Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  Tara rose from her desk; she couldn’t get comfortable and wandered across the office to Murray and Wilson. It was well after 9am and the room was filling with staff and the noise level steadily rising. She had an idea to run by her colleagues. Football stories would have to wait.

  ‘Tell me what you think of this,’ she said to them both, resting her body gingerly at the edge of Wilson’s desk. ‘The night before Lawler was killed he called with the Blackleys and he spoke to Gwen. On the day we questioned her about Lawler and her husband, Paul Macklin was in the house with her. Why?’

  ‘Paying his respects,’ said Murray, getting into a Mars bar. ‘They all used to be mates.’

  ‘What if the lovely Gwen is at the centre of all this? Rather than she being the wife trying to protect her husband’s business interests, what if she passed information, firstly to Lawler and, after he’d been killed, to Macklin?’

  ‘Why would she do that? She would be risking her new lifestyle to pass on titbits to a reporter.’

  ‘It can’t be a good marriage, though. Blackley’s too much of a showman, and he never seems to be home.’

  Wilson, with no real input to the discussion, had continued his examination of the contents of a large brown envelope. The folders and papers strewn across his desk had all been removed from Paul Macklin’s flat. Simultaneously, Tara and Murray noticed that Wilson was staring intently at two press cuttings, his eyes jumping from the one in his left hand to the one in his right.

  ‘What have you got, John?’ Tara asked. Murray snatched the cutting from Wilson’s left hand and glanced at the story. Wilson offered the other to his DI. All three officers looked at each other.

  ‘Wow,’ said Murray.

  Chapter 50

  Tara

  She’d telephoned prior to her arrival at the house in Lymm. A one-to-one chat was needed, not a confrontation. Tara had convinced herself that Gwen Blackley was at the centre of all that had transpired between her ex-husband, her present husband, a pair of city councillors and Paul Macklin. It wasn’t so much that Gwen Blackley was holding back potentially useful information, it was more a case that so far she had not been asked the right questions.

  ‘I want you to stay in the car,’ she told Murray.

  ‘Why’s that, mam?’ he replied with a tone of complaint.

  ‘It’s best that I speak to her alone. She might be more forthcoming on a woman-to-woman basis.’ Murray couldn’t stifle his scoff.

  ‘You can make yourself useful by checking on the progress of the search for Ross and Yeats.’ She slammed the car door to let him know he had been irritating, and approached the front of the house. Gwen Blackley answered without her having to ring the bell.

  ‘Hello, Inspector Grogan,’ she said, stepping back to allow Tara to enter. Gwen was dressed in black cropped leggings, white trainers and grey T-shirt. Even with light make-up she could easily pass for a woman of Tara’s age.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me again, Mrs Blackley.’ The woman didn’t reply, but merely led the way through to the bright kitchen at the rear of the house. A large window afforded views across the fields in the direction of the M6. A hefty woman with long mousey hair was seated at the kitchen table, her head down, studying a collection of photographs. When she glanced at Tara, there was no greeting or acknowledgement. The woman’s face was quite plain, ruddy cheeks devoid of make-up; she seemed indifferent to Tara’s presence.

  ‘Inspector, this is Beth, Terry’s sister. Beth, say hello to Inspector Grogan.’

  The reply was barely audible and the woman dropped her head and continued to fidget with the pictures scattered over the table. A glass of strawberry milkshake and a plate of Jaffa Cakes sat close by.

  ‘Hi, Beth,’ said Tara. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ There was no further response, and Gwen Blackley rolled her eyes.

  ‘Can I get you tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee would be great, thank you.’ Tara was invited to sit at the island bench closer to the centre of the kitchen, putting a few feet between them and Beth. Gwen poured two mugs of coffee from a percolator, filled a small jug with milk and placed all on the counter between herself and Tara.

  ‘I’m assuming you don’t take sugar.’

  ‘No, I don’t thank you.’

  ‘Evan is in London. Beth is staying with me for a few days; she has no one else now.’

  ‘Company for you.’

  ‘Mmm … difficult at times. Moody. She hasn’t taken the news about Terry well and I’m not quite sure how to help her understand. Hasn’t made it any easier that Terry never told her the truth about her sister. As far as she’s concerned, Ruth is back-packing in Australia.’

  ‘Do you think she is still alive?’

  Gwen shook her head then drank some of her coffee.

  ‘I doubt it. I’m guessing that you see a link between Terry’s death and Ruth’s disappearance?’

  ‘I have been considering that possibility.’

  ‘Why are you here, Inspector? What is it you want from me?’

  Tara sipped at her coffee, hot and a little strong for her taste.

  ‘I was thinking over the case and realised that you lie somewhat in the centre of all that has happened.’

  Gwen’s face reddened; she looked alarmed.

  ‘Are you suggesting that I’m your prime suspect?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘You think I killed my ex-husband? He is the father of my daughter, for goodness sake.’

  ‘Please, Gwen, let me explain.’

  ‘You believe that I could kill someone in the way that Paul was murdered?’

  ‘Please, let me finish.’

  Gwen at last halted her rant.

  ‘What I am trying to say is that you connect all the strands of the story we have so far gathered.’ Tara could see that the woman was still a long way from accepting what she was trying to say. ‘As you have said, you were once married to Terry, and Paul was an old friend to both of you. Also, your present husband was under threats from Terry and Paul. But yet they came to you each time they wanted to get at Evan. I suppose what I am asking of you, Gwen, is for you to think hard about what both men said to you. Did they mention anyone else who had a reason to harm them? Did Terry mention any details about his sister’s disappearance that gave you cause to wonder or to be concerned?’

  ‘I still loved Terry after all this time, after all he’d done to Maisie and me. But I hated him with equal measure. He destroyed our marriage, and it didn’t do Maisie a lot of good. I left him when Evan started paying me attention. Ruth never forgave me for that. But Evan is a good man, Inspector. He has a temper; he has a poor reputation with the press, and he despised Terry.’

  ‘Enough to kill him?’

  ‘No way. And believe me a lesser man would have throttled Terry a lot sooner for the things he tried to do. But do you think a man who took Maisie and me on, treating her like his own daughter, would stoop so low as to murder?’

  Before Tara could respond a telephone rang.

  ‘Excuse me, Inspector that’ll be Evan. He’s in London on business.’ Gwen lifted a handset from its cradle on the worktop and stepped quickly into the hall. Tara could hear only a muffled voice of the wife speaking to her husband. She gazed across the kitchen to where Beth continued to sort through photographs and news cuttings. Tara approached and watched as Beth lifted a black and white photo from a cardboard box, placed it on the table then swiped her palm heavily over the print in order to smooth out wrinkles on the paper despite there being none. It was a picture of Terry wearing motorcycle leathers, holding a crash helmet and standing next to a Suzuki motorbike. The wind had blown his hair across his face, but he’d managed a wide smile for the camera. Beth then placed the picture in a small pile with other black and white photos. She repeated the exercise with a couple more pictures before moving on to a colour shot of herself with a girl whom Tara assumed was her sister Ruth. If it were indeed the missing Ruth she had been a beautiful gir
l: short dark hair, chirpy smile, confident and happy with eyes filled with fun or mischief. Hard to say which.

  Beth continued her activity while ignoring Tara looking on. At one point Tara thought she’d managed to provoke a smile, but in an instant it became more a sneer, a derisive scowl of a child trying her best to tell you to go away and leave them alone. Tara was about to do just that when she glanced at a news cutting sitting off to the side from the piles of photographs that Beth had arranged. She reached out to lift it, but Beth slammed her hand down hard upon the paper.

  ‘Mine!’

  ‘I just want to have a look at this one, Beth.’

  ‘No, mine.’ An angry face glared up from the table.

  ‘Please, Beth.’

  ‘Beth, don’t be rude,’ said Gwen Blackley returning.

  ‘Mine.’

  ‘You know fine well they’re not yours. They belong to Terry. Don’t they?’

  ‘No. Terry’s dead.’

  ‘Yes they do. Now let Inspector Grogan have a look at whatever she wants. Go and put your empty glass in the dishwasher.’

  Reluctantly, and with little grace, Beth stamped across the kitchen and opened the dishwasher. Tara seized her moment to study the article that had caught her eye. It was a photo cut from The Echo, no date but at least the legend beneath was intact. The caption read: ‘Councillor Doreen Leitch pictured with staff, volunteers and users of the new drop-in centre.’ Tara studied the faces in the grainy shot. In addition to Leitch she recognised only two others, but it was enough. At last she had her first real lead.

  Chapter 51

  Tara

  ‘Have they picked up Ross yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Murray replied, startled by Tara hastily jumping into the car.

  ‘Back to the station, quick as you can. At last I think we might be getting somewhere.’

  Tara filled Murray in on what she had discovered among Beth’s photographs.

  ‘Put that together with what Wilson had and I think we have our killer.’

  She could hardly contain her thoughts as Murray rushed them back to the city. On the way she phoned Wilson and urged him to speed up the search and arrest of Danny Ross. Gradually, however, the implications of what she had uncovered began to conflict with her first thought, that Ross was the killer. Suddenly, it wasn’t so clear cut. Yes, he was pictured with Doreen Leitch at a drug rehab centre; the picture had been part of a story reported by Terry Lawler. But Wilson had found a couple of others, pictures taken by Lawler during his investigation of the drug activities on the Treadwater Estate. Ross, in these shots had not been identified by name, but it was the same youth each time. These clippings had been found among Paul Macklin’s belongings. Had Ross been trying to suppress the stories of his drug-dealing? The obvious answer was yes, and he’d killed Lawler and Macklin to prevent further publicity. But the longer she held that view the more Tara wondered about a third party.

  When they got back to St Anne Street, she allowed Murray to go for some food, while she formulated a list of questions to put to Ross when eventually he was brought in.

  The afternoon dragged by. She updated Tweedy on her recent findings. He, cautious as ever, did seem convinced that it was progress. A sickening feeling took over in her stomach. She was hungry, but couldn’t face food even when Murray returned with sandwiches, enough for two. He had no trouble in scoffing the lot. Her head throbbed. Her neck still ached from the attack by Lynsey Yeats. She’d noticed the spreading bruise across her left shoulder and by this stage in the day regretted not heeding the advice from Tweedy to take some time off. And still she had the nagging unease about the motives of her rescuer, James. The coincidence of his just being there was simply too much for her to swallow. There was something about the murder of Terry Lawler and all the connections to it that continued to make her feel uneasy. She couldn’t help wondering if somehow, bizarrely James was involved. The curious yet foolish thought quickly dissipated.

  It was close to midnight, when Murray phoned her at home to say that Danny Ross had been arrested in Treadwater. Members of a Matrix team had cause to interrupt a house party on the estate following complaints by other residents of noise and brawls in the street. Tara hoped the youth, when he arrived at St Anne Street, would be in a fit state to face questions, but somehow that seemed unlikely given the circumstances of his arrest. Danny Ross, most likely, would be stoned out of his head.

  *

  She was too warm; she couldn’t get comfortable, too much going round in her mind. She didn’t sleep. A shower, a bowl of muesli, a cup of weak peppermint tea and then she tried to look presentable for the day ahead. Not that she had to impress a drugged youth who most probably had slept it off in a holding cell, but she had to feel professional in herself and she had to look in control to those around her.

  As she’d thought, when Ross was brought in to St Anne Street, he was hardly fit to state his own name. Her questions had had to wait until morning. She drew her hair back, pinning it at the sides and feeding it through a black scrunchie. Applying a little rouge and a warmer-than-usual lipstick, she then inspected her white blouse in the long mirror in her bedroom and fastened the side zip on her black trousers. No doubt Ross and his appointed solicitor would have a laugh, thinking she didn’t look old enough to be in sixth form never mind work as a detective inspector.

  Gathering the scraps of paper on which she’d scribbled further questions and sketched out more scenarios on this case, she pulled on a black leather zip-jacket and hurried from the flat. She reversed her car from its space in the square and over-revved as she sped to the barrier. As she swept around the curve of the drive leading to Wapping she noticed a black car, a small Peugeot hatchback, sitting half on the pavement half on the road, its driver crouched low down in his seat. For a fleeting moment she thought it was James, but by the time she’d reached the junction she had heavy traffic to negotiate and her planned questioning of a murder suspect, and so the notion left her.

  Murray was ready and waiting in the operations room when she arrived. He looked fresher than she felt, but she could never allow him to sense it. He drew too much satisfaction from seeing her struggle at times. At least that’s how she felt about her subordinate: a friend on occasions, hopefully when it mattered most, but also a man resentful at seeing a woman, a younger woman, fast-tracked into a job she’d never had the experience for.

  ‘Morning, mam. I’ve put Ross in room two. He’s all yours.’

  ‘Right then, let’s get on with it.’ She dumped her bag by her desk, retrieved the files she would need from a cabinet and allowed Murray to lead the way downstairs.

  Biting his nails, Danny Ross didn’t seem concerned when first Murray then Tara entered the interview room. Ross’s blue checked shirt was ripped at the seam on the left shoulder, he needed a shave and there was congealed blood gathered around the gold stud in his right ear. There wasn’t much of him, Tara thought, although he’d given the arresting officers a rough time the night before. Presumably that was how he’d ripped his shirt and had dried blood on his ear. Murray dealt with the preliminaries, reading Ross his rights and explaining about the interview being recorded. Ross was unmoved, didn’t seem to care, didn’t set his gaze upon Murray or Tara.

  ‘Well, Danny let’s begin with Terry Lawler, shall we? How well did you know him?’

  ‘What you talkin’ about?’

  ‘How well did you know Terry Lawler?’

  ‘What’s this got to do with last night?’

  ‘Last night?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here innit? I was at the party when the Matrix shut us down.’

  Tara grinned at Murray, who took it as his signal to continue.

  ‘Don’t worry about that for now, Danny. I’m sure the drugs boys will catch up with you soon enough. We want to ask you about the murders of Terry Lawler and Paul Macklin.’

  The thin face of Danny Ross turned white, his mouth dropped open after spitting a fingernail across the table.


  ‘Don’t know nothin’ about no killings.’

  ‘Okay, Danny, let’s get back to the first question,’ said Tara. ‘On our visit to Lynsey’s house, when we first met you, it was clear then that you knew Terry Lawler. How well did you know him?’

  ‘Saw him about the estate and that.’

  ‘Did you have conversations?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You never spoke with him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you visit Lynsey’s house while Mr Lawler was living there?’

  ‘Might have done. Don’t remember.’

  Tara could sense Murray’s impatience kicking in: first a sigh, then him sitting way back in his chair. Ross was going to be hard work, but she was hopeful of getting what she wanted from the youth. Drug-dealer he may be, but he was still only a teenager. She was certain that he wouldn’t want a murder charge pinned on him. For now Murray would have to bide his time.

  ‘You left something behind when you ran off the other day,’ Tara continued.

  Ross shrugged.

  ‘Bit of a haul, wasn’t it, Danny? Ecstasy. Must have been worth a lot to you, and yet you left it behind?’

  ‘Thought you weren’t bothered about the drugs,’ said Ross.