Pop Goes the Weasel - [18]

‘Why use a house with such heavy footfall? Wouldn’t they have been scared of being discovered?’ interjected DC Sanderson.

‘It’s possible they weren’t aware of how frequently it was used,’ countered Tony, ‘though given the level of care and planning that went into this murder, that seems unlikely. In many ways it was a perfect location to choose – the back door was solid and bolted from the inside and the windows were barred, meaning the front door was the only easy means of access. The latch broke long ago, but there was still a solid bolt on the inside. Easy enough for the killer to secure the place once the victim was incapacitated.’

‘It still seems risky to me…’ Sanderson responded, not keen to let her point go.

‘It was,’ said Helen, taking the baton. ‘Which suggests what? That he or she expected the body to be found quickly perhaps? Or maybe the location was chosen simply to put the victim at his ease. There are no signs that Alan Matthews was dragged into that house against his will. Meaning this was an ambush. He had to be lured there. He suffered from STDs of a type indicating widespread sexual activity, so perhaps he spotted a hooker he liked or a pimp he knew, then followed them inside and bam! Maybe the house was chosen because they knew he’d feel at ease -’

‘We’ve had a good look at his computer,’ DC McAndrew broke in, ‘and there is plenty of evidence that Matthews had an unhealthy interest in pornography and prostitutes. He hasn’t been particularly careful at concealing his internet history, so we can see that he regularly visited porn sites – a lot of the free ones, but also some more extreme pay-per-view set-ups. He was also active in chat rooms and on message boards. We’re still looking into this but it’s basically a lot of sad bastards exchanging anecdotes about their experiences with various prostitutes, marking them out of ten for size of their boobs, what they’d do and so forth -’

‘They’re reviewing their hookers?’ Helen queried, mildly incredulous.

‘Basically. It’s a bit like TripAdvisor but for prostitutes. He also visited a lot of escort sites,’ McAndrew continued. ‘Though there’s no evidence yet that he actually used their services. Which might suggest that his tastes were a little more… earthy -’

‘Let’s focus,’ Helen interrupted. ‘We’re not here to judge Alan Matthews, we just want to find his killer. Whatever else we may think about him, he is a husband and a father and we need to find the person responsible.’

Before they kill again. She had almost said it, but choked it down at the last minute.

‘Let’s look into where he got the money to pay for his hobby. The more exotic his practices the more money he’d need. The Matthews family don’t own their own house, there are four kids to support and Alan is the only breadwinner. He clearly used prostitutes and pay-per-view porn a lot, so how’s he doing it? Did he owe money to a pimp? Is this what this is about?’

For once, there was no comeback from the team – they were all staring over her head to the doorway of the incident room. Helen turned quickly to see a very nervous-looking uniform hovering. From the look on his face, she knew what was coming. Still it sent a shiver through her when he finally said:

‘They’ve found another body, Ma’am.’

21

She was back home, safe and sound. Donning latex gloves, she began to investigate her haul. £200 in cash – she put that straight into her purse, then moved on to the credit cards. Snip, snip, snip, her scissors cut through them deftly, but to make doubly sure she gave them ten minutes on a tray under the grill. It was hard to take your eyes off them as they bubbled into a plasticky pulp – someone’s life literally melting away.

Then to the driving licence. She hesitated to look at the name, focusing on the photo instead. Was she scared to see whose life she’d destroyed or was she deliberately holding off the discovery, teasing out every last moment of suspense?

She took a peek. Christopher Reid. Beneath his name, his home address. Her eyes rested on this, calculating. Then she flicked through the rest of the contents of his wallet – his business cards, loyalty cards and dry-cleaning receipts. A thoroughly mundane life.

Satisfied, she rose. Time was of the essence, she would have to move quickly. She opened up the old stove that was burning nicely now, stoked by a fresh log. She tossed his wallet in and watched it burn. Stripping quickly she shoved her blood-stained clothes in on top of it. The fire roared and she had to step back to avoid getting burnt.

She suddenly felt foolish, standing naked in the room, flecks of blood still on her face and hair. Hurrying to the shower, she cleansed herself, then dressed again. There would be time to scrub the bath and floors properly later, she must keep on going.

Opening the fridge, she grabbed the half-bottle of Lucozade from the shelf and drank it down in one gulp. A half-eaten pie, a couple of chicken nuggets, a Müller Light; she wolfed them down now, feeling suddenly ravenous and light-headed. Sated, she paused. There on the top shelf was her prize. A human heart sitting snug in a Tupperware box.