But looking around the large room that doubled as his office and consulting space, McAndrew realized that she was wrong on both counts. A laptop lay smashed on the ground and around it lay reams and reams of shredded papers, like confetti at a wedding. Blythe had known he was being watched, that he faced arrest, and had taken action accordingly.
The armed officers emerged from the clutch of doors that led off the main meeting room, chorusing ‘clear’ in unison. This left only one option now and this time McAndrew took the lead, racing over to the rear window, which opened onto the building’s fire escape. She wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. Pulling it open, she clambered out onto the metal walkway. Stairs led down to a yard and then onto a rear alleyway, but that would have led Blythe to an awaiting surveillance team, so instead McAndrew headed up.
She took the stairs three at a time, driving herself onwards. She crested one flight, two, three, then suddenly she was on the roof, confronted by a majestic vision of Southampton at first light. But it was not a vista that thrilled her today; in fact, quite the opposite. For it was now clear that there were a dozen different routes Blythe could have chosen to make his retreat, climbing over the rooftops of the adjoining buildings to safety.
Cursing, McAndrew pulled out her radio. She had come here with high hopes, desperate to make the first major arrest of her career, but had come up empty-handed. They had not been careful enough, nor had they been quick enough, allowing the devious psychiatrist plenty of time to escape.
This bird had flown.
Chapter 121
She was losing her. Helen knew she had to move fast.
‘Look, Lilah, I know you’re hurting. I know you’re scared. But you have to trust me. We can protect you and we will. You have my word on that.’
Lilah Hill was lying in a bed at Southampton University Hospital. The medical staff had satisfied themselves that there was no immediate threat to her life and she was now awaiting tests to assess the damage to her throat and neck. They had, with some reluctance, allowed Helen to interview her, but their key witness seemed reluctant to talk.
‘I will personally take charge of the situation. We’ll find you a secure medical facility where you can recuperate, then later a safe house whilst you await trial. You will be under guard and surveillance at all times, safe and sound. I can’t make you any promises beyond that, but trust me, there is no point shielding Alex Blythe anymore. He wants you dead – I think the events of this morning have made that clear.’
Lilah Hill blinked, but said nothing, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks. Even now she was still coming to terms with the fact that Blythe had ordered her death – and very nearly succeeded.
‘Your best bet now lies in helping us bring him in. Once he’s caught, under lock and key, facing trial, he won’t be able to hurt you anymore. But whilst he’s out there, talking to God knows who, doing God knows what, there’s a threat. It may be minimal, given everything we can do to protect you, but still—’
Finally, Helen’s words started to sink in, the damaged young woman nodding.
‘Good. Now I promise I won’t prolong this, I know you need to rest. But I need some honest answers to some straightforward questions, OK?’
Another tiny nod.
‘Did Alex Blythe order you to steal that car, to run those lights?’
‘Yes.’
One word, croaked and with much effort, but it was what Helen needed to hear.
‘Did he tell you to kill Belinda Raeburn?’
‘Yes.’
She dropped her head as she said it, too haunted, too ashamed, to maintain eye contact. Leaning forward, Helen lifted her chin, forcing Lilah to look at her.
‘I’m not here to shame you, Lilah. I just want the truth.’
Hill met her eyes unflinchingly this time, a shred of her old resolve seeming to surface.
‘Did he tell you where she’d be? When to do it?’
Hill nodded. ‘He – knew everything about her.’
‘And when did he tell you to do this?’
‘He told me to steal the car three days ago.’
‘At your regular weekly session?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the rest of it?’
‘He – he called. I had a burn phone he’d given me. I – I dropped it into the bin in a park, you know, before I—’
She didn’t need to finish her sentence.
‘And why did you agree to do it?’
A heavy silence, as she swallowed down the rising emotion, grimacing even as the pain flared up her throat.
‘Was it because of Billy Anderson?’
Her body was shaking, her eyelashes heavy with tears.
‘Were you responsible for his death?’
Hill made a sound, half sob, half word, but her intent was clear. She wasn’t going to deny her guilt, but couldn’t find the words.
‘Was Alex Blythe the only person who knew about this, other than Martin?’
This time, Hill inclined her head, not trusting herself to speak. Once again, Helen was struck by the simple brilliance of Blythe’s operation. His clients willingly vomited up their souls, only to have their honesty turned back on them.
‘Blythe threatened to reveal this information about you, unless you agreed to kill Belinda Raeburn?’
‘Yes – he – he said he’d tell my family, my friends, the police—’
‘So, in your head, you had no choice but to comply.’
She looked ashamed, deeply ashamed, but still managed to mutter a reply. ‘Yes.’
‘And, if it came to a trial, you’d be prepared to swear to that in court? That he coerced you into killing a total stranger, someone you’d never met before, someone whom you had no personal animosity towards?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Her response was more forceful this time, anger punching through.
‘Good. Last question, then. Did you always meet him at his office on Church Street?’
‘Yes.’
‘You never met him anywhere else? A café? A flat? A bolthole somewhere?’
‘No, it was always at his office.’
Helen had suspected as much. Blythe was too shrewd an operator to have given any clue to his life beyond the hushed space of his office. It was impressive, his self-control, his discipline, but it made their lives harder now. The architect of all this bloodshed was out there, no doubt intent on disappearing from Southampton, possibly from the UK, for good. With no sightings, no concrete leads as to his whereabouts, what should they do?
Where should they start this deadly game of hide and seek?
Chapter 122
He watched her emerge from the hospital. Her Kawasaki was stationed in the visitor car park, a beast amongst the sea of mopeds that were clustered in the far corner, and Helen made for it now without delay. He, meanwhile, was standing by a pay station, poised to intercept her, following her progress intently. Helen appeared totally oblivious, head down, lost in thought.
Striding to the bike, she flipped open the saddle. She was clearly in a hurry, which meant he had to act now. Scanning the car park for potential witnesses, he abandoned his cover, marching directly towards her.
Time seemed to speed up now – he covered the distance between them in seconds – then suddenly he was upon her. Reaching out, he grabbed her shoulder, but even as he did so, she span, grabbing his arm and flipping him around, until he was pinned down, his face pressed into the hot leather of the saddle.
‘Jesus Christ, Joseph. What the hell are you doing?’
‘I need to talk to you—’ he protested, his face still pressed into the seat.
‘We’ve said all we need to say to each other.’
‘Please, Helen—’
For a moment, Joseph thought she wasn’t going to let him up, that she would keep him here, pinned down, humiliated. Then, finally, she relented, releasing her grip, stepping away from him, whilst eyeing him cautiously.
‘For God’s sake, Helen, I haven’t come here to at
tack you.’
‘It pays for a girl to be careful.’
‘Like I said, I just want to talk …’
He held out his hands in supplication. Now she seemed to relax, dropping her guard, but keeping a wary distance.
‘Go on, then. Because I’ve got somewhere I need to be.’
‘Look, things have got out of hand. We’ve both said things we regret …’
‘Excuse me?’
‘And if I upset you or alarmed you, then I’m sorry. What I said before – well, it was just bluster. I was angry, humiliated. I wanted our relationship to work, I really did, but suddenly things had all gone so wrong.’
‘This is Class A bullshit, Joseph, and you know it. You threatened me.’
‘I was lashing out, that’s all. But you’re right, I was out of line. So, I wanted to apologise to you, sincerely …’
He couldn’t have been more genuine, more open-hearted, but still she seemed resistant. Her body was coiled tight, her face set.
‘Too little too late, Joseph. But I accept the apology.’
She made to move off, but he laid a restraining hand on her.
‘Please, Helen, I know the last few months have been difficult – for both of us – but it doesn’t have to end like this. I’m a good police officer and I can be a good ally to you.’ He had no idea if this was true, but he had to say it. ‘We can start over, be the team we used to be. God knows, we need every hand on deck at the moment …’
She looked like she was about to interrupt, so he carried on quickly.
‘That’s what I want. Ignore all the other nonsense; I just want to be a good copper, to contribute. And I can be again, with your help. If you could find it in your heart to have a word with Peters, see if you could get him to reconsider—’
And now to his horror, Helen started laughing.
‘You’re unbelievable, you know that?’
‘I don’t see why—’
‘Besides it’s too late.’
Four simple words, but devastating to hear.
‘You’re being investigated by Professional Standards, Joseph. They’ve already opened an investigation on you regarding numerous counts of police corruption. There’s nothing I can do, even if I wanted to. The train has left the station.’
‘But an intervention by someone of your standing—’
‘No, no way. It wouldn’t go any good, and besides, I don’t want to. It wouldn’t be the right thing to do.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You’re a bad police officer, Joseph. You lack control, you lack empathy and you’ve never been a team player. You always put your own interests first and that is the very opposite of what a good officer does. You are here to serve, not to serve yourself.’
‘Helen, please …’
‘So save me the sob story, Joseph. You got exactly what you deserved.’
Breaking free of him, Helen climbed onto her bike. Moments later, she was gone, roaring away fast to the exit, leaving Joseph Hudson alone in the car park, to reflect on his total and utter defeat.
Chapter 123
He stood on the edge of the busy highway, watching the trucks roar by. He was anonymous, unnoticed, a blip in people’s rear-view mirrors, but he would not remain so for long. Soon his name would be infamous, synonymous with criminality, corruption and deceit.
A patrol car roared past in the outside lane, blue lights flashing. Instinctively, Anthony Parks took a step back, fearful of discovery, but they seemed little interested in him, haring off to some other emergency. His respite would be temporary, however. A general alert would already have gone out to every beat copper, every CID officer, every data analyst – even now they would be checking traffic cameras, triangulating his phone, raiding his home, talking to his family. The thought of it made him feel sick – what would his poor parents make of it, his loving, innocent, affectionate parents who were so proud of their son? They had done nothing to deserve the censure, the judgement, the grief that was coming their way. It was his fault and his alone.
How had it ever come to this? How had he messed up so badly? It scarcely seemed believable that ten years ago he was a happy teenager, ducking and diving, taking his chances when they came. He knew that the roots of his affliction lay back then, a fondness for gambling cultivated in the seafront arcades, but still it was an exciting time, a good time. How he wished he could be back there now, making different choices, taking another path. But it was too late for that, he had blown the chances he’d been given in his life, using the modest salary he earned as a trainee prison officer to fund his trips to the bookies. The dogs and horses hadn’t been kind, so he’d tried to make up his losses on the fixed-odds betting terminals, with predictable results. Soon, he was squandering his monthly salary in a matter of days, getting ever deeper in debt. He’d maxed out his credit cards, borrowed, then stolen from friends and, when finally he ran out of options, sought a black-market loan.
His association with Gary Bleecher had not been enjoyable, the sweaty parasite appearing to be his friend, before suddenly upping the interest payments. Soon he was in a real fix, fearful for his limbs, even his life, as Bleecher promised to make good on his threats. Then suddenly, miraculously, the danger evaporated, Bleecher clubbed to death by an unknown assailant. He’d been euphoric, over the moon, but the sting in the tail wasn’t long in coming, the pitiless Dr Blythe ordering him to murder Lilah Hill. He had been disbelieving at first, but his new addiction counsellor was implacable and seemed to have a reach that was both impressive and terrifying. There seemed to be no limit to who he could have killed, so what choice did he have but to comply with his awful request?
He had hated it, hated it with every fibre of his being, but still he’d been determined to see it through. And this morning it had seemed simple, easy really. He would enter her cell and moments later come haring back, slamming the alarm and reporting an attempted suicide. Of course, there would be nothing ‘attempted’ about it – he would have strangled Hill moments earlier, ensuring she was dead before leaving the cell. Perhaps he should have known that something would go wrong, though he never expected DI Grace to come bounding down the corridor, intent on saving the unfortunate woman. How the hell did she even know what he was planning?
He had managed to escape, fighting his way past surprised colleagues, before sprinting from Southampton Central. Since then he’d been skulking in the shadows, creeping around like a common criminal, fearful, hunted, afraid. He knew he was just putting off the inevitable. He had no funds, few friends, no one who would shield him, once the gravity of his offences became clear. No, he had ruined everything, messed up his whole life, from start to finish, never once making the correct decision, forever taking the wrong path.
But that ended today. For once he was going to do something right, something that would make things better for everyone. So, muttering a silent, tearful prayer for forgiveness, he clamped his eyes shut and stepped out into the traffic.
Chapter 124
‘Are we sure it was self-inflicted?’
Helen could barely take in the news, utterly stunned that Anthony Parks was dead, but knew she had to stay focused on the continuing hunt for Alex Blythe.
‘There wasn’t anyone with him?’
Chief Superintendent Alan Peters shook his head gravely.
‘A handful of witnesses saw Parks deliberately step out in front of a sixteen-wheeler on the A23. It was suicide, no question.’
Helen shut her eyes, trying to push away this image. It was a hideous way for someone to go, whatever crimes they might have on their conscience.
‘I’ll call his family myself later,’ Peters continued, ‘though God only knows what I’m going to say to them. Anthony Parks betrayed his vocation, his colleagues, the very people he was supposed to protect. He’s a disgrace, a bloody disgrace.’
Helen was tempted to agree, though her dismay was tinged with sadness, even sympathy. Parks had always been an engaging presence at
the station and surely would never have contemplated such a cowardly attempt on Lilah Hill’s life unless he was driven to it.
‘I take it from your earlier questions that we’re no closer to locating Blythe?’
Helen marvelled at Peters’ ability to pivot from Parks’s death to operational matters without a flicker of emotion.
‘Nothing concrete yet, sir. But the border agencies have been notified and we’ve got every available officer sweeping the county for him. Blythe doesn’t own a vehicle and if he tries to buy a travel ticket or hire a car, we’ll know about it. It’s only a matter of time before we bring him in.’
In truth, Helen was much less confident than she sounded. Peters sensed this, his response laced with mockery.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re confident, DI Grace. Though on the face of it, I’m not sure why. Blythe has been ahead of us every step of the way.’
Helen took the hit. There was more than a grain of truth in his accusation and she didn’t have time to pick a fight, not whilst the psychiatrist remained at large.
‘Well, if that’s all, sir, I’d better be getting back to the incident—’
‘Not quite.’
Helen had turned to go, but now paused.
‘I didn’t ask you here just to commiserate about the loss of Anthony Parks …’
Any trace of empathy was long gone. There was a hardness to Peters’ tone now which made Helen uneasy.
‘You’ll be aware that DS Hudson has been suspended and that Professional Standards have opened an investigation into the events of the last few months.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Helen replied carefully.
‘I’ve accepted your version of events, as the evidence available to me points in that direction, though of course Sergeant Cooper will want to pick over the bones of it with you in due course. For now, however, you remain in post, in the hope that we can bring this sorry saga to a successful conclusion. But I want you to know this. I don’t condone your actions over the past few months; in fact, I’m shocked and disappointed that my SIO should have behaved in such a cavalier manner.’
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