‘Thanks, Brian.’ She emerged from the tent reeling from the horror she’d witnessed. She felt nauseous but had to try hard to hold it together. She just wanted to go home, curl up in bed and forget she had a life as a police officer.
‘You all right, mam?’ said Wilson.
‘I’ll be fine thanks.’
‘Not for the faint-hearted, that one.’ She smiled acknowledgement and paced her way to where the Blackleys were waiting.
‘Is it Paul?’ Gwen Blackley asked her.
‘Difficult to say at the moment.’
‘What do you mean difficult?’ Evan Blackley snapped. ‘Don’t you recognise him? Let me have a look; I’ll soon tell you.’
‘It’s a crime scene, Mr Blackley. You’ll not be going anywhere near it.’
His wife attempted to hold him by the arm, but he shrugged her off.
‘When can I get this site opened again? I have a schedule to keep.’
‘Not today, sir. At the moment we are searching the area for a weapon.’
Shaking his head, he made to walk away, but Tara hadn’t finished with him.
‘May I ask, are you here only because this is your building site?’
‘I got a call from my contractor; he found the body and we came down. Your lot were already here. Told us sweet FA so far.’
‘Calm down, Evan,’ said Gwen Blackley. ‘Let the police do their job.’
‘When did either of you last see Mr Macklin?’
‘Oh, here we go. I know what you’re suggesting. That because I phoned you, sounding off about Macklin sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, you think I bumped him off. Why would I phone the police if I was going to kill him?’
‘I asked when you last saw him, that’s all. I haven’t accused you of anything.’
‘He came to the house about a week ago,’ said Gwen.
‘Is that when he threatened to blackmail you?’
‘Evan wasn’t at home, but yes he told me that if Evan didn’t give him £100,000 he would go to the press with Terry’s story – and a lot more.’
‘What did he mean by ‘a lot more’?’
Evan Blackley jumped in.
‘Ancient bloody history, that’s all. Lawler thought he had something on me from my time playing in Italy – betting scams and match-fixing – but he had nothing. Damn lies, nothing but lies. That scumbag Macklin must have thought he’d struck gold. What I would like to know is why Terry passed his shit on to him?’
‘A good question,’ said Tara. She wondered how much information Lawler had shared with his friend. Enough to get him killed? ‘Did you give any money to Mr Macklin?’
‘Of course not. He didn’t scare me with his threats.’
From the lane entrance to the building site, where a dozen expensive-looking houses were under construction, she gazed across the expanse of playing fields, the Treadwater Estate in the distance. How she hated that place.
She and Murray spent the late afternoon briefing Superintendent Tweedy on the murder of the man, now confirmed as Paul Macklin. After leaving the building site, they’d paid a visit to Macklin’s flat in Speke. There they found all the evidence they needed to prove that the solicitor was embarked upon a series of blackmail attempts against Matt Sullivan, Evan Blackley and Doreen Leitch. He’d simply taken up where Terry Lawler had left off, except that he was intent upon making money from his victims rather than seizing the moral high ground by exposing their activities.
‘It’s likely then,’ said Tweedy, pacing around in front of his whiteboard, ‘that the same person is responsible for killing Lawler and Macklin?’
‘Seems that way, sir.’ Tara replied. ‘The main suspects have to be the intended victims of Macklin’s blackmail attempts.’
Tweedy sank into deep thought; his face lent itself well to looking contemplative.
‘But they were such brutal killings,’ he said. ‘Macklin’s, in particular, was frenzied. A very angry killer. Do any of these suspects fit that profile?’
‘Blackley has a temper,’ said Murray.
‘Mmm. And what about the lead regarding Lawler’s missing sister and those other girls? Is there any possibility that Macklin had also taken up that project and stumbled upon the same man as his friend – a potential serial killer?’
Chapter 42
Guy
Saw it on the news at lunchtime; they found the body of some bloke. Macklin, a solicitor. Turns out he was a mate of that guy Lawler, you know, the one whose sister I took? But I’ve never heard of him. Can’t help wondering what’s going on, though. Tara will be knee-deep in corpses soon. Who the hell would join the police? Nightmare.
Today, after I finished work, I went to look for a new van. I need to have one ready for when I finally get a chance to go for Tara. It’s doing my bloody head in, all this waiting. I’m usually patient, but it’s harder when you can’t even do proper reconnaissance. Tara is so difficult to pin down. She works odd hours; she’s home when you think she’d be out enjoying herself; sometimes she drives, sometimes it’s that big copper that I nearly met in the pub who drives her. I can’t be taking another girl just to fill in time. I want Tara, and I want her now.
I’ve bought a few vans from the auctions on West Derby Road. I’ve been lucky so far, getting them at the right price, few questions asked. It’s better than private deals, always a chance the seller may remember me if it ever came to an investigation. And I always pay in cash at the auction. They have a note of my name, that is, the name I give them, but not much else. This time I managed a Vauxhall van with side loading doors for three grand. A bargain. When I’m done with Tara I can easily make the money back at an auction in Manchester or Burnley.
When I’d settled me debts, I drove the van out of the city toward Netherton. It’s not a place I know well, but it’s easy to park on a road without restrictions and no questions asked. I can leave the van there until I need it. I didn’t hang about, though; caught a bus back to the city centre. I had an appointment to keep.
His name is Janek. That’s all I know. Not even sure if that’s his real name. He’s Estonian and that’s what’s important. In Estonia they take China White like bloody Smarties. Streets of Tallinn are paved with the stuff. Anyway, Janek is my supplier. He doesn’t ask questions and I don’t offer information. I reckon he assumes I pass the gear on to friends. China White’s becoming very popular in the North West. Stronger than heroin, but I don’t give a shit about that. I’m not trying to get high; I’m trying to get laid by the woman of my choice.
Late in the afternoon I met up with Janek outside St John’s Shopping Centre. He prefers to meet clients in busy places, lots of people all going about their own business. But no matter how I try, I can never spot him first. He just seems to appear from thin air. I thought I was good at stealth and all that shit, but this guy is a whole level above me. I was standing by the wall a few feet from the entrance to the shopping centre and looking all around me. Sure as hell when I glanced to my right, Janek was standing to my left when I turned around again.
He was a tall, gangly bastard, thin face, cheek bones sticking out. Looked as if he came from a labour camp in Siberia. His hair was black and greasy, he needed a shave and his clothes were shabby, in need of a good wash. His brown leather jacket had absorbed years of grime from trawling the streets and should’ve been dumped. He had both hands in jacket pockets but a plastic carrier bag was dangling from his right arm.
‘How are you, Mr James?’ he said in quite good English.
‘Dead on, Janek mate, how about you?’
‘Busy. Everybody wants what I have to sell.’
‘I hope it’s good gear this time.’ Not that he began with a smile, but he didn’t look happy at my suggesting there had been anything inferior about his previous gear.
‘Always good. I don’t do bad drugs. Not good for business. How much you want this time?’
‘As much as you can give me.’
‘You planning some big party
?’
‘You know me, Janek; low key.’
At that he walked away and I knew to tag along. Always better not to loiter in one place. Keep moving through the shoppers and people hurrying home from work. No one took notice of Janek removing a small white parcel from his shopping bag. He handed it to me while looking straight ahead. I knew not to begin studying the package. I could tell how much gear was wrapped in the bag just by the weight and size. There was enough inside to do Tara and several dozen more pretty Merseyside policewomen. I slipped him a roll of notes, £400 to be exact. Before I got the chance to wish him well he scurried off down a side street. I watched him go. You have to admire his business acumen.
The next day, which was Saturday, I was off work. It was kind of a nice day if you’re into that sort of thing, admiring the weather and the like, so I drove my car down to Penrhyn harbour. I wanted to check on Mother Freedom, make sure she was seaworthy. I looked over the engine; made sure it was clean and that no water had got into it. The cabin needed a good tidying, and when I’d changed the seat covers, replaced the pillow cases with fresh ones, I decided it might be a nice idea to keep Tara alive until we were out to sea. Then I would give her the send-off she deserved. I told myself there would be nothing different about taking Tara, she was simply another conquest, but I felt on edge about something. Yes, she was a cop; yes, she was difficult to watch; but that wasn’t it. Somehow I imagined that Tara was going to be the best girl I’d ever taken and I didn’t want to mess it up. Everything would have to be perfect for Tara Grogan. I would give her the time of her life. Something worth dying for.
Chapter 43
Tara
Reluctantly, Tara had to endure another interview with Councillor Sullivan, while he ogled her chest. And, it seemed he didn’t confine his behaviour to his office. She and Murray sat opposite the young politician in the restaurant of the council offices in Hatton Garden. Sullivan was feasting on steak pie, chips and peas accompanied by a mug of tea. Tara chose not to eat, while Murray took the opportunity to tuck into a cheeseburger and a glass of milk. It was evident that Sullivan was unnerved by their presence, but it didn’t deter him from his study of Tara’s breasts while he ate.
‘I’m sure by now, Councillor, that you’ve learned of the murder of Paul Macklin?’
‘Heard yes, but if you’ve come to ask me about him, Inspector, I can’t help you. Didn’t know the guy.’
Tara cocked her head to the side in disbelief. She hadn’t thought him that silly to deny knowledge of the man who had probably attempted to blackmail him. Murray, enjoying his burger, ceased eating.
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘And why is that, Inspector.’
Please speak to my face, she wanted to say.
‘Evan Blackley was more than happy to tell us of his association with Paul Macklin.’
Sullivan didn’t reply, feigning a greater interest in the food on his plate. Tara was happy to wait while he gathered his thoughts. Murray resumed his eating.
‘Have you met with Evan Blackley recently?’ she said.
‘Why do you ask that? You already know I have contact with Blackley’s company on the council’s behalf.’
‘I was wondering, perhaps, if you had met with Blackley that Paul Macklin was present too.’
‘Already told you. I didn’t know Macklin. Are you going to waste my afternoon finding different ways to ask the same question?’ He took a mouthful of tea and for the first time stared Tara in the face.
Glad you’ve decided to join me at last, she thought.
‘Tell me, Counillor, was Macklin trying to blackmail you over your dealings with Evan Blackley or did it concern your relationship with Doreen Leitch?’
Sullivan didn’t even baulk at the suggestion and merely finished off the last mouthful of pie.
‘Well, that was good,’ he said, setting his knife and fork on the plate. If you’re finished, Inspector, I have a meeting at 2pm – something to do with greater police presence in the city centre at night. Maybe you and your mate would fancy a spot of overtime on the beat.’ Sullivan rose from his chair, smiled and walked away.
‘Cheeky bugger,’ said Murray.
Tara was surprised at the degree of backbone shown by the councillor. From their first meeting, she didn’t think he had it in him.
‘Maybe we’ll do better with Councillor Leitch,’ she said.
*
Remarkable, Tara thought, learning from Murray after he’d finished speaking to Leitch on the phone that Doreen was enjoying a leisurely day at home. From first impressions it seemed the woman was a workaholic, dashing from council meetings to constituency gatherings to her various charitable projects, advice surgeries and drug and alcohol drop-in centres. Home for Leitch was, to Tara’s surprise, quite a distance from inner city Liverpool. She may have dedicated herself to working for the people of the city, but Tara thought it telling that she hadn’t chosen to live there.
With the aid of sat-nav, Murray turned left off Westcliffe Road in Birkdale and they found themselves in a neat yet spacious modern development of large detached houses. The Leitch family home was located at the far end of a cul-de-sac. Murray pulled up at a pair of double gates and climbed out of the car. Tara looked on as he spoke into an intercom on the right-hand gatepost, and a few seconds later the metal gates began to swing inwards.
The red-brick house had three floors; windows and doors were framed in white and a double garage was set some way off to the right. There was ample room in the drive for a couple of city buses never mind a couple of family cars. Despite the announcement at the gate that visitors had just entered, they had still to ring the door-bell which chimed merrily somewhere in the centre of the house. A full minute later, Doreen Leitch opened the half-paned door. Dressed casually in black trousers and green tunic, she didn’t apologise for the delay, nor did she offer any greeting.
‘This way,’ she said dryly, walking briskly down the hallway. Soon they were seated around a breakfast bar in a bright expansive kitchen. No refreshment was offered and no offence was taken. Tara was certain that Sullivan would have briefed his lover on the reasons for another interview with the police. But the woman was set on playing her part as a mildly interested bystander.
‘How may I help you today, Inspector?’ She sat opposite Tara at the bar, her hands resting one on the other. Her smile was strong, but forced, her eyes suggesting that Tara should get to the point immediately and be done with it. Murray remained standing, pacing around the kitchen, although Tara knew that he would be a keen listener.
‘I want to ask you about your relationship with Paul Macklin.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Mr Macklin.’
‘He was a friend of Terry Lawler.’
Doreen Leitch shook her head.
‘Sorry, I can’t help you, Inspector. It seems you’ve had a wasted journey. I could have answered your query when I spoke to your colleague on the phone.’ She glared in Murray’s direction, but his back was turned. Tara hadn’t finished with the patronising woman.
‘This is a murder inquiry, Councillor. We believe the death of Paul Macklin is connected to that of Terry Lawler.’
‘And I explained when we last met that I had no dealings with Mr Lawler.’
‘According to Councillor Sullivan, Lawler had threatened to expose your affair, and the following morning his body was found on Crosby Beach. I believe that Paul Macklin also threatened to expose your affair but was willing to accept payment to remain silent. We found his body tied to a fence and slashed to ribbons. Have you any comment to make about that, Councillor?’ Tara was conscious of her face warming. She didn’t much care for this woman’s attitude, innocent or not.
Suddenly Doreen Leitch was on her feet and scurrying across her kitchen to an open doorway through which Murray had just disappeared.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ She fumed. ‘I didn’t give you permission to go wandering around my home.’
‘I don’t care for the tone of your questions, Inspector, and I don’t appreciate one of your officers taking liberties in my home. If you have nothing more to say, I think it’s time you left.’
‘I didn’t get an answer to my question,’ said Tara, getting to her feet. ‘Did Paul Macklin attempt to blackmail you over your affair with Matt Sullivan?’
‘And I have told you that I’ve never had any contact with this man. Now please go.’
‘One more thing, Councillor. Is your affair with Matt Sullivan ongoing?’
‘That’s no business of yours or the Merseyside Police.’
‘If Macklin was blackmailing you, and he was then killed, I rather think it is our business. You have motive to murder and I will call again if I find you have not been forthcoming with the truth.’
*
On the drive back to the city, Tara pondered their next move in silence, but Murray was keen to talk.
‘That didn’t go too well.’
‘No, and it wouldn’t surprise me if that hateful woman goes complaining to the Chief Constable.’
‘That’ll bring Tweedy down on us.’
‘Did you find anything interesting on your walkabout?’
‘Found her study, but she didn’t give me the chance to have a good peek. So what do we do now?’
Tara gave a heavy sigh.
‘We’ve spoken to all the potential suspects and got nowhere. I think it’s time to lean a bit harder on the Blackleys. They know a lot more about Macklin and I want to know why he was killed at the very place, the building site that caused so much trouble for Lawler. Is there more to it than merely poisoned ground?’
Chapter 44
Tara
Tara and Murray sat across the table from Evan Blackley in an interview room at St Anne Street station. From the manner of his dress – a dark blue sweater and matching slacks – he looked all set for a morning on the golf course. Instead he had been requested to show up at the station to be questioned in connection with the murder of Paul Macklin. He was far from happy, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table as Tara formulated her questions.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 16