Liar Liar

88

The house fire in Lower Shirley had attracted so much interest that the roads surrounding the blaze were clogged with emergency workers, journalists and onlookers – so much so that Helen had had to abandon her bike in an alleyway and carry on on foot. She had no worries about doing so: this was an expensive neighbourhood and her bike would still be there in the morning, but it slowed her progress considerably. She was curt with idlers and aggressive in her tactics as she bullied her way to the police cordon.

Swinging underneath it, she made her way towards Adam Latham. He was the last person she wanted to see right now, but she had no choice. She needed to know what they were dealing with here. As soon as Latham turned to her, she could tell it was bad news. He usually had a rosy, corpulent complexion, he was one of those desk jockeys who had happily let himself go since retiring from front-line action, but tonight his face was ashen. He looked sick with worry and more than a little scared.

‘I was wondering if you’d show your face,’ he said, failing to disguise his contempt for her. ‘But I’m glad you’re here. Now you can see what your baseless allegations mean to officers on the ground. The shit that they have to put up with because of you.’

He turned towards the fire, offering Helen his back. Helen’s eyes flitted across the scene, taking in the kids idly abusing the fire crew, the journalists taking photos, no doubt wondering if any of the men in uniform was responsible for tonight’s blaze, before they came to rest on Latham once more.

‘What’s happening?’ she asked, drawing level with Latham, refusing to be dismissed.

‘What’s happening is that four of my best officers are in that inferno attempting to save a boy who may – or may not – be in there. Trying to pull innocent people from a blaze that you and your lot are solely responsible for. Have you got even a single genuine lead? Anything that might bring this guy to book?’

‘This isn’t helping, Adam.’

‘Fuck you. If the truth hurts, then don’t ask the question.’

‘Where are your team, Adam?’

She said it as gently as she could – she didn’t want to provoke him further – and finally Latham seemed to soften a little. A dinosaur he may be, but he did care about his team and would be devastated if anything happened to them.

‘Last we heard they were on the second floor. But that was over five minutes ago and we’ve lost radio contact with them. I can’t risk sending any more of them in until we put this thing out. We’re doing everything we can…’

Helen was suddenly struck by how conversational and intimate his tone was. It was as if he wanted to talk to her – to talk to someone – to alleviate the tension that gripped him.

‘You have to trust in their training. These guys know what they’re doing and if anyone can make it out of there, they can. You have them well drilled – there are no better officers in the country.’

Adam nodded, but said nothing, his eyes still fixed on the blazing house. Helen wasn’t sure if she believed it either – they were good, no question, but the five-storey house was consumed with fire. Could anyone survive an inferno like that?

The pair of them stood there, scanning the scene, as Latham’s deputy repeatedly tried to restore radio contact. The tension was almost too much to bear, then suddenly there was movement from the front of the house. The front door barrelled open, collapsing off its hinges, and the first two men in the team hurried out. Suddenly the whole scene came to life, as paramedics, colleagues and more hurried over to them. The escaping firefighters were already signalling for an ambulance and now Helen saw why. The third and fourth men in the team had now followed their colleagues out of the house, carrying someone in their arms.

The house belonged to Jacqueline and Michael Harris and they shared it with their son, Ethan, and a nanny. The parents were out tonight but the other two were thought to be home. Helen could see the boy was now in the firefighters’ arms and though there was much concern for him – paramedics now rushing him towards the awaiting ambulance – at least he could be accounted for. Of the nanny, Agnieska Jarosik, there was no sign.

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.