Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 36

‘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.’

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.