve got five bodies to deal with.’

  The full horror, the full cost, of his actions seemed to sink in now, the stricken psychiatrist looking up at Helen, as he concluded: ‘Please believe me, inspector, I never meant to hurt anyone, but I didn’t know what to do for the best. I just hoped it would go away, that it would pass—’ he seemed to be in physical pain, anguished by what he’d done – ‘and I never, never in my worst nightmares thought it would lead to this …’

  Except it had. And now both of them would have to deal with the consequences.

  Chapter 100

  Helen pushed through the doors, spilling back out onto the street. Immediately, the fierce heat hit her, almost stopping her in her tracks. Today seemed to be even warmer than yesterday, the temperature searing, suffocating even, a fitting accompaniment for her troubled mood.

  She had come here convinced that Alex Blythe was responsible, preparing herself for a showdown that she felt sure would be difficult, perhaps even dangerous. If he was the mastermind of this sinister game, who knew how far he’d go to protect himself and preserve his liberty? But there had been no confrontation, just capitulation, the excuses and explanations spilling from him freely as he stared down the barrel of his ruin.

  Did she believe him? Was it possible that he was telling her the truth? Her head said no – he had to be the link – but her heart argued against it. He had seemed genuinely shocked, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was being told. Moreover, he had put up a passionate and spirited defence of his clients, insisting they weren’t capable of murder. Helen suspected he was right to do so, that they had been law-abiding members of society for most of their adult lives. But perhaps he didn’t know what she knew, didn’t know just how far they had fallen.

  This was not a scenario she wanted to countenance. If his shock was genuine, if he was telling the truth, then her life had just got a lot harder. Helen had at first believed that the perpetrators somehow knew each other and had made their grim arrangements between themselves. Then she’d believed that it was Alex Blythe who was pulling their strings. Now another, even more sinister possibility presented itself. Was there some unseen nemesis out there, making these vulnerable people dance to his or her tune? Committing multiple acts of murder without ever revealing, or implicating, themselves? And if so, who?

  The thought made Helen’s head spin. Tracing a cyber hacker would be virtually impossible, especially if they had taken basic precautions, such as routing their operations via another country. They could do this, carefully concealing their tracks, and still operate unhindered in the UK. How then to track them? How had they communicated with Goj, Raeburn and Downing? Could this be used against them? Maybe, but it seemed like a fond hope – the architect of all this bloodshed and misery having remained perfectly concealed until now.

  Reaching her bike, Helen paused. Instinctively, she wanted to believe that Blythe was lying – and she would waste no time in getting a warrant to examine his computer, his systems, to test his story – but one thing gave her pause for thought. Earlier, when she was speaking to Robert Downing, her adversary had looked scared, the experienced lawyer appearing more intimidated by the mastermind of this enterprise
than by Helen, even though she was backed by the full force of the law. And she had seen that same look on Alex Blythe’s face just now, as she pressed her case. Was it possible that he knew more than he was letting on? Knew just what the shadowy figure behind all this mayhem was truly capable of?

  Turning now, she looked up at the psychiatrist’s first-floor office. And, to her surprise, she found the callow psychiatrist looking down at her, watching her retreat, as if wanting to be sure that she was really gone. Curious, she held his gaze, hoping to see something that would reinforce her suspicions – some anger, some defiance, perhaps even a sense of triumph. But there was nothing like that. Blythe appeared rigid, ashen, tortured. He did not remotely resemble a victor, a predator, an evil genius. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  He looked haunted.

  Chapter 101

  She stood by the battered metal drum, staring down at its grim contents. The park was always busy in summer, meaning the bins were overflowing with rubbish. This suited Lilah down to the ground and she didn’t hesitate, digging down through the discarded Coke cans and sandwich wrappers, carving out a deep hole amidst the detritus. Knowing full well that she would excite people’s curiosity if spotted doing so, she retrieved the phone from her jacket pocket.

  This thing, this small piece of technology manufactured thousands of miles away by faceless low-paid workers, was both her route to salvation and her captor, and she was pleased to be getting rid of it. It had burnt a hole in her pocket for the last two days now, a deeply uncomfortable reminder of the terrible enterprise she was engaged in. But its use was now at an end, the story nearly finished, so removing the back cover, she fished out the SIM card. Scrubbing it with a disinfectant wipe, labouring to remove any sign of her ownership, she snapped it in half, enjoying the hearty ‘click’ as it fractured in her hands. She dropped one half into the bin, before pocketing the other half for later disposal. Then, piling a heap of rubbish on top of the snapped card, she dismantled the phone, removing the battery from the handset, preparing to dispose of them too.

  Chancing another look up, she was dismayed to find that someone was approaching – a young mum chatting happily to her toddler. There was no opportunity to delay, to savour her moment of freedom, so now she dropped the phone parts into the metal container, piling more trash on top of them to obscure them from view. Darting a glance to her left, she saw that the young mum was oblivious, engaged in earnest conversation with her little boy. Still, it wouldn’t do to take chances, it would be better if she wasn’t seen at all today, so taking one final look at the bin, she turned on her heel and hurried back towards the car.

  Chapter 102

  ‘How the hell did they lose her?’

  Helen couldn’t conceal her incredulity or her anger.

  ‘Well, they had eyes on her at home last night and again this morning,’ DC Osbourne answered hurriedly. ‘They saw movement on the first floor around 9 a.m. Since then, there’s been nothing.’

  ‘Have they tried calling the house?’

  ‘Several times, but no joy. Mobile too, but it’s turned off. Twice DC Bentham has knocked on the door, intending to pass himself off as a colleague of Martin’s, but there was no movement on either occasion, no sign that anyone’s in the house. The curtains are all open, so it’s not like she’s gone to ground. Anyway, they’re worried that she might have slipped out somehow.’

  ‘Where were they stationed?’

  ‘Out front, in the road.’

  ‘What about rear access?’

  ‘There’s no back gate, just a high wall. It’s possible she may have left that way …’

  ‘Did they not have someone stationed there?’

  DC Osbourne paused, wary of antagonizing his boss still further. Helen knew she was being unfair, that she was shooting the messenger, but her interview with Alex Blythe had left her rattled, as if she was once more losing a hold of this troubling investigation. Now one of the principal players, a woman who was perhaps even now plotting to commit murder, had gone missing.

  ‘No, I don’t think they did. They felt it was unlikely that she would attempt that escape route, as it was quite physically challenging, plus they reasoned she’d have no need to do so, as she didn’t know she was being watched. They had been very cautious in their approach—’

  ‘Clearly not cautious enough. She was obviously aware she was being tailed and found a way to disappear without being clocked. Now why would she do that unless she was up to something?’ But even as she vented, the storm blew itself out. ‘Look, sorry, I know it’s not your fault but—’

  ‘But we need to find her.’

  ‘Exactly. We might only have hours to stop her doing something awful, so we need the team to pull out all the stops. Phone triangulation, traffic cameras, live CCTV feeds, plus we need every beat copper issued with a recent photo of her, so we can track her down. If we can do that, then maybe we can save a life and perhaps find out what the bloody hell is going on, what mess Lilah and these others have got themselves in. Talking of which, do we have any idea where Belinda Raeburn is?’

  ‘We think she’s somewhere in town, though we haven’t pinpointed exactly where. I spoke to her partner – well, her ex-partner, this morning. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk – it sounds like Raeburn’s lost her job at the school and been booted out of the flat she shared with Carol Shepherd—’

  ‘So she’s lost everything.’ Even as she spoke, Helen’s mind was turning. ‘Which may help us,’ she continued quickly. ‘Belinda Raeburn killed to protect her livelihood, her career, her relationship …’

  ‘But now she’s got nothing to lose.’

  ‘Right. If anyone’s going to be inclined to tell us what, or who, is driving this, then she is. Same drill as Lilah Hill, I want the guys on the street notified and I want the team to track down every friend, relative and colleague she knows locally. Is she staying with them, hunkering down until the storm blows over? Let’s check out hotels, B&Bs, but also the main travel hubs too, in case she’s decided to leave town. If you think she is still here, then let’s check out what her regular commitments were – classes and appointments she’d keep, duties she’d attend to, regardless of her current situation. We need to do anything and everything to try to locate her. Have you got all that?’

  ‘Sure thing …’

  ‘Then let’s get to it.’

  Helen was looking at Osbourne quizzically, puzzled as to why her urgency was not translating to her junior, who looked uncertain, even bashful. And now Helen clocked something – Osbourne was not staring nervously at her, but instead at something just above her right shoulder. Turning, she realized why he had suddenly clammed up.

  Chief Superintendent Alan Peters was standing in the doorway.

  Chapter 103

  ‘You cannot be serious?’

  Helen couldn’t contain her horror.

  ‘We’re so close to cracking this thing, you can’t possibly take me off the case—’

  ‘I’m afraid the decision’s already been made. I should say that it’s not one I made lightly—’

  ‘You’re firing me?’

  It didn’t seem possible, but it was true. The station chief was standing in her office, clutching a copy of the Southampton Evening News, apparently intent on relieving her of her command.

  ‘I’m suspending you, pending a full internal enquiry. Once that’s completed, we’ll review your position here, then take a decision. In the meantime, DS Hudson will assume operational command—’

  ‘No, no, no, no, no …’

  Helen hadn’t anticipated this – it was immediately clear to her that she had been badly outflanked. Hudson clearly had Peters’ ear and was suddenly in the ascendency, meaning she’d have to fight back with everything she had.

  ‘He’s not the right person for the job; he cannot lead the team—’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s not suited to it, in terms of temperament, experience or capability—’

 
‘You spoke very highly of DS Hudson when you appointed him,’ Peters countered quickly.

  ‘That was then. Now I know different.’

  ‘Maybe, but from where I’m standing, DS Hudson appears to be a committed and effective officer. In fact, he’s the only detective on the team who’s come up with a credible suspect for these murders.’

  Once again, Helen was taken aback. Clearly Peters had been well briefed, Hudson giving him chapter and verse on his lines of enquiry.

  ‘Lee Moffat is not a credible suspect,’ she hissed.

  ‘I don’t see why not. He’s violent, amoral, has a clear motive for the McManus murder, not to mention strong links to the Alison Burris killing and that of Martin Hill …’

  ‘It’s circumstantial at best—’

  ‘Which is presumably why you kept it from me?’ Peters’ face was set, his anger clear.

  ‘I didn’t bother you with it, sir, because it doesn’t stack up.’

  ‘You know that for sure, do you?’ Peters persisted. ‘You’ve personally looked into it, discussed it with your deputy, weighed up the evidence …’

  ‘Well, no,’ Helen admitted. ‘I don’t need to; I know it’s a blind alley.’

  ‘Copper’s hunch, eh?’

  ‘Not all. I’m just going on the facts, the leads we’ve unearthed. We have a much clearer picture of what’s going on now—’

  ‘So, if Lee Moffat isn’t behind it, who is?’

  Once again, Helen paused, surprised by the aggression behind the question.

  ‘We don’t know for sure, but we are certain this is all the work of one individual …’

  Peters exhaled, long and loud, shaking his head. ‘So we’re no further on than we were when we last spoke.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. My team is working flat out and—’

  ‘Can I ask if there are any other reasons why you might feel Moffat is not a credible suspect?’

  ‘No, like I said, it’s just a question of weighing the evidence and—’

  ‘So your dismissal of that line of enquiry has nothing to do with your personal animus against DS Hudson?’