M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

Helen put a comforting hand on Charlie’s arm.

‘Thank you.’

‘And if you need to talk…’

‘Sure.’

Helen turned to go.

‘And how are you?’

Helen paused, surprised by Charlie’s question. Her eyes strayed to the newsagent’s across the road and the Evening News board, which promised more revelations about Robert and Marianne. It wasn’t hard to work out why Charlie was asking.

‘I don’t know how she does it.’

‘Who?’

‘Garanita. She knows where I go, what I do. Who I see. She knows everything . It’s like she’s climbed inside of me and… I don’t know how she does it.’

‘A leak in the team?’

‘No… this isn’t just about the investigation. It’s about me. Personal stuff. She’s just a ghost following me into every room of my life.’

Helen hated looking lost in front of Charlie, but there was no point concealing her profound hurt from someone who’d been through hell with her already.

‘You’ve beaten worse than her. You mustn’t let her win.’

Helen nodded. She knew Charlie was right but it was hard to be optimistic when she was so badly on the back foot.

‘She’s a worm,’ Charlie continued. ‘She’s not worthy to stand on the same street as you. Whatever she’s got, you’re Helen Grace. You’re a hero. No one will ever be able to destroy that. I believe in you and so should you.’

Helen looked up, grateful for Charlie’s support.

‘As for Emilia Garanita,’ Charlie continued. ‘She’ll get hers soon enough. Her sort always do.’

Charlie smiled and Helen responded. Shortly after, the two women parted.

Walking back to the station Helen was momentarily buoyed up – pleased to have received a pep talk from a woman she had tried so hard to push away. Reaching the atrium, she realized that her phone had been switched off since the news of Robert’s identity had broken. Turning it back on, a host of voicemail messages sprang up and with them the text from Robert.

It read simply: ‘Fuck you.’

It was late when Charlie got home. The clock read 11.15 p.m. and the house was quiet. There was no sign of -

‘Hello.’

Charlie jumped out of her skin as Steve’s voice rang out. She turned to find him sitting in darkness in the living room. She crossed the room, flicking on the lights. He frowned, offended by the harsh glare of the halogen.

‘I’ve been waiting for you for hours, but I guess you were working late.’

His tone was neutral and there was none of the bitterness Charlie had been expecting. Still, his even tone unnerved her. He sounded business-like.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked. She felt that something momentous – something bad? – was about to be said, but she was still so relieved that he had come home.

‘At Richard’s.’

His best friend. Charlie had called him when looking for Steve, and he had lied to her. She was not surprised.

‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And I’ve come to a decision,’ Steve continued.

Charlie tensed, saying nothing.

‘I want to have a child, Charlie.’ Now it was his turn to sound upset. ‘I want a baby with you more than anything else in the world. But we can’t do that when you’re working like this, putting yourself in harm’s way every day. I can’t go there again. Do you understand?’

Charlie nodded.

‘I’m asking you to leave. So we can have the life we always wanted. And if you can’t do that, or won’t… then I don’t think I can stay.’

There it was. The ultimatum that had been coming for eighteen months.

This, then, was Marianne’s legacy.

It was past midnight and the incident room was deserted. Those officers who weren’t chasing up leads were asleep in bed, aware that another punishing day awaited them tomorrow. Helen had gathered up the case files and was looking for something to put them in. It wasn’t good practice to remove them from the station but she wanted to take them home and pore over them once more with a fresh pair of eyes. Once again, she cursed herself for having been led so easily down a blind alley.

Clip clop. Clip clop.

Someone was coming down the deserted corridor.

Detective Superintendent Ceri Harwood. Immediately Helen’s defences were raised. She hadn’t seen or heard Harwood for a while and that suddenly made her very nervous.

‘Working late?’ Harwood asked.

‘Just finishing. You?’

‘Yes, but that’s not really why I’m here so late. I wanted to talk to you alone and it seems the witching hour is the best time to find you.’

A little insult casually thrown in. Helen had a nasty feeling she was being ambushed.

‘I didn’t want to do this when the team were here. These things are best done… gracefully.’

‘Meaning?’ Helen replied.

‘I’m taking you off the case.’

There it was – out in the open.

‘On what grounds?’

‘On the grounds that you’ve ballsed up, Helen. We have no suspect, no one in custody and five bodies on the slab. And I have a chief investigating officer who’s been so distracted protecting her bad-seed nephew that she failed to spot that her own deputy was fucking a key witness.’

‘I think you’re being unfair. We’ve made mistakes but we are closer than we’ve ever been to finding her. We’re in the endgame now and with the greatest of respect, I would sug-’

‘Don’t pretend you’ve ever had any respect for me, Helen. I know what you think. And if you’d even vaguely tried to hide your… contempt, it might not have come to this. But the truth is that you’re bad news, Helen. You spread contagion wherever you go and I have no confidence in your leadership of this investigation. Which is why I was forced to go to the police commissioner.’

‘Who’s taking over?’

‘I am.’

Helen smiled bitterly.

‘So just as we are finally getting close you climb on board? Is this how you work? Is this how you’ve climbed so high without ever actually doing anything?’

‘Be careful, Helen.’

‘You’re a glory hunter. A parasite.’

‘Call me what you will. But I am now in charge and you are out.’

Harwood paused, enjoying her moment of victory.

‘I’ll handle the press -’

‘I bet you will.’

‘And I’ll tell the team tomorrow morning first thing. Why don’t you tidy up here and take a week’s leave? We’ll find something else for you when you come back. Perhaps you can tidy up the Alexia Louszko murder?’

‘You’ll be lucky if you see me here again.’

‘That’s entirely your decision, Helen.’

Having said her piece, she left, flinging a cursory ‘goodnight’ over her shoulder. Helen watched her go, a riot of emotions firing through her as she realized the comprehensive nature of her defeat. She had been routed. The investigation and her career were now in ruins and there was nothing she could do about it.

She wouldn’t look at him. However much he begged her to, she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes stared resolutely at the window, seeing nothing. Tony Bridges walked round to the other side of the bed, but as he neared Nicola’s line of vision, she swivelled her glance the other way. As she did so, tears ran down her cheeks.

Tony was crying too. He had started to weep before he’d even finished his confession. An overwhelming sense of shame had crept up on him, making his mea culpa faltering and ragged. He had seen alarm in Nicola’s eyes at first – concern perhaps that a family member had died or he’d lost his job – but slowly her eyes had hardened and narrowed as the nature of his crime became clear. So they remained apart in the small room, more apart than they had ever been in their whole married life.