Helen peered through the devastated door and sure enough the key was poking out of the heavy iron lock on the wrong side of the door.
‘Our arsonist was taking no chances,’ she muttered. ‘So why the change in MO? Why not carry on as before?’
‘Who’s to know? We’ve a different house layout here. No cupboard under the stairs, plus the stairs down to the basement do not link up to the main staircase. That could be relevant or it could be there was some other factor driving such a direct attack.’
‘A particular hatred for the victim?’
‘Or some kind of time pressure. Perhaps the extra boots on the street have made him nervous. Perhaps he was worried about getting caught and wanted to get this one done as fast as possible.’
‘Perhaps they’d had a close shave earlier in the night?’ Helen offered.
‘Very possibly. Either way, dousing another human being in paraffin and then discarding the empty bottle nearby represents a definite escalation. Whether it’s fear, desperation or sadism driving them, I really couldn’t say.’
And Deborah wasn’t saying it, but the implication was clear. It was down to Helen to answer this. She thanked Deborah and picked her way towards the front door, her mind whirling. The nation’s press were camped outside waiting for a statement, but what was she supposed to say about a case that still had far more questions than answers?
Helen had never felt under so much pressure, but there was no point putting these things off. When you’re leading an investigation of such magnitude and complexity there always comes a point when you are called to account. So, summoning her courage, Helen put on her most authoritative face and walked out of the house towards the awaiting press pack.
It was time to face the music.
94
‘Can you give us an update on the number of casualties?’
The first question was from the BBC’s South of England correspondent. Helen was surprised that she couldn’t see Emilia Garanita present. This was her patch – she was adept at elbowing her way to the front of the pack and always asked the first question. Detective Superintendent Jonathan Gardam flanked Helen, as did the station’s media liaison officer, but apart from that there were a lot of unfamiliar faces in the crowd today.
‘I am sorry to have to report that a young woman died in last night’s fire. She has yet to be identified formally. Beyond that we only had minor injuries at this site and those of the other fires. The fire at the PlayTime Nursery was contained very effectively by the fire services but the blaze at the First Buy cash and carry was extremely severe, gutting most of the property.’
‘Do we take it from that that you are critical of the way the fire services have dealt with these blazes?’ the correspondent continued.
‘Not at all,’ Helen replied calmly. ‘This is a unique set of circumstances and very challenging for us all.’
‘Do you have a suspect in custody?’ Sky’s reporter piped up. It was said innocently, but everybody knew that Richard Ford had been released.
‘We have several active lines of enquiry, but no suspect in custody currently.’
‘Have the extra boots on the street made any difference at all?’
‘We’re still evaluating that -’
‘Can the public be assured that they are safe?’ A journalist from The Times was now attempting to get in on the act.
‘We’re reiterating the advice we gave to the public earlier. Which is to make sure all windows and locks are secure at night and to remain vigilant at all times.’
‘Are you any closer to catching the perpetrator?’
‘Our understanding of this individual is growing day by day.’ Helen knew it was baseless flannel and got the response it deserved.
‘I’ll ask again, are you any closer to catching the perpetrator?’
‘We’re doing everything we can -’
‘Would you consider a curfew?’
From the Telegraph this time and the question Helen had been dreading.
‘We’re ruling nothing out at this point.’
‘You’re that worried that you would consider imposing a curfew in Southampton?’
The gloves were off and the questions rained down now. There was a reason they called it the press pack. Once one became emboldened to attack, then they all piled in. It was a relentless assault, calling into question Helen’s competency, Southampton Central’s reputation, the course of the investigation. No stone was left unturned as they hunted for a scapegoat. When people are scared, they look for someone to blame and Helen had the distinct impression that it was going to be her. This was not surprising and in some ways was justified, but as Helen defended herself and her colleagues as best she could, one thing puzzled and worried her. There was one person who should be here and wasn’t and this could only mean trouble.
Where was Emilia Garanita?
95
Emilia’s finger hovered over the Send button. She had been on the job since the moment Latham ended their call. His testimony was incendiary stuff, a chapter and verse evisceration of Helen Grace both as a human being and as a police officer. He had accused her of gross incompetency and blind prejudice in pursuing members of Hampshire’s Fire and Rescue Service who were – and always had been – innocent of any wrongdoing. In the process, much damage had been done and the real perpetrator had been left alone to kill again. According to Latham, the death of the Harrises’ nanny, Agnieszka Jarosik, was on Helen’s conscience and she would have to answer for it.
Emilia had had one ear on the live TV feed from the police statement outside the Harrises’ house in Lower Shirley, but her mind was really on her own copy. In the background she could hear the aggressive questioning, could hear the mood turning against the police, and it chimed with the mood of her piece. There were legitimate questions to be asked about the way Hampshire Police, and Helen in particular, had run this investigation. Hundreds of thousands of pounds of damage, four people dead, several others injured. For the first time that Emilia could remember it appeared that Helen was struggling – from an outsider’s point of view the investigation seemed unfocused and floundering with no real handle on the how, why or who of these terrible crimes.
Normally, Emilia would have pounced on the populist bandwagon. Fear, confusion and a good scapegoat – all of these things sold newspapers. These crimes were not isolated, they appeared to threaten anyone and everyone. For that reason, copies of the Southampton Evening News were flying off the shelves. Everything was pushing Emilia to print Latham’s allegations, to do a hatchet job on Helen Grace and yet still Emilia hesitated. She had taken on Helen before and lost, narrowly escaping prosecution for illegally tracking the celebrated officer’s movements. Since then, the former enemies had enjoyed an extended truce, managing to work together, helping one another to do their jobs to the best of their respective abilities.
But that seemed to Emilia like the cosy collaboration of peacetime and there was a war raging now. A war in which there would be winners and losers. Emilia could tell which way the wind was blowing and had never been the sentimental type, so really there was only one thing to do. Taking a breath, she scanned her copy once more then hit the Send key.
Let the games begin.
96
He had never felt this bad in his life. The pain was unremitting, surging through his body from his battered torso to his pulsing head. Sleep was impossible, the super-strength painkillers had no effect and he looked a total mess. He had lost a tooth, had deep, purple bruises on his face, neck and chest and was as white as a sheet. He’d had to cancel his appointments for the entire week – inventing a plausible excuse – and now lay on his bed, moaning quietly and cursing his fate.