Pop Goes the Weasel (11 page)

She didn’t waste any time. Sticking to the back routes, Helen sped across town. She was being overcautious, but it was perfectly possible that one of the startled workers in the Zenith building would alert the press, and Helen was determined not to be followed. She was heading to the Reid household – to destroy happiness and inflict pain – and she wanted to be absolutely sure she was alone.

Jessica Reid’s face changed colour so quickly when she saw Helen’s warrant card that Helen thought she was going to faint. Alison Vaughn, an experienced Family Liaison officer whom Helen had asked to attend, was quick off the mark. A comforting hand on the elbow, then she shepherded the terrified Jessica inside. Helen followed, shutting the front door gently behind her.

Jessica’s eighteen-month-old sat in the middle of the front room, grunting benignly at her unexpected visitors. Sally was full of beans, eager to play, and without needing to be told Alison picked her up and took her off to investigate her activity centre.

‘Is he dead?’

Jessica’s question was brutally blunt. Her body was
shaking, her eyes just about containing her tears. Helen’s eyes flashed across the family photos on the mantelpiece – there was no doubt that Jessica’s husband was their latest victim.

‘This morning we found the body of a man. We believe it is Chris, yes.’

Jessica let her head fall. She started to sob. She was trying to suck them in, to hide her distress from her daughter, but the shock was too great.

‘Jessica, the next few days are going to be bewildering, devastating, scary, but I want you to know that we will be supporting you every step of the way. Alison will be here to help with Sally, to provide any assistance you might need and to answer your questions. If you have family who can help, we should call them now. You may even want to think about staying elsewhere for a few days. I can’t discount the possibility that the press will try to contact you here.’

Jessica looked up, bemused.

‘Why would they do that?’

‘We believe Chris was murdered. I know that’s hard to take in … that this all seems like a horrible nightmare, but I can’t hide the facts from you. It’s important that I tell you as much as we know, so you can help us find who did this.’

‘How? … Where?’

‘He was found on Eling Great Marsh. He drove out there in the early hours of this morning.’

‘Why?
Why was he there? We never go there … we’ve never been there.’

‘We believe he drove there with a companion. A woman.’

‘Who?’ Anger had crept into Jessica’s voice now.

‘We don’t know her identity. But we believe she might be a sex worker.’

Jessica closed her eyes in horror. Helen watched her with profound sympathy as another foundation wall of her life collapsed. Helen had had her life smashed to bits more than once and she knew the awful pain that Jessica was experiencing. Nevertheless she had to give her the truth – all of it – without sparing her anything.

‘Eling Great Marsh is sometimes used by prostitutes as a discreet place to conduct their business. We think that’s why Chris went there. I really am sorry, Jessica.’

‘The stupid fucking bastard.’

Jessica spat out the words with such violence that it silenced the room. Sally looked up from her play, for the first time sensing that something was wrong.

‘The stupid, cowardly, selfish, fucking … bastard.’

She sobbed unreservedly now, deep and long. Helen let her cry. Finally her sobs started to subside.

‘To your knowledge had Chris ever used prostitutes before?

‘No! Do you think I’d put up with that? What do you think I am – a fucking doormat?’

Jessica’s eyes were burning fiercely.

‘Of
course not. I know you wouldn’t sanction something like that, but sometimes wives have suspicions, fears, things they’ve locked away deep. Did you ever have any worries about Chris? Anything that upset you?’

Jessica dropped her gaze now, unable to look at Helen. She had struck a nerve, Helen was sure of that, and she had no choice but to pursue it.

‘Jessica, if you’ve anything to tell –’

‘I didn’t think it would …’

Jessica was struggling to find sufficient breath to speak, the shock now taking full effect. Helen gestured to Alison for a glass of water.

‘He’d … he had … He’d promised me.’

‘Promised you what, Jessica?’

‘Since Sally was born, we haven’t … you know … very much.’

Helen said nothing. She knew something was coming now and that it was best to let Jessica find her own words.

‘We’re always so tired,’ she continued, ‘there are always so many things that need doing.’

She took a big lungful of air before continuing:

‘A few months ago, I used Chris’s laptop because mine was broken.’

Another deep breath.

‘I opened up Internet Explorer to use Ocado and … I found all these sites bookmarked. The stupid bastard hadn’t even tried to hide them.’

‘Pornography?’
Helen asked. Jessica nodded.

‘I opened one up. I wanted to know. It was … disgusting. A young girl – seventeen at the most – and lots of guys … they were bloody queuing up to …’

‘Did you challenge him about it?’

‘Yes. I rang him at work. He came straight home.’

Her tone softened a little as she continued:

‘He was mortified. Ashamed. He hated himself for hurting me. I hated him for looking at that … stuff, but he vowed he’d never watch it again. And he meant it. He really meant it.’

She looked up imploringly, silently begging Helen not to damn her husband.

‘I’m sure he did. I’m sure he was a good husband, a good father …’

‘He is. He was. He loved Sally, he loved
me
…’

At this point Jessica collapsed, the weight of events finally bearing down on her. She had been robbed of her husband and her memory of him would be forever tarnished. His reckless actions had cost him dear, but those left behind had the bitterest legacy. They were staring down a long dark tunnel.

Suddenly Helen was filled with anger. Whoever was responsible knew what they were doing. They were intent on visiting as much pain on these innocent families as they could. They wanted to take them beyond the limits of human endurance, to destroy them. But Helen wouldn’t
let them. She would see them destroyed before she let that happen.

Leaving Alison to rally family support, Helen departed. The messenger is never welcome in a house of death and, besides, she had work to do.

Helen strode away from the house, confident that Alison would shepherd Jessica slowly, inexorably, towards a semblance of stability. Alison was brilliant at her job – patient, kind and wise. When the time was right she would sit Jessica down and tell her the full details of her husband’s murder. Jessica would need to know, would need to understand how her husband would now become public property, the subject of gossip and speculation. But it was too early, the shock too great, and she would leave it to Alison to judge the moment.

‘Are you chasing another serial killer, Helen?’

Helen spun round, but she knew that voice.

‘You really don’t have much luck, do you?’

Emilia Garanita shut the door of her Fiat and walked over. How the hell had she got here so quickly?

‘Before you tell me to jump in a lake, I think you should know that I had some face time with your boss today. Ceri Harwood is a breath of fresh air after Whittaker, don’t you think? She’s promised to be open and honest with us – you scratch my back and all that – and said that you were on board. So let’s start off on a new footing, shall
we? What can you tell me about this killer and how can the
Evening News
assist the investigation?’

Her pad and pen were poised in anticipation, her face the picture of innocence and enthusiasm. God, Helen wanted to punch her – she had never met anyone who seemed to take such active enjoyment in the unhappiness of ordinary people. She was a ghoul – without a ghoul’s redeeming features.

‘If Detective Superintendent Harwood has offered to give you the relevant information, then I’m sure she’ll do so. She’s a woman of her word.’

‘Don’t be cute, Helen. I want details. I want an exclusive.’

Helen eyed her up. She could tell Emilia wasn’t bullshitting. Somehow she had managed to get Harwood onside – at whose instigation? Helen wondered. More than that, she’d got to the Reid residence almost as quickly as Helen had. She was no longer an adversary who could be crushed. Helen would have to be smarter than that.

‘I’ll have a name and photo for you by tonight. In time for you to publish. The Empress Road murder was brutal and sustained and involved elements of torture. We’re investigating possible links to organized crime, with particular emphasis on drugs and prostitution. We’ll be appealing for potential witnesses to contact an anonymous helpline with any relevant information. That’ll have to do for now.’

‘That’ll
do just fine. See, it doesn’t hurt, does it?’

Helen returned Emilia’s smile. She was surprised that she hadn’t asked her about Christopher Reid. Surprised and relieved. But she wasn’t going to stick around to be subjected to further interrogation. Climbing on her Kawasaki, she roared off, Emilia growing smaller and smaller in her rear-view mirrors.

She only started to relax when she hit the motorway. Southampton, which for so long had been Helen’s happy home, was becoming a hostile and bloody place. Helen had the distinct feeling that the storm was about to break and she was suddenly unsure of her footing. What was Harwood doing talking to Emilia behind her back? What deal had been struck? Who could she rely on in the dark days ahead? Previously she’d had Mark and Charlie by her side in the thick of battle; who did she have now?

Without meaning to she found herself driving towards Aldershot. Strange how the pull was so strong, even though Robert Stonehill had no concept of her existence. A voice inside her urged her to think twice, to turn around, but she shouted it down, cranking up her speed.

She snuck into town under the cover of darkness. She knew Robert wouldn’t be at home today, so she drove straight to the Tesco Metro where he worked. Parking her bike nearby, she took up a vantage point in the internet café opposite. Here she had a good view of him as he re-stacked the fridge with booze in expectation of the
evening rush. He wasn’t the most diligent worker, getting away with doing the minimum and always finding time to chat to his colleagues. There was one – Alice? Anna? – a pretty nineteen-year-old brunette, who seemed to pass by quite often. Helen made a note to keep an eye on that.

The hours ticked by. 8 p.m., 9 p.m., 10 p.m. Helen’s attention started to wander, as her tiredness and hunger grew. Was she wasting her time here? What was she hoping to achieve? Was she going to be a voyeur for the rest of her life, furtively exploiting a connection that didn’t really exist?

Robert hurried out of the shop and down the street. As usual Helen counted to fifteen then left her hiding place, casually and quietly keeping pace with him. A couple of times Robert shot glances to his left and right, as if expecting or fearing to meet someone, but he never looked directly behind him so Helen continued her progress undetected.

They had reached the city centre now. Without warning, Robert dived into the Red Lion, a cavernous drinking hole that he had visited on previous excursions. Helen waited a moment and then entered, her smartphone clamped to her ear as if she were in conversation. There was no immediate sign of him, so Helen gave up the pretence. She searched the whole of the ground floor, then headed up to the mezzanine level. Still nothing. Had he noticed her and used the pub to shake her off? She hurried down to the basement snug and predictably he was in the
very last place she looked, a booth hidden away in the bowels of the pub. He was packed into it with his mates and the mood was sombre. Helen was intrigued but couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were talking about, so bought a drink and settled down to wait. It was well past eleven o’clock, but the boys showed no signs of moving. The pub had a late licence and could serve until two, but the group were oddly restrained in their drinking tonight. They looked tense. Helen wondered what had spooked them.

‘Been stood up?’

Helen’s daydreaming was abruptly ended by the intrusion of an overweight businessman who had obviously been quenching his thirst since leaving work.

‘I’m just waiting for my husband,’ Helen lied.

‘He always this late, is he? I wouldn’t be if you were my wife.’

‘He was competing tonight. The traffic coming out of London is always terrible.’

‘Competing?’

‘Cagefighting. There’s a big show on at the Docklands. Stick around and have a chat with him if you like. He always likes to talk to punters and he should be here any second.’

‘That’s very kind …’

But he was already retreating. Helen suppressed a smile and returned her attention to Robert. Only to find him staring right at her. Immediately she dropped her gaze,
busying herself with her phone. Had he caught her? Better to be safe than sorry, so after a decent pause Helen feigned a phone call and went on her way, decamping to a discreet vantage point on the ground floor.

Twenty minutes later, Robert and his friends brushed past and left the pub, seemingly unaware of her existence. It was pushing midnight now and the streets were empty. As she followed them, Helen was suddenly aware of the stupidity and vulnerability of her position, alone in the darkened streets so late at night. She could handle herself in most situations, but not against a gang of men. What if they spotted her following them and took issue with it?

She hung back now and contemplated giving up altogether, but suddenly the gang came to a stop. They paused, darting looks here and there, then dragged a wheelie bin out from a nearby alleyway. Then Davey, the leader, clambered onto it. It brought him level with a small window at shoulder height. He pulled a crowbar out of his backpack and immediately started working on the window, whilst the others kept watch.

Helen flattened herself against the wall. She was furious – why had she put herself in this position? Now the window was open and Davey was levering himself inside. Robert was next. Skipping up onto the bin, he swung himself through the window with the practised grace of a gymnast. The others stayed outside, looking around anxiously for any passers-by.

A noise made them look up, but it was just a woman
walking away – clearly she hadn’t seen them. Helen picked up her pace. Now that it had all gone so wrong, she just wanted to be away from here. With each step, she berated herself. An innocent person was being robbed right now and it was her duty to call it in and stop this thing now.

But of course she wouldn’t and she hated herself for it. She hurried away, swallowed up by the darkness of the night.

It had been a mistake to come here.