M. Arlidge - Pop Goes the Weasel

What could he say to her? How could he make things right? He had sought in the arms of another woman something that his wife would never be able to give him.

‘I know you probably hate me. And if you want me to leave, then I won’t fight you. But I want to be here. I’ve resigned from the Force, so I can start to repair the damage I’ve done, make some changes to my life, be the husband you deserve.’

Nicola stared resolutely at the open doorway.

‘I want to be how we were before. The early days when we never spent a night apart, lived in each other’s pockets. I… I made a big mistake and though I can never make up for it… I’d like it to be a new beginning for me. For us.’

Tony hung his head, once more ambushed by the possibility that Nicola would call time on their marriage and throw him out on the street. Why had he been so stupid? So selfish?

Still Nicola refused to react. In conversation, she would normally blink once for yes and twice for no, but so far her eyes had remained resolutely still. Her cheeks were wet, so Tony reached out to pat them dry with a tissue. Nicola closed her eyes and held them shut, refusing to look at him as he stroked her cheek.

‘Maybe you’ll never want me again, but I want to try. I really want to try. I’m not going to force it on you and if you want me to go and get your mother now, tell her what’s happened, then I will. But if you want me, then let me try to make things better. No more nights apart, no more snatched conversations. No more carers, no more strangers. Just you, me… and Charles Dickens.’

He walked round to the head of the bed and for the first time today she didn’t look away.

‘It’s up to you, love. I’m in your hands. Will you let me try?’

The silence in the room was all-consuming – all Tony could hear was his heart thumping. He felt like he was about to burst, but then Nicola’s eyelid finally moved.

It came down once and stayed shut.

The Student Counselling Centre was situated at the scruffy end of Highfield Road in Portswood. It was close to the Southampton University campus, but also served students from Solent University and the National Oceanography Centre – if they could be bothered to trek that far north. DC Sanderson stood outside it now, rolling back and forth on the balls of her tired feet, as she waited for Jackie Greene to turn up. Students are night owls and counsellors are often kept up late as a result but still it irritated Sanderson that Greene was late. She was a grown woman – the centre’s Head of Service and its most experienced counsellor – surely she could be on time for a meeting with the police?

When the overweight Ms Greene eventually turned up, the reason for her tardiness quickly became clear. She didn’t really like the police. Was this because of her left-wing politics (there were NUS and Greenpeace stickers all over her desktop computer) or her solidarity with the students, who she believed had been roughed up by the police during recent demonstrations against cutbacks at the university? Either way she was not keen to help. But Sanderson didn’t mind. She was in a bad mood and up for a challenge.

‘We are focusing on female students who are, or have been, sex workers. She probably uses drugs and alcohol, may be prone to violence, and we believe recently had a baby.’

‘That’s a lot of “may” and “probably”,’ Greene replied unhelpfully. ‘Have you spoken to the local maternity units?’

‘Of course, but your organization caters for the whole student population and as such you’re best placed to help us,’ Sanderson replied, dismissing Greene’s attempt to deflect her questions.

‘What makes you think she’s a student?’

‘We don’t know that she is. But she’s young, articulate and very computer literate. This is not some brainless kid who dropped out of school. This is someone who had – has – a lot to offer but has gone very badly off the rails. If she does or did have a baby it’s essential we find her as soon as possible. We have an e-fit here that I’d like you to look at, to see if it jogs any memories.’

Jackie Greene took the e-fit.

‘She’s probably heavily bruised or injured following a recent fight. If anyone like this has called or visited you -’

‘I don’t recognize her.’

‘Look again.’

‘Why? I’ve told you once I don’t recognize her. So unless you’re doubting my word -’

‘I’m not sure you realize how serious this is. There are five people dead already and there will be more unless she is apprehended, so I want you to think. Has your organization been contacted by a student working in the sex industry who fits this description?’

‘God, you really have no idea, do you?’ Greene replied, shaking her head.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘We have dozens… scores of girls matching that description phoning us every week. Do you know how expensive it is doing a degree these days? I’m guessing not.’

Sanderson let the insult ride over.

‘Go on.’

‘I’m not going to give you names. The sessions are completely confidential, you should know that.’

‘And you should know that in extraordinary circumstances – which these most definitely are – I can apply for an order of court forcing you to open up your files. Which means that we will pore over every detail of every student who’s ever got in touch with you.’

‘You can threaten me all you like. I’m not giving you names.’

‘I’ll ask you again. Has anyone matching the description been in touch?’

‘Are you deaf, dear? There are lots of girls who match the description. They run out of money, turn to prostitution, can’t handle it, but by that point it’s too late. So they drink or take drugs to deal with it and many suffer violence, rape and pregnancy scares along the way. Some of these girls have courses that are six, seven years long, and Mum and Dad can’t pay for them and the government’s sure as hell not going to help them so what can they do?’

Sanderson felt a little tingle down her spine, as a thought took hold.

‘Back up a minute. Would you say that girls with longer courses are more likely to fall into prostitution?’

‘Of course. Makes sense, doesn’t it? It costs them tens of thousands of pounds to finish a course like that and prostitution pays better than bar work, so…’

‘And what sort of courses last that long?’

‘Vets, some engineering degrees, but mostly it’s the doctors. Medicine.’

‘And have you recently had a medical student get in touch who might match our description?’

‘More than one. But as I said I’m not giving you any names.’

Jackie Greene sat back in her seat, arms folded, daring Sanderson to go and get a warrant. She would if she had to, but Sanderson had another thought on how she could get what she needed. She left the Counselling Centre and headed for the university’s main administration building. An image was forming in her head and she wanted to run it to ground as quickly as possible. After all, who better to carry out a DIY thoracotomy than a former medical student?

She should have gone hours ago, but still Helen couldn’t leave. It was nearly 9 a.m. – the team would be assembling now – and Harwood would no doubt wait until they were all there before sweeping in and taking control. She was good at timing these things to maximum effect. She would get one of the startled team to bring her up to speed, before issuing tasks. All of which meant Helen had an hour, two tops, before she was out for good.