M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

‘How? … Where?’

‘He was found on Eling Great Marsh. He drove out there in the early hours of this morning.’

‘Why? Why was he there? We never go there… we’ve never been there.’

‘We believe he drove there with a companion. A woman.’

‘Who?’ Anger had crept into Jessica’s voice now.

‘We don’t know her identity. But we believe she might be a sex worker.’

Jessica closed her eyes in horror. Helen watched her with profound sympathy as another foundation wall of her life collapsed. Helen had had her life smashed to bits more than once and she knew the awful pain that Jessica was experiencing. Nevertheless she had to give her the truth – all of it – without sparing her anything.

‘Eling Great Marsh is sometimes used by prostitutes as a discreet place to conduct their business. We think that’s why Chris went there. I really am sorry, Jessica.’

‘The stupid fucking bastard.’

Jessica spat out the words with such violence that it silenced the room. Sally looked up from her play, for the first time sensing that something was wrong.

‘The stupid, cowardly, selfish, fucking… bastard.’

She sobbed unreservedly now, deep and long. Helen let her cry. Finally her sobs started to subside.

‘To your knowledge had Chris ever used prostitutes before?

‘No! Do you think I’d put up with that? What do you think I am – a fucking doormat?’

Jessica’s eyes were burning fiercely.

‘Of course not. I know you wouldn’t sanction something like that, but sometimes wives have suspicions, fears, things they’ve locked away deep. Did you ever have any worries about Chris? Anything that upset you?’

Jessica dropped her gaze now, unable to look at Helen. She had struck a nerve, Helen was sure of that, and she had no choice but to pursue it.

‘Jessica, if you’ve anything to tell -’

‘I didn’t think it would…’

Jessica was struggling to find sufficient breath to speak, the shock now taking full effect. Helen gestured to Alison for a glass of water.

‘He’d… he had… He’d promised me.’

‘Promised you what, Jessica?’

‘Since Sally was born, we haven’t… you know… very much.’

Helen said nothing. She knew something was coming now and that it was best to let Jessica find her own words.

‘We’re always so tired,’ she continued, ‘there are always so many things that need doing.’

She took a big lungful of air before continuing:

‘A few months ago, I used Chris’s laptop because mine was broken.’

Another deep breath.

‘I opened up Internet Explorer to use Ocado and… I found all these sites bookmarked. The stupid bastard hadn’t even tried to hide them.’

‘Pornography?’ Helen asked. Jessica nodded.

‘I opened one up. I wanted to know. It was… disgusting. A young girl – seventeen at the most – and lots of guys… they were bloody queuing up to…’

‘Did you challenge him about it?’

‘Yes. I rang him at work. He came straight home.’

Her tone softened a little as she continued:

‘He was mortified. Ashamed. He hated himself for hurting me. I hated him for looking at that… stuff, but he vowed he’d never watch it again. And he meant it. He really meant it.’

She looked up imploringly, silently begging Helen not to damn her husband.

‘I’m sure he did. I’m sure he was a good husband, a good father…’

‘He is. He was. He loved Sally, he loved me …’

At this point Jessica collapsed, the weight of events finally bearing down on her. She had been robbed of her husband and her memory of him would be forever tarnished. His reckless actions had cost him dear, but those left behind had the bitterest legacy. They were staring down a long dark tunnel.

Suddenly Helen was filled with anger. Whoever was responsible knew what they were doing. They were intent on visiting as much pain on these innocent families as they could. They wanted to take them beyond the limits of human endurance, to destroy them. But Helen wouldn’t let them. She would see them destroyed before she let that happen.

Leaving Alison to rally family support, Helen departed. The messenger is never welcome in a house of death and, besides, she had work to do.

Helen strode away from the house, confident that Alison would shepherd Jessica slowly, inexorably, towards a semblance of stability. Alison was brilliant at her job – patient, kind and wise. When the time was right she would sit Jessica down and tell her the full details of her husband’s murder. Jessica would need to know, would need to understand how her husband would now become public property, the subject of gossip and speculation. But it was too early, the shock too great, and she would leave it to Alison to judge the moment.

‘Are you chasing another serial killer, Helen?’

Helen spun round, but she knew that voice.

‘You really don’t have much luck, do you?’

Emilia Garanita shut the door of her Fiat and walked over. How the hell had she got here so quickly?

‘Before you tell me to jump in a lake, I think you should know that I had some face time with your boss today. Ceri Harwood is a breath of fresh air after Whittaker, don’t you think? She’s promised to be open and honest with us – you scratch my back and all that – and said that you were on board. So let’s start off on a new footing, shall we? What can you tell me about this killer and how can the Evening News assist the investigation?’

Her pad and pen were poised in anticipation, her face the picture of innocence and enthusiasm. God, Helen wanted to punch her – she had never met anyone who seemed to take such active enjoyment in the unhappiness of ordinary people. She was a ghoul – without a ghoul’s redeeming features.

‘If Detective Superintendent Harwood has offered to give you the relevant information, then I’m sure she’ll do so. She’s a woman of her word.’

‘Don’t be cute, Helen. I want details. I want an exclusive.’

Helen eyed her up. She could tell Emilia wasn’t bullshitting. Somehow she had managed to get Harwood onside – at whose instigation? Helen wondered. More than that, she’d got to the Reid residence almost as quickly as Helen had. She was no longer an adversary who could be crushed. Helen would have to be smarter than that.

‘I’ll have a name and photo for you by tonight. In time for you to publish. The Empress Road murder was brutal and sustained and involved elements of torture. We’re investigating possible links to organized crime, with particular emphasis on drugs and prostitution. We’ll be appealing for potential witnesses to contact an anonymous helpline with any relevant information. That’ll have to do for now.’

‘That’ll do just fine. See, it doesn’t hurt, does it?’

Helen returned Emilia’s smile. She was surprised that she hadn’t asked her about Christopher Reid. Surprised and relieved. But she wasn’t going to stick around to be subjected to further interrogation. Climbing on her Kawasaki, she roared off, Emilia growing smaller and smaller in her rear-view mirrors.

She only started to relax when she hit the motorway. Southampton, which for so long had been Helen’s happy home, was becoming a hostile and bloody place. Helen had the distinct feeling that the storm was about to break and she was suddenly unsure of her footing. What was Harwood doing talking to Emilia behind her back? What deal had been struck? Who could she rely on in the dark days ahead? Previously she’d had Mark and Charlie by her side in the thick of battle; who did she have now?