Pop Goes the Weasel

66

The eyes. It was all there in the eyes. Set in a slender face and framed by long, black tresses, they demanded your attention, fixing you with an intense piercing gaze. There were other features that should have drawn your attention – the full lips, the strong nose, the slightly pointed chin – but it was those big, beautiful eyes and the intensity of her stare that gripped you.

‘How accurate a likeness is this?’ said Ceri Harwood, looking up from the e-fit that she’d been studying.

‘Very,’ Helen replied. ‘Melissa was up all night with our best artist. I only let her go once we were one hundred per cent sure we’d got it right.’

‘And what do we know about Lyra Campbell?’

‘Not a lot, but we’re working on it. We’ve got uniform out looking for Anton Gardiner and this morning we’re going to sweep his area of operation, talk to every girl who’s ever worked for him, see if anyone can tell us any more about her.’

‘And what’s your working theory?’

‘In some ways it’s not that extraordinary. She falls into prostitution, then makes another bad choice in taking Anton as her pimp. Her brutalizes her. This in combination with the job takes its toll on her psychologically. The drug and alcohol abuse, the stress, the sexual assaults, the diseases and then one day Anton crosses the line. Does something to her that makes her snap. She attacks him, probably kills him. Either way she takes out the years of misery on him and this sets her off. We know from forensics that she talks or shouts at her victims – perhaps she denigrates them, revenges herself upon them…’

‘The floodgates have opened and now she can’t stop?’ Harwood interrupted.

‘Something like that.’

‘You sound almost… sympathetic towards her?’

‘I am. She wouldn’t be doing this unless she’d been to hell and back, but my real sympathies lie with Eileen Matthews and Jessica Reid and the others. Lyra is a vicious killer who won’t stop until we bring her in.’

‘My thoughts exactly. To that end I’m going to suggest that I take today’s press conference, whilst you get out there and lead the team. Time is of the essence and I want the press and the public to know that our very best people are on the case.’

The was a brief, pregnant pause, before Helen replied:

‘It is customary for the senior investigating officer to handle the press and it’s probably best if I do it. I know all the hacks round here -’

‘I think I can handle a few journalists. I’ve had more experience of this sort of thing than you and it is imperative that it runs smoothly this time. I’ll ask DS Brooks to sit in to answer any specifics if that becomes necessary. I really think you’ll be better used on the ground.’

Helen nodded but could feel the ground shifting beneath her feet once more.

‘It’s your call.’

‘Indeed. Keep me up to speed with any developments.’

‘Ma’am.’

Helen turned and left. As she walked down the corridor back to the investigation room, her blood boiled. Now that they were finally making progress, Helen was being nudged out of the picture. She had seen it before – senior officers who climb high by riding on the coattails of others – and she’d always abhorred it. She had to put her irritation to one side though. They had a killer to catch. But even as she locked her anger away, it fizzled and burned.

Helen had hoped she would be able to work with Harwood. That she would be a pleasant change from Whittaker. But the truth was, Helen deeply disliked Harwood.

And they both knew it.