Liar Liar - [65]

Helen stepped aside as the boy was wheeled past. He looked in a terrible state, covered in dirt and blood and in the grip of some kind of fit. As he sped by, Helen was suddenly struck by the diabolical nature of this latest crime. Their arsonist presumably knew who lived here, knew that a vulnerable boy like Ethan would struggle to escape such a savage fire. And yet this thought hadn’t stilled his hand, hadn’t occasioned any second thoughts. It almost beggared belief, but it was true. If she hadn’t known it before, Helen knew it then – this killer’s cruelty knew no bounds.

89

Her heels made a harsh, repetitive clicking sound as she ran towards the hospital entrance. Michael was paying the cabbie, but she hadn’t waited for him. Her head was spinning, her mind full of awful possibilities, and now she just wanted to know.

Without thinking, she ran straight into the A &E department. The automatic doors opened obligingly for her and as she hurried inside, that familiar hospital smell hit her. Disinfectant warmed up by the overactive heating system and sprinkled with a little urine. She hated that smell and she hated hospitals. God knows she’d spent enough time in them and more than enough time in A &E over the last few years. Because of his condition, Ethan was clumsy and accident-prone so Jacqueline had spent too many hours slumped on these grim plastic seats, surrounded by the drunk and the disorderly.

She generally forced Michael to accompany her on these visits – scared of the shambling drunks and paranoid care-in-the-community types that littered the emergency department – and she was glad when she found him by her side now. Her nerves were spiking wildly, as they had been since she’d pulled out her phone to call a cab, only to find she’d missed numerous calls. She’d only made it through the first two messages, before she’d grabbed Michael and sprinted from the restaurant, leaving the bill unpaid. Their first instinct had been to head home, but, on hearing that Ethan had been taken to South Hants Hospital, they diverted there instead. There was still no word as to the fate of Agnieszka – that was something Jacqueline didn’t even want to think about.

Gripping her husband’s hand, Jacqueline marched up to the first nurse she could see and collared him.

‘Our son was brought in this evening. Ethan Harris.’

For a moment, the nurse looked blank.

‘You’ll need to go to reception. All admissions -’

‘There was a fire. At our house in Lower Shirley. My son was there – they just brought him in.’

Immediately, she saw the nurse’s expression change and it made her feel sick. Suddenly he knew exactly what she was talking about and looked worried and concerned.

‘Of course. You’ll need the burns unit. Let me take you there now.’

He walked briskly and they matched his pace, though Jacqueline felt nauseous and short of breath. Both she and Michael must have had the best part of a bottle of wine each and the alcohol was now making its presence felt. All pleasure had evaporated long ago: now she felt dehydrated and washed out. What on earth were they doing, drinking, laughing, joking, when their bloody house was on fire?

She looked at her husband, but his gaze was fixed resolutely forward. She had heard about the recent fires of course, but to her shame had thought they were other people’s problems – people with less money and more issues perhaps. It was embarrassing to admit that, but it was true. Even now, she hoped and prayed that their fire had nothing to do with these arson attacks. Faulty wiring perhaps, a hob left on. It wouldn’t be excusable, especially if it turned out to be Agnieszka’s fault, but she didn’t want to be part of that other thing. She and Michael didn’t have any enemies, there was no one out there who would want to harm them. He was a psychiatrist and she was a bloody architect, for God’s sake.

And yet something inside her knew. Knew that they were getting sucked into something bigger than them. And that this was just the start of their misery.

90

‘Are you absolutely sure?’

Helen’s tone was abrasive and aggressive. She would never usually talk to one of her officers in that way, but she forgave herself tonight. Too much had happened tonight for her to pussyfoot around important issues.

‘One hundred per cent,’ DC Lucas replied evenly, choosing to ignore Helen’s rudeness. ‘He hasn’t moved a muscle.’

Helen stepped forward and looked through the grimy windows of the internet café. She had hung back out of sight, not wanting to compromise Lucas’s surveillance operation, but now she had to see for herself if he was really in there. Her heart sunk when she saw that he was. According to Lucas, Richard Ford hadn’t once got up from his monitor, tapping away on the keyboard as though his life depended upon it.

‘What time did you both arrive here?’ Helen continued.

‘Around eight p.m.?’

‘And he was never out of your sight? You didn’t go to the loo, for a cigarette…’

‘Come on, boss.’ Lucas’s tone was less forgiving this time – she clearly didn’t enjoy having her professional competency called into question.