by Conrad Jones
“I bet your stupid brother has got something to do with this hasn’t he?”
“Ray is not stupid.”
“Where is Ray?”
“He’s sorting something out at work.”
“Sorting something out? Is he wearing someone else’s clothes too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Katelyn tutted. “I thought it might be dress down Friday or pay a pound and swap clothes day. Why don’t you just tell me what is going on?”
“We really need to sort some stuff out and then I’ll explain everything.”
“Stuff?” she sighed. “You go missing overnight and then come home with someone else’s clothes, cuts on your arms, a limp and all you can tell me is that you got wet and you have some stuff to deal with?”
“I know it sounds crap but it is just work stuff.”
“Work stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all I’m getting?” Katelyn asked angrily. She turned to face him and leaned closer. “Let’s be honest with each other. You don’t work, Liam,” she hissed in his ear. Daryl looked at them concerned. “You steal things.” He looked hurt but didn’t answer her. “You and your brother are thieves and I think you’ve fucked up.” he looked away. “Have you fucked up, Liam?”
“Big time,” he said; his voice almost a whisper. “You have no idea.”
“Tell me the truth,” she said quietly, “is this something to do with what happened to David and Mathew?” Liam couldn’t hold her gaze. Her eyes filled with tears, “If it is then I need to know because they’re dead, Liam.”
“I know they’re dead.”
“Who is dead?” Daryl asked removing one ear bud.
“No one,” Katelyn said turning to him. “Listen to your music while I talk to Liam.”
“Are you having an argument?”
“No. We’re discussing something.”
“That’s the same as arguing isn’t it?”
“Put your headphones in and turn the volume up!” Katelyn snapped. Daryl huffed and turned back to staring out of the window. Katelyn took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She wiped tears of frustration from her eyes. “You told me that you and Ray had nothing to do with their business. Your cousins were murdered, Liam.”
“I know they were,” he sighed. Images of David and Mathew flashed through his mind and mingled into a picture of his brother’s face, younger, smiling and trouble free. His guts wrenched again. He had to do something and quickly.
“Please tell me this is nothing to do with what happened to them?” He turned away and looked out into the rain. “I am asking you a perfectly reasonable question, Liam and you owe me an honest answer.” He looked back at her, his eyes watery and tired. “Is this anything to do with their murders?”
“Look,” Liam tried to touch her hand but she snatched it away. “I can sort this out.”
“Answer the question.”
“I promise you that I can sort this out.”
“Answer the question!”
“Just give me a few days and I’m out of this game all together. I promise that I’m done with it. We’ll move away and start again.”
“Move away from what, Liam?” Katelyn asked incredulously. “My family?”
“Look...”
“Daryl’s school?”
“I mean...”
“My job?”
“Let me...”
“This is where I live, why would I want to move away?”
“Just...”
“Just what, Liam?” she snapped. “Tell me what you have done that is so bad that we need to move away. Go on tell me!”
“I don’t know what to say, Katelyn,” Liam said blowing air from his lungs noisily. “I’m just talking. I’m not thinking straight.”
“What have you got involved in?” her voice softened. “Please tell me that it is nothing to do with what happened to your cousins.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “It is nothing to do with them.”
“You promise?” she said suspiciously.
“Yes,” he lied. “And when this is over, I’m walking away from it all. I’m done with it.”
She looked into the rain, her heart wishing that he could walk away but her head knew the truth. “And what will you do, Liam?”
“What do you mean?”
“What would you do,” she shrugged. “You’re a thief. Your cousins were thieves until someone set them on fire and God knows where Ray is because you won’t answer the question...” she folded her arms and stared at him. “I’m going to ask you once more because I don’t believe you. Is this anything to do with your cousins?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?” she frowned. “If I find out that you’re lying to me, we’re finished.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Did the police evacuate us because of something you’ve done?” she changed tack trying to shake the truth from him. She knew he was lying but she wanted to know why.
“Sort of,” Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Sort of?” she sighed. “What the fuck does that mean, Liam?” He shrugged and shook his head, placing his face into his hands. She didn’t swear in front of Daryl, in fact, she didn’t swear much at all. “If you can’t give me an honest answer about what you’re involved in then just answer me this one question,” she gripped his arm, her nails digging deep into his bicep. “Are Daryl and I in danger because of something you and your stupid brother and stupid cousins have done?”
“Don’t call them stupid.”
“They were set on fire and dumped in an alleyway,” Katelyn snapped. “How fucking stupid was that?” she glared at him incredulously. “If you can’t see that getting involved in something that could wind up with you being burnt and dumped on the street then you are worse than stupid, Liam, you’re an idiot and my son and I can’t be anywhere near you.”
“I’m going to fix this.”
“Are you?” she sighed. “Can you raise the dead now, Liam?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?” Katelyn asked. “Please explain it to me because I haven’t got a fucking clue what you’ve done and I’m not sure that I want to know.” She put her hand beneath his chin and lifted his face gently, looking into his eyes. “I love you, Liam,” she said, “but I need you to answer my question. Are Daryl and I in danger?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“And is Ray in danger?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a stupid bastard!” she said slapping his cheek. The tears flowed heavily now as realisation sank in. Everything had changed for the worse.
“I’m sorry but I’ll fix it.”
“Stop the cab,” Katelyn called to the driver. He looked at her in the mirror. “Stop the cab, please right away!”
“Don’t get out,” Liam sighed.
“I’m not getting out,” she said shaking her head. “You are.”
“What?”
“You’ve just told me that this was nothing to do with your cousins’ murders and you looked me in the eye and lied to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, you’ve done me a favour. I can’t believe that you have put us in danger,” she shrugged as the taxi pulled to a halt. “Get out.”
“Don’t do this, Katelyn,” Liam whined. “I can fix this but I need you with me.”
“Get out, Liam,” she said firmly. He tried to touch her but she recoiled. “I said get out!”
“I’ll call you later.” Liam opened the door and climbed out into the rain, his body sore and bruised.
“Don’t bother, Liam. I’ve had enough.”
He turned and closed the door, Katelyn refusing to make eye contact. They had been together long enough for him to know that he had just lost the best thing that ever happened to him. She was a strong woman and she wouldn’t see anyone in trouble without trying to help them but her son was her number one prio
rity and he had compromised his safety. The taxi pulled away, the tyres splashing through a deep puddle, leaving Liam alone to ponder his next step. He felt sick to the core, numb and frightened. His options were running out quickly. Liam rolled his head towards the sky and let the rain splash onto his face. His stomach felt tight, his heart heavy. He made his decision and took out the mobile dialling the number for the emergency services for the second time that day. His plan was to turn himself in and pray that the police could rescue his brother. As he did so, a black Nissan pulled alongside him. The side door opened and he looked into the twin barrels of a sawn off shotgun and the angry face of Joe Tucker.
“Put the phone down, Liam,” Tucker growled as his men jumped out and dragged him into the Nissan. Katelyn’s face came into his mind, sad and accusing. “Now then, where is my fucking container?”
20
Uniformed officers sealed off the old Superbowl, more for the benefit of the press photographers that would turn up than to hold back the crowds. It was late, it was cold and the building couldn’t be seen from the road. The car park was buzzing with patrol cars and Forced Entry Team vehicles. Armed officers were milling around, the building searched and declared safe. Braddick leaned on the back of the Evoque and pulled on a forensic suit before heading inside. He searched his memories for any images of how it looked when it was new, a sparkly new facility for the city to be proud of. His memories were old and faded, black and white with no sound, the details warped by age and the alcohol that he had consumed at the time with his friends. There was nothing of any substance in his memory to relate to. This was the same place but time had changed it. The bowling alley where thousands had fun was long gone, the owners old or dead; what was left was a soulless void surrounded by bricks.
The front of the building was weather beaten, the paint blistered and peeling. The giant letters on the roof were reduced to SUP... the rest long gone, but survived by the metal scaffold to which they were once fixed. Braddick briefly wondered where the other letters had gone, blown away one day by high winds; a local pensioner shocked by the appearance of a six feet tall letter ‘B’ in her hydrangeas. He looked around in the artificial light. Thick heavy tyres had carved a huge semicircle into the degraded asphalt, which would tie in with Cookie’s version of a truck arriving. There was no way of knowing how long they had been there but Braddick was confident that the homeless man had been honest. It would also tie in with the Facebook post. Someone had taken something that they shouldn’t have and the owners wanted it back very badly; badly enough to torture and kill.
He turned and walked up wide curved steps that led to the reception area; the concrete was crumbling and broken, tall weeds protruded through the cracks reaching skyward, thistles, brambles and nettles all competed for space. Litter from the drive-thru was strewn across the entire scene, blown there by the winds for a decade, trapped into corners, nooks and crannies, faded and rotting. He picked his way up the steps and entered the building, feeling the temperature change immediately. Cookie had been right, it was warm and dry although the stench of fire and decay hung heavy in the air. There was no smell of damp but other familiar odours drifted to him, none of them pleasant.
The interior was illuminated by halogen lights on tripods. It was a scene from an apocalyptic movie. The ceiling had collapsed in places, exposing the balcony and floor above. Braddick could remember that there was a bar upstairs where customers could wait for a lane to become free. To his left, the reception desk was still intact, behind it the pigeonholes that held bowling shoes; a swathe of cobwebs covered them. A lone bowling pin stood on the desk, its red collar faded to pink by the years. Some of the lanes were still intact although the wood was warped and rotten. Metal scavengers had been through the building stealing the copper piping and electrical wiring for scrap, leaving huge dark rents in the walls and ceilings. The floor felt spongy and unsafe and he was careful where he placed his feet. Footprints in the dust had been marked with evidence tags and a CSI was busy photographing them. The foyer opened out in front of him to where the lanes once stood. He headed towards a group of white clad CSI’s who seemed to be focusing on an area to his right. Kathy Brooks saw him coming and beckoned him over to an area which had been processed.
“It looks like your source was telling the truth,” she said, pointing to two office chairs that were being dusted and photographed. “We’ve found blood splatter, skin, hair, teeth fragments and there are signs of accelerant and charring on the floor. One or two human beings were dismantled right there and I would say that it matches the way our victims were killed.”
“So this could be where the Johnsons were killed?”
“Definitely looks that way although I need to match up the DNA.”
“Good. We needed a break on this. No one was talking.”
“Do they ever on a case like this?”
“No, not very often,” he smiled sadly, “I need to get back to the station, Kathy but I wanted to be sure that this is the place,” Braddick said tiredly. “I was given the name of who did this and I need to get on with finding them.”
“Anyone that I might know?”
“Probably,” he nodded. If they had been criminals as long as Cookie had said, then the chances were that Kathy had encountered them “Brothers with the surname Tucker.”
“Joseph and Tommy,” Kathy said with a knowing nod of her head. Braddick raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I’ve examined several of their alleged crime scenes over the years but they have managed to avoid being locked up. Steff Cain has them high on her priority lists.” She looked at the blood stained chairs. “This is exactly what I would expect from the Tuckers and we have their DNA on file. Let’s hope they have left something behind.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” Braddick said turning to leave. “But if they have, I know you’ll find it.”
“I’ll be on the phone as soon as I have anything solid.”
“Thanks, Kathy.” Braddick turned away, trying to escape the stench. It wasn’t the rot and decay that turned his stomach it was the combination of other odours. Petrol, blood, sweat, tears, burning flesh and death.
21
In the early hours, Eddie Farrell senior joined the queue at passport control. It zigzagged across the Manchester arrivals hall, tired travellers queuing thirty lines deep, an atmosphere of frustration and simmering anger in the air. Overtired kids, whinged and whined while their parents longed for the days when they could tap them on the back of the legs without someone calling Childline. He had tried to sleep on the flight but couldn’t. Anthony was on his mind, his death burned like a hot metal spike through his guts. Nothing could take his thoughts from the fact that he was going to have to bury his son. His wife, their mother, had lost her battle with cancer three years earlier and burying her had been the hardest thing that he had ever done. He had never known the pain of loss until then and he thought that it would kill him. In the dead of night when his sons slept, he would cry until he thought that he would choke. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he would never have to suffer such grief again. Not once had it occurred to him that he would have to bury one of his sons. They were in a dangerous business but it had never crossed his mind that they could be killed. Anthony was like his right arm, Eddie Junior his left, neither of them less able than the other or less loved by him. They were the reason that he carried on. Making sure that they were set up for life was the driving force behind him. He wanted to retire soon and live in Thailand full-time and leave his sons to run their businesses but that had been snatched away from him by a worthless shite from a council estate. Revenge was spreading through his body cell by cell, consuming him so that he could think about nothing else. Nothing else mattered. He wanted to be at home, needed to be there so that he could organise the coordinated destruction of Bryn Evans and everyone related to him. Anyone who tried to stand in his way would be annihilated and that included the Karpovs. What had happened to Yuri and Mikel was necessary. No one would
tell him how to grieve for his son. They had insulted him and belittled his grief. They had the affront to tell him that his son’s murder was not as important as a container of drugs. It may have crossed their minds that they had been a touch insensitive as the first sharks bit and ripped a chunk from them. They would have had considerably more time to think about it than they would have wanted at that point. As they were being torn apart they would have been begging for death to come and take them and they would have regretted trying to bully him in an hour of need. He was aggrieved and he would have vengeance. It was his sole focus. His anger was immeasurable, no words could describe it, nothing but the blood of his son’s murderer would extinguish it.
As he cleared customs, his suitcase left in Thailand to speed up his journey, Eddie Junior was there to meet him. They embraced for a long time, onlookers glancing and wondering what had happened that could make two men sob openly. It was a release of all their pain and frustration which had been exasperated by the distance between them. As they settled down, Eddie patted Junior on the back of the head.
“Come on, son,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with mucus. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Where do you want to go first, Dad?”
“I want to go and see that fat fuck Paulie,” Eddie shook his head and rubbed the bristles on his chin. “He was there and he should have had his back. He knows what happened to Anthony and I need to know the truth.”
“He’s in hospital, he collapsed in the cells.”
“Good, then we shouldn’t have a problem getting to him. In my mind, all of this is his fault.”
As Simon and his family descended the staircase, one armed officer was ahead of them, one behind, both had their weapons drawn. The Evans family hadn’t said a word to each other since seeing the bloody mural; there were no words that would suffice. Simon was becoming increasingly concerned about his parents. They looked shell shocked by what they had seen. The implications were seeping though their very being, their youngest son alone in a hospital, them running away from it all, helpless to protect him. Their despair was etched into their faces, every step becoming harder and each breath more difficult to take. When they reached the bottom, the officers hurried them through a short corridor to a fire escape.