‘She has learning difficulties. Can’t be left on her own for too long.’
‘Can’t someone else take care of her?’ I was beginning to sound desperate. It felt so weird. It was like I wanted to go out with Cindy so badly because I didn’t want to resort to taking her for good, and yet I knew that I could never walk away. It was either a date or I snatched her.
‘My brother helps out when he can, but he has to work all hours.’ She looked as though she was weary of our conversation, and I let the subject drop. I felt strange about her having a sister who depended on her but it made Cindy all the more of a challenge. Don’t expect me to feel guilty about it.
We didn’t say much to each other after that conversation, just ‘hello’ and ‘big arse’ to which she would reply ‘fucking paddy’. She lived in a semi-detached council house in Speke with her big sister, Beth. Opposite ends of the beauty spectrum they were: Cindy, small and perfectly formed; Beth, big and bug-ugly. I drove down to the house a few times when I knew Cindy was working, to have a look at Beth, to see what she got up to without her sister. Most weekdays a bus collected her about 9am and drove her to a day centre, where I assume she met with more of her kind. I spoke to her once when she arrived home in the afternoon.
‘Hiya, Beth,’ I said as she stepped from the bus. ‘How was your day?’
‘No ice-cream at lunch,’ she said, barging past me into the garden and up to her door.’
‘Right.’
That was it. She slammed the door behind her.
I soon realised it was going to be easier to lift Cindy from somewhere near the hospital. Things were too unpredictable closer to home. Big Beth could complicate matters. Before I set it all up I gave Cindy another chance to go out with me.
‘How’s Gary doing?’ I said as we descended in the lift with an elderly patient minus his dentures.
‘He’s fine, I suppose. We’re still friends but we don’t get much time together these days.’
‘Which is why you should go out with me. I’m always here. We can have lunch together, go out to the pictures after work. I can help you with Beth on my days off when you’re working. What do you say? Give it a go, eh?’
She smiled with that tiny mouth of hers. Lovely white teeth, she had. I saw a twinkle in those eyes. I could feel her about to say yes and my wee heart skipped a beat. Then she cocked her head to the side.
‘How did you know my sister’s name?’
Felt like a stab in my throat. How could I have been so careless?
‘You told me,’ I said.
‘Don’t think so.’
I shrugged.
‘Must have heard you talking to somebody about her.’
She didn’t respond and we left the lift in silence. I didn’t get an answer to my invite. She wouldn’t get another chance.
Within two weeks I’d done all the preparation I needed to do. I had a hell of a good time with Cindy, and she was soon at rest under the Irish Sea. I did the usual thing afterwards: covered my tracks; got rid of the van; and kept an eye out for the news of her disappearance. All was normal, no problem. A couple of months passed and then I heard Cindy’s name (her real name) mentioned on a late night news programme. Her brother was being interviewed about his sister’s disappearance. Turns out he was an investigative journalist and he was determined to find out what had happened to his sister. Fuck.
Chapter 16
Tara
Lynsey Yeats’ house on the Treadwater Estate was, she considered, a reasonable point to begin searching for a link between Terry Lawler and Liverpool’s finest drug dealers. The very name Treadwater sent waves of dread, sickening doubts and sorrow coursing through her. Her previous murder investigation concerned this estate, the killing of Audra Bagdonas, a 17-year-old from Lithuania. It had brought her to meet the man she thought she might spend the rest of her life with. Callum Armour lived in squalor on Treadwater. He’d been broken by the murder of his wife and child and she had helped him track down their murderer. But in doing so she had unintentionally fallen in love with Callum only to lose him as he died in avenging the deaths of his wife and daughter. Eight and a half months later she lost their baby – heart complications during labour. How could she ever learn to even cope with entering this estate? No memories of the place would ever be pleasant.
Tara wondered if Lawler had used the house and his time spent with Lynsey Yeats to suss out information on the drugs problems in council estates. He had certainly written plenty on the subject. She thought, too, that perhaps Lynsey had a drug habit and either it had spurred Lawler into his attempt to expose the dealers or it had been the issue which caused the break in the relationship. From her first impressions of Yeats, and what she had learned so far on Lawler, she thought it an odd pairing. Lynsey was little more than a teenager, and Lawler was 36. Information gleaned from criminal records and social services had revealed Yeats’ turbulent past including expulsion from several schools for aggressive behaviour, two arrests for possession of drugs and a childhood with more years spent in care than with her neglectful mother and alcoholic father. Seemed more likely that Lawler had simply used the girl to help him get his story on local drug culture.
There was a greater reluctance from Yeats, on this occasion, to allow the police into her home. The reason, Tara quickly surmised, was the visitor sprawled on the brown faux-velour sofa, seemingly engrossed in a daytime helping of Jeremy Kyle. Shaven head, thin face, tapered chin, and a mouth too full of poorly arranged teeth, the youth didn’t budge when Murray entered the room ahead of Tara.
‘Who are you?’ Murray asked.
‘What’s it to you?’
‘They’re bizzies, Danny,’ said Lynsey, her arms folded in defence. She acted nervously, glaring at her friend who glared back. Seldom had Tara seen two people who looked as worried and guilty as this pair. Tara had already noticed the marks on the girl’s left forearm, something she’d missed on their last visit. Her suspicions had been right: Lynsey was a user of something.
‘Who gives a shit?’ The youth had suddenly found his bluster.
‘We’re investigating a murder, sunshine,’ said Murray, towering above the teenager who’d remained seated.
‘I’ve told you all I know about Terry,’ said Lynsey. ‘So what do you want?’
‘I want you to tell me what Terry got up to while he lived here with you,’ said Tara. She watched as Danny smirked. Lynsey shrugged dismissively.
‘Used this place as a doss-house, he did.’
‘You tell ’em, Lynsey,’ said Danny.
‘Thought he owned the place; didn’t pay no rent, never took me out, never bought me anything nice. Used me, he did.’
‘What about your drugs? Did he pay for those?’
‘Don’t know what you’re on about. I don’t do drugs.’
‘I saw your arm, Lynsey.’
‘Tell them nothin’, Lynsey. You ain’t done nothin’. Why don’t you leave her alone?’
‘And what’s it got to do with you, sunshine?’ Murray asked. ‘You her dealer? Is that it?’
‘Fuck off, cop. I’m not in that game.’
‘Then what exactly is your game, eh? Chief interrupting gobshite? Or maybe you pimp for the girls round here?’
‘I’m clean, all right?’ said Lynsey, her voice shaky and losing its aggression. ‘Terry helped me to get off them.’
‘Was Terry investigating what goes on around here?’ Tara saw Lynsey’s momentary glance at her friend. She shook her head. ‘No. He never told me what he got up to with his job.’
‘Ever visit his flat?’
‘A couple of times. Terry didn’t like us staying there; that’s why he moved in here.’
‘How well did you know Terry Lawler, Danny?’ Tara asked.
‘Tell the Inspector your full name, there’s a good boy,’ said Murray, plonking himself on the sofa up close and tight against the youth.
‘Danny Ross.’
‘Well, Danny Ross, you tell us how wel
l you knew Terry Lawler and I won’t come back here in an hour with a warrant to search this house and wherever it is you live.’
Murray grinned at Ross, shifting his full weight closer to the slight body in blue jeans and white T-shirt.
‘Didn’t know him.’
‘So Mr Lawler never had cause to write about you in the papers?’
‘Why should he?’
‘I was thinking maybe that Terry knew you were dealing round here, that you were supplying his girlfriend Lynsey, and he decided to do something about it. And now here we are investigating his murder.’
‘Piss off.’
‘Don’t speak like that to a lady,’ said Murray jerking his elbow into the ribs of the youth.
‘Danny’s my boyfriend, that’s all,’ said Lynsey. ‘He never met Terry. So why don’t you get out and leave us alone?’
‘Has he been your boyfriend for long?’ Tara asked.
‘What do you mean?’ Lynsey replied.
‘She means were you shaggin’ me before Terry?’ said Ross.
‘It was never serious with Terry. He lived here for a while, but I wasn’t sleeping with him all the time. He just wanted the company and a place to stay, that’s all.’
Murray took note of Ross’s address, although it did appear that he was seldom away from Lynsey’s house.
*
‘I don’t believe a word that girl says,’ said Murray as he drove them from Treadwater back to the station.
‘Me neither. Clearly she is, or was, a drug user and that has to be connected to Lawler’s articles in the press. If Ross isn’t involved in supplying, I’m sure he knows those who are. Plenty of motive there to have Lawler silenced. I think we’ll have the house searched, see if we can find any trace of Lawler having lived and worked there.’
Chapter 17
Guy
I tried my best to keep an eye on that brother of Cindy’s but it was difficult. From watching the house in Speke, I knew that he spent some time there for a while then it seemed that Cindy’s sister Beth moved away. I reckoned she was put in a home of some kind. Didn’t think it was likely the brother would look after her. Didn’t strike me as the type.
I caught a lucky break one day and spied him leaving a pub in the city. I had time to spare – my day off – so I followed him. He wasn’t in any particular hurry, he climbed on a bus and I managed to get on, too. Easy. He got off in Bootle and all I had to do was apply my skills, honed in trailing girls, to follow him. A couple of streets away from where he got off the bus he opened the door of a flat with a key and went inside. From the outside the place looked pretty run down, worse than my place in Toxteth, but he never re-appeared the rest of that day. I assumed he was living there, and I went by a couple times after that but I never saw him again nor did I see any life about the place. A month or so later, hearing nothing more about Cindy or her brother on the news, I felt the urge to start planning again.
Liverpool was definitely out of the equation for a while. I’d overstepped the mark with Cindy. I’d got too close to her. We worked together, we flirted; I’d asked her out a couple of times. She could easily have told other people about me. Her boyfriend, for instance, or that journalist brother. I’d been slack. I needed to get back to basics, to do what I was really good at doing – taking a sweet girl, having a great time and leaving no trace. I was horny as fuck; I needed a confidence booster. I had to know that I wasn’t losing my touch. I needed a challenge, something or someone that allowed me to put all my tried and trusted methods to their proper use. I headed to London.
I’d already bagged a couple down there a few years back. It was no more difficult than anywhere else except that I was further from Mother Freedom. That meant a longer journey in the van before I could get the girl out to sea. Strangely, with London, I imagined that you could go missing for a longer time before anyone started looking, before any alarm was raised. Maybe people are busier down there or there are more distractions and more places for a body to go than in any other city. Maybe people don’t care as much. Anyway, what I’m saying is that I had no problems taking a girl from London. My challenge though was to lift someone closer to the top of the food-chain, someone famous, perhaps, or someone with money or a bit of class. I had to prove to myself that I could have any girl I wanted. Stuck-up Gemma had first prompted me to take what wasn’t mine and now I really had to prove it to myself all over again. I had to recreate that buzz I felt the first time with Millie. Cindy had been a mistake; I’d grown too fond of her; I should have walked away. Taking a girl from the place where you work was far too stupid. You don’t piss in your own pen. Yet now I found myself having to go bigger to get the spark.
I took two weeks off work on the sick, said I hurt my back moving a patient. They wouldn’t come after me for that, too scared of me putting in a claim. I stayed in a Travel Lodge in Paddington with free parking for the van. I’d brought everything I needed. There was no time for research, returning to Liverpool and then coming back to do the business. I wanted this to be the quickest and slickest job ever. Like I’ve said before, it’s all in the planning.
Before leaving Toxteth I’d sussed a few possibilities, managed to find addresses or the names of places where certain girls were known to be working, studios, the offices of show-biz agents, clubs they frequented. First up on my radar was a girl called Lucy. If I told you her real name you would recognise her from one of those medical dramas on TV where she played the poison teenager with a penchant for rich and married men. I spotted her leaving her gym in Islington. Short legs, sailing blonde hair, wide mouth and full lips, Lucy ticked all the boxes as she sallied, dressed in pink leggings, baggy sweatshirt and white trainers to her Mini. I stood amongst the parked cars in the car park and watched as she drove away. Tomorrow, I thought.
The same day I hung around in New Bond Street where Victoria, daughter of a duke who shall remain nameless, was working in the prestigious store of one of Britain’s top fashion designers. When she left work, alone, inconspicuous, anyone who didn’t know her would ever realise she was nearly royalty. She toddled along the street in black jeans, multi-coloured jumper and black pumps, a woollen scarf draped around her neck. Fair hair snipped short, from a distance she looked ordinary but from what I’d seen in her photographs in one of those Hello-type magazines, Victoria had class written all over her face.
Lying in my room at the hotel, I imagined me taking them both, Lucy and Victoria. A threesome, if you like. It would mean some careful planning and I dropped off to sleep with the idea swirling in my head. When I awoke, and got myself out among the throng of people in Oxford Street, I told myself that I should at least take a look at my third possibility.
Eve was a weather girl, mostly on national radio, but on occasion she appeared on TV. She looked foreign, that is, she looked of Asian or Middle-eastern descent: dusky skin, shining black hair, in a wispy style around her face and absolutely no meat on her bones. I’d never seen her from the waist down but, from her personal website, I noted that she was merely 5ft 3ins and single. Bless her.
Took me three days of my two weeks in London before I spied her leaving Broadcasting House. It was getting on for 7am, raining and a wind getting up. Just the way I liked it, except I hadn’t planned on taking her so soon. She walked right by me on the pavement as I pretended to cross the road. She glanced at me and I tried a smile, but instantly her gaze from almond eyes dropped to the ground with the spots of rain. I decided there and then. It had to be her, and it had to be tonight, if I could manage it. Visions of Lucy and Victoria were greatly suppressed.
When she was 20 yards or so along the street, I turned and began to follow. She rounded a corner and I ran to catch up. Fast walker. I hurried after her. In this weather she wouldn’t twig to me following. No one was hanging about in the rain. My head was thumping, a pulsing in my temples. So many questions and doubts were surfacing. How did I take her? How did I get her to the van? It was nearly a mile away. This was stupid and yet o
n I went. I tried telling myself that it was a dry run. Once I knew her route home I’d take her on another night. I was so messed up. I charged on and nearly collided with her as she stopped to cross the road. She seemed to be aware of me standing close behind her. She turned briefly, forced a quick smile, and before I had the chance to do anything she hurried across the road now clear of traffic. I didn’t move. Without her even being aware of what I was up to she’d got the better of me. A silver Mercedes swerved to a halt on the other side of the street; a man, foreign-looking like Eve but much older, was at the wheel. Eve climbed in beside him and the car roared away. That was the last I saw of her. I’d wasted three days on her and in a few minutes had thrown all my experience and good practice in the bin once again. I was losing it, big time. May as well head back to Liverpool.
Instead, I had a restless night. I needed to score. Nearly five months since Cindy. Still, I was drawn to a more challenging subject. Eve, I decided, would be too difficult in a short time, and so my attention returned to Victoria and Lucy. I promised myself not to foul it up.
For a week Lucy followed the same routine: a mid-morning session at her gym then off somewhere in her Mini. Never had the chance to follow her in my van. Traffic was lousy. If I wanted her I was going to have to take her in broad daylight. Too risky.
Victoria left her store each night between 5.15pm and 5.45pm. Alone. She took the same route to Bond Street tube station. A couple of times I followed her onto a train and continued to trail her when she got off at Holland Park. From there she walked a quarter of a mile to a street lined on both sides with elegant three-storey houses. About halfway along she descended some steps and went inside what I assumed to be her basement flat. I spent an evening pacing up and down the street keeping watch in case she re-appeared. I decided then and there that I had two choices. Either I lifted her before she got to the tube station at Bond Street or I waited until just before she arrived at her flat. Game on.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 7