M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

But then there she was. She was pacing up and down on the deserted street and when Tony pulled up alongside her, he could see she was agitated, distressed. Instinct made him stroke the accelerator, something telling him to get away from this girl, but then his brain kicked in and he put the car into neutral.

‘You up for business?’ he called out, keeping his voice neutral.

The girl jumped as if startled, as if somehow she hadn’t heard the car approaching. She was dressed in black leggings, which emphasized her long, muscular legs. Her upper half was swathed in a military coat that seemed too big for her and was incongruous in comparison with the rest of her outfit – had she stolen it? Her face was striking though – dark-brown eyes, strong nose and full lips. Recovering her poise, she regarded him – making some mental calculation – then slowly, carefully she approached him.

‘What are you after?’ she said.

‘Company.’

‘What sort of company?’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘Hour or the night?’

‘Just an hour, please.’

Tony cursed himself internally. What kind of punter says ‘please’?

The girl narrowed her eyes, perhaps trying to work out if he was as green as he looked.

‘Fifty pounds.’

Tony nodded, then without being asked the girl pulled open the driver’s door and climbed inside. Tony put the car in first and pulled away.

‘I’m Samantha,’ she said suddenly.

‘Peter,’ Tony replied.

‘That your real name, Peter?’ she countered.

‘No.’

The girl chuckled.

‘Married, are you?’ she said.

‘Yup.’

‘Thought so.’

The conversation was over. She told him where to go and the car drove off into the night.

The incident room was full to bursting when Helen arrived. It was only 6.30 a.m. but she’d demanded an early start and the team hadn’t let her down. As they crowded into the briefing room, Helen was surprised to see Charlie among their number. The two women looked at each other – a swift, silent exchange. Charlie had made her decision. What had it cost her? Helen wondered.

‘So one thing is clear,’ Helen began. ‘This is about exposure. The killer wants to shame her victims, wants to hold them up to public ridicule, to express her disgust for them. Cutting out their hearts and sending them to his home, in Alan Matthews’ case, or his workplace, in Christopher Reid’s, was guaranteed to create noise . With the headlines in the latest Evening News we can assume the killer has got what she wanted. The private lives of her victims will now be picked over in massive detail. They’ve already gone to town on Alan Matthews – he’s an elder of his local Baptist church with a predilection for unpleasant sex – and they are doing the same with Christopher Reid – the hidden secrets of the clean-cut family man and so on. So this is all about exposure. This is personal .’

‘Do we think she knew them then?’ DC Fortune interjected.

‘Possibly, although there is no evidence that they’d actually used her services before. That said, DC Grounds and his team have come up with something interesting. Andrew?’

‘We have found a concrete link between the two victims,’ DC Grounds announced. ‘They had both browsed a web forum called Bitchfest.’

He winced slightly as he said it, then carried on briskly.

‘It’s basically a forum in which local men who’ve used prostitutes share their experiences. They talk about where to find particular girls, what their names are, what they charge. They rate breast size, sexual prowess, the tightness of their… vaginas, the list goes on.’

DC Grounds looked relieved to have got through this first bit. He was a married father of three and not entirely comfortable relaying these details to younger, female colleagues.

‘Matthews contributed using the alias “BigMan”. Reid hadn’t contributed but had had conversations with other men in the forum, using the name “BadBoy”. The forum has a long history and we’re still wading through it, but it appears that other men in the forum had recently reviewed a new girl who would let you do “anything” to her.’

Grounds looked around at the sea of dispirited faces. It was a good lead, but a sad indictment of humanity. Sensing a dip in morale, Helen stepped in.

‘We’ve also had some feedback from Scene of Crime. The blood we extracted from Charlie’s clothes’ – heads turned in Charlie’s direction – ‘was that of the third victim. ID in his wallet suggests his name is Gareth Hill. We’re triple-checking that before contacting his family and I’ll confirm as soon as I can. So the blood was no help, but they did recover samples of what we think is the killer’s DNA from the scene. Forensics lifted it late last night.’

A buzz went round the room.

‘It doesn’t match any of our records, but it’s the first concrete evidence we have and could be crucial in securing a conviction. Just as important, it tells us something about our girl. The DNA was found in saliva on the victim’s face. It had settled in a series of thin layers spread one on top of each other. So this wasn’t her spitting on him deliberately or an occasional excretion of saliva as she worked on the body. The patterns suggest that this was her talking to him or more likely shouting at him, given the amount of saliva and the pattern of its spread. Was she denigrating him as she killed him? Letting him know exactly what she felt about him? Possibly. No saliva was found on the first two victims, suggesting what?’

‘That the other killings were more rushed? That she had less time to enjoy herself?’ Charlie interjected.

‘Yes. Or that she cleaned the other victims up. There is some evidence of an alcohol-based cleanser on their faces – we’re not sure yet whether this was something they used as part of their daily routine or something she used to destroy evidence. If it’s the latter it suggests our killer possesses a degree of cunning as well as a deep, real anger against her victims.’

A sense of determination seemed to be growing within the team – finally they looked to be getting somewhere. Helen seized on this energy.

‘We will follow up on all those lines of enquiry, but I also want us to think laterally. If she hates these men and wants to expose them, then she will presumably want to enjoy her triumph. I’ve asked for extra manpower so we can watch the families of the victims in case she shows up. I want surveillance at the funerals, at their homes, places of work – I’ve asked DC Fortune to run this for now. Also, you will no doubt have noted the absence of DS Bridges. He is doing some undercover work for us on this case which I am coordinating and for now this is on a need-to-know basis. If it becomes relevant to your enquiries, you will be informed. But for now assume he doesn’t exist – DC Brooks will be temporarily filling his shoes.’

Once more all eyes swung to Charlie, who Helen had suddenly promoted, albeit on a temporary basis. Would people support this decision or resent it? Charlie kept her eyes straight ahead.

‘Last thing – we’re going to shake our killer’s cage a little. She’s probably already rattled following her near miss, so I want to turn up the heat. I’m going to let the press know that we have her DNA and that it’s only a matter of time before we ID her. I want to make her angry, I want to make her careless.’

Helen paused a moment before concluding:

‘It’s time to take the fight to the enemy.’