M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

‘You better have proof or you’ll regret this.’

‘One of my officers carried out a search this morning of an address in Bitterne Park. Last known sighting of Anton put him near a basement flat he rented on Castle Road. The place had been torn apart, turned upside down, and there were historic traces of congealed blood in the bedroom. Lots of it. Yours and Anton’s? We should have the analysis of those back shortly.’

Melissa scowled. But Helen had seen her reaction to the mention of Castle Road and knew she had her on the run now.

‘Anton didn’t like to put down roots, did he? He was a man who liked to move around, cultivate an air of mystery. And there was a rumour that where he went, his cash went too. He didn’t believe in banks, did he? And he always slept with a knife on his pillow. Now maybe you put two and two together or perhaps you heard the rumour. Either way you needed the money, didn’t you?’

‘You’re talking out of your fat arse.’

‘You had been evicted from your bedsit for non-payment of rent and had large drug debts. You needed money. And Anton’s stash fitted the bill perfectly. How much did he have?’

Melissa was about to respond, but swallowed it just in time. Clearly not enough, Helen thought, if the stash ever existed. Had she tortured and murdered her pimp for nothing?

There was a long, long pause, before Melissa finally replied:

‘No comment.’

‘I’m going to suggest we break now. During this interval you will have a chance to call a lawyer, which I strongly recommend you do. When we come back I’m going to caution you, then formally arrest you on suspicion of murder, GBH, wrongful imprisonment, theft and perverting the course of justice. Not to mention wasting police time. How does that sound?’

Finally, Helen’s anger peeped through and Melissa was onto it in a shot. She was up on her feet, jabbing her finger at Helen across the table.

‘Get Bridges.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Get Tony Bridges. He’ll sort this out.’

‘What do you -’

‘Get him. NOW!’

As Helen walked back to the incident room, a dozen different scenarios spun round her mind, each one worse than the last. What did Melissa mean? What had Tony done? And why was she so confident he could straighten this out for her?

She pulled the freezer door open and let her forehead rest on the cool interior. Her head throbbed, the livid bruises on her face pulsed and she felt that she might be sick at any moment. The freezer compartment had frosted up through neglect and it felt like a cool, round hand cupping her face. For a moment, she felt at peace, almost calm. But then the cries started up again and reality bit.

Opening the fridge door, she pulled a Coke from the shelf. She drank it down in one go. Then, turning, she walked out, leaving the fridge door ajar, its weak light giving the dirty lino a sickly yellow hue.

Amelia was lying on the bed, screaming with hunger. She stared down at her baby for a minute, hating its dependence on her. Why her? Why couldn’t this girl have been born to someone proper? Someone decent? She was the offspring of a whore and a killer. Damned before she’d even started.

Her head screamed worse than ever as the baby’s cries rose in volume, so she quickly scooped her up and in one easy motion lifted up her top and guided Amelia’s puckering mouth to her nipple. As her baby began to feed, she felt lightheaded and dizzy. She hadn’t slept at all last night, consumed with rage and despair, and now she felt weak and unsteady. Settling Amelia in the crook of her arm, she wriggled her way up the bed, so she could rest her head for a few moments. Amelia’s tight grip on her nipple never weakened, the child blissfully unaware of her mother’s anguish.

When she awoke moments later, Amelia was lying in her arms, sated and asleep, the milky residue of her feed coating her lips.

During the course of the night, she had thought of many ways to deal with her problem. At first she thought about leaving Amelia on the steps of South Hants Hospital or even giving her to someone in the street, but she knew she didn’t want to hand her over to strangers now. She had lost faith in the milk of human kindness. Who knew what they might do to her? What torments she might endure? She couldn’t go back to her family obviously, so that meant it was down to her.

After that, it was just a question of how she would do it. She couldn’t strike her. Couldn’t face the prospect of using a pillow either. Despite everything, she knew her nerve would fail her. Better to do it during a feed. Amelia liked the bottle well enough and if she crushed up the pills small… The chemist’s would be open soon and she could get what she needed. Then it would all be over.

As simple as that. And yet she knew it would be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do. She knew she was bringing peace, so why did it twist her guts to think about it? She had killed without qualm, had enjoyed exterminating those filthy little weasels who called themselves fathers and husbands. Pop, pop, pop. But now she hesitated. It was not just that the baby was her flesh and blood – it was what she felt. She had fought it for months now, had tried to make herself hate the little thing, but she couldn’t deny it any more. She felt pity for it.

And that was an emotion she hadn’t felt for a long, long time.

‘I’m going to make this easy for you. Here.’

Tony Bridges slipped an envelope across the pub table. Helen didn’t break eye contact, trying to see inside the man she had always trusted.

‘It’s my resignation letter,’ Tony continued.

Helen hesitated, then finally dropped her gaze. Opening the envelope, she scanned the letter.

‘Tony, this is premature. You’ve messed up big time, but maybe there’s a way we can deal with this, take you off operational duty, get you a desk job -’

‘No. I need to go. It’s best for me. And you. I… I need time to be with Nicola. I need to tell her what’s happened. And see if I can earn her forgiveness. It’s time for me to put her first for a change.’

Helen could see he was resolute. She was gutted to lose one of her best officers – one of her best friends at the station – but he had made his mind up and there was no point fighting him.

‘I thought you’d try and talk me round, so I also dropped a copy into Harwood’s office on the way here.’

Helen couldn’t help but smile. This was typical Tony – diligent to the end.

‘What happened, Tony?’

Tony looked her straight in the eye as he responded, refusing to duck his responsibility:

‘I was weak. I wanted her and… It’s not an excuse, but my life has been so… barren. So empty. And she offered me something I didn’t have. Truth is, I’d probably still be with her if she hadn’t… I needed to do it. Needed to remind myself what’s important. What I love. I know now that I want Nicola. I want her to be happy, us to be happy. I’ve got some money put away, so… so I’m going to spend some time with my wife.’

Helen was struck by his sense of purpose. For a man who’d been so lost, who’d fucked up so badly, Tony was suddenly completely clear in his mind what needed to be done. His strength of feeling was admirable, but it was still a terrible waste.

‘I know I could try and wheedle my way out of it, but I’ve betrayed my wife and I’ve betrayed the Force. When I first sat down with Melissa I told her about Angel – what we knew, what we didn’t know – and she created Lyra to fill in the gaps. Told me what I wanted to hear. She would never have been able to lead us down a blind alley if I hadn’t revealed things, confidential things, about the investigation. I was suckered by the oldest trick in the book. To protect you, to protect the team, it’s best I go.’