And when she was at home, what did she find? Her mother fawning over a man who just wanted to get his leg over without offering anything in return. The other mothers on Sharon Jackson’s estate had been only too glad to talk about their neighbour, who it now turned out had been harbouring a serial killer – painting a picture of her as an insecure, needy woman who had never managed to hold on to a man and took what pleasures she could when they were offered.

And in the end it had cost her. One of her love rivals – Denise Roberts – was already dead, while another had just had her house razed to the ground while she took a bath. Every punch, every clipped ear that Sharon Jackson had given Naomie had been paid back with interest, and though she would never betray this in print, Emilia felt a sneaking regard for the young woman who’d refused to take her punishment lying down. Her mother would rue taking her daughter’s submission for granted.

Emilia typed fast, the adrenaline of a big story driving her on, helping to craft the story by instinct rather than forethought. It was all taking shape very nicely and had played just as she’d hoped. She had been the first one to speak to Naomie and, though she couldn’t locate her now, she would ride that connection for all it was worth. This coup had been the result of clever investigative work – something she prided herself on – and she was pleased to see that her coverage of the arson attacks had already engendered a sea change in relations at the News. The national dailies had picked up on her interview with Naomie, she’d been on the radio discussing it and was due to appear on TV later today in an interview with BBC South – all of which had helped raise the paper’s profile and massively boosted sales. Her editor had certainly changed his tune – offering her a bonus and hinting at promotion. It had all worked out well, and though she had sacrificed her good relations with Helen Grace in the process, it had been worth it. Her career was on the up at last and she was happy to weather any fallout that was coming her way.

‘Bring it on,’ Emilia thought to herself, as she continued to type.

118

The battle was over. They had survived.

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.