Love Me Not: DI Helen Grace 7 (formerly titled Follow My Leader) (Detective Inspector Helen Grace) Read online

  M. J. Arlidge

  * * *

  LOVE ME NOT

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Follow Penguin

  1

  07.05

  Southampton glowed blood red. It was a fresh autumn morning, the frost still crisp on the ground, but a warm light was stealing over the city as the sun crept above the horizon. It was a stunningly beautiful sight and Sonia Smalling smiled to herself as she drove along the quiet country road. It was days like this that made you glad to be alive.

  Sonia had worked in Southampton for nearly ten years, but had never chosen to live there, preferring the calm, unhurried rhythms of village life. She lived near Ashurst, on the edges of the New Forest, and loved nothing more than taking the dogs for a walk at first light. Her husband, Thomas, often accompanied her and occasionally the boys too, when they could be coaxed out of their beds. With the sun low in the sky, it would have been a glorious day to bound along the narrow, wooded paths with her two red setters, but Sonia had had to forgo that pleasure this morning. She had a new set of kids starting today and wanted to be in the office early to ensure that everything went off smoothly.

  It wasn’t a difficult commute, despite the inevitable traffic on the A336, and when Sonia was flying along the country roads like this, she was perfectly happy. She had her favourite radio station playing, the heating was cranked up to the max and she was enjoying the roar of her new Audi. Uncharacteristically for her, she hadn’t gone for the basic model, raiding her savings to buy the sporty version instead. ‘Live a little’ was her argument to her rather bemused husband.

  The road was clear, so she put her foot down. Despite the frost, her tyres gripped the road and the car sped along. She looked down at the clock – 7.05 a.m. – and realized that she would be at work even earlier than usual today. That should keep her boss off her back.

  She flicked her eyes back up and immediately froze. A woman was standing in the road, dead ahead of her, shouting and waving her arms. Instinctively Sonia slammed on the brakes. But already she knew that it was too late – she would hit the woman and it would be her fault for driving too fast. In those few, precious seconds, she saw the whole thing – the horrible impact, her shattered body – but to her enormous surprise the car suddenly lurched to a halt, a few inches from the terrified woman.

  Sonia sat stock still, her heart thumping, her head throbbing. But already the woman had rounded the car and was hammering on the window.

  ‘Please, help me … You’ve got to help me.’

  Sonia turned to her, trying to fathom what was happening. The woman was dressed in combat trousers and a trench coat. Through the open visor of her helmet, Sonia could see a small trickle of blood running down her temple.

  ‘My boyfriend, he’s come off his bike. He’s not moving …’

  Sonia stole a look down the road and got her second shock of the morning. Ahead of them was a crumpled motorbike and next to it a figure, lying motionless in the middle of the road.

  The woman was crying, shaking and desperate, so, gesturing to her to move away from the car, Sonia unclipped her seatbelt and climbed out. Sonia was still pretty shaken herself, but as she’d been trained in first aid, it was her duty to help. Flicking a look behind her to check that the road was clear, she hurried over to the man, praying to herself that his injuries weren’t severe. She had seen many things in her lifetime, but she had never had anyone die on her.

  ‘Can you hear me?’

  Kneeling down on the cold tarmac, Sonia gently rolled him on to his back. His visor was cracked, his eyes closed, and already Sonia feared the worst.

  ‘Is he ok? Is he going to be ok?’

  Sonia ignored the twittering girlfriend, raising his head off the ground. He still felt warm, which was something, but he remained unresponsive, his head heavy in her hand.

  ‘Everything’s going to be fine,’ she continued to the injured man. ‘But I need you to talk to me.’

  Still no response. Sonia tried to ease his visor up, but it wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Can you hear what I’m saying?’

  Still nothing, so she tried again
, louder.

  ‘Can you hear what I’m saying to y—’

  His eyes shot open, locking on to hers.

  ‘Loud and clear, sweetheart.’

  Then he drove his fist into her face.

  2

  07.08

  The underground car park was dark and gloomy. Before long it would be full of young professionals racing to their cars, but at this hour it was lifeless and unwelcoming, lit only by the flickering strip lights. Helen Grace cut a lonely figure as she walked across the oil-smeared concrete, the fluorescent lights dancing over her biking leathers.

  She made her way quickly over to her new bike, which stood proud in bay 26. Helen was not prone to extravagance, but had decided to treat herself following her recent troubles. She had received a hefty sum in compensation, following her wrongful arrest and imprisonment, and had decided to make use of it. She’d given the majority of the money to a local children’s charity, but had blown the rest on a single purchase – a new Kawasaki Ninja.

  She was glad of its company this morning. Prison had not broken her, but it had left a deep mark. She struggled to sleep, finding the silence in her top-floor flat suffocating, and when she did manage to nod off, she was plagued by terrible nightmares. In these dreams, she was back in her cell, scared and desperate. Sometimes the ghosts of Holloway paraded before her – the murdered inmates castigating Helen for failing to save them. At other times, it was her sister, Marianne, who came to her, appealing to Helen to join her in death. Hideously, Marianne appeared not as Helen liked to remember her, but as she was at the very end – the bullet hole in her forehead glistening wet.

  Helen would wake disoriented and sweating, her fear lingering long after these awful visions had disappeared. She had always loved her little flat, but nine months on from her release, it often felt small, even oppressive. Helen knew it was all in her head, that her cosy home had always been her sanctuary, but there was no denying the shallowness of her breath or the furious beating of her heart as she awoke with a start from these fevered dreams. Helen hadn’t had a full-on panic attack yet, but she sensed one was coming, so whenever she felt her anxiety levels rise, she fled. Down to the basement and on to her bike. Only when she was astride it did her dark feelings start to recede.

  She was no longer a prisoner, but sometimes she just needed to get out. Which is why she looked forward to the dawn, when the day was new and waiting to be seized. Flicking off the stand, she waited for the gate to rise, then, pulling back the throttle, roared out and away into the light.

  3

  07.09

  She scuttled backwards as fast as she could, scrabbling across the tarmac. Her legs were grazed, her nails cracked, but still Sonia kept going, as her attacker advanced upon her. Her head was spinning, her eyes were thick with tears and she could feel blood dripping off her chin. All she wanted to do was lie down and cry – but instinct drove her on. She had to get away from him.

  She had been so shocked when he’d opened his eyes that she’d failed to see his fist flying towards her. Too late she’d realized the danger and moments later felt herself falling backwards. Her nose was broken for sure and the back of her head was sticky too, where it had connected with the road. She wanted to be sick, could feel the vomit rising in her throat, but she forced it back down, as she struggled to escape.

  She tried to turn, to scramble on to all fours, but his boot connected sharply with her chest, forcing her on to her back once more. Still she kept moving, but her head was suddenly filled with visions of what he might do to her on this quiet country road – things she’d read about in the papers, things she’d come across in her line of work. She had met so many victims in her time, but she’d never thought she’d actually be one.

  He was laughing now. The woman too. Hatred flared through Sonia. They had no right to do this to her. To lure her from her car. To beat her. To bully her in this way. She was a grown woman with a responsible job – a job which gave back. She was a wife too, a mother …

  Her back jarred sharply with something behind her, snapping Sonia out of her bitter thoughts. Turning, she registered that she had collided with her own car, cutting off her escape route. Terrified, she returned her gaze to her attacker, who now came to a halt a couple of feet from her. He seemed perfectly calm, relaxed even. Suddenly Sonia felt petrified, his composure seeming only to threaten bad things.

  ‘I can give you money …’ she suddenly found herself saying. ‘I’ve got cash, credit cards … Take the car, if you want to …’

  She gestured to the Audi behind her, a weak, imploring smile on her face. But the man didn’t react at all, staring at her intently.

  ‘I’ve got jewellery, a diamond ring, a necklace. Take those, you can sell them, please … please, just let me go …’

  The man looked at her for a moment, then gently shook his head.

  ‘Can’t do that, I’m afraid …’

  As he spoke, he pulled something from inside his jacket and pointed it at her. To her horror, Sonia realized she was now staring down the barrels of a sawn-off shotgun. She tried to speak, but was robbed of breath and could only listen helplessly as he concluded:

  ‘This is the end of the road, sweetheart.’

  4

  07.17

  The wind ripped over her, buffeting her body. Helen was comfortably exceeding the speed limit, but still she did not relent. The road was clear and she was in command, of her machine, of herself.

  Her life was so complicated, her job so demanding, that these moments early in the day were the only ones she had to herself. Her previous boss, Detective Superintendent Jonathan Gardam, had left the force just after Helen’s release from prison. This had come as a massive relief to Helen, who had no desire to face him, but she hadn’t foreseen the ensuing complications. Nine months on, the powers that be still hadn’t appointed his successor, leaving Helen to cover that job, as well as her own.

  Previously she might have shrugged this off, leaning on those below her to help shoulder the burden. Helen had always been a popular and effective team leader, but since her imprisonment everything had changed. A year ago, Helen had been investigated and arrested by her own team, DS Sanderson leading the charge to bring her to book for a triple murder. Perhaps it had been done with the best of intentions, but it had shaken Helen to the core. Her team – whom she had inspired, encouraged and in some cases promoted – had turned on her. Many of those involved still worked at Southampton Central, but now they struggled to meet her eye. Charlie Brooks was a notable exception – her faith in her friend had never wavered – but Helen found working with the rest of the team profoundly difficult. They were dutiful, responsive, loyal even – but it was hard for Helen to trust them, her sense of betrayal still keen. Maybe she should have moved on, but Southampton was her home so she’d elected to stay. More and more these days, she was questioning the wisdom of that decision.

  It was these moments that kept her sane. When she could tear along the quiet country roads, when it was just her and the elements. Speed had always been her friend, seeming to alter the world around her, to diminish its importance. She loved the feeling that biking gave her, like she was floating on –

  It came out of nowhere. The black hatchback roared towards her, with no intention of stopping. Helen only had a second to react, but dropping her body and yanking the handle bars to the right, she managed to dodge the impact by a whisker. The car rushed past, its jet stream further destabilizing Helen, as her bike lurched towards the verge at the side of the road. She was only seconds from impact now, but clutching the brakes, she jammed her left foot down, more in hope than expectation. The bike bucked and shook, the tyres screeching as she skidded across the tarmac, before eventually coming to a halt just short of the grassy bank.

  Helen shot a furious look towards the receding car, whose driver seemed utterly unconcerned by this near miss. Turning her bike around, Helen prepared to roar after the offending vehicle, intent on bringing them to justice. But, a
s she did so, something made her stop. In her peripheral vision, she saw a shape in the road ahead. Her first instinct was that it was probably a badger or a fox, mown down by the reckless driver, but as she turned to take it in properly, Helen realized that it was a woman, lying flat on her back in the middle of the road.

  Without hesitation, Helen turned her bike back around and sped towards her. She ate up the ground in seconds, leaping off her bike and running over to the prone figure. Her helmet removed, Helen bent down to minister to the injured woman, whose face was generously smeared with blood.

  ‘It’s ok. I’m a police officer. And I’m here to help you,’ Helen said quietly, propping up the woman’s head with one hand, while pulling out her police radio with the other.

  The woman tried to respond, but a large quantity of blood spilled from her mouth. She was choking now and Helen tried to raise her up, to ease the pressure on her airways. As she did so, Helen’s heart skipped a beat. Taking in the woman’s injuries fully for the first time, Helen saw that there was a huge hole in her chest. This was no road accident.

  Maintaining her gentle hold, Helen radioed for assistance, but already she knew it was hopeless. The woman’s injuries were too severe – Helen had reached her too late. The woman was clinging to life, trying to whisper something to her. She raised her head, her bloody lips mouthing a breathless, incomprehensible word, then suddenly she fell back, collapsing in on herself. Helen continued to hold her, but the fight was over.

  The woman was dead.

  5

  07.21

  Her coffee was cold and her career colder still. Emilia Garanita sat hunched over her desk, staring at the monitor, unable to summon the energy to finish the dreary article she was working on. It was early, but the office at the Southampton Evening News was filling up quickly, the noise levels steadily rising, as the assembled journalists got to work. Most people found the atmosphere friendly, even exciting, but she didn’t. Had you told her a year ago that she would be back in this place, she would have laughed in your face. Following her scoop on the infamous S&M murders case, which had led directly to Helen Grace’s imprisonment, she had hightailed it to London to make her name. A glittering future awaited … until it turned out that she had backed the wrong horse. Sometimes Emilia sincerely wished she had never crossed paths with the irrepressible detective inspector.