Mandy Blayne was swaddled in an emergency blanket and being loaded into an ambulance. They would need to check her out at the hospital – principally for the effects of smoke inhalation. But the initial tests conducted by the paramedics had been encouraging and Helen knew that she would be fine – shaken up, but fine. During the course of the paramedics’ examination Mandy had admitted she was in the early stages of pregnancy, a revelation that hit home with Helen. They had been so much on the back foot in this investigation that it felt good to have saved not one, but two of Naomie’s intended victims. Did the fact that Mandy was pregnant have anything to do with the attack? Did Naomie know about it? Did she feel threatened? It was a bleak picture that was now emerging.
Helen submitted herself to the paramedics’ attention but refused a hospital visit, despite the fact that her whole body was racked with pain. Her bruises from her beating were still livid and her heroics in rescuing Mandy had only added to her injuries. She had never really liked the phrase ‘walking wounded’ but she was the very definition of it now. Still, she was determined to lead from the front so, having obtained a couple of painkillers from the paramedics, she joined Gardam and Sanderson in conference outside Mandy Blayne’s house.
Gardam was solicitous, offering to run the show for her if she needed rest, but Helen dismissed the idea out of hand. She could tell he had news and wanted to know what it was.
‘We’ve had a sighting of Naomie Jackson,’ Gardam told her. ‘A train driver reported a bizarre game of chicken he’d played with a young girl who refused to get off his tracks until the very last second. He was pretty shaken up by it and caught site of Naomie’s mugshot on the local news as he was resting up back at base. He’s convinced it’s the same girl.’
Helen digested this, then said:
‘Ok, let’s get everyone out – the whole of MIT as well as uniform. How long ago was this?’
‘An hour or so?’
‘Where?’
‘Northam Junction.’
‘Ok, let’s focus on her known haunts near there. We must presume she’s seen the publicity about herself so won’t be returning home any time soon. Her mother mentioned a few places she likes to go – the city library, the pubs on Oakland Street, the Common, the skateboard park, the WestQuay centre. Let’s concentrate our fire on those sites nearest Northam and scroll out from there. If we’re in luck, she’ll still be in the neighbourhood.’
‘Good,’ Gardam replied. ‘In the meantime, we’re liaising with the Transport Police, it’s not impossible she might try to run.’
‘Maybe, but she seems very committed. I think she’ll see this through to the end, so we should check out old friends, former schoolmates, anyone who might be sheltering her in the local area. Only those who know her well will want to shield her now.’
Which was exactly what was worrying Helen. She didn’t say this to Sanderson or Gardam, but the simple fact was that Naomie didn’t have any friends. So what would she do – now that her latest attack had been foiled? Would she ever contemplate giving herself up or would she be in this to the bitter end? Privately, Helen feared the latter. The question was how it would play out. And, more importantly, who would she take with her?
119
Charlie walked along the quiet path, her eyes ranging over the bleak expanse of Hoglands Park. By day, the large swathe of green was a pleasant enough city centre picnic spot, complete with cricket ground, a skateboard park and a small kids’ playground. But no sensible person came here at night, when the drug dealers and sex workers drifted in. Now it was a desolate, threatening place, full of shadows and menace. Charlie suddenly felt exposed, pounding the paths alone at this hour.
There were uniformed officers in nearby Sussex Place and Houndwell Park, plus she had her baton to defend herself if need be, but still there was something about the feel of this place after dark that affected you. Charlie’s mind took flight across town to Jessica – Steve would be putting her in her bath now – but she pushed the thought away. No point making herself more unhappy by thinking about where she really wanted to be.
It had been a strange and unsettling day so far. She had attended Karen and Alice Simms’s funeral, which was why she was still dressed in her dark, charcoal-grey suit that seemed so out of place amid the dope-smoking kids who were now making their presence felt in the park. She had been there to support the family in a professional capacity, but like everyone there had been deeply affected by the ceremony. It was positive and celebratory, but you couldn’t escape the fact that the Simms family had been rent in two, a deeply loved mother and daughter snatched from Luke and Thomas in the most horrific of circumstances. Nobody mentioned the fire – it was the elephant in the room – but it pervaded everything, from the carefully worded euphemisms of the vicar to Charlie’s own presence at the service. Just when you got lost in the happy family memories, it would hit you again – somebody did this to this family. Somebody wanted Karen and Alice Simms to die.
Charlie walked on, her mind twisting around this notion, attempting to settle on a reason why they might have been targeted. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she stumbled on the group of skateboarders lounging in the grass before she saw them. They were amused by her – assuming she was just a dimwit suit who’d lost her way – but the sight of her warrant card shut them up. As soon as she pulled it from her pocket she felt the mood change and immediately clocked that more than one of those present flicked their eyes nervously towards another, smaller group of dope smokers, idling by the main skateboard ramp.
Instinct took over now and Charlie didn’t stop to ask questions, marching instead towards the small knot of kids who were only fifty odd feet away. Her approach was fast – she was forty feet away, now thirty – but not fast enough, for as she neared the group, one of them took off at speed. The lighting wasn’t good in this part of the park, but Charlie could make out the frizzy hair and bulky form and she knew immediately that she had stumbled on Naomie Jackson.
Charlie wrenched her radio from her pocket as she ran. She was wearing long boots and her tight suit trousers were irritatingly restrictive – she now regretted her lack of gym time since returning to work. But still she hoped to have the edge on Naomie, who had never been much of an athlete.
‘Pursuing suspect through Hoglands Park in the direction of Kingsland Place. I need back-up and officers on South Front, Kingsway Place. I’ll cover Hoglands if she tries to double back.’
Charlie clicked off – it was hard to run and speak – and picked up her speed. If Naomie was smart she’d dart across Kingsway Place and into the City College, whose many buildings and walkways offered decent hiding places. But instead Naomie was heading straight for the northern exit of the park – she was in full flight now, panic driving her forward. She was surprisingly fast and Charlie laboured to keep up with the fugitive. Her breathing was already short and painful – her lungs burning – and she realized how long it had been since she’d been in an all-out sprint. In her early days it had been a feature of day-to-day work, but now it was an unpleasant anomaly.
‘Requesting back-up and officers on Kingsway Place and South Front,’ Charlie gasped into her radio, before clicking off once more. Nobody had responded and she was suddenly gripped by the fear that Naomie might escape her. This girl who had done so much damage, who’d done such terrible things. Charlie could stop her tonight – but only if she could get to her in time.
They were reaching the edge of the park now. And suddenly Charlie realized what was happening. There was an industrial estate just beyond North Front – a depot and a couple of warehouses surrounded by ageing chain link fences. Did Naomie know this terrain? Did she already have a specific escape route in mind?