Pop Goes the Weasel

110

Carrie Matthews’ hand shook as she gave DC Sanderson the photo. It was of Ella. It was a selfie that Ella had taken then emailed to her sister – a message of solidarity from her exile and something to remember her by. When Sanderson had turned up at Carrie’s home in Shirley, her husband, Paul, had tried to take over proceedings, forcing his young wife into the background. He was a bull of a man – an elder of the church and the founding father of Christian Domestic Order. Sanderson had taken great pleasure in ordering him out of the room, threatening him with a very public arrest if he didn’t comply. He seemed shocked – appalled might be more accurate – but eventually he’d done as he was told.

‘Please find her. Please help her,’ Carrie begged as she withdrew the photo from its hiding place in the dresser and handed it over to Sanderson. ‘She’s not what everyone thinks she is.’

‘I know,’ Sanderson replied. ‘We’re doing everything we can.’

But Sanderson knew even as she said it that the chances of this thing ending well were slim. Harwood was determined to stop Ella in her tracks by any means necessary and Ella was probably too far gone to fear death. Nevertheless she reassured Carrie and went on her way, adding as she left that there were many organizations and shelters that could help her if she ever needed them.

As soon as she stepped outside, her radio squawked into life.

A woman matching Ella’s description had just been seen shoplifting in a branch of Boots in Bevois. She had escaped the security guards and taken refuge somewhere in the Fairview estate.

Sanderson was in her car and on the road in seconds, her siren blaring as she bullied the midday traffic out of her way. This was it then. The endgame had begun. And Sanderson was determined to be in at the death.