Pop Goes the Weasel (6 page)

The sign was discreet – if you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it.

Brookmire Health and Wellbeing. Strange that a commercial enterprise should be so bashful about announcing its presence. Charlie pressed the buzzer – it was swiftly answered.

‘Police,’ Charlie shouted, struggling to be heard above the traffic. There was a pause, longer perhaps than was necessary, then she was buzzed in. Already Charlie had the feeling she wasn’t welcome.

Charlie climbed the stairs to the top floor. The smile that greeted her was wide, but fake. A neat, attractive young woman in a crisp white uniform, hair tied neatly back in a ponytail, asked how she could be of assistance – clearly intending to be no help at all. Charlie said nothing, casing the place – it looked like an upmarket Champneys and had that perfumed smell that all spas have. Eventually Charlie’s eyes returned to the receptionist, whose name badge revealed she was called Edina. Her accent was Polish.

‘I’d like to speak to the manager,’ Charlie said, presenting her warrant card to underline her request.

‘He’s
not here. May I be of assistance?’

Still the same forced smile. Irritated, Charlie walked round the desk and down the corridor that led to more rooms at the back.

‘You can’t go down there –’

But Charlie carried on. It was pleasant enough – a series of treatment rooms and off them a communal kitchen. A young mixed-race boy was sitting at the table playing with a train. He looked up, saw Charlie and grinned a huge grin. Charlie couldn’t help smiling back.

‘The manager will be back tomorrow. Perhaps you can come back then?’ Edina had caught up with Charlie.

‘Maybe. In the meantime, I’d like to ask you some questions about an employee. A woman by the name of Agneska Suriav.’

Edina looked blank, so Charlie handed her a photocopy of Agneska’s payslip.

‘Yes, yes. Agneska is one of our therapists. She is on holiday at the moment.’

‘Actually she’s dead. She was murdered two days ago.’

For the first time, Charlie saw a genuine reaction – shock. There was a long pause as Edina processed this, then she muttered:

‘How did she die?’

‘She was strangled, then mutilated.’

Charlie waited for that to land, before continuing:

‘When did you last see her?’

‘Three or four days ago.’

‘Friend
of yours?’

Edina shrugged, clearly not wanting to commit either way.

‘What did she do here?’

‘She was a dietitian.’

‘Popular?’

‘Yes,’ Edina replied, though she looked bemused by the question.

‘How much did she charge?’

‘We have a price list here. I can show –’

‘Did she give the full service or did she specialize in certain areas?’

‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘I’ve checked out Agneska and I don’t see too many diplomas in dietary science. Her real name was Alexia Louszko and she was a prostitute – a good one by all accounts. She was also Polish. Like you.’

Edina said nothing, clearly not liking where this was going.

‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ Charlie resumed. ‘Why don’t you tell me what Alexia did here?’

There was a long, long silence. Then finally Edina said:

‘Like I said, the manager will be back tomorrow.’

Charlie laughed.

‘You’re good, Edina, I’ll give you that.’

Her eyes flitted to the corridor of treatment rooms.

‘What would happen if I walked into one of those treatment rooms right now? Room 3 is in use. If I were to
kick it open right now, what would I find? Shall we go and see?’

‘Be my guest. If you have a warrant.’

Edina was no longer even pretending to be friendly. Charlie paused to reconsider her line of attack – this girl was no amateur.

‘Whose boy is that?’ Charlie said, gesturing towards the kitchen.

‘A client’s.’

‘What’s his name?’

A tiny pause, then:

‘Billy.’

‘His real name, Edina. And if you lie to me again, I’m going to arrest you.’

‘Richie.’

‘Call him.’

‘You don’t have to inv—’

‘Call him.’

She hesitated, then:

‘RICHIE.’

‘Yes, mama,’ came the call from the kitchen.

Edina’s eyes fell to the floor.

‘Who’s his father?’ Charlie continued her attack.

Suddenly there were tears in Edina’s eyes.

‘Please don’t involve him or the boy. This is nothing to do with –’

‘Do they have papers?’

Nothing
in response.

‘Are they in this country illegally?’

A long pause. Then finally Edina nodded.

‘Please’ was all she could say by way of entreaty.

‘I’m not here to cause you or your boy trouble, but I need to know what Alexia did here. And what happened to her. So either you start talking or I make a phone call. Your choice, Edina.’

There was no choice of course. And Charlie wasn’t surprised by Edina’s answer.

‘Not here. Meet me in the café round the corner in five minutes.’

She hurried off to her son. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. It was strange to be doing battle once more and suddenly she felt exhausted. She hadn’t expected her first day back to be so gruelling. But she knew that worse was to come. Tonight was her welcome back drinks. Time to face Helen Grace.

For the first time in years, Helen craved a drink. She had seen what it had done to her parents and that had put her off for life, but sometimes she still craved the hit. She was wound tight tonight. The interview with Elaine Matthews had gone badly, as the disgruntled Family Liaison officer had been quick to point out. There was little Helen could have done differently – she had to ask the tough questions – but still she berated herself for upsetting someone who was blameless and distraught. They had had no choice but to leave in the end, having learned nothing of use along the way.

Helen had biked straight from Eileen’s house to the Parrot and Two Chairmen pub, Tony following behind. Situated a couple of blocks from Southampton Central it was the traditional venue for leaving dos and the like. Tonight they were wetting Charlie’s head on her return to work – another stupid tradition. Helen had steeled herself and walked in, Tony trying a bit too hard to be jaunty and relaxed beside her … only to find that Charlie wasn’t there. She was still out on the job and was expected shortly.

The team made small talk but no one knew quite how to play it. Furtive eyes were cast towards the pub entrance,
then suddenly there she was. Charlie bounded over towards the group – keen to get this over with? – and as if by magic the crowds seem to part, allowing Charlie a clean run at her superior.

‘Hello, Charlie,’ Helen said. Not exactly inspired, but it would have to do.

‘Boss.’

‘How’s your first day been?’

‘Good. It’s been good.’

‘Good.’

Silence. Mercifully Tony leapt to Helen’s aid:

‘Nicked anyone yet?’

Charlie laughed and shook her head.

‘You’re losing your touch, girl,’ Tony continued. ‘Sanderson, you owe me a fiver.’

The team laughed and slowly they crowded round, patting Charlie on the back, buying her drinks, peppering her with questions. Helen did her best to join in – asking after Steve, her parents – but her heart wasn’t in it. Seizing a suitable moment, she nipped off to the toilets. She needed solitude.

She entered the cubicle and sat down. She felt light-headed and rested her head in her hands. Her temples throbbed, her throat was dry. Charlie had looked surprisingly well – nothing like the broken woman who’d stumbled free from her terrible captivity – but seeing her had been harder than Helen had anticipated. Without her around as a reminder, Helen had settled back into life at
the station. With Tony promoted to DS and new blood introduced it had almost been like engaging with a new team. Charlie’s return took her straight back to that time, reminding her of all that she’d lost.

Helen exited the cubicle and gave her hands a long, thorough clean. In the background a toilet flushed and a cubicle door opened. Helen flicked a glance into the mirror and her face fell.

Walking towards her was Emilia Garanita, Chief Crime Reporter for the
Southampton Evening News
.

‘Fancy meeting you here,’ said Emilia, smiling the broadest of grins.

‘I would have thought this was your natural habitat, Emilia.’

It was cheap, but Helen couldn’t resist. She disliked this woman both professionally and personally. The fact that she had suffered – one side of Emilia’s face was still heavily disfigured following a historic acid attack – cut no ice with Helen. Everyone suffered – it didn’t have to make you a merciless shit.

Emilia’s smile didn’t waver; she liked duelling, as Helen knew to her cost.

‘I was rather hoping we’d run into each other, Inspector,’ she continued. Helen wondered if the stress on the last word was Emilia’s way of emphasizing how Helen’s career had stalled. ‘I hear you had yourself a nasty little murder on the Empress Road.’

Helen had given up asking how she came by her
information. There was always some newbie in uniform who would cough up information when caught in Emilia’s tractor beam. Whether intimidated by her or just keen to be rid of her, they gave her what she wanted in the end.

Helen looked at her, then walked off, pushing through the door back into the pub. Emilia fell into stride next to her.

‘Any working theories? I heard it was pretty savage.’

No mention of the heart. Was she ignorant of this little detail or teasing Helen with its omission?

‘Any idea who the victim is yet?’

‘Nothing confirmed, but as soon as it is you’ll be the first to know.’

Emilia grinned, but didn’t get a chance to respond.

‘Emilia, how nice to see you. Come to buy me a drink?’ Ceri Harwood was now hurrying over. Where had she sprung from?

‘On a journalist’s wage?’ Emilia countered good-humouredly.

‘Then allow me,’ Harwood replied, steering her towards the bar.

Helen watched them go, unsure whether Harwood had rescued her from Emilia or stepped in to prevent Helen irritating the fourth estate. Either way she was glad of the intervention. She shot a glance at her team. Happy, relaxed and already a few drinks to the good, they chatted animatedly, clearly pleased to have Charlie back.

Helen felt like the bad fairy at the christening. The one
person unable to welcome Charlie back with an open heart. The team were oblivious to her, which provided Helen with the perfect opportunity.

There was somewhere she needed to be.

Helen climbed onto her bike and pulled her helmet on, rendering her temporarily anonymous. Turning the ignition, she tested the throttle, then kicked off the brake and roared down the darkened street. She was glad to see the back of Emilia and Charlie. She had had enough for one day – more than enough.

Rush hour was long gone and Helen cut easily through the empty streets. At times like this she really did feel at home in Southampton. It was as if the streets had been cleared for her, as if it were her city, a place where she could exist unmolested and undisturbed. Slowly her mood lifted. Not simply because of where she was, but because of where she was going.

Having parked up, she rang the bell three times and waited. The buzzer sounded – like a warm welcome – and she stepped inside.

Jake was waiting for her, the door wide open. Helen knew he didn’t do this for other clients – the dangers inherent in his business meant he always verified a client’s identity through the spyhole before opening the reinforced door. But he knew it was her – the three rings being their code – and, besides, he knew now what she did for a profession.

It
hadn’t always been that way of course. For the first year of their association, she had told him nothing, despite his numerous attempts to open up a conversation. But recent events had changed all that – dominators read the papers too. Thankfully, he was too professional to mention it. He was tempted to, she sensed that, but he knew how much she had suffered, how much she loathed the exposure. So he kept his counsel.

This was Helen’s space. A place where she could be the closed book she used to be. A throwback to a time when her life was under control. If she hadn’t been happy then, she had nevertheless been at peace. And peace was what she craved now. It was a risk coming here for sure – many other coppers had been driven out of the Force in disgrace because of their ‘unconventional’ lifestyles – but it was a risk Helen was prepared to take.

She stripped off her biking leathers, then removed her suit and blouse, hanging them up on the expensive hangers in Jake’s wardrobe. Slipping off her shoes, she was now just in her underwear. Already she could feel her body relaxing. Jake had his back to her – his usual, discreet self – but Helen knew he wanted to look at her. She liked that – it made her feel good – she wanted him to look at her. But you can’t have it both ways. Privacy and intimacy are mutually exclusive.

Closing her eyes, Helen waited for him to strike. Finally on the cusp of release, dark thoughts suddenly reared up unbidden, surprising and unsettling her. Thoughts of
Marianne and Charlie, of the people she’d hurt and betrayed, the damage she’d done – the damage she was
still
doing.

Jake brought the crop firmly down on her back. Then again, harder. He paused as Helen’s body reacted to the blows, then just as she began to relax, he whipped her again. Helen felt the sharp spasm of pain dissipate into an all-over tingling. Her heart was pumping, her headache receding, the endorphins pulsing round her brain. Her dark thoughts were in full flight now – punishment as always her saviour. As Jake brought the crop down for the fourth time, Helen realized that, for the first time in days, she felt truly relaxed. And more than that, she felt happy.