Pop Goes the Weasel (31 page)

DC Grounds stood and stared. He had never seen anything quite like it. It was utter carnage.

Anton Gardiner had proved an elusive figure in death, as he was in life – he liked to move base constantly to keep the police and his competitors guessing. He didn’t own any property, preferring short-term rentals, so that if he did have to vanish suddenly, he wouldn’t be left out of pocket. And in the end this had provided DS Bridges and his team with the breakthrough they needed. Anton Gardiner only dealt in cash, didn’t like the trail that cheques and credit cards left, so a few hours hammering the phones, pressuring landlords into giving up the details of anyone who’d paid in cash for a short rental in the last twelve months – who might match Anton’s description – had eventually yielded a result.

The landlord had been only too happy to help, opening up the basement flat on Castle Road for their inspection. But he was as shocked by what greeted them as Bridges was. Chairs were smashed, tables turned over, the only bed lay upside down on the floor, a shredded mattress lying on top of it – it was as if someone had declared war on the flat and shown it no mercy.

In the bedroom, beneath the ravaged bed, was a dirty, brown stain that spread out in a jagged circle of at least a metre’s diameter. DC Grounds instructed one of his officers to call for a SOC team, but he didn’t need anyone else to tell him it was dried blood. Someone had bled out in this dingy room.

The stained patch of carpet was one of the few areas that hadn’t been turned over. Even here, in this tiny room, the wardrobe had been smashed up, the corners of the carpet lifted. Scanning the other rooms in the flat, DS Bridges digested these developments. Two things were abundantly clear. First, someone – probably Gardiner – had been attacked and killed here. And second, someone had been looking for something.

But what was it? And why were they prepared to kill to get it?

‘Are you absolutely sure?’

Helen was aware that she had raised her voice – several heads had popped up in the incident room – so she lowered her voice and continued the conversation, pushing the door of her office shut.

‘One hundred per cent,’ said the voice on the other end of the phone. It belonged to Meredith Walker, chief forensics officer at Southampton Central. ‘We compared the DNA from the saliva on Gareth’s Hill’s face with the DNA harvested from the two sources of blood on Anton Gardiner’s body. There’s no match. If the blood under Gardiner’s fingernails is that of his killer, then he was killed by somebody else.’

‘Not by Angel?’

‘Doesn’t look that way. We’re running it through the database to see if we can get a match. I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything.’

Helen ended the call. Once again this case had taken a lurch sideways. Whenever they seemed to get close to Angel, she drifted away from them again. Marching out of her office, she called Charlie over. Her news was hardly better – they were still no nearer to unmasking the other
Bitchfest forum users. Which meant there was only one avenue to explore.

‘Ask Sanderson to take over the search for now and come with me,’ Helen said to Charlie. ‘You and I have got a date with a liar.’

‘Hello, Hammer.’

Jason Robins spun round to see Helen and Charlie entering his office. Rising from his desk, he hurried towards then past them, shutting his office door quietly but firmly.

‘Who let you in?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you need a warrant or something?’

‘We’ve just come for a chat. We told the girls at reception that we needed to speak to you urgently on a police matter and once they saw our warrant cards they were more than happy to let us in.’

Jason shot a look at the secretaries, who were now gossiping at their desks.

‘I could do you lot for harassment. I’ve already had this one,’ he said, gesturing at Charlie, ‘emailing me day and night, phone calls … it’s not on.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but “this one” has some more questions for you,’ Charlie countered. ‘Questions about Angel.’

‘Not this again.’

‘I have a picture that I would like you to look at.’

‘I’ve told you I don’t know this “Angel” –’

‘Here,’ Charlie continued, ignoring his protests and holding out the e-fit of Lyra. Reluctantly, Jason took it.

‘Do you recognize this woman? Is she Angel?’

Jason looked up at Helen. Sweat was starting to form on his brow.

‘For the last time, I never used Angel. I never met her. I was the victim of identity theft. Someone cloned my credit card and used it to –’

‘So why haven’t you reported it?’ Helen barked, her irritation puncturing her professional poise.

‘Sorry?’

‘We spoke to your bank. Turns out you never reported any fraudulent activity on your card. In fact you’ve continued using it since our last interview. At Morrisons, at Boots, shall I go on?’

For once Jason had nothing to say.

‘I’m going to give you one last chance, Jason. And if you don’t cut the crap and tell me about Angel
right now
, I am going to arrest you for obstruction of justice,’ Helen continued, her volume rising. ‘I’m going to march you out in front of all your colleagues, but I’ll make sure to leave DS Brooks behind. A few well-chosen questions from her will leave them in absolutely no doubt that their boss likes to sleep with prostitutes and then brag about it to other sad men online. We may even accidentally direct them to some of your posts. I’m sure they’d love to know more about Hammer and his big co—’

‘All right, all right, keep your bloody voice down,’ Jason begged, shooting another look at his colleagues on the other side of the glass. Many of them were blatantly staring.

‘Can we go somewhere else?’ he entreated.

‘No. Start talking.’

Jason looked like he was about to protest, then slumped back into his chair.

‘I never used her.’

‘What?’

‘I never slept with Angel. In fact I only met her once.’

‘But your posts said you slept with her many times,’ Charlie interjected. ‘That you’d had her “every which way”.’

There was a long silence. Jason’s sweaty face was now pink with shame.

‘I lied. I never slept with her. I’ve never slept with a prostitute.’

‘You made all that stuff up?’ Helen replied, incredulous.

Charlie nodded, head hanging.

‘I told the other guys what they wanted to hear.’

‘The other guys on the forum? “PussyKing”, “fillyerboots” –’

‘Yes. I wanted to fit in. I wanted them to like me.’

Helen shot a look at Charlie. His loneliness was tragic and for the first time Helen felt an ounce of pity for this divorcee.

‘When did you meet Angel?’

‘Four days ago. One of the other boys told me where I’d find her, so I went out looking. And there she was.’

‘What happened?’

‘I picked her up. We drove towards the Common.’

‘And?’

‘She wanted to talk. Was asking me questions. Small talk, you know. Then … then she asked me if I was married. And I don’t know why but it just hit me like a brick.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It set me off. It was just a simple question, but …’

Jason paused, emotion at the memory ambushing him now.

‘But I started crying.’

Finally he looked up. Helen was struck by the desperation in his expression.

‘I told her everything. How I missed my wife. How I missed Emily.’

‘What did she do?’

‘Not a lot. She didn’t like me talking like that. She said a couple of things – “you’ll get over it”, stuff like that – then asked me to stop the car.’

‘Then what?’

‘She got out. She got out and walked away. And that’s the last time I saw her, I swear to God.’

Helen nodded.

‘I believe you, Jason, and I know it’s hard to talk about. But the truth is you had a very lucky escape. Believe me, things could have been a lot worse.’

‘And she’s been … all these guys in the paper?’

‘Yes, which is why it’s so important we find her. So please take a good look at the picture and tell me – is that Angel?’

Jason picked up the e-fit once more. He took a good look at it and then said:

‘No.’

Charlie shot a look at Helen, a look pregnant with alarm, but Helen ignored it. She could feel the case once more unravelling in front of her.

‘Look again. Lyra Campbell is our number one suspect. This is a very good likeness, are you sure that’s not Angel?’

‘Absolutely. It looks nothing like her.’

And in that moment Helen knew they were back to square one.

Helen cursed herself bitterly. It was so obvious to her now how she and the rest of the team had been
played
. Sending Charlie back to base to gather the necessary evidence, Helen headed straight to the safe house, flanked by a pair of uniformed officers. Up until now Melissa had been treated like royalty – Helen wondered how she’d react to being bundled into the back of a squad car with a pair of cuffs on.

At first it seemed as if there was no one at home. Helen knocked on the door furiously – had Melissa somehow found out and done a runner? The officers outside insisted she hadn’t left the building, but you could never be sure. Eventually, however, an eye appeared at the spyhole and then Melissa’s throaty voice could be heard, asking accusingly who it was and what they wanted. She was surprised to find it was Helen. She was even more surprised – and aggrieved – to find herself in the interrogation room of Southampton Central half an hour later with the questions raining down on her.

‘Why did you do it, Melissa?’

‘Do what? What am I s’posed to have done?’

She spat the question back at Helen as if offended by
the very implication of any wrongdoing. She really was in a vile mood.

‘Why did you kill Anton Gardiner?’

‘Do me a favour.’

‘Did he hurt you? Did you need money?’

‘I never touched him.’

Helen stared at her. Reaching to her right, she pulled a sheet of paper from her file.

‘We’ve just received the full analysis of the blood found on Anton Gardiner’s body. As you’d expect, he had a lot of his own blood on him – not surprising, given the level of violence visited on him. But there was another source of blood. There were traces of it beneath Anton’s fingernails and even on two of his teeth, it appears he scratched and bit his attacker as he tried to defend himself.’

Helen let that land, then continued:

It’s your blood, Melissa.’

‘Like fuck it is.’

‘I should say at this point that it would be advisable for you to have a lawyer present –’

‘I don’t need a lawyer. Who’s been spreading lies about me?’

‘We’ve got a match, Melissa. We ran the blood DNA analysis through the Police National Computer and your name came up.’

Melissa glared, admitting nothing. Helen continued, pulling more sheets from her file:

‘Three years ago you were involved in an altercation with another sex worker – Abigail Stevens. An argument over a client. She accused you of ABH, you did the same and, as is normal in these cases, both of you were asked for a DNA sample, which was taken via a mouth swab. It’s standard practice to keep those on the national database for ten years.’

Helen let this sink in before continuing:

‘Now maybe you thought we’d got rid of it, perhaps you’d forgotten you’d ever even given it, but the fact remains it’s your blood.’

Melissa was about to interrupt, but Helen steamrollered over her.

‘You killed Anton Gardiner and buried him at the old cinema. Then you heard the derelict building was coming up for sale. This gave you a bit of a problem, so when the chance came to palm your murder off on someone else you took it. Anton was never one of Angel’s victims, he was yours.’

‘You better have proof or you’ll regret this.’

‘One of my officers carried out a search this morning of an address in Bitterne Park. Last known sighting of Anton put him near a basement flat he rented on Castle Road. The place had been torn apart, turned upside down, and there were historic traces of congealed blood in the bedroom. Lots of it. Yours and Anton’s? We should have the analysis of those back shortly.’

Melissa scowled. But Helen had seen her reaction to
the mention of Castle Road and knew she had her on the run now.

‘Anton didn’t like to put down roots, did he? He was a man who liked to move around, cultivate an air of mystery. And there was a rumour that where he went, his cash went too. He didn’t believe in banks, did he? And he always slept with a knife on his pillow. Now maybe you put two and two together or perhaps you heard the rumour. Either way you needed the money, didn’t you?’

‘You’re talking out of your fat arse.’

‘You had been evicted from your bedsit for non-payment of rent and had large drug debts. You needed money. And Anton’s stash fitted the bill perfectly. How much did he have?’

Melissa was about to respond, but swallowed it just in time. Clearly not enough, Helen thought, if the stash ever existed. Had she tortured and murdered her pimp for nothing?

There was a long, long pause, before Melissa finally replied:

‘No comment.’

‘I’m going to suggest we break now. During this interval you will have a chance to call a lawyer, which I strongly recommend you do. When we come back I’m going to caution you, then formally arrest you on suspicion of murder, GBH, wrongful imprisonment, theft and perverting the course of justice. Not to mention wasting police time. How does that sound?’

Finally, Helen’s anger peeped through and Melissa was onto it in a shot. She was up on her feet, jabbing her finger at Helen across the table.

‘Get Bridges.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Get Tony Bridges. He’ll sort this out.’

‘What do you –’

‘Get him. NOW!’

As Helen walked back to the incident room, a dozen different scenarios spun round her mind, each one worse than the last. What did Melissa mean? What had Tony done? And why was she so confident he could straighten this out for her?