Pop Goes the Weasel (24 page)

‘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.’

She let her words hang in the air, then carried on:

‘So I appreciate you trying, but it’s too late.’

Tony looked at Melissa. He knew she was telling the truth but it seemed such a horrible waste. She was still young and attractive – she clearly had a good brain and a big heart. Was it fair to consign her to a lifetime of brutality?

‘It’s
never too late. Take this chance. I can help you –’

‘For God’s sake, Tony. Have you listened to a word I’ve said?’ she spat back. ‘I’m broken. There’s no way back for me – Anton saw to that.’

‘Anton’s gone.’

‘Not in here, he isn’t,’ she said, rapping the side of her head viciously. ‘Do you know what he did to me? What he did to us?’

Tony shook his head, wanting to know and not wanting to know.

‘Normally he’d just use his lighter or a cigarette. Burn us on the arms, the back of the neck, the soles of our feet. Somewhere that’d hurt like fuck but wouldn’t put the punters off. That was for small things. But if we’d done something really bad, he’d take us on a little trip.’

Tony said nothing, watching Melissa intently. It was as if she were no longer talking to him, instead inhabiting some dark memory elsewhere.

‘He’d drive you out to the old cinema on Upton Street. Belonged to a mate of his – it was a dirty great hole full of rats. All the way we’d be begging him to forgive us, let us go, but that’d only make him more angry. Once we got there, he’d …’

She hesitated before continuing.

‘… he had this bicycle chain, big chunky thing with a padlock on the end, and he’d hit you with it. Over and over again until you couldn’t get up and run even if you wanted to. He’d be shouting and hollering as he beat you,
calling you every name under the sun, until he’d run out of steam. And when you were lying there … like a rag doll in the dirt and the blood and the filth wishing you were dead … he’d piss on you.’

Her voice was shaking now.

‘Then he’d bugger off and leave you there for the night. People said some girls froze to death there, but if you didn’t … then the next day you’d clean yourself up and go back to work. Praying that you’d never make him angry again.’

Tony looked at her. Her whole body was shaking.

‘That’s the kind of people we are, Tony. He did that to us and now that’s all we’re good for. That’s all I am now. That’s all I can be. Do you understand?’

Tony nodded, though he wanted to tell her she was wrong, that she could be saved.

‘The best that I can hope for is that it won’t kill me. That just for a little bit I can be safe.’

‘You’re safe now. I’ll make sure of it.’

‘My hero,’ she replied, smiling through her tears.

She allowed herself to be held. He was supposed to carry on questioning her, but suddenly he didn’t want to ask her about the darkness and the filth and the violence. He wanted to take her away from that, take her to a better place. He wanted to save her.

And he knew he would risk everything to do it.

‘Lyra Campbell is now our number one suspect in this investigation. She is a highly dangerous individual and we would urge members of the public
not
to approach her. If they see her, or have any information on her whereabouts, they should call the police immediately.’

Detective Superintendent Ceri Harwood was holding court to the assembled members of the press. Charlie had never seen the media suite so busy – there were journalists from over twenty countries, some of them reduced to standing in the corridor outside. They were scribbling furiously as Harwood brought them up to speed, but their eyes never left the enlarged e-fit that dominated the screen behind them. Magnified, that face, those eyes, were even more beguiling and hypnotic. Who was this woman? What was her special power over people?

Charlie handled the operational questions. Inevitably Emilia Garanita asked why DI Grace wasn’t at the press conference – she seemed particularly disappointed that her sparring partner wasn’t present – and Charlie was happy to bat that back, underlining the many and enduring virtues of her boss. At that point Harwood cut in,
leading the Q&A in another direction, and twenty minutes later the whole thing wrapped up.

When the final journalist had left, Harwood turned to Charlie.

‘How did we do?’

‘Good. The message will be out there in a couple of hours and … well, you can’t hide for ever. Normally once the e-fit’s out we pick them up within forty-eight hours. Along with a few unfortunates who look a bit like them.’

Harwood smiled.

‘Good. I must remember to call Tony Bridges. It’s thanks to him that we are where we are.’

Charlie nodded, swallowing her instinct to remind the station chief that it had been Helen’s idea to put someone undercover.

‘How do you feel the investigation has gone so far, Charlie? You’ve been away for a while and have probably come back with fresh eyes …’

‘It’s gone as well as it could have in the circumstances.’

‘Have the different parts of the operation pulled their weight? Have we got anything from the surveillance yet?’

‘No, not yet, but –’

‘Do you think we should persist with it? It’s cripplingly expensive and now that we have a concrete lead …’

‘That’s DI Grace’s call. And yours of course.’

It was a coward’s answer but Charlie felt deeply uncomfortable discussing the running of the investigation behind Helen’s back. Harwood nodded, as if Charlie had actually
said something quite profound, then sat down on a table edge.

‘And how are you getting on with Helen?’

‘Fine now. We’ve had a good talk and things are … fine.’

‘I’m glad because, strictly between me and you, I was worried. Helen had some very robust opinions about your return to Southampton Central. Opinions that I felt were unfair. I’m pleased that you’ve proved her wrong and that the old team is back together again.’

Charlie nodded, unsure what the appropriate response was.

‘And I hear you’ve been made temporary DS, whilst Tony is busy. How are you finding that?’

‘I’m enjoying it, of course.’

‘Would you be interested in making it a permanent promotion?’

The question took Charlie by surprise. Immediately memories of her conversation with Steve reared up. In truth, they had been plaguing her all morning.

‘I’m taking it one step at a time. I have a husband and maybe one day …’

‘Children?’

Charlie nodded.

‘It doesn’t have to be a choice, you know, Charlie. You can do both – take it from me. You just need to be clear with everyone and then … well, for a talented female officer like you the sky is the limit.’

‘Thank
you, Ma’am.’

‘Come and talk to me whenever you need to. I like you, Charlie, and I want you to make the right decisions. I see great things for you.’

Shortly afterwards, Harwood departed. She had a lunch date with the police commissioner and it didn’t do to be late. Charlie watched her go, deeply unnerved. What game was Harwood playing? What was her role in it?

And what did it mean for Helen?

The team spread over Southampton, searching for Lyra. North, south, east and west, leaving no stone unturned. Extra uniform and community support officers had been drafted in and, led by CID detectives, they visited brothels, mother-and-baby drop-ins, health clinics, social security offices, Accident and Emergency departments – clutching their e-fits and appealing for information. If Lyra was hiding in Southampton, they would surely find her now.

Helen led the hunt in the northern reaches of the city, firmly believing that the killer would operate from somewhere familiar and safe. She kept her radio volume turned up high, hoping that at any moment it would squawk into life with news of a breakthrough. She didn’t care who got Lyra, didn’t care who brought her in – she just wanted this to be over.

But still she proved elusive. Some claimed to have seen Lyra, some thought they might have known her under a different name, but so far no one had confirmed that they had spoken to her. Who was this woman who could exist in such a bubble, so devoid of human contact? They had been at it for hours, spoken to scores of people, but still
they had nothing concrete. Lyra was a phantom who refused to be found.

Then just after lunchtime Helen finally got the break she’d been craving. As the hours had ticked by, as each working girl had claimed ignorance of Lyra’s existence, she had started to wonder if Melissa had made it all up to get some attention and a bit of cash, but then suddenly and unexpectedly they got a positive ID.

Helen picked her way through the litter-strewn tenement building on Spire Street, utterly depressed by what she saw. Working girls and junkies lived cheek by jowl in the leaky, derelict flats that were due for gutting and redevelopment next year. Many of the squatters had kids, who ran round Helen’s legs as she stalked the building, running from the policewoman in mock horror, hiding from her in dirty and dangerous corners of this ruined building, squealing all the while. If she could have, Helen would have scooped them all up and taken them somewhere decent. She made a mental note to contact social services the moment she had a spare second. It can’t be right for kids to be living like this in the twenty-first century, she thought.

A group of women sat round a two-bar fire, breast-feeding, gossiping, recovering from last night’s work. They were hostile at first, then sullen. Helen had the distinct impression that they were holding out on her but she persisted nevertheless. These girls may be far gone but they all have families of some sort or other and are not immune to emotional blackmail. Helen played on this
now, painting a grim picture of the bereaved families burying their defiled fathers, husbands and sons. Still the women offered nothing – whether this was fear of Anton or fear of the police, Helen couldn’t tell. But then finally the quietest one of the group offered something up. She wasn’t much to look at – a shaven-headed junkie with a mewling baby in her arms – but she told Helen that she’d known Lyra briefly. They’d worked for Anton together, before Lyra disappeared.

‘Where did she live?’ Helen demanded.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why not?’

‘She never told me,’ the girl protested.

‘Then where did you see her?’

‘We worked the same places. Empress Road, Portswood, St Mary’s. But her favourite was by the old cinema in Upton Street. You could usually find her there.’

Helen carried on quizzing her for a few moments longer, but already she had what she needed. All the places the girl had mentioned were in the north of the city, which fitted her theory. But more than that it was the mention of the old cinema that had set Helen’s heart beating. Tony had filled her in on his latest debrief with Melissa, which had also pinpointed the cinema as one of Anton’s haunts. It seemed too much of a coincidence to be ignored. Was this where Anton and Lyra had come to blows? Had he been killed there? Would she still be haunting this lonely and desolate spot?

Helen
called it in immediately, ordering a plain-clothes CID officer to secure the old cinema swiftly and quietly, so that a SOC team could slip in and do their work. Simultaneously a surveillance team would set up camp on the street. Already Helen was impatient for results. Something in her waters told Helen that the old cinema would prove crucial in cracking this case. Maybe they were finally getting close to Lyra. Maybe their phantom was about to become flesh.