M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

Caffè Nero was packed to bursting, which is why Helen had chosen it. It was on the high street in the smart suburb of Shirley. A million miles away from the grubby brothels and ill-lit streets patrolled by Southampton’s sex workers.

Helen was pleased to see that Tony had arrived and was waiting for her, tucked away in a booth at the back as agreed.

‘How are you doing, Tony?’

He looked drawn, but oddly cheerful.

‘I’m ok. I’m actually… ok.’

‘Good. So this will be our regular spot to debrief. We’ll arrange our meets by text and meet here only. I should say up front that if at any time you feel it’s not working or that pursuing this avenue of investigation is putting your life at risk, then you call me and walk away immediately. Your safety is my number one priority.’

‘I know the drill, boss, and there’s no need to look so serious. It really is ok. I was shitting myself last night, but it turned out fine. In fact I think I might have something.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Well, I didn’t have much luck to start with, I trawled Bevois, Portswood, Merry Oak without any joy, so I headed south to the docks and picked up a girl there. Samantha. Early twenties but an old hand on the street.’

He had Helen’s full attention now.

‘We went to a hotel she knows. I told her I liked to watch, so I let her do her thing and then afterwards I chatted to her as I drove her home. She was cagey at first but she had obviously heard rumours about a girl killing punters. She doesn’t know anything useful, but there’s another girl who occasionally works the docks who’s been talking. Saying she’s seen the girl. Apparently there’s a warrant out on her for a couple of things, so she’s not going to be coming forward, but if I can get to her, then…’

Helen’s heart was beating faster, but she reined in her excitement.

‘Ok, follow it up. Be careful though, Tony. It could be a set-up – we’ve got no way of knowing how people will exploit this situation. But… it sounds promising.’

Helen couldn’t suppress a small smile, which was reciprocated by Tony.

‘Anyway, go home and get some sleep. You’ve earned it.’

‘Thanks, boss.’

‘How is Nicola, by the way?’

‘She’s all right. We take it one day at a time.’

Helen nodded. She respected and liked Tony for his careful, patient care of his wife. It must be hard to live a life that you never wanted, when the life you’d planned for had been so brutally snatched away from you. He was a good man and she hoped they would be ok.

Walking away from the café, Helen had a spring in her step. The course they were pursuing was fraught with danger, but Helen sensed that finally they were getting closer to their killer.

Picking up an unmarked pool car, Charlie sped out of the back entrance, anxious to get this over with. Jennifer Lees, the Family Liaison officer assigned to accompany her, would take the lead but it would be Charlie who’d have to ask the awkward questions. Normally Helen would interview the victim’s family in the first instance, but she had disappeared on undisclosed business, leaving Charlie to carry the can.

They pulled up outside a run-down terraced house in Swaythling. This was the home Gareth Hill shared with his mother – shared in the past tense as his mutilated body was currently lying on a slab in Jim Grieves’s mortuary. They couldn’t formally identify him as the third victim until his next of kin had done so, but they knew they had the right man. He had minor convictions for shoplifting, drunkenness and even one pathetic attempt at indecent exposure, so they already had his picture on file. Once the formalities were done, that file would be marked ‘Deceased’ and sent upstairs to the incident room for evaluation.

An enormous woman of seventy-plus opened the door. Her blotched ankles were swollen, her stomach jutted out generously and her jowls hung deep from her plump face. But hidden amidst all that flesh were two incongruous, rat-like eyes that stared fiercely at Charlie now.

‘If you’re selling something, you can piss -’

Charlie held up her warrant card.

‘It’s about Gareth. May we come in?’

The whole house stank of cats. They seemed to be everywhere and as if scenting danger they clamoured round their owner now, demanding her attention. She stroked the largest one – a ginger tom called Harvey – as Charlie and Jennifer broke the news to her.

‘Dirty little boy.’

Jennifer turned to Charlie, this unexpected response rendering her temporarily speechless.

‘Did you understand what we said, Mrs Hill?’ Charlie asked.

‘Miss Hill. I’ve never been a Mrs.’

Charlie nodded sympathetically.

‘Gareth has been murdered and I -’

‘So you keep saying. What did he do – try and run off without paying?’

Her tone was hard to read. She sounded angry, but was that distress punching through too? This woman’s armour was hard, toughened by years of disappointments, and she was hard to read.

‘We’re still investigating the circumstances but we suspect this was an unprovoked attack.’

‘Hardly unprovoked. If you wallow in the gutter…’

‘Where did Gareth say he was going last night?’ Charlie interrupted.

‘He said he was going to the pictures. He’d just got his benefits so… I thought he must have come in after I was asleep. I thought the lazy oaf was still in bed…’

Finally, her voice wavered, as the reality of her son’s death struck home. When her defences finally collapsed, they would collapse big , so Charlie carried on the conversation a bit longer, then excused herself to head upstairs. She had learned as much as she could and she wanted to be away from this woman’s sharp grief. Charlie knew she was weak to let another’s distress spike so sharply with her own sense of loss, but she couldn’t help it.

Pushing into Gareth’s bedroom, she tried to gather her thoughts. It was truly a sight to behold. Empty fast food wrappers littered the floor, lying in company with used tissues, old magazines and discarded clothes. The whole place looked and smelled dirty, as if someone had existed rather than lived here. It was stale. Stale and empty.

Gareth wasn’t an attractive man and he could hardly have brought girls back here anyway. The mess was bad enough, but would he have had the balls to parade another female in front of his mother, presuming he could have persuaded one to return home with him in the first place? Charlie thought not. His probation reports suggested he had learning difficulties and cripplingly low self-esteem. The evidence of his home life seemed to affirm that. This was a house that trapped people rather than protected them.

Looking around the detritus, the only item of value was the computer. Perched in glorious isolation on the cheap desk, it stood proud. Its aluminium casing and familiar logo looked fresh as if this totemic item had been kept clean and safe whilst all else had been allowed to go to seed. No doubt this treasured item was Gareth’s passport to life and Charlie felt sure that the key to his death lay within it.

The Bull and Last did the best steak sandwich in Southampton. It was also off the radar of most coppers, a middle-class hangout favoured by yummy mummies and businessmen, so was one of Helen’s favourite haunts when she needed a bit of time to herself. After she’d left Tony, she suddenly realized how incredibly hungry she was. She’d hardly eaten for days, surviving on coffee and cigarettes, and now she desperately needed some fuel. Sinking her teeth into the thick sandwich, Helen immediately felt better – the protein and carb fix hitting the spot.