Naomie looked from Helen to Sanderson, then back to Helen again. Was she looking for a soft touch—a place of sanctuary? She wouldn’t find one today. Helen had her on the back foot from the moment she revealed the real name of her lover and accomplice—she could see Naomie trying to work out how they had cottoned on to Ethan when she’d given them nothing—and Helen was determined to press home her advantage.
“His name’s in the press now. We’ve put out an All Ports Warning. He’s got nowhere to run. He’s obviously not going to go back to his parents, so tell me where he might go.”
“I don’t know,” Naomie replied, shaking her head vigorously.
“Yes, you do, and if you care for him, you’ll tell us now.”
“Forget it.”
“Do you have any idea what will happen to him if we don’t get tohim first?” Sanderson interrupted. “The people out there are angry and scared. What if they spot him, confront him? What if others pile in? You’ve seen what happens to pedophiles on estates, you know what mob justice looks like? Do you want that for Ethan?”
It was an unpleasant line of questioning, but for the first time the recalcitrant Naomie looked like she was considering offering them something, so Helen seized the opportunity. “I know you have feelings for Ethan. That’s why you called the fire service so quickly after you set light to his parents’ house, isn’t it?”
Naomie hesitated, then offered a brief, reluctant nod.
“You love him and you wanted to save him.”
“And I did the right thing. Neither of us thought it would spread that fast.”
“So help us to help him. Only we can guarantee his safety now.”
Naomie was teetering now between her loyalty to Ethan and the force of Helen’s logic. Helen tried one last throw of the dice. “Despite everything, I know that you’re not a bad person. I know you have goodness in you. We found a half-built bonfire in the basement of his mother’s office block today. Ethan was about to put the lives of a hundred people in danger. Did you really sign up for that?”
Naomie shrugged, guilt playing across her features.
“Of course you didn’t,” Helen conceded. “But Ethan did. And we stopped him. And I’m very worried about what he’ll do now that we’ve stopped his little game. I know you’ve felt powerless and overlooked in your life, but it is now in your gift to help us. So I’m asking you to do the right thing. Help us bring your Ethan in safely.”
Naomie hung her head and sobbed quietly.
“Think about it,” Helen told her, determined to make one last push. “Think about what you’ve done. Karen Simms, Denise Roberts, Agnieszka Jarosik and little Alice Simms. She was just a little kid, Naomie. Six years old, her whole life ahead of her. You stole that fromher—you and no one else. And I think you owe it to her family and all the families you and Ethan have hurt to end this now. I can’t have any more deaths on my conscience and neither can you.”
There was a long pause, during which Naomie continued to stare at the floor. Helen looked at Sanderson—had she even heard what she’d said?—then Naomie suddenly spoke, muttering a single word that changed everything:
“Okay.”
136
He brought the cup of coffee up to his lips, but his hand was shaking too much and he put it back down with a clank. The sudden noise made the café owner look up briefly from his work, before he returned his attention to the business of pushing fatty bits of bacon and sausage round a pan. The smell of the grease made Ethan want to vomit and he was very tempted to get up and go, but caution carried the day. This down-at-heel greasy spoon in Nicholstown was a good little hideaway. The only people who came here were dossers and Polish builders, both of whom had enough problems of their own to worry about him.
He cut a ridiculous figure in his dirty overalls, but it couldn’t be helped, and it came in useful now. The TV that hung from the café wall broadcast Sky News round the clock, and Ethan was both alarmed and amused now to see his parents sitting next to DI Grace behind a table at Southampton Central Police Station.
The volume was turned down low, so Ethan shuffled his chair a little closer, straining to hear. He refused to miss this little pantomime.
“If you can hear this, Ethan, please get in touch. We love you, son, and we just want to know you’re safe and well.”
How much must this be costing them? The lies must stick in their throat, but that wasn’t the best bit. They must be cringing inside, being paraded to the world as the parents who bred a killer and never had a clue. Although they had always tried to deny it, he was their flesh and blood. And he would make them pay for that, as they had made him pay.
“There is a number you can call free of charge...”
His father continued in his familiar stumbling way. Had he been drinking this morning? Ethan wouldn’t put it past him. If he and Jacqueline were ever to acknowledge the extent of their problems, they would probably classify themselves as high-functioning alcoholics. What a misguided label that was. They were successful professionally, but there was nothing high-functioning about them. They were cold, cruel and self-absorbed.
He had always strived to get their attention, and when he didn’t get it, he screamed louder. And when that didn’t work, he resorted to more desperate measures. Abuse, petty acts of violence and later some fire-starting. These had always been chalked up to characteristic clumsiness, as the truth was rather harder to swallow. They had tried to control him through medication and later through bitches like Agnieszka, who’d shout at him and then lock him in his room when she became bored of his behavior. Still, good things come to those who wait. They had all been repaid in fine style.
His mother, still stunned from her “brush with death,” had now taken center stage and was in the midst of a lachrymose appeal. What, he wondered, was she crying for? Herself? Her marriage? Her life? Or were they tears of regret for her son? That was the only emotion he hadever inspired in her. Not love, not compassion, not even pity—just regret. For one drunken, unprotected screw that had cost them all dear.
Ethan’s eye drifted away from the screen to find the café owner staring at him, curious no doubt as to why his attention was fixed so raptly on the screen. The man dropped his eyes as soon as Ethan looked over, but it made Ethan think. There was one more thing to do—one last act. How long could he move undetected now that the city was looking for him? How long before someone became suspicious? Or, worse, recognized him?
Things hung in the balance now. They were so close to the end and as Ethan turned his gaze once more to his pitiful parents, he vowed that he would not be beaten. If Naomie held her nerve, then all would be well. It was only a matter of time now, until the circle was complete.
