M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

‘You’ve not seen him since?’ Helen said, suddenly alert.

‘No.’

‘I need you to be clear on this one, Melissa. Did you see Anton during or after his confrontation with Lyra?’

‘No. She told me about it, not him.’

‘Did you look for him?’

‘Not at first. You don’t go looking for someone like that. But after a few days, I asked a few questions. I needed a fix. But he wasn’t at any of his usual places.’

‘Do you know where Lyra might be hiding out?’

‘Probably somewhere near Portswood. She always lived round there. Never told me where she was sleeping.’

‘And when she was working, did she call herself Lyra?’

‘No, that was just between us. When she was on the job, she was always Angel. An Angel sent from heaven, she used to tell the punters. They loved that.’

Helen called time on the interview shortly afterwards. It was very late and Melissa was completely drained. There would be time for more later and, besides, the priority now was to get an e-fit that they could release to the public. She sent Tony and Melissa to a custody suite with a police artist, then returned to her office. She wouldn’t sleep tonight, so there was no point going home.

Had they just made the breakthrough that would bring this awful killing spree to an end? All this time they had been trying to get a handle on what had triggered this explosion of violence. Had Anton been the unwitting trigger? Had he precipitated this savage rage? If so, chances were he was lying dead in a fleapit somewhere. Helen wouldn’t mourn him, but she needed to find him if the pieces of this jigsaw were to fit together.

Her phone rang, making her jump. Jake again. He’d left a number of messages, wondering why she hadn’t been to see him, checking if she was ok. Were his enquiries genuine or the product of a guilty conscience? Helen surprised herself by not wanting to know. Normally she would tackle everything head on, but not this time. This time she didn’t want to in case the answer upset her. Her mind shifted to thoughts of Emilia. What was she up to right now? Was she contemplating pardoning Helen or busy planning her execution? If she printed her story, Helen would be off the case. She couldn’t allow that to happen, not now they were finally making progress, but nevertheless she hadn’t backed down. She’d seen other officers make a deal with the devil and within months they’d become irredeemably compromised, often corrupt. There was nothing to do in these circumstances but tough it out and see who was still standing at the end.

Helen grabbed a coffee and headed back to the incident room. There was no time for fear or introspection now – there was work to be done. Somewhere out there was an avenging Angel with a taste for blood.

The house was quiet when Charlie returned home. Steve had eaten and gone to bed – the kitchen was scrupulously clean as it always was when he was in charge. Charlie picked at a few leftovers, then headed upstairs to shower. The hot water pummelled her, briefly reviving her, but she was utterly spent and hurried to bed.

Steve didn’t stir as she entered, so she crept into bed as quietly as she could. They weren’t sleeping in separate beds, which was one small mercy, but communication between them was almost non-existent. Ever since she’d decided to answer Helen’s plea to return to the investigation, Steve had made little attempt to hide his anger and disappointment. It was unbearably sad that just as Charlie was finally finding her feet at work, her domestic life was falling apart. Why couldn’t things just work out for once? What did she have to do to be happy?

She lay awake staring at the ceiling. Steve stirred as he often did and Charlie flicked a glance at him. She was surprised – and unnerved – to find him staring at her.

‘Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ she said softly.

‘I wasn’t asleep.’

‘Oh.’ Charlie couldn’t read him in the half-light. He didn’t seem angry, but he didn’t seem friendly either.

‘I’ve been lying awake thinking.’

‘Right. What about?’

‘About us.’

Charlie said nothing in response, unsure where this was going.

‘I want us to be happy, Charlie.’

Tears suddenly filled Charlie’s eyes. They were tears of happiness and tears of relief.

‘So do I.’

‘I want to forget all the stuff that’s happened and be like we were before. To live the life we always wanted to lead.’

‘Me too,’ Charlie said, just about managing to get the words out. She clung to Steve now and he to her.

‘And I want us to try for a baby.’

Charlie’s sobbing subsided slightly, but she said nothing.

‘We always wanted kids. We can’t be ruled by bad things that happened before, we have a life to lead. I want to have a baby with you, Charlie. I want us to start trying again.’

Charlie buried her head in Steve’s chest. The truth was that she desperately wanted a baby too, desperately wanted them to be a happy normal family. But she was also aware that this wasn’t compatible with her career and that Steve had just thrown down the gauntlet.

He would never put it so crudely, but Steve had just told Charlie that it was time to choose.

The eyes. It was all there in the eyes. Set in a slender face and framed by long, black tresses, they demanded your attention, fixing you with an intense piercing gaze. There were other features that should have drawn your attention – the full lips, the strong nose, the slightly pointed chin – but it was those big, beautiful eyes and the intensity of her stare that gripped you.

‘How accurate a likeness is this?’ said Ceri Harwood, looking up from the e-fit that she’d been studying.

‘Very,’ Helen replied. ‘Melissa was up all night with our best artist. I only let her go once we were one hundred per cent sure we’d got it right.’

‘And what do we know about Lyra Campbell?’

‘Not a lot, but we’re working on it. We’ve got uniform out looking for Anton Gardiner and this morning we’re going to sweep his area of operation, talk to every girl who’s ever worked for him, see if anyone can tell us any more about her.’

‘And what’s your working theory?’

‘In some ways it’s not that extraordinary. She falls into prostitution, then makes another bad choice in taking Anton as her pimp. Her brutalizes her. This in combination with the job takes its toll on her psychologically. The drug and alcohol abuse, the stress, the sexual assaults, the diseases and then one day Anton crosses the line. Does something to her that makes her snap. She attacks him, probably kills him. Either way she takes out the years of misery on him and this sets her off. We know from forensics that she talks or shouts at her victims – perhaps she denigrates them, revenges herself upon them…’

‘The floodgates have opened and now she can’t stop?’ Harwood interrupted.

‘Something like that.’

‘You sound almost… sympathetic towards her?’

‘I am. She wouldn’t be doing this unless she’d been to hell and back, but my real sympathies lie with Eileen Matthews and Jessica Reid and the others. Lyra is a vicious killer who won’t stop until we bring her in.’

‘My thoughts exactly. To that end I’m going to suggest that I take today’s press conference, whilst you get out there and lead the team. Time is of the essence and I want the press and the public to know that our very best people are on the case.’