M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

Sandra sat back in her chair and looked at Charlie, then turned to Helen.

‘Now if we’re all done here, I’d better be off. I’ve an evening engagement that I’m very keen to keep.’

‘What the hell are you playing at, DC Brooks?’

The days when Helen used to call her Charlie seemed a long time ago now.

‘What on earth possessed you to pull her in without checking if she was a remotely credible suspect.’

‘She still is. She has motive, opportunity -’

‘And a cast-iron alibi. She made us look like idiots in there. So stop running errands for Superintendent Harwood and start doing your bloody job. Find out who killed Alexia Louszko.’

Helen marched off. They’d have to check Sandra’s alibi of course, but Helen had no doubt that she was telling the truth. It was too good an alibi to be made up. She could have hired others to kill Matthews and Reid of course, but was it credible that she would give a lone woman the job when she had an army of men to do her bidding? No, it didn’t stack up.

The day had started badly and was getting worse. For the first time in her career Helen had the distinct impression that her colleagues were working against her, rather than helping her. This case was weird and difficult enough without Charlie and Harwood leading her down blind alleys and constantly moving the ground beneath her feet.

The truth was that they had got nowhere. Two lives had been destroyed, more would follow. And there was not a thing Helen could do to stop it.

Angie had got used to holding court. She had been given a week’s leave from Zenith Solutions and had been making the most of it, receiving friends and relatives at home, rehearsing the whole horrid incident over and over again, embellishing it when the mood took her. But even Angie was growing tired of telling her story now, so she ignored the persistent ringing of the doorbell. The curtains were closed, Jeremy Kyle was on and she had a cup of Mellow Bird’s on the go.

The doorbell rang again. Angie turned the volume up. Who cares if that confirmed her presence in the house, she didn’t have to open the door to anyone she didn’t want to. The bell stopped ringing and Angie smiled.

She concentrated on the show – the DNA results were about to be revealed. She had joined the programme too late to know what the participants’ conflict was about, but there was always a punch-up when DNA results were revealed. She loved this part of the programme.

‘Hello?’

Angie sat bolt upright. Someone was in the house.

‘Are you there, Angie?’

Angie was off the sofa and searching for a weapon. A heavy glass vase was the best she could do. She raised it above her head as the living room door opened.

‘Angie?’

Angie froze, her fear dissipating into surprise. The woman’s scarred face was instantly recognizable. Emilia Garanita was a minor celebrity in Southampton.

‘I am so sorry to intrude but the back door was unlocked and I am desperate to talk to you, Angie. May I call you Angie?’

Angie was too shocked to rebuke her for trespassing and Emilia took that as her cue to advance, placing a comforting hand on her arm.

‘How are you getting on, Angie? I hear you had a terrible shock.’

One of the girls at work had obviously blabbed. Angie was irritated and pleased in equal measure. To be sought out by the local press was an unusual and gratifying experience. Effortlessly Emilia guided Angie back onto the sofa, seating herself beside her.

‘I’m bearing up,’ Angie replied bravely.

‘Of course you are. You’re a strong woman – that’s what everyone says about you.’

Angie very much doubted it, but was pleased by the compliment.

‘And our article will reflect that.’

Angie nodded, excitement mingling with unease.

‘The Evening News wants to do a double-page spread on you. Your life, your important work at Zenith Solutions and your bravery in dealing with such an unpleasant incident. We’d like to pay tribute to you, is that ok?’

Angie nodded.

‘So let’s get a few details straight. We can do your career history in a moment, let’s focus on the day itself for now. You received a package for your boss…’

‘Mr McPhail.’

‘Mr McPhail. You open all his mail presumably?’

‘Of course. I am his personal assistant. This was a couriered package and I always open those straight away.’

Emilia was scribbling keenly now.

‘And inside…’

‘Inside… was a heart. The smell was terrible.’

‘A heart?’ replied Emilia, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. She hadn’t really expected it to be true, but it was.

‘Yes. A heart, a human heart.’

‘And can you think of any reason why someone would send such a thing to Mr McPhail?’

‘No,’ replied Angie firmly. ‘He’s a brilliant boss.’

‘Of course. And the police have been in touch?’

‘I spoke to Inspector Grace.’

‘I know her well. She’s a good copper. Was there anything in particular she wanted to know?’

Angie hesitated.

‘I quite understand if you’re uncomfortable disclosing details of your conversation,’ Emilia continued. ‘All I would say is that if I’m to convince my editor to give this story the centre spread it deserves, then I am going to need all the details.’

A long pause, then Angie spoke.

‘She did seem particularly interested in getting a full list of Zenith’s employees. Particularly those who were absent that day.’

Emilia’s writing hand paused for a second, then carried on scribbling. She didn’t want to give away her excitement at this very interesting development. It was all fitting together nicely and would play well for Emilia.

Once again a major story had fallen into her lap.

Violet Robinson viewed her son-in-law with suspicion. She never doubted his love for Nicola, but she doubted his dedication. He was a man, and men were careless of the details and prone to take short cuts. Nicola was certainly comfortable at home and her basic needs were always catered for by Tony or by Anna if he was working, but Nicola was more than basic . She was a beautiful, intelligent and spirited young woman. Like her mother, Nicola had always taken great pride in her appearance, never leaving the house without make-up on, careful to ensure that not a hair was out of place. Too often Violet had had to take matters into her own hands, distressed by her daughter’s pallor, by the stray hairs, by the lack of make-up. Tony didn’t really know what to do in this area and Anna, well, Anna was a plain girl who clearly felt it was what you were like on the inside that mattered.

‘How long will you be gone for?’ she asked Tony.

They were standing together in the living room, out of earshot of Nicola’s bedroom.

‘I won’t be gone ,’ Tony replied, choosing his words and tone carefully. ‘I will be here during the day – probably more than usual in fact – it’s just the nights. Anna has said she’s happy to do the lion’s share of the night work, but if there’s any way you could -’

‘I’ve already said I’ll help, Tony. I’m happy to do it. Best to have family round her.’

Tony nodded and smiled, but Violet could tell he didn’t agree. He liked Anna better than her and if Anna was up to doing seven nights straight, no doubt he would have paid her to do that, rather than corralling his mother-in-law to help.