M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

He toyed with the bandage that had recently swathed his injured arm, wrapping it over and over in his hands. A plan was forming in his mind. It was desperate and it meant the end of everything, but what else could he do? He was backed into a corner and now there was nowhere to run.

Tony was amazed at the transformation. He knew Melissa had asked for some fresh clothes and make-up, but even so he hadn’t expected her to look so different. Up until now, he had only seen her in battle dress, the sex worker’s uniform of boots, short skirt and low-cut top. Dressed in jeans and a jumper, with her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, she looked happy and relaxed.

She greeted him tentatively, as if not quite sure what to expect, now that they had been apart for a little while. Truth be told he hadn’t been quite sure how to play it either, but now he was here it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms. Fearing detection, they had hurried upstairs, but this time passion wasn’t on their minds, they simply lay side by side on the bed, holding hands and staring at the ceiling.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused you trouble,’ Melissa said quietly.

She had obviously guessed that he was married, despite the fact that his ring was on his bedside table back at home.

‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘It’s not your fault. So don’t feel guilty… That’s my job.’

He managed a half-smile and she responded.

‘I don’t want to make you unhappy, Tony. Not after you’ve been so good to me.’

‘You don’t.’

‘Good. Because I’ve been thinking about what you said to me. And you’re right. I do want to make a change.’

Tony said nothing, unsure where this was going.

‘If you can get me on to the right programmes, to get off the drugs, then I’ll do them. I don’t want to go back on the streets. Ever.’

‘Of course. We’ll do everything we can to help.’

‘You’re a good man, Tony.’

Tony laughed.

‘I’m very far from that.’

‘People get hurt, Tony. That’s the way life is. Doesn’t make you bad. So don’t go beating yourself up. You and I… we’ll have what we’ll have and then you can go back to your wife, no problem. I won’t hold on to you, I promise.’

Tony nodded, but not with any sense of satisfaction or relief. Was that what he wanted? A return to normality?

‘Unless you want me to of course,’ she continued with a smile. ‘But it’s up to you. I’ve got nothing, you’ve got everything. If I were you I’d do the smart thing and go back to your wife.’

They lapsed into silence, staring once more at the odd cracks in the ceiling. A new future was being offered to him. It was completely insane of course and yet strangely made sense. But would he have the courage to seize it?

DC Grounds stood and stared. He had never seen anything quite like it. It was utter carnage.

Anton Gardiner had proved an elusive figure in death, as he was in life – he liked to move base constantly to keep the police and his competitors guessing. He didn’t own any property, preferring short-term rentals, so that if he did have to vanish suddenly, he wouldn’t be left out of pocket. And in the end this had provided DS Bridges and his team with the breakthrough they needed. Anton Gardiner only dealt in cash, didn’t like the trail that cheques and credit cards left, so a few hours hammering the phones, pressuring landlords into giving up the details of anyone who’d paid in cash for a short rental in the last twelve months – who might match Anton’s description – had eventually yielded a result.

The landlord had been only too happy to help, opening up the basement flat on Castle Road for their inspection. But he was as shocked by what greeted them as Bridges was. Chairs were smashed, tables turned over, the only bed lay upside down on the floor, a shredded mattress lying on top of it – it was as if someone had declared war on the flat and shown it no mercy.

In the bedroom, beneath the ravaged bed, was a dirty, brown stain that spread out in a jagged circle of at least a metre’s diameter. DC Grounds instructed one of his officers to call for a SOC team, but he didn’t need anyone else to tell him it was dried blood. Someone had bled out in this dingy room.

The stained patch of carpet was one of the few areas that hadn’t been turned over. Even here, in this tiny room, the wardrobe had been smashed up, the corners of the carpet lifted. Scanning the other rooms in the flat, DS Bridges digested these developments. Two things were abundantly clear. First, someone – probably Gardiner – had been attacked and killed here. And second, someone had been looking for something.

But what was it? And why were they prepared to kill to get it?

‘Are you absolutely sure?’

Helen was aware that she had raised her voice – several heads had popped up in the incident room – so she lowered her voice and continued the conversation, pushing the door of her office shut.

‘One hundred per cent,’ said the voice on the other end of the phone. It belonged to Meredith Walker, chief forensics officer at Southampton Central. ‘We compared the DNA from the saliva on Gareth’s Hill’s face with the DNA harvested from the two sources of blood on Anton Gardiner’s body. There’s no match. If the blood under Gardiner’s fingernails is that of his killer, then he was killed by somebody else.’

‘Not by Angel?’

‘Doesn’t look that way. We’re running it through the database to see if we can get a match. I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything.’

Helen ended the call. Once again this case had taken a lurch sideways. Whenever they seemed to get close to Angel, she drifted away from them again. Marching out of her office, she called Charlie over. Her news was hardly better – they were still no nearer to unmasking the other Bitchfest forum users. Which meant there was only one avenue to explore.

‘Ask Sanderson to take over the search for now and come with me,’ Helen said to Charlie. ‘You and I have got a date with a liar.’

‘Hello, Hammer.’

Jason Robins spun round to see Helen and Charlie entering his office. Rising from his desk, he hurried towards then past them, shutting his office door quietly but firmly.

‘Who let you in?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you need a warrant or something?’

‘We’ve just come for a chat. We told the girls at reception that we needed to speak to you urgently on a police matter and once they saw our warrant cards they were more than happy to let us in.’

Jason shot a look at the secretaries, who were now gossiping at their desks.

‘I could do you lot for harassment. I’ve already had this one,’ he said, gesturing at Charlie, ‘emailing me day and night, phone calls… it’s not on.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but “this one” has some more questions for you,’ Charlie countered. ‘Questions about Angel.’

‘Not this again.’

‘I have a picture that I would like you to look at.’

‘I’ve told you I don’t know this “Angel” -’

‘Here,’ Charlie continued, ignoring his protests and holding out the e-fit of Lyra. Reluctantly, Jason took it.