Read Pop Goes the Weasel for Free Online

They may be happier talking to a plain-clothes officer, so use the beat coppers to guide you, but do as many of the one-on-ones as you can yourself.’
    DC McAndrew nodded, knowing her evening plans had just gone up in smoke. No wonder she was still single.
    Helen paused for a second, then slowly and deliberately pinned the crime scene photos – one by one – to the board behind her. As she did so, she heard a faint but audible intake of breath behind her. Few of the officers present had seen a man turned inside out before.
    ‘First question – why?’ Helen said, as she turned back to face the team. ‘What did our victim do to provoke an attack like this?’
    She let the question hang in the air, taking in the reaction to the photos, before continuing:
    ‘The derelict houses on this street are used by prostitutes and junkies on a daily basis, so why was this man there? Was he a punter who refused to pay? Was he a pimp who tried to rip off a client? Or a supplier who’d short-changed his dealers? The level of savagery in this attack denotes real anger or the desire to make a very public statement. This is
not
a crime of passion. Our killer was well prepared – with nylon cords, duct tape, aweapon – and they took their time. Forensics will confirm this later, but it looks like the victim bled to death, given the level of blood saturation on the body and floor. The killer didn’t panic, didn’t run. They had no fear of detection, calmly going about their business, cutting the victim open before …’
    Helen paused momentarily, before completing her sentence:
    ‘… before removing his heart.’
    One of the data processors was beginning to look a little green, so Helen pressed on.
    ‘It looks to me like an ambush. Like punishment. But what for? Is this part of a turf war? A warning to a rival gang? Did the victim owe someone money? Was it robbery? Hookers and pimps have tortured their punters for PIN numbers and got carried away before. Or is it something else?’
    It was the something else that Helen was afraid of. Was the heart some sort of trophy? Helen batted the thought away and returned to the briefing. There was no point getting ahead of herself, imagining crazy things that might have a violently mundane explanation.
    ‘We need to cast our net as wide as possible. Prostitution, gang crime, drugs, criminal grudges. It’s highly likely the killer or killers will give themselves away in the next twenty-four hours. They may be shitting themselves or they may be exhilarated – it’s hard to behave calmly after doing something like this. So eyes and ears open – anysources, any leads. From now on this case is your top priority. Everything else can be handled by others.’
    Which everyone knew meant Charlie. Helen hadn’t seen her yet, but their reunion wouldn’t be long in coming. Helen had resolved to be polite and formal, as was her way when nervous, but would she be able to carry it off? In the past her mask had been impenetrable, but not now. Too much had happened, too much of her past had been exposed for people to buy that persona any more.
    The room had emptied, as officers rushed off to cancel plans, assuage loved ones and grab some food in expectation of a long night ahead. So Helen was standing alone, wrapped up in her own thoughts, when Tony Bridges hurried back in.
    ‘Looks like we’ve found our man.’
    Helen snapped out of her reverie.
    ‘Front desk took a call from a highly distressed woman who’d just had a human heart left on her doorstep. Her husband didn’t come home last night.’
    ‘Name?’
    ‘Alan Matthews. Married, father of four, lives in Banister Park. He’s a businessman, charity fundraiser and an active member of the local Baptist church.’
    Tony had tried to say the last bit without wincing, but he’d failed. Helen closed her eyes, aware that the next few hours would be deeply unpleasant for everyone concerned. A family man had died a grim death in a