“Probably, so let’s check out Reid’s and Matthews’s digital footprints. DC Grounds, perhaps you could coordinate. Let’s find out if these guys were deliberately targeted or just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everybody clear?”
Helen was on her feet, marching back into the incident room. She was filled with energy and determination—a real sense of purpose. But as she crossed the office floor, she suddenly stopped dead, her newfound optimism dissipating in an instant. Somebody had left the TV on mute, the set playing silently to itself in the corner, but now Helen hurriedly grabbed the remote control and turned up the volume. It was the lunchtime news bulletin on BBC South. Graham Wilson, the regular anchor, was conducting an in-depth interview. And his studio guest today was Eileen Matthews.
•••
Helen burned with anger and frustration as she raced to the Matthews residence. Eileen was desperate with grief—Helen understood that—but her direct intervention in the investigation risked sabotaging everything. Eileen had made up her mind that Alan was not involved with prostitutes and, convinced that the police were barking up the wrong tree, had decided to instigate her own hunt for her husband’s killer. “Please help me find the man who did this to Alan” was a phrase she had repeated several times during the interview.Man, man, man.Five minutes of lunchtime TV had now set the public hunting for a killer that didn’t exist.
Eileen had only just returned home from the TV studio when Helen arrived. She was visibly drained by the experience of talking publicly about her husband’s death and wanted to shut the door on Helen, but Helen was too enraged to allow that. It didn’t take long for hostilities to start.
“You should have consulted us first, Eileen. Something like this could really set our investigation back.”
“I didn’t consult you because I knew what you’d say.”
Eileen was utterly unrepentant. Helen had to work hard to control her temper.
“I know you’ve had to deal with so much in the past few days that you feel overwhelmed with pain and grief, that you’re desperate for some answers, but this isn’t the way to go about it. If you want justice for yourself, for your children, you must letustake the lead.”
“And let you blacken Alan’s name? Drag this family through the gutter?”
“I can’t hide the truth from you, Eileen, however painful it might be. Your husband used prostitutes, and I’m convinced that that was why he died. His killer was a woman—we’re ninety-nine percent certain of that—and anything that directs the public’s attention elsewhere risks allowing her to strike again. People need to be vigilant and we have to give them the right information in order for them to be so. Do you see?”
“Strike again?”
For once Eileen’s tone was less strident. Helen paused, uncertain how much to share.
“A young man was murdered last night. We believe the same person is responsible for both murders.”
Eileen stared at her.
“He was found in an area used by prostitutes...”
“No.”
“I’m sorry...”
“I won’t have you continue with this... this campaign of slander. Alan was a good man. A devout man. I know he wasn’t always healthy... he had certain infections, but many of those can be contracted at the swimming baths. Alan was a keen swimmer—”
“For God’s sake, Eileen, he had gonorrhea. You can’t get that from swimming.”
“NO! It’s his bloody funeral tomorrow and you come here with these lies...No! No! No!”
Eileen shouted at the top of her voice, silencing Helen. Then the tears came. Helen felt a riot of emotions—sympathy, fury, disbelief. In the heavy silence that followed, she cast her eyes about the room, taking in the family photos that seemed to confirm Eileen’s vision of Alan. He was the very image of the upstanding paterfamilias, playing football with his boys, standing proudly next to daughter Carrie at her graduation, leading the church choir, toasting his bride at their wedding all those years ago. But it was all propaganda.
“Eileen, you have to work with us on this. You need to understand the bigger picture. Otherwise innocent people will die. Do you understand?”
Eileen didn’t look up but her sobbing subsided a little.
“I don’t mean to cause you pain, but you have to face the truth. Alan’s Internet history showed he had an active interest in both pornography and prostitutes. Unless someone else—you or the boys—used that computer, then it can only be Alan who was accessing those sites.”
Eileen had previously told them that Alan didn’t let anybody else into his study, let alone use his desktop, so Helen knew this one would land.
“These sites weren’t accessed by accident. They were in his bookmarks... We have also done some investigation into his financial affairs.”
Eileen was quiet now.
“There was an account he administered that contained money to pay for church repairs. Two years ago, it had a balance of several thousand pounds. Most of it’s gone now, taken out in two-hundred-pound chunks over the last eighteen months. But no work has been carried out at your church. I sent one of my officers down there to speak to the minister. We know Alan wasn’t a big earner and it looks very much like he was using church money to fund his activities.”
Helen continued, softening her tone.
