‘Yes.’
‘The labels on the tapes cover pretty much every year since you joined the Fire Service. That’s over fifteen years’ worth of footage. I take it this is all your own work?’
‘Yes,’ Ford answered quietly.
‘We had a little look at some of them. I recognized the fire at the WestQuay in 2010, the fire at Garton NCP in 2006, even the fire at the Tetherton Ballroom on Millennium night.’
‘I’ve already said they were for professional purposes. I wanted to learn how fire behaves -’
‘Well then, you must have been a very diligent student, because the tape boxes are covered in your prints and often cracked and the tapes themselves are well worn. You’ve watched them over and over again, haven’t you?’
‘We’ve already established that my client has no family to speak of and a limited circle of friends -’
‘Spare me the violins. I don’t think you watch them because you’re lonely, Richard, I think you watch them because you want to. Because you like fire. Because it turns you on.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Ford responded quickly.
‘We found a bin which was overflowing with tissues,’ Sanderson butted in. ‘We’ve had a few of them analysed and guess what. There’s semen on every one. And, hey, I’m no prude. I know what boys get up to. But here’s the thing. There’s no pornographic material in your little attic, no web history of porn surfing either, so exactly what is it that gets you so excited?’
Silence in the room now. For the first time, Helen thought she saw doubt in Hannah Shapiro’s eyes.
‘I was wrong earlier,’ Helen said. ‘You don’t like fire, do you? You love fire.’
Ford shook his head unconvincingly, so Helen stepped up her attack.
‘You like the way it dances, don’t you? What do you think it’s saying to you when it does that? Is it calling to you? Asking you to come closer? Or is it performing for you? Dancing to its master’s tune? Is that what you like? The feeling of power it gives you? The knowledge that all this chaos, all this fear, all this beauty was created by you? I don’t blame you for that. I can see the attraction.’
Ford closed his eyes.
‘I think your curiosity about fire goes way beyond professional interest. I think it’s an obsession. And I think that’s why you started these fires. I don’t know yet if you meant to kill anyone – but I know that you wanted these fires to be big, for people to take notice of them and, through them, you. This was your moment, wasn’t it, the moment you finally became what you were meant to be? But it’s over now, Richard, so for your sake as well as for the sake of your victims, it’s time to tell us what you know.’
A long, pregnant pause. All eyes were now on Ford. He stared at the ground for what seemed like an eternity, then slowly he looked up. He half turned to Shapiro and shook his head slowly. His lawyer didn’t miss her opportunity.
‘We’ll take that as a “No comment.” My client has said everything he’s going to, so it’s shit or get off the pot time, Inspector. Either you charge my client now or you release him without delay. It’s really very simple.’
That cocky smile returned to her features once more.
‘So what’s it going to be, DI Grace?’
71
‘Come on, cheeky girl, it’s time for you to go to sleep.’
Jessica Brooks giggled, picked up one of the many fluffy toys that filled her cot and threw it at her mother. It was the third projectile that Jessica had had aimed at her in the last minute. She was trying to be stern, but privately loved this little game. Jessie seemed to enjoy it so much, displaying a vivacity, cheekiness and sense of humour which Charlie found irresistible. She fervently hoped that her daughter would never lose that aspect of her personality. She was a little girl who seemed to enjoy life and Charlie hoped she always would.
‘Now, don’t you do that again.’ She wagged her finger at her daughter in a pantomime gesture. Jessica’s hand was already stretching towards a cuddly panda and seconds later it flew at Charlie. Quickly Charlie caught and threw it back, causing more peals of giggles from Jessica.
Charlie could hear the landline ringing elsewhere in the house and she prayed it wasn’t for her. She loved her time with her daughter and the couple of hours spent in her company tonight had made her feel normal again. Or as normal as could be expected. Her voice was still hoarse, her throat hurt like hell, but the shock had worn off, her hands no longer shook and each minute spent in Jessica’s joyful company was a powerful tonic.
The phone had stopped ringing and she could hear Steve talking. She breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to her daughter once more.
‘Ok, you. How are we going to get you to sleep? It’s past your bedtime and you know you’ll be a grouch in the morning if you’re tired. So how about we put Brown Bear, Teddy, Snoopy and Fred back in your cot and think about closing our eyes.’
Jessica didn’t seem particularly keen on this plan, defiantly kicking away the descending mass of soft toys. Charlie realized Steve was now in the doorway and, smiling, gestured towards Jessie.
‘Do you want to have a go? I don’t seem to be having much joy.’
But the look on Steve’s face stopped her in her tracks. He looked sombre and very pale.
‘It’s for you,’ he said simply, holding up the cordless phone.
Charlie suddenly felt sick, though she didn’t know why. Steve never let things get to him, so it must be bad.
‘Charlie?’ he reiterated, offering the phone to her. Now she didn’t hesitate, plucking it from him and walking from the room.
‘Charlie Brooks,’ she said quickly into the receiver.
‘It’s Susan Roberts, Charlie.’
Susan was one of the Force’s most experienced Family Liaison Officers. Charlie knew her to be a cheery, redoubtable character but her tone only served to spike her anxiety still further.
‘What’s the matter, Susan? What’s happened?’
There was a long pause. To Charlie’s surprise, she realized that Susan was trying not to cry. She had an inkling now of what was coming, but still it rocked her backwards when Susan finally said:
‘Alice Simms is dead.’
72
Helen and Sanderson stood in Helen’s office, neither saying a word. Outside, Helen could see news of Alice’s death rippling round the incident room. Several members of the team were fighting back tears, others just looked blank with shock. Everybody had been knocked for six by this terrible, sudden tragedy.
‘What did they say?’ Sanderson asked.
Helen had only just got off the phone from the hospital and was still trying to process what they’d told her.
‘She’d been stable since the fire but they never managed to get her to regain consciousness. It seems… that her injuries were just too profound and in the end… her heart gave up fighting.’
Tears pricked Sanderson’s eyes and Helen felt her desolation. They had all been so convinced that this brave little girl would pull through. Had this just been wishful thinking? The doctors had seemed hopeful, but in the end it was a terrible trauma for a little girl to endure. Despite her mother’s very best efforts to save her, it hadn’t been enough. Which meant that Richard Ford was now facing a triple-murder charge.
‘What do you want to do?’ Sanderson asked.
They had been discussing how to respond to Shapiro’s ultimatum when the call had come through. Helen knew she had to keep calm and avoid getting caught up in the emotion of the moment. It was very tempting to charge Ford right now, to seek some immediate justice for Alice and her mum, but they had to be able to make the charges stick.
‘Well, he’s got motive and opportunity in abundance. Not to mention the expertise. We know he’s lied to us under caution already on a number of occasions, but he’s not going to confess, so -’