Bitter Edge

by Bitter Edge (retail) (epub)

  ‘No. I’m just appealing to the mother in you. I need a reason to sniff around.’

  ‘I don’t want you in my face.’

  ‘Not necessary. It could be anywhere.’

  ‘His trailer?’ she asked.

  ‘That’ll do,’ he said.

  ‘How about supplying prescription pills?’

  ‘To kids?’

  ‘This conversation’s over.’ She walked away, but stopped and turned when she reached the top step. ‘Bobby Bailey was the name of a horse I bet on when his mother was hit by a car on the A595. She died. That bet was bad from day one.’

  Craig nodded his head slightly and acknowledged what she’d just done. They had to witness a deal, identify his digs, and be ready to move. Bobby Bailey wouldn’t skip prison this time round.

  Chapter 43

  Nedzad looked at his son tenderly as he rocked him gently back and forth. He’d waited for this moment for two long years, and he studied every inch of the boy intently. He was just as he’d remembered him: dark eyes, a square jaw and large fists. He was a Galic.

  The child was quiet, as if aware of his clandestine origin and the need to remain silent. He was dressed well and had been looked after; that much was obvious. His body was covered in a respectable layer of fat, and his wrists were marked by deep creases. Nedzad burst with pride that he’d sired such a strapping lad. He was heavy and thickset, unmoving as his father rocked him into a deep slumber.

  Nedzad knew everything about him. He’d been moved five times in his short life, before being placed with the family in St Bees, on Cumbria’s windswept coastline. He looked as though he’d benefited from the blast of fresh air that he took in on his daily walk along the beach. He’d been watched for months, but Nedzad had been patient and waited for exactly the right moment.

  He sang to him in Serbo-Croat. A song his own mother had sung to him a long time ago. Looking at his son made everything worthwhile. The hardship he’d endured, and the long periods of uncertainty and conflict that he’d overcome to get to where he was. Manchester was like a goblet brimming over with possibility, and only one person could possess the vessel at any one time. It was world famous for its brutality, its labyrinthine housing estates and its drugs and guns. Gunchester. Nedzad laughed, but quieted himself so not to wake his son.

  People thought the drugs had died with acid house, but they were wrong. Another, more lethal generation of dealers had filled the places left by the sprawling gangs of the nineties, and a more ferocious, mostly foreign, and highly digitalised species had sprouted and prospered. Everything was operated online, from tracking shipments to ordering prescription pills. It was easy. Getting there hadn’t been easy, but that was why he’d waited until now to snatch his son.

  There was a knock on the door, and Nedzad spun round, anger flashing in his eyes in case whoever was on the other side of it disturbed his son. The door opened silently and a man put his head round it. Nedzad nodded. All was well.

  He was a decision-maker. Ruthless and absolute, but effective. It hadn’t taken him long to reach the decision about Bobby Bailey, and now the visitor told him that the task had been carried out cleanly and easily. Nedzad held his son up, and the man smiled and stroked the child’s head gently, with the same hand that had put a kitchen knife through Bobby Bailey’s heart. It had taken him less than a minute to die. The kill was clean, the park was quiet, and the clean-up straightforward. Bobby had served his purpose and Nedzad didn’t like loose ends. In his experience, loose ends unravelled the garment eventually.

  There were always couriers and dealers to fill job vacancies, and he had more than he could count. Bobby Bailey was a tiny lab rat, useful for a time, but expendable and replaceable. Nedzad’s time was better spent on the business end of his growing operations. But for now, he deserved a little break with his son, who would never leave his side again.

  Bobby Bailey had been born into poor stock, and as such, had met a filthy end. It was the inevitability of life that kept Nedzad’s resolve strong, his unswerving belief that one pursued a birthright. He would teach this to his son, in the absence of his mother, who had succumbed to the grief of losing her child. She was easily replaced, and a boy only had need of a father. A man who would teach him to thrive and win.

  In a week, Nedzad would have forgotten Bobby Bailey’s name.

  Chapter 44

  Kelly read the report on Danny Stanton’s car.

  The vehicle had been full of crap, but any piece of crap might yield a shred of DNA or bodily fluid, and so crap was the forensic scientist’s best friend. There were fag butts, crisp packets, a pair of women’s knickers, an empty deodorant, a stinking bag of Tesco BBQ chicken, and, tucked away under the driver’s seat, wrapped in a Greggs paper bag, a small plastic sealable bag containing twelve blue pills. They were slightly larger than paracetamol size, and they had the number 47 on them, just under the diameter line. They were well made but not perfect, and they matched a memo sent out by the constabulary drug squad about a batch of prescription pills that had killed a seventeen-year-old in Bolton.

  Kelly informed the drug squads in Kendal, Bolton and Manchester, then turned her attention to Luke Miles’ car. Meanwhile, they were bringing Danny in for formal interview.

  Luke’s car had been towed to the facility from the school car park, under warrant. This vehicle was well looked after. It was clean inside and out, and there was no litter present whatsoever. The mats had been vacuumed, and the dash, along with all the other plastic surfaces, had been wiped. A new air freshener dangled from the rear-view mirror, smelling of forest pine. So they got on their hands and knees and looked through magnifying glasses. Several hairs were found in the footwells, where vacuums couldn’t reach, and placed in tubes. A stain on the back seat was swabbed, and a packet of cigarette papers was bagged.

  One interesting find was an acrylic woman’s nail, brightly painted, found underneath the driver’s seat. It didn’t belong to Faith, as her mother had already confirmed that she didn’t wear acrylics. Sadie Rawlinson, however, did. If it turned out to be Sadie’s, it proved that she’d been in the car, though they already knew that.

  Statistically, ninety-nine per cent of forensic finds were worthless, but it was a job that was worth every man hour. The other one per cent might give the investigators a fresh lead, or consolidate what they had. The work had to be meticulous and thorough, with times, dates, locations and signatures all logged so that some jumped-up ‘expert’ couldn’t dispute the integrity of the potential evidence if it went to trial.

  The two officers searching Luke’s vehicle had been thorough, that was for sure. They’d checked cavities, the inside of soft furnishings and any concealed air pockets. They were given specialist training to do this, though damage did sometimes occur. Air-bag cavities had become popular in recent years as places to hide stuff: illegal stuff. Generally, where there was a soft cover, there was a potential hiding place behind it. It was painstaking work, but they might not get the chance to search a vehicle twice, so they had to get it right the first time.

  Kelly looked at the photographs of a set of snow chains that they’d taken from the boot. The set had been sealed with cable ties, and they’d been cut. Every stage of the process was carefully logged. A tiny seam within the snow chain case had been cut with a scalpel, and a search inside had revealed her best evidence yet that Luke Miles was dealing in illegal substances. Forty-three small plastic packets had been pulled out, each the size of a small strip of matches. On the front of every one was printed the same smiley cartoon face, underneath which was printed: K2 SMACKED. It was synthetic marijuana. Further exploration yielded twenty-two packets of Adderall, seventeen boxes of OxyContin, and a sizeable quantity of MDMA: a count of the tiny white pills, stamped with a minute hand print, came to one hundred and seven. MDMA used to be known as Ecstasy, but the name had gone out of fashion. Whatever the trend, Luke was in possession of Class A drugs, and the quantities could easily be argued as evidence of dealin
g.

  It puzzled her what the boy’s motive was. He had everything: a happy, comfortable home life, solid grades at school, and, she had to admit it, good looks. And yet here he was, willing to throw it all away. She made arrangements to haul in his bank accounts and get a warrant for the family home, especially Luke’s bedroom. She doubted that he dealt in e-payments, and so they’d need to find the cash.

  She received a phone call from Johnny. The helicopter had been out today for almost three hours. It wasn’t the news anybody was hoping for: they’d found nothing. Kelly’s heart sank. From everything she’d learned about Faith, it was becoming clearer that the girl had come to harm. Sending the helicopter out was expensive, and the investigation costs were mounting. It was hugely frustrating.

  It was Christmas Eve, though it certainly didn’t feel like it. The office was decorated with some hanging bits and baubles, and they’d put a synthetic tree in a corner and decorated that – or at least Emma had. They were even playing festive music, but the mood was low, because no one wanted Faith’s family to have to face tomorrow still not knowing. The same was true of Dale Prentice’s foster family. Police from Egremont to Workington were working extra hours trying to locate the toddler, but Christmas inevitably slowed things down: man hours, lab closures and magistrates’ holidays. Kelly was hoping to get a few warrants before close of play today, but she wasn’t banking on it.

  Rob put his head round her door.

  ‘Guv, we’re finding it difficult to locate Tony Blackman. We’ve tried Sarah Peaks and his own flat, but she hasn’t seen him for two days. She said he was feeling poorly and expected that he’d taken himself off to bed because of all the stress. She’s got a key to his flat and we accompanied her there, but there was no sign of him.’

  ‘Phone?’

  ‘Not answering.’

  ‘Shit.’

  Chapter 45

  Near the crazy golf at Hope Park on the south side of Keswick, a man was throwing snowballs with his two young sons. They ran around like lunatics, gathering snow and compacting it so hard that had their mother been there, she would have told them off and ended the game. One of the boys received an ice ball in the face and clutched his nose; his brother bent over laughing, only to be rugby-tackled by his father. The injured brother forgot his injury and pounced on his sibling, rubbing snow in his face.

  They rolled around in the snow, getting covered in it, and Dad scooped piles of the stuff up, dumping it on both of them. The older brother escaped and jumped over a row of small bushes. The father performed a pincer movement with the aid of the younger boy and ambushed his son, felling him and falling on top of him.

  The scuffle spilled over to what, underneath the drifts, was a flower bed in summer. The snow was softer here, where it hadn’t been disturbed by excited children on holiday for Christmas. There was only one more sleep until the big day, and it looked as though it would be snowy and cold; just time to dry their clothes overnight and start all over again as Mum cooked the turkey.

  The boys turned on their father and he feigned surprise as they held him down and shoved snow down his jacket collar. He squealed and roared as the clumps of ice melted on his skin, clawing for handfuls of snow for his revenge. The boys ran away.

  His hand caught on something and stopped his frolicking. He turned to see if it was a root or a discarded glove. It was neither. At first he thought it was simply litter, and he cursed the youth around here. But as he tugged, he realised that it was a bag. A huge ball of snow hit his head and his boys cheered their victory.

  ‘Wait! Wait! No, I’m serious, hold on, I think someone must have lost this,’ he said. The boys were wary, not knowing if it was a trap, but then they realised they were thankful for the rest, and went to see what their father had found. They knelt down, oblivious to the cold and wet, and he held it up: a small backpack, distinctive because it was made of faux leopard print.

  ‘It’s a girl’s,’ said one of the brothers. The dad nodded in agreement, because he’d seen it before. An overwhelming sense of grief hit him as he looked at his boys and back at the backpack. He’d seen it on TV. It was just like the one the police said the missing girl was carrying at Keswick fair.

  A snowball landed on his head and slid down the back of his jacket.

  ‘Stop!’ The boys were taken aback by their father’s tone, and stopped fooling around. They watched as their father opened the bag. There was a green jumper inside, and a mobile phone, along with some make-up.

  There was also a wallet, and he opened it, not knowing quite what to do other than search the thing; it was as if he was on autopilot. Later, he would tell his wife that it was almost as if he might find the girl herself in there. His heart raced as he came face to face with Faith Shaw’s student ID.

  ‘What is it, Dad?’ his sons asked.

  He turned to them and realised that he’d zoned out, and that had scared them. He gathered everything together and put it all back in the bag.

  ‘We need to take this to the police,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because there’s a family out there that won’t be enjoying their Christmas like you guys tomorrow.’

  The boys looked at each other, realising that whatever their father had just uncovered was important. They didn’t like the way it felt, but they knew it was serious.

  ‘Do you think it belonged to that girl, Dad?’

  No one spoke of anything else at school. It had even made the national news and Facebook. The girl was in Year 11, and she’d been missing all week.

  ‘Yes, I think so. I saw the bag on TV. I think this is it.’

  The father stood up and brushed the snow off himself. The boys copied him, then they walked in silence back to the car. They’d come out ostensibly to gather twigs for their snowman back at home, and pick up last-minute beer for Grandad. The lure of the snow-covered park had proved too much for them and they’d missed three calls from an irate mother and wife.

  She would soon calm down once they told her why they were late.

  Chapter 46

  Kelly hid her head under her pillow. Christmas Day was just another day and she didn’t know why so much fuss was made of it.

  She felt sick to her stomach.

  It was about the worst possible outcome they could have wished for. Johnny stroked her back. He knew what it meant. A fifteen-year-old girl missing in freezing weather, very probably using drugs, and now her backpack found abandoned. These stories never ended well. The area around the find had been searched until they ran out of light. Wherever Faith was now, she was nowhere near her bag. Michael popped into her head, and she told Johnny.

  ‘Kids are more resilient than we give them credit for,’ he said.

  She nodded, but continued to stare out of the window next to the bed. She knew that already. But she struggled to shake the sense of dread, on a day when she should be able to forget her job for at least a couple of hours.

  The house was quiet, as were the streets outside. Josie hadn’t wanted her dad to bounce on her bed on Christmas morning like a five-year-old, so he’d spent the night with Kelly. It was early, and Josie would either still be asleep, or surfing Instagram, no doubt checking what various celebrities had posted to give their millions of fans further racking insecurities about their normal dull lives. Johnny had woken Kelly with a tray on which he’d put a cup of tea and a gift. He wanted her to open it. She sat up, trying to push away the negative thoughts crowding for space in her head.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said.

  Butterflies trembled in her stomach. The package was ring size. Surely not.

  Shit.

  She sipped her tea and took the small present in her hand, tearing off the paper to reveal a velvet box. Her hands juddered slightly as she opened it. Inside, sitting on a velvet cushion, was a ring, but it wasn’t what one might consider an engagement ring, and Kelly breathed easier. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what to say; more that they hadn’t discussed it. She was re
lieved, but still needed to check.

  ‘It’s stunning.’

  ‘It was my granny’s. I wanted you to have it. You two would have got on well.’ He smiled at her. He’d told her this before, and Kelly wished she’d met his grandmother. Now, more than ever, she wanted to connect and belong. It was as if the ring would give her some balance today: the day when both her mother and father were coming to lunch. She took it out of the box and he rushed to tell her about it.

  ‘My grandfather was based in India and he had it made for her. It’s rubies all the way round, and Indian gold. That’s why it’s so yellow. It’s softer than African.’

  Kelly held it; it was delicate, but heavy from the stones.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘You can wear it on whatever finger you like, no pressure.’ He smiled.

  She tried it on the middle finger of her right hand, and it fitted.

  ‘I love it, thank you. I can’t compete, I’m afraid.’ She got out of bed and put a dressing gown over her nakedness. He watched her go to a drawer and take out a wrapped present the size of a shoebox. She gave it to him and he ripped the packaging open. It was a pair of Ramses Birkenstocks.

  ‘Wow! Who knew flip-flops could be so heavy!’

  ‘Put them on! You’ll never go back to Sports Direct, I promise.’

  He slipped them on and nodded his approval. ‘Nice. Can I wear them in bed?’

  ‘Do what you want.’

  For the next forty minutes, Kelly forgot about what her brain wanted to wire to her to-do list. Johnny commanded all of her attention. Everything else – her mother, Ted, Faith, suicide, drugs, bullies and mangled bodies on mortuary slabs – melted away.

  And he kept his flip-flops on.

  The last thing she wanted was to get out of bed and start cooking and setting the table. It wasn’t going to be a formal affair, but it had the potential to turn into a fairly punchy afternoon. As long as Josie was sitting near Wendy, and as long as there was no drama with Nikki, then the day should go as planned. Nikki didn’t have an invite but that didn’t stop her from generating some crisis, with her at the centre. She had a huge turkey, hand reared locally, some vegetables and potatoes, and shedloads of alcohol.