Free Little Boy Blue: DI Helen Grace 5 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) by M. J. Arlidge

the list of S&M purchases Helen had given her.
    ‘What about a smartphone?’
    ‘Course, who doesn’t? Knock yourself out.’
    She tossed Helen her phone. It was badly dented and the screen was cracked.
    ‘So you’re sure you didn’t purchase these items?’
    ‘I know what I have and haven’t bought. Besides, I don’t even know what half these things are. What’s a wet sheet for God’s sake? It sounds like something I’d use to wipe my little girl’s bum …’
    ‘Does anyone else have access to your credit card?’ Helen interrupted. ‘Boyfriends, family, friends …’
    ‘No, I wouldn’t let it out of my sight. And I certainly wouldn’t trust a fella with it.’
    ‘Do you shop online?’
    ‘Yes, I do, but not on sites like that and if you don’t believe me you can see my statements. I’ve got them going back three, four years, maybe more.’
    She bustled out of the room to get them, leaving Helen alone. Helen flicked through her phone search history, but in truth she was going through the motions. She believed Lynn. Which meant that someone had cloned her credit card.
    It was an alarming thought, suggesting a level ofcriminal sophistication that Helen hadn’t been expecting. Their killer was clearly no amateur – he was methodical, tech savvy and adept at covering his tracks. Which made Helen wonder what his game plan was exactly – and what this elusive killer might do next.

30
    Charlie’s eyes were glued to the house. Paul Jackson had left the bank just as the sun was setting and Charlie had followed him. To her surprise, this proved far more difficult than usual – Jackson was on a bike, so she was constantly in danger of losing him in the busy city centre traffic. But something told Charlie it would be worth the effort, so she’d stuck with it, following him all the way home. They hadn’t had the results of his DNA sample back yet, but Jackson had lied to her – Charlie was sure of that – and he had clearly been rattled by her visit.
    Charlie stifled a yawn and pulled the last Dorito from the bag. It was pushing midnight now – she had been here over four hours already – and so far she had little to show for her patience. Jackson had returned home, greeted his wife, then sat down to dinner in front of the TV. They had remained together until just after 10 p.m., when Jackson had taken himself off upstairs. No lights came on at the front of the house, so Charlie had decided to walk round the block. The houses round here had long gardens, and by clambering on to a bin in the adjacent street Charlie could see a light burning in a small room at the back of the house. Was it a study of some kind? Attic storage? What was he doing there?
    Charlie lingered there for twenty minutes, but it wascold tonight and as the pubs began to empty, she’d abandoned her position and returned to the comparative warmth of her Renault Twingo. Minutes later, she’d been rewarded with the sight of Paul Jackson returning to the front room once more, kissing his wife goodnight as she headed off to bed. Jackson stayed where he was, watching the TV, but occasionally casting a glance upstairs.
    Would he venture out tonight? Charlie looked at the clock. Her partner, Steve, had not been pleased when she’d called to say she wouldn’t be home. She usually relieved him for bath and bedtime with Jessica and, even though he knew her job was unpredictable, he still got grumpy when she didn’t show up.
    She suddenly felt foolish to be stuck out here on her own, when she could be home in bed with her family. Police work was increasingly encroaching on her home life, but it was hard for it to play out any other way. She wanted to make a decent arrest, create a bit of a splash, if only to rid herself of the feeling that she was on probation. The odd look from Sanderson and a stupid sexist comment from a junior officer had been enough to make her feel as if she still had something to prove, despite her promotion.
    Which is