Pop Goes the Weasel: DI Helen Grace 2 (Dci Helen Grace 2)

by M. J. Arlidge

  He was weak. His face was sticky with blood, his mouth horribly parched. But still he tried to get up. Only to find he was held firm. Looking around he saw his arms were tied together with thick green wire and secured to the wall behind him. He was naked and stretched out on the mattress, his clothes nowhere in sight. He tried to shout at her, only to become aware of the tape stuck firmly over his mouth.

  ‘You pathetic little shit.’

  Simon Booker jumped as her venom broke the silence.

  ‘You sad little lowlife.’

  She was walking towards him, the iron bar still in her hand. She tossed it from hand to hand.

  ‘Did you think you could trick me?’

  Simon shook his head vigorously.

  ‘You did, didn’t you?’

  He shook his head even harder.

  ‘Trick me, then attack me?’

  She swung the bar down as hard as she could on to his kneecap. He screamed, the duct tape enveloping his agony, making it hard to breathe. Now she brought it down on his other kneecap, the bone crunching on impact. Simon howled once more, trying to turn his body from the blows that rained down on his legs, his thighs, his chest. Again and again and again. She paused briefly, shouted something unintelligible, then swung the bar between his splayed legs to connect with his groin.

  He screamed fit to burst, as tears flooded his eyes.

  ‘What the fuck did you think you were doing?’ she bellowed at him before laughing. ‘Oh boy, you are going to pay for that. I’m going to send you back to your frigid wife in pieces, right?’

  The tears were pouring down his face now, but they seemed to have no impact on her. She raised the bar to strike his face, then suddenly paused, reining in the tempest of violence that threatened to overwhelm her. Breathing heavily, she turned and put the iron bar in her rucksack.

  The respite was brief, however, as she now drew a long knife from her bag. Feeling its blade with her gloved finger, she turned to her victim. Marching over, she held the blade to his throat. He prayed for her to do it, to end his suffering right now. A little more pressure would sever his carotid artery and that would be that.

  But Angel had other ideas. Raising the blade, she crouched down, rocking back and forward on her haunches. A smile danced around the corners of her mouth.

  ‘You’ve paid for a whole hour, so we might as well have a little fun, mightn’t we?’

  And with that the butchery began.

  64

  Helen had only just returned to Southampton Central when she got the call from Tony Bridges. She and Charlie had been running over the latest leads on the other forum users – BlackArrow had scaled down his posting, but the obsessive PussyKing was still giving them plenty to work with – but Helen abandoned the search now without a second thought. Half an hour later, she was alongside Tony in the interview room – Melissa sat opposite, cradling a mug of tea.

  ‘Tell me about Lyra Campbell.’

  ‘Money first.’

  Helen slid the fat envelope across the table. Melissa counted the notes quickly then stuffed the cash into her bag.

  ‘She’s from London, I think. Not sure where exactly, but she talks like a Londoner. Like you.’

  Despite Helen’s many years in Southampton, her South London accent had never entirely deserted her.

  ‘Did a bit of streetwalking up there, then came down to Portsmouth with a boyfriend. When that didn’t work out, she moved to Southampton.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘’Bout a year ago. Ended up working in the same gang as me.’

  Melissa sniffed and took a swig of her tea. She hadn’t once looked up. It was as if mumbling at the floor might prevent Lyra hearing her betrayal.

  ‘Which gang?’ Tony queried.

  ‘Anton Gardiner.’

  Tony looked at Helen. The name was familiar to both of them. Anton Gardiner was a violent drug dealer and pimp who ran girls in the south of the city. He worked alone and lived in the shadows, occasionally attracting the attention of the police by acts of incredible violence against his girls or his rivals. He was rumoured to be wealthy but as he didn’t believe in banks, this was hard to confirm. What was undoubtedly true was that he was sadistic, unpredictable and unbalanced. He often picked up girls from care homes and shelters – which meant that Helen had a particular hatred of him.

  ‘Why did she choose Anton?’

  ‘She wanted drugs, he could get them.’

  ‘And how did they get on?’ Tony continued. Melissa just smiled and shook her head – no one ‘got on’ with Anton.

  ‘Where is Lyra now?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Don’t know. Haven’t seen her in over a month.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She took off. Had a row with Anton and then …’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About why he was such a sadistic fuck.’

  For the first time, Melissa looked up. Her eyes flashed with anger.

  ‘Go on,’ Helen continued.

  ‘Do you know what he does to his new girls?’

  Helen shook her head. She had to ask, but didn’t really want to know.

  ‘He gets them to strip, then bend over and hold their ankles. He tells them they have to stay like that the whole day. He leaves you alone for the first few hours. Leaves you until your legs are cramping, your back is in agony and just when you can’t take it any longer, he does you. An hour later, he does you again. Over and over. That’s how he breaks you.’

  It was clear that Melissa was talking from personal experience, her voice trembling as she spoke.

  ‘And if you ever step out of line or don’t bring in enough cash, he does the same again. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone. He just wants the money.’

  ‘So what did he do when Lyra left?’

  ‘No idea. Ain’t seen him.’

  ‘You’ve not seen him since?’ Helen said, suddenly alert.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I need you to be clear on this one, Melissa. Did you see Anton during or after his confrontation with Lyra?’

  ‘No. She told me about it, not him.’

  ‘Did you look for him?’

  ‘Not at first. You don’t go looking for someone like that. But after a few days, I asked a few questions. I needed a fix. But he wasn’t at any of his usual places.’

  ‘Do you know where Lyra might be hiding out?’

  ‘Probably somewhere near Portswood. She always lived round there. Never told me where she was sleeping.’

  ‘And when she was working, did she call herself Lyra?’

  ‘No, that was just between us. When she was on the job, she was always Angel. An Angel sent from heaven, she used to tell the punters. They loved that.’

  Helen called time on the interview shortly afterwards. It was very late and Melissa was completely drained. There would be time for more later and, besides, the priority now was to get an e-fit that they could release to the public. She sent Tony and Melissa to a custody suite with a police artist, then returned to her office. She wouldn’t sleep tonight, so there was no point going home.

  Had they just made the breakthrough that would bring this awful killing spree to an end? All this time they had been trying to get a handle on what had triggered this explosion of violence. Had Anton been the unwitting trigger? Had he precipitated this savage rage? If so, chances were he was lying dead in a fleapit somewhere. Helen wouldn’t mourn him, but she needed to find him if the pieces of this jigsaw were to fit together.

  Her phone rang, making her jump. Jake again. He’d left a number of messages, wondering why she hadn’t been to see him, checking if she was ok. Were his enquiries genuine or the product of a guilty conscience? Helen surprised herself by not wanting to know. Normally she would tackle everything head on, but not this time. This time she didn’t want to in case the answer upset her. Her mind shifted to thoughts of Emilia. What was she up to right now? Was she contemplating pardoning Helen or busy planning her execution? If she printed her story, H
elen would be off the case. She couldn’t allow that to happen, not now they were finally making progress, but nevertheless she hadn’t backed down. She’d seen other officers make a deal with the devil and within months they’d become irredeemably compromised, often corrupt. There was nothing to do in these circumstances but tough it out and see who was still standing at the end.

  Helen grabbed a coffee and headed back to the incident room. There was no time for fear or introspection now – there was work to be done. Somewhere out there was an avenging Angel with a taste for blood.

  65

  The house was quiet when Charlie returned home. Steve had eaten and gone to bed – the kitchen was scrupulously clean as it always was when he was in charge. Charlie picked at a few leftovers, then headed upstairs to shower. The hot water pummelled her, briefly reviving her, but she was utterly spent and hurried to bed.

  Steve didn’t stir as she entered, so she crept into bed as quietly as she could. They weren’t sleeping in separate beds, which was one small mercy, but communication between them was almost non-existent. Ever since she’d decided to answer Helen’s plea to return to the investigation, Steve had made little attempt to hide his anger and disappointment. It was unbearably sad that just as Charlie was finally finding her feet at work, her domestic life was falling apart. Why couldn’t things just work out for once? What did she have to do to be happy?

  She lay awake staring at the ceiling. Steve stirred as he often did and Charlie flicked a glance at him. She was surprised – and unnerved – to find him staring at her.

  ‘Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ she said softly.

  ‘I wasn’t asleep.’

  ‘Oh.’ Charlie couldn’t read him in the half-light. He didn’t seem angry, but he didn’t seem friendly either.

  ‘I’ve been lying awake thinking.’

  ‘Right. What about?’

  ‘About us.’

  Charlie said nothing in response, unsure where this was going.

  ‘I want us to be happy, Charlie.’

  Tears suddenly filled Charlie’s eyes. They were tears of happiness and tears of relief.

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘I want to forget all the stuff that’s happened and be like we were before. To live the life we always wanted to lead.’

  ‘Me too,’ Charlie said, just about managing to get the words out. She clung to Steve now and he to her.

  ‘And I want us to try for a baby.’

  Charlie’s sobbing subsided slightly, but she said nothing.

  ‘We always wanted kids. We can’t be ruled by bad things that happened before, we have a life to lead. I want to have a baby with you, Charlie. I want us to start trying again.’

  Charlie buried her head in Steve’s chest. The truth was that she desperately wanted a baby too, desperately wanted them to be a happy normal family. But she was also aware that this wasn’t compatible with her career and that Steve had just thrown down the gauntlet.

  He would never put it so crudely, but Steve had just told Charlie that it was time to choose.

  66

  The eyes. It was all there in the eyes. Set in a slender face and framed by long, black tresses, they demanded your attention, fixing you with an intense piercing gaze. There were other features that should have drawn your attention – the full lips, the strong nose, the slightly pointed chin – but it was those big, beautiful eyes and the intensity of her stare that gripped you.

  ‘How accurate a likeness is this?’ said Ceri Harwood, looking up from the e-fit that she’d been studying.

  ‘Very,’ Helen replied. ‘Melissa was up all night with our best artist. I only let her go once we were one hundred per cent sure we’d got it right.’

  ‘And what do we know about Lyra Campbell?’

  ‘Not a lot, but we’re working on it. We’ve got uniform out looking for Anton Gardiner and this morning we’re going to sweep his area of operation, talk to every girl who’s ever worked for him, see if anyone can tell us any more about her.’

  ‘And what’s your working theory?’

  ‘In some ways it’s not that extraordinary. She falls into prostitution, then makes another bad choice in taking Anton as her pimp. Her brutalizes her. This in combination with the job takes its toll on her psychologically. The drug and alcohol abuse, the stress, the sexual assaults, the diseases and then one day Anton crosses the line. Does something to her that makes her snap. She attacks him, probably kills him. Either way she takes out the years of misery on him and this sets her off. We know from forensics that she talks or shouts at her victims – perhaps she denigrates them, revenges herself upon them …’

  ‘The floodgates have opened and now she can’t stop?’ Harwood interrupted.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You sound almost … sympathetic towards her?’

  ‘I am. She wouldn’t be doing this unless she’d been to hell and back, but my real sympathies lie with Eileen Matthews and Jessica Reid and the others. Lyra is a vicious killer who won’t stop until we bring her in.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. To that end I’m going to suggest that I take today’s press conference, whilst you get out there and lead the team. Time is of the essence and I want the press and the public to know that our very best people are on the case.’

  The was a brief, pregnant pause, before Helen replied:

  ‘It is customary for the senior investigating officer to handle the press and it’s probably best if I do it. I know all the hacks round here –’

  ‘I think I can handle a few journalists. I’ve had more experience of this sort of thing than you and it is imperative that it runs smoothly this time. I’ll ask DS Brooks to sit in to answer any specifics if that becomes necessary. I really think you’ll be better used on the ground.’

  Helen nodded but could feel the ground shifting beneath her feet once more.

  ‘It’s your call.’

  ‘Indeed. Keep me up to speed with any developments.’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  Helen turned and left. As she walked down the corridor back to the investigation room, her blood boiled. Now that they were finally making progress, Helen was being nudged out of the picture. She had seen it before – senior officers who climb high by riding on the coattails of others – and she’d always abhorred it. She had to put her irritation to one side though. They had a killer to catch. But even as she locked her anger away, it fizzled and burned.

  Helen had hoped she would be able to work with Harwood. That she would be a pleasant change from Whittaker. But the truth was, Helen deeply disliked Harwood.

  And they both knew it.

  67

  ‘Thanks for staying with me, Tony. I’d have gone crazy on my own.’

  It was nearly 10 a.m., but neither Tony nor Melissa had slept. Once they had completed the e-fit, they had been whisked across town in an unmarked car to a safe house in the centre of Southampton. A plain-clothes officer sat in a car out front to ward off any casual callers, whilst Tony and Melissa holed up inside. She had insisted Tony stay and he’d been happy to do so – now that they were making progress he didn’t want to take any chances.

  Despite the exhaustion that gripped them both, they were too wired to relax. Tony knew where the ‘emergency’ bottle of whisky was kept, so he’d dug it out and they’d both had a couple to try and take the edge off the day. Slowly the relaxing effect of the alcohol had done its work, reducing the anxiety and adrenalin a little.

  Melissa hated silence – hated her own thoughts – so they had talked and talked. She had asked him questions about the case, about Angel, and he’d answered as best he could and in return he’d asked her questions about herself. She told him she’d fled an alcoholic mother in Manchester but had left her younger brother behind. She often wondered what had become of him and clearly felt guilty for deserting him. She had got herself into endless trouble as she’d freewheeled south, but in spite of everything she had survived. The booze and drugs hadn’t killed her
and neither had the job.

  The darkness of the night had cocooned them, making Melissa feel anonymous and out of harm’s way. But as the sun rose and another day dawned, her anxiety began to grow. She paced the house, peering through the curtains, as if expecting trouble.

  ‘Shouldn’t there be someone out back as well?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s all right, Melissa. You’re safe.’

  ‘If Anton finds out what I’ve done. Or Lyra –’

  ‘They’ll only find out once they’re in the dock and facing a stretch. Nobody knows you’re here, nobody can touch you.’

  Melissa shrugged as if she only half believed him.

  ‘All you’ve got to think about is what you do next. Once it’s all done with.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I mean … you don’t have to go back to the streets. There are programmes that can help you get out. Addiction treatment, counselling, training …’

  ‘You trying to save me, Tony?’ she replied, teasing.

  Tony felt himself blushing.

  ‘No … well, kind of. I know you’ve been through a lot, but this could be the break you need. You’ve done something strong, something good, you shouldn’t waste this opportunity.’

  ‘You sound just like my dad used to.’

  ‘Well, he was right. You’re better than this.’

  ‘You really don’t know anything, do you, Tony?’ she replied, though her tone was not unkind. ‘You ever worked vice?’

  Tony shook his head.

  ‘Thought not,’ Melissa continued. ‘If you had, then you wouldn’t be bothering.’

  ‘I hope I would.’

  ‘You’d be one in a million,’ Melissa replied, laughing bitterly. ‘Do you know what girls like us do? What we’ve been through to end up like this?’

  ‘No, but I can im—’

  ‘We’ve lied and cheated and stolen. We’ve been beaten up, spat on, raped. We’ve had knives held to our throats, been choked half to death. We’ve done heroin, crack, uppers, downers, booze. We’ve not changed for a week, puked in our sleep. And then we’ve got up and done it all again.’