Pop Goes the Weasel Read Online Free PDF

wait for Alan’s return, but the boys were nagging her to get on with it … so gritting her teeth she threw open the box.
    And screamed. Suddenly she couldn’t stop screaming, despite the fact that the boys were clearly terrified by the noise. Tearful, they hurried to her, but she pushed them angrily away. When they fought back, begging her to tell them what was going on, she grabbed them by their collars and hauled them roughly out of the room, screaming all the while for someone – anyone – to help.
    The offending box was left alone in the room. The top lolled lazily backwards, revealing the legend ‘Evill’ written in dark crimson on the underside. It was the perfect introduction to the box’s awful contents. Lying within, in a nest of dirty newspaper, was a human heart.



10
    ‘Where are the others?’
    Clutching her case file, Charlie surveyed the Major Incident Team’s office. It felt extremely odd to be back, but the situation was made stranger still by the fact that the office seemed to be completely deserted.
    ‘Murder on Empress Road. DI Grace has got most of the team down there,’ replied DC Fortune, just about managing to contain his disgruntlement at being left behind. He was a smart, conscientious policeman and one of the few black officers based at Southampton Central. He was tipped for higher things and Charlie knew that he would be deeply pissed off to be stuck here, chaperoning her on her return to action. Charlie had felt shaky as she’d entered the building half an hour earlier and the lack of a welcoming committee was making things worse. Was this a deliberate snub? A way of letting Charlie know she wasn’t wanted?
    ‘What do we know about this?’ Charlie replied, mustering as much professional poise as she could.
    ‘Sex worker found in the boot of a car. The killers had gone to town on her, which made the ID a bittricky initially, but her DNA did the job. She was on the database – you’ll find her charge sheet on page three.’
    Charlie flicked through the file. The dead girl – a Polish woman called Alexia Louszko – had been striking in life, with dark auburn hair, multiple piercings and tattoos and plump, pillow lips. If you liked it gothic, then she was the one. Even in her police photo she looked aggressively sexual. Her tattoos were all of mythological beasts, giving her a primal, animalistic quality.
    ‘Last known address is a flat near Bedford Place,’ DC Fortune offered helpfully.
    ‘Let’s get going then,’ replied Charlie, ignoring her colleague’s obvious eagerness to get the whole thing over with.
    ‘Are you going to drive, or am I?’
    Most of Southampton’s sex workers lived in St Mary’s or Portswood, mixing in with the students, junkies and illegal immigrants. So the fact that Alexia lived on Bedford Place, near the smarter clubs and bars, was interesting in itself. She had been arrested for streetwalking a year ago, but must have been pulling in good money to live in this desirable area.
    The interior of her flat only served to reinforce this feeling. Faced by a police warrant, the block’s concierge reluctantly let the officers inside and whilst DC Fortune questioned him, Charlie ran a rule over the place. It was a recently decorated, open-plan set-up with affordable butfashionable furniture. In addition to the wraparound sofa and large plasma TV, there was a glass table, espresso machine, retro juke box. Hell, it was nicer than Charlie’s house. Was this girl earning enough for all these middle-class trappings or was she being kept by someone? A lover? Her pimp? Someone she was blackmailing?
    Ignoring the kitchen, Charlie headed straight for the bedroom. It was exceptionally neat and clean. Donning her latex gloves, she began to search. The wardrobes were full of clothes, the drawers of underwear and bondage gear, and the bed was neatly made. A single paperback – by a Polish author Charlie hadn’t heard of – rested on the bedside table. And that