M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

He jumped as the passenger door opened. He had been so caught up in his own little world he hadn’t heard anyone coming. He turned to confront the intruder… and was surprised to see Melissa climbing into the passenger seat. She didn’t look at him, simply saying:

‘Drive.’

They drove in silence for a full ten minutes, before Melissa indicated an alleyway adjacent to a derelict restaurant. It was quiet down here, not a soul around to disturb them. As he turned to look at her, Tony was surprised to see that she was shaking.

‘If I tell you what you want to know, I’ll need money. Lots of money.’

‘Not a problem,’ Tony replied. He’d figured out on the way over that it could only have been the prospect of financial gain that induced her into his car.

‘Five grand up front. More to follow.’

‘Agreed.’

‘And I’ll need somewhere to stay. Somewhere she can’t find me.’

‘We can offer you a safe house and round-the-clock protection,’ Tony replied without hesitation.

‘Round the clock – you promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Shake on it,’ Melissa demanded and Tony obliged.

Melissa let out a deep sigh – she looked exhausted by the evening’s events. Then without looking up at Tony she whispered:

‘The girl you’re looking for is Lyra. Angel’s name is Lyra Campbell.’

Cold. Freezing, freezing cold.

Simon Booker’s eyes crept open, briefly flickering closed once more as the harsh light of the naked bulb assaulted them. His head was so foggy, he was so confused. What the hell had happened to hi-

There she was, watching him. Angel. With the iron bar. Now it slowly came back to him, jagging sharply as the memories flashed through his mind.

He was weak. His face was sticky with blood, his mouth horribly parched. But still he tried to get up. Only to find he was held firm. Looking around he saw his arms were tied together with thick green wire and secured to the wall behind him. He was naked and stretched out on the mattress, his clothes nowhere in sight. He tried to shout at her, only to become aware of the tape stuck firmly over his mouth.

‘You pathetic little shit.’

Simon Booker jumped as her venom broke the silence.

‘You sad little lowlife.’

She was walking towards him, the iron bar still in her hand. She tossed it from hand to hand.

‘Did you think you could trick me?’

Simon shook his head vigorously.

‘You did, didn’t you?’

He shook his head even harder.

‘Trick me, then attack me?’

She swung the bar down as hard as she could on to his kneecap. He screamed, the duct tape enveloping his agony, making it hard to breathe. Now she brought it down on his other kneecap, the bone crunching on impact. Simon howled once more, trying to turn his body from the blows that rained down on his legs, his thighs, his chest. Again and again and again. She paused briefly, shouted something unintelligible, then swung the bar between his splayed legs to connect with his groin.

He screamed fit to burst, as tears flooded his eyes.

‘What the fuck did you think you were doing?’ she bellowed at him before laughing. ‘Oh boy, you are going to pay for that. I’m going to send you back to your frigid wife in pieces, right?’

The tears were pouring down his face now, but they seemed to have no impact on her. She raised the bar to strike his face, then suddenly paused, reining in the tempest of violence that threatened to overwhelm her. Breathing heavily, she turned and put the iron bar in her rucksack.

The respite was brief, however, as she now drew a long knife from her bag. Feeling its blade with her gloved finger, she turned to her victim. Marching over, she held the blade to his throat. He prayed for her to do it, to end his suffering right now. A little more pressure would sever his carotid artery and that would be that.

But Angel had other ideas. Raising the blade, she crouched down, rocking back and forward on her haunches. A smile danced around the corners of her mouth.

‘You’ve paid for a whole hour, so we might as well have a little fun, mightn’t we?’

And with that the butchery began.

Helen had only just returned to Southampton Central when she got the call from Tony Bridges. She and Charlie had been running over the latest leads on the other forum users – BlackArrow had scaled down his posting, but the obsessive PussyKing was still giving them plenty to work with – but Helen abandoned the search now without a second thought. Half an hour later, she was alongside Tony in the interview room – Melissa sat opposite, cradling a mug of tea.

‘Tell me about Lyra Campbell.’

‘Money first.’

Helen slid the fat envelope across the table. Melissa counted the notes quickly then stuffed the cash into her bag.

‘She’s from London, I think. Not sure where exactly, but she talks like a Londoner. Like you.’

Despite Helen’s many years in Southampton, her South London accent had never entirely deserted her.

‘Did a bit of streetwalking up there, then came down to Portsmouth with a boyfriend. When that didn’t work out, she moved to Southampton.’

‘When?’

‘’Bout a year ago. Ended up working in the same gang as me.’

Melissa sniffed and took a swig of her tea. She hadn’t once looked up. It was as if mumbling at the floor might prevent Lyra hearing her betrayal.

‘Which gang?’ Tony queried.

‘Anton Gardiner.’

Tony looked at Helen. The name was familiar to both of them. Anton Gardiner was a violent drug dealer and pimp who ran girls in the south of the city. He worked alone and lived in the shadows, occasionally attracting the attention of the police by acts of incredible violence against his girls or his rivals. He was rumoured to be wealthy but as he didn’t believe in banks, this was hard to confirm. What was undoubtedly true was that he was sadistic, unpredictable and unbalanced. He often picked up girls from care homes and shelters – which meant that Helen had a particular hatred of him.

‘Why did she choose Anton?’

‘She wanted drugs, he could get them.’

‘And how did they get on?’ Tony continued. Melissa just smiled and shook her head – no one ‘got on’ with Anton.

‘Where is Lyra now?’ Helen asked.

‘Don’t know. Haven’t seen her in over a month.’

‘Why?’

‘She took off. Had a row with Anton and then…’

‘What about?’

‘About why he was such a sadistic fuck.’

For the first time, Melissa looked up. Her eyes flashed with anger.

‘Go on,’ Helen continued.

‘Do you know what he does to his new girls?’

Helen shook her head. She had to ask, but didn’t really want to know.

‘He gets them to strip, then bend over and hold their ankles. He tells them they have to stay like that the whole day . He leaves you alone for the first few hours. Leaves you until your legs are cramping, your back is in agony and just when you can’t take it any longer, he does you. An hour later, he does you again. Over and over. That’s how he breaks you.’

It was clear that Melissa was talking from personal experience, her voice trembling as she spoke.

‘And if you ever step out of line or don’t bring in enough cash, he does the same again. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone. He just wants the money.’

‘So what did he do when Lyra left?’

‘No idea. Ain’t seen him.’