Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 55

‘Thank you.’

And then she was gone. Jake was offended, bemused and worried. What the hell was going on with her? And why did she feel cursed?

There was so much left unsaid, so much bottled up inside her, and Jake was desperate to help her if he could. He was certain she didn’t have anyone else to talk to. But in spite of his desperation, he knew he couldn’t push it. He was powerless in this relationship and could make none of the running. He would have to wait for Helen to come to him.

Lady Macbeth lived in a huge detached house on the outskirts of Upper Shirley, much to her neighbours’ chagrin. They were all accountants and lawyers, Sandra McEwan was not. She made thousands of pounds a year selling drugs and sex. Southampton was the nerve centre of her business and she directed operations from her ritzy residence. Sandra was from Fife originally, but had run away from her foster home aged only fourteen. She was walking the streets before the year was out, working her way down the country before ending up on the south coast, where she was pimped by a fellow Scot – Malcolm Childs. She became his lover, later his wife, and then according to underworld legend suffocated him during an S &M session. His body was never found and she seamlessly took up the reins of his empire, killing or maiming anyone who tried to take it from her. She had walked free from court a dozen times, had survived three attempts on her life and now lived the high life on the south coast. It was a far cry from Fife.

Her maid protested vigorously – it was only 7 a.m. – but Charlie had a warrant for Sandra’s arrest and wasn’t inclined to hang around, in case the lady in question did a bunk. Security cameras covered every inch of her property and it was likely Sandra would see them coming. Fortunately on this occasion she was fast asleep, as Charlie discovered when she opened the doors to Sandra’s opulent bedroom.

Her lover – a muscular, athletic man – leapt out of bed the instant the door opened. He was intent on confronting Charlie, but paused when he saw her warrant card.

‘Cool it, boy. It’s all right.’

Sandra’s lover was a former boxer, whom she kept by her side at all times. He almost never spoke – Sandra liked to do that for him.

‘Climb back in. I can handle this.’

‘Sandra McEwan, I have a warrant here -’

‘Slow down, DC Brooks. It is DC Brooks, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Charlie replied tightly.

‘I recognize your picture from the papers. How you faring these days? Better, I hope.’