M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

‘Do you recognize this woman? Is she Angel?’

Jason looked up at Helen. Sweat was starting to form on his brow.

‘For the last time, I never used Angel. I never met her. I was the victim of identity theft. Someone cloned my credit card and used it to -’

‘So why haven’t you reported it?’ Helen barked, her irritation puncturing her professional poise.

‘Sorry?’

‘We spoke to your bank. Turns out you never reported any fraudulent activity on your card. In fact you’ve continued using it since our last interview. At Morrisons, at Boots, shall I go on?’

For once Jason had nothing to say.

‘I’m going to give you one last chance, Jason. And if you don’t cut the crap and tell me about Angel right now , I am going to arrest you for obstruction of justice,’ Helen continued, her volume rising. ‘I’m going to march you out in front of all your colleagues, but I’ll make sure to leave DS Brooks behind. A few well-chosen questions from her will leave them in absolutely no doubt that their boss likes to sleep with prostitutes and then brag about it to other sad men online. We may even accidentally direct them to some of your posts. I’m sure they’d love to know more about Hammer and his big co-’

‘All right, all right, keep your bloody voice down,’ Jason begged, shooting another look at his colleagues on the other side of the glass. Many of them were blatantly staring.

‘Can we go somewhere else?’ he entreated.

‘No. Start talking.’

Jason looked like he was about to protest, then slumped back into his chair.

‘I never used her.’

‘What?’

‘I never slept with Angel. In fact I only met her once.’

‘But your posts said you slept with her many times,’ Charlie interjected. ‘That you’d had her “every which way”.’

There was a long silence. Jason’s sweaty face was now pink with shame.

‘I lied. I never slept with her. I’ve never slept with a prostitute.’

‘You made all that stuff up?’ Helen replied, incredulous.

Charlie nodded, head hanging.

‘I told the other guys what they wanted to hear.’

‘The other guys on the forum? “PussyKing”, “fillyerboots” -’

‘Yes. I wanted to fit in. I wanted them to like me.’

Helen shot a look at Charlie. His loneliness was tragic and for the first time Helen felt an ounce of pity for this divorcee.

‘When did you meet Angel?’

‘Four days ago. One of the other boys told me where I’d find her, so I went out looking. And there she was.’

‘What happened?’

‘I picked her up. We drove towards the Common.’

‘And?’

‘She wanted to talk. Was asking me questions. Small talk, you know. Then… then she asked me if I was married. And I don’t know why but it just hit me like a brick.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It set me off. It was just a simple question, but…’

Jason paused, emotion at the memory ambushing him now.

‘But I started crying.’

Finally he looked up. Helen was struck by the desperation in his expression.

‘I told her everything. How I missed my wife. How I missed Emily.’

‘What did she do?’

‘Not a lot. She didn’t like me talking like that. She said a couple of things – “you’ll get over it”, stuff like that – then asked me to stop the car.’

‘Then what?’

‘She got out. She got out and walked away. And that’s the last time I saw her, I swear to God.’

Helen nodded.

‘I believe you, Jason, and I know it’s hard to talk about. But the truth is you had a very lucky escape. Believe me, things could have been a lot worse.’

‘And she’s been… all these guys in the paper?’

‘Yes, which is why it’s so important we find her. So please take a good look at the picture and tell me – is that Angel?’

Jason picked up the e-fit once more. He took a good look at it and then said:

‘No.’

Charlie shot a look at Helen, a look pregnant with alarm, but Helen ignored it. She could feel the case once more unravelling in front of her.

‘Look again. Lyra Campbell is our number one suspect. This is a very good likeness, are you sure that’s not Angel?’

‘Absolutely. It looks nothing like her.’

And in that moment Helen knew they were back to square one.

Helen cursed herself bitterly. It was so obvious to her now how she and the rest of the team had been played . Sending Charlie back to base to gather the necessary evidence, Helen headed straight to the safe house, flanked by a pair of uniformed officers. Up until now Melissa had been treated like royalty – Helen wondered how she’d react to being bundled into the back of a squad car with a pair of cuffs on.

At first it seemed as if there was no one at home. Helen knocked on the door furiously – had Melissa somehow found out and done a runner? The officers outside insisted she hadn’t left the building, but you could never be sure. Eventually, however, an eye appeared at the spyhole and then Melissa’s throaty voice could be heard, asking accusingly who it was and what they wanted. She was surprised to find it was Helen. She was even more surprised – and aggrieved – to find herself in the interrogation room of Southampton Central half an hour later with the questions raining down on her.

‘Why did you do it, Melissa?’

‘Do what? What am I s’posed to have done?’

She spat the question back at Helen as if offended by the very implication of any wrongdoing. She really was in a vile mood.

‘Why did you kill Anton Gardiner?’

‘Do me a favour.’

‘Did he hurt you? Did you need money?’

‘I never touched him.’

Helen stared at her. Reaching to her right, she pulled a sheet of paper from her file.

‘We’ve just received the full analysis of the blood found on Anton Gardiner’s body. As you’d expect, he had a lot of his own blood on him – not surprising, given the level of violence visited on him. But there was another source of blood. There were traces of it beneath Anton’s fingernails and even on two of his teeth, it appears he scratched and bit his attacker as he tried to defend himself.’

Helen let that land, then continued:

It’s your blood, Melissa.’

‘Like fuck it is.’

‘I should say at this point that it would be advisable for you to have a lawyer present -’

‘I don’t need a lawyer. Who’s been spreading lies about me?’

‘We’ve got a match, Melissa. We ran the blood DNA analysis through the Police National Computer and your name came up.’

Melissa glared, admitting nothing. Helen continued, pulling more sheets from her file:

‘Three years ago you were involved in an altercation with another sex worker – Abigail Stevens. An argument over a client. She accused you of ABH, you did the same and, as is normal in these cases, both of you were asked for a DNA sample, which was taken via a mouth swab. It’s standard practice to keep those on the national database for ten years.’

Helen let this sink in before continuing:

‘Now maybe you thought we’d got rid of it, perhaps you’d forgotten you’d ever even given it, but the fact remains it’s your blood.’

Melissa was about to interrupt, but Helen steamrollered over her.

‘You killed Anton Gardiner and buried him at the old cinema. Then you heard the derelict building was coming up for sale. This gave you a bit of a problem, so when the chance came to palm your murder off on someone else you took it. Anton was never one of Angel’s victims, he was yours.’