‘Maybe,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘But it was sheer good fortune that Luke Simms and Ethan Harris survived. Both probably should have died. And what about Alice? The arsonist must have known a young girl would be in bed at the time – so why was she targeted?’
A long silence, which Helen leapt to fill.
‘I think we can rule out a financial motive, as the killer has not tried to make contact or issued any demands. Also, it doesn’t appear that there is a professional connection – Denise was on benefits and among the others we have an architect, a small businessman and a psychiatrist. So for me the motivation has got to be personal. We know that Agnieszka Jarosik was internet dating, had seen a few guys. Denise might well have been doing likewise. Had Karen Simms been in touch with any old flames however innocently? Unwittingly raised anyone’s hopes? This killer wants to destroy these people, destroy these families, so let’s climb inside their lives. Everyone has enemies and if we find a link between them, then we have our man.’
There was a brief pause as everyone took this in.
‘Now get on with it,’ Helen urged them. ‘Let’s bring this guy in.’
99
Luke Simms stared at himself in the mirror and felt nothing but shame. He had tried his best for his mum and his sister, but to his eyes he still looked ridiculous. His hair had been cut and styled, and make-up applied to conceal his bruises, and his dad had bought him a smart jacket, shirt and tie. But all he could see was his two preposterous legs, cased in plaster and hoisted up in the air on the end of long metal arms. If he wanted to go to his family’s funeral, this was how it had to be – his father pushing him along in a specially adapted wheelchair – but it didn’t make it any better. He looked comic and it felt as if he was mocking proceedings, rather than paying his respects.
The funeral was only a few hours away now. Luke knew this moment had to come, but now it was here he didn’t feel ready. It still didn’t seem real. His mum and Alice – he had taken their goodness, love and humour for granted, he had taken their presence for granted – and now they were gone. Just like that. Today they would bury them. As if it was all done and dusted. As if they could close that chapter and move on.
They had no home now and only half a family. If Luke was honest, he wasn’t even sure he had that. He had asked his dad to stay with him this morning, but something had come up and he’d had to head into town. Where he was going, he wouldn’t say. He didn’t seem to say much to Luke since they’d moved in here. He looked after him, dressed his wounds, helped him to the toilet, in and out of bed, did everything that could be expected of him. But he didn’t talk. Luke wanted to, wanted to find out if his father felt the same sense of emptiness and desolation, the same sense that this was… a bad dream with no ending. But his dad never gave him the opportunity. He was so caught up in the business of death.
He didn’t really understand how you went about these things. How did you organize a funeral? Perhaps in later life, when he was older, he would reflect that he had judged his father harshly. But he nevertheless felt his father was avoiding him. He didn’t look him in the eye, didn’t engage him in conversations of any length. Was Luke harsh to blame him? Probably. But the truth was Luke missed him. He really missed him. He had lost his beloved mother and sister and now he felt that he was losing his father too.
100
He felt like a marked man.
It wasn’t enough that Helen Grace had ruined his career, destroyed his piece of mind and shredded the last vestiges of his self-respect. No, she had left him with a stain – a stain that everyone could see.
He had been exonerated, for God’s sake. The police knew he wasn’t responsible for any of the attacks, yet what did they do about it? Did they trumpet his release as they had his initial arrest? Did they let the world know that he was innocent? No, they put out a two-line statement confirming he’d been released from custody and left it at that.
To the wider world, Richard Ford was still the face in the frame. The hero firefighter turned villain, betraying his colleagues and his calling, revelling in the destruction of his hometown. He was a pariah in Southampton and wherever he went he sensed people’s hatred. He had lasted all of an hour in the hotel, hiding in a small room that reeked of bleach, unable to venture out for fear of the abuse and insults that the staff, guests and passers-by were happy to heap on him. One of the cleaners actually spat at him in the corridor. He didn’t respond or turn back to seek sanctuary in his room. Instead he broke into a run, sprinting back home.
His house had been defaced of course. Graffiti on the walls and windows, dog shit smeared on the door. But he didn’t care. He knew he would be safe here. Having done a quick recce of the interior, he made a list of all the things he would need: padlocks, chains, a crowbar, perhaps a hammer for good measure. He had no idea what the future held, what he would do with his life, but he had resolved to hunker down in his home until he could see a way out of all the darkness.
The guy in Robert Dyas had been surly and hostile. He obviously recognized him from the papers, as did the halfwit in Tesco’s who glared at him as she bagged his food. Richard could have sworn he heard her mutter: ‘I hope it chokes you’ as he left, but he didn’t care. He was looking forward to getting home and shutting out the world.
Pushing open the garden gate, he hurried up the path towards the front door. Putting down his shopping, he reached into his pocket to pull out his key. Then suddenly he felt himself flying sideways, careering off the steps and landing hard on the paved path. The right side of his head felt strange – numb and tingling – and he raised his hand to it now, but it was wrenched away roughly.
This time he saw the fist coming. He turned his head to avoid it, but too late, the balled fist crunching into his jaw. His head kicked back, connecting sharply with the hard ground. Suddenly everything went quiet – he couldn’t hear properly and his vision was swimming. He tried to wriggle free, but the fist came again. This time he felt two teeth go – though whether he’d swallowed them or they’d fallen out he couldn’t say.
Now the rough hands were circling his throat, squeezing hard. And his attacker seemed to be shouting – coarse, violent words tumbling over one another. Richard Ford swung out a fist, but it was hopeless. He was already beaten and he knew it.
Then as suddenly as it started, it stopped. In his confusion and shock, Richard could see a man being dragged away. His attacker tried to escape the hands that now restrained him, lurching back towards him, but he couldn’t break free. And now he seemed to give up the fight, slumping to the floor, as those who’d intervened stood guard. And as the passers-by who’d saved his life punched numbers into their mobile phones, Richard Ford tried to focus on his attacker. The man was breathing heavily but now looked up. For a second their eyes met and suddenly Richard knew exactly who he was.
And why he’d come for him.
101
Thomas Simms looked up as Charlie entered the room. He stared at her briefly, then dropped his gaze to the floor, unable or unwilling to look at her.
Charlie had run down to the custody area as soon as she’d heard that Simms had been brought in. Her first reaction to news of the attack on Richard Ford had been shock – it was Karen and Alice’s funeral today – then as it became clear that Ford’s injuries were superficial and that he had no desire to press charges, her anxiety was tempered with some relief. Ford’s desire to avoid any further involvement with the police would save Thomas Simms a day in court.