Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  ‘So you don’t know why Doreen was attacked?’ Tara asked. He shook his head. ‘She was already screaming the place down when Yeats burst in. Wouldn’t surprise me if the girl was only trying to shut her up.’

  ‘Were you acquainted with Lynsey Yeats before this attack?’

  ‘Met her for the first time a few days ago. She’d been staying with Doreen at her house. Doreen said she needed a place to lie low for a while. Then Doreen’s husband came home from Dubai, and she asked me to look after the girl for a few days until she could sort something out.’

  ‘And did you agree to this?’

  ‘I did, but I wanted to know the reason why she was helping her. She told me the girl had a drug problem and some guys on her estate were after her.’

  ‘That was all?’

  ‘I didn’t push it, so yes that was all.’

  ‘So Lynsey was staying at your house when she burst in on you and Doreen?’ Murray asked.

  ‘Not exactly. I have a cottage in the Lake District, Ambleside. I thought it was a good idea to put her there for a while, until whatever trouble she was in had blown over.’

  ‘Did she go?’

  ‘Oh yes. Doreen and I drove her up on Friday morning. Got her settled in with groceries and things. She seemed happy enough and we left her on Friday afternoon. Next time I saw her was in my bedroom yesterday.’

  ‘Did Councillor Leitch tell you anything more about Lynsey? Did she mention what sort of relationship they shared?’

  ‘Relationship?’

  ‘Are they friends, for instance?’

  ‘Inspector, you don’t go around slashing your friends with a knife after they’ve done you a favour. As far as I know Lynsey was simply a girl with a drug habit who sought help at one of Doreen’s rehab centres.’

  ‘No connection, then, between Doreen, Lynsey and the murders of Terry Lawler and Paul Macklin?’ Sullivan suddenly winced, and instinctively his hand located his wound.

  ‘My God, is that what you think? That Doreen had something to do with killing people? You lot really are a piece of work. First you chase after Blackley, then me, and now you’re out to get my … closest friend. Who’s next, eh? Me Nan’s 82 with Parkinson’s – want to have a go at her, do ya?’

  ‘We’re trying to get the truth, Mr Sullivan. Two people are dead and I think someone is protecting the killer. But thanks for your help. Get well soon.’

  Tara marched out of the room and into the corridor. She had her killer, she was sure of that, but still she was searching for the reasons. Murray, who’d stopped to speak with the ward sister, caught up with her near the hospital exit.

  ‘Doreen Leitch is still under sedation,’ he said. ‘Do you want to have another crack at Yeats?’

  ‘Not right now. I reckon Danny Ross will have more to say when he hears that Lynsey is in custody.’

  They found him easily enough this time, walking a small dog across some open ground close to Treadwater Junior School. Thankfully, Tara thought, he didn’t make a run for it when he saw Murray and her coming toward him. The youth called his dog then turned to face them as if prepared for the inevitable.

  ‘Hiya, Danny,’ said Murray. ‘We need another word, mate.’ The three of them walked to a bench at the edge of the green, Danny finding himself bracketed by the two detectives.

  ‘We found Lynsey,’ Tara began. ‘She’s in a bit of a state, Danny, but we know she killed Lawler and Macklin.’

  ‘Shanks, come on boy.’

  Ross dropped his head as his dog came to his call. He stroked the dog’s back as the mongrel tried to lick his hand.

  ‘We need the truth, Danny. From your side. Lynsey might not be capable of straight talking for a while.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s had a breakdown; we’re taking good care of her.’

  It was clear to Tara that Ross, from his silence, was running through his options.

  ‘My brief says I don’t have to tell you nothin’.’

  ‘Might be better for you in the long run if you did.’

  ‘You’ve got nothin’ on me cop, so just fuck off and leave me alone. Come on Shanks.’ He ran off, his dog racing ahead across the green.

  ‘Will I go after him?’ Murray asked her.

  ‘Leave him. Unless we charge him, he’s not going to talk. Surprising loyalty toward his girlfriend. True love and all that.’

  Late in the afternoon, around four, Superintendent Tweedy called Tara and Murray into his office. Time for an update, Tara was thinking as she took her seat beside Murray. Tweedy looked rather serious, his hands clasped as if in prayer.

  ‘Chief Constable has been on the phone. He’s just had to deal with the irate husband of Councillor Leitch. Seems he can’t get straight answers as to what happened to his wife yesterday.’

  Tara accepted her cue to explain the events of the previous day.

  ‘So her husband is in for another shock when he learns that his wife has been having an affair?’ said Tweedy. Tara noticed her boss’s gaze land for a second on the Bible at the corner of his desk.

  ‘We believe she is also implicated in the murders of Lawler and Macklin,’ said Tara.

  ‘But you don’t have proof?’

  ‘We’re not able to interview either suspect. Yeats has been placed in a secure ward undergoing psychiatric evaluation; Leitch is under sedation. Sullivan denies any knowledge of his lover’s involvement in the killings. Danny Ross won’t help; his brief got to him. Obviously, he doesn’t want to implicate himself by telling us the truth about Yeats.’

  ‘Bit of a stalemate,’ said Tweedy, taking to his chair behind the desk. ‘Have you reviewed any of the forensics in light of what’s happened?’

  ‘Not lately, sir, but we believe we now have the murder weapons. We took two knives from Yeats when we arrested her. I think she’d brought them from her kitchen; there were two missing from a set of four when I was last there.’

  ‘Can’t prove anything with forensics when it comes to Doreen Leitch,’ said Murray. ‘And Matt Sullivan for that matter.’

  ‘You’re going have to hope you can interview Leitch and Yeats again soon,’ said Tweedy.

  Tara agreed with her boss, but at the same time she worried that they may never be able to get to the truth if neither woman was prepared to confess.

  Chapter 58

  Tara

  Tara sat with both elbows perched on her desk, her hands intertwined and pressed to her mouth. Lost in thought. Well after 9pm and she should really be home in front of the telly. Instead she sat alone in the office, lights out but for her desk lamp shining down on a file much too thin on evidence. Hard evidence is what she really needed in this case, not her scuttling around listening to stories which amounted to little more than malicious gossip. Who had the greatest reason to see Lawler dead? Had a drug-crazed young lady acted on her own? Or did Ross give her a hand and had Doreen Leitch put her up to it? Tara knew the version of the story that she preferred. Murray was in agreement. Could they sit back and hope for Leitch to eventually tell the truth? Tara wondered if she would even recognise the truth when she heard it. There had to be something she’d missed. Something said by one of the suspects, a piece of forensic evidence as Tweedy had suggested, or a vital clue lurking in the home of one of the victims or suspects.

  Her thinking was interrupted by a text from Aisling.

  ‘Can we go out this week?’ It read. She replied immediately with a ‘yes’, but she added nothing to suggest a time or a venue. She really couldn’t see beyond her sitting at this desk until a solution to this case landed in front of her.

  ‘Thurs 8 at Mal Maison then on to Club 66. Don’t drive, taxi’ was Aisling’s reply.

  Setting down her phone, she opened another file on this troublesome case and began reading through, first her notes and then Murray’s. After a while she got up from her desk and went to the whiteboard, still full of her ponderings and conjecture. In the semi-darkness, she peered at the connections
drawn between each suspect and the victims. She had a line running from Yeats to Lawler and from Leitch to Yeats and to Sullivan. Ross was also connected to Yeats and Leitch. Nothing new occurred to her. Both deaths – Lawler and Macklin – in different ways involved knife wounds. Yet another link to Lynsey Yeats. There was nothing to suggest any connection between the Blackleys and Yeats, so she drew a line through the names of Gwen and Evan. In that vein there was no longer any reason to include the mystery man, if he existed at all, who may have abducted more than 20 women. She drew a line through that also. Her brief text communication with Aisling sailed through her head. ‘Mal Maison … Don’t drive, taxi.’

  She tried to list the similarities in both killings: knife wounds, crazed attacks, lonely places, planned executions rather than spontaneous attacks. Why those places? Macklin certainly was placed at the building site to draw attention to Blackley, although she had yet to figure out why. Lawler was killed on Crosby Beach? Why go there? Suddenly, an exciting thought gripped her, something they hadn’t considered before and yet so simple. So damned obvious. Tara took a seat and continued to stare at her work on the board. If Yeats was the killer, how did she get the victims to the place where they died? Macklin’s car was found close to the scene, so he had probably driven there himself to meet someone. Perhaps one of the people he was blackmailing? That brought in all of the suspects once again, including the Blackleys. But what of Lawler’s murder? No car was ever recovered from Crosby Beach. They hadn’t found a car belonging to the victim. How did Yeats get Lawler out of the city, in the dead of night, to a beach four miles away? Did she drive? And what about Ross? If he was her accomplice, did he drive and does he own a car? She raced to her desk, lifted her phone and called Murray.

  ‘I need you in here; we have work to do.’

  ‘What’s up, mam?’

  ‘The blooming obvious has just dawned on me and I can’t believe we didn’t see it before. Now hurry up.’ She cut the call and sat down in front of her computer screen. By the time Murray arrived 20 minutes later she had discarded Yeats and Ross as car owners, certainly licensed owners anyway. She didn’t allow Murray to remove his jacket or take a seat.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Where are we off to?’

  ‘You should enjoy it; we’re going to look at some cars.’

  Chapter 59

  Tara

  Rain was coming down hard upon the bonnet of her Focus as they drew up by the gates of the Leitch family home. There were lights visible at two of the upstairs windows. Someone at home and still awake, she hoped. Thankfully, she reached the intercom without having to get out of the car. It took nearly a minute before a male voice answered.

  ‘Yes, who is it?’

  ‘Inspector Grogan and DS Murray. May we speak with you, Mr Leitch?’

  ‘It’s 11pm! Don’t you people stop working for the night?’

  ‘It’s very important, sir, otherwise we would be home at this time.’

  The intercom switched off and the gates began to swing open. When Tara drew up close to the front door she noticed just one car, a dark-coloured BMW parked in front of the house. Off to the right, the doors of the double garage were closed.

  A tall man, close to 70 with silver hair, a square jaw line and tanned face, stood at the open door of the house. He wore a striped dressing gown and brown leather moccasins.

  ‘What’s this about? Is Doreen all right?’ His voice was assertive, with no local accent apparent.

  ‘As far we know, sir,’ Tara replied. ‘May we have a look at the car your wife usually drives?’

  ‘What for?’ Already Tara had felt some similarity in the attitudes of man and wife. Not entirely obstructive but needed some pressure to gain co-operation.

  ‘If we could take a look, sir, it will help with our case.’

  ‘Do you have a warrant?’

  ‘No, but if you would prefer that I got one, I should be back here about 2am.’

  Without further comeback, Leitch disappeared inside the house, returning a few moments later with a set of keys which he handed to Tara.

  ‘There’s one car in the garage. The BMW is mine. Her usual car is parked at the home of Councillor Sullivan. I’m sure you’re aware of that, Inspector. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here. Not getting soaked for the Merseyside Police. Side door of the garage should be open.’

  Tara and Murray walked briskly through the rain to the garage. Once inside, Murray found a light switch, and before them sat a white Range Rover.

  ‘Look for anything that might indicate the car was used to ferry a dead man or a man knocked unconscious.’

  ‘Blood, you mean. I get it, mam.’

  ‘Not just blood. Hairs, mud from shoes, sand if this thing has been to Crosby Beach. Anything, damn it.’ Tara was angry at herself for not having realised Doreen Leitch’s car was parked at Sullivan’s house. She could have saved them the trouble of driving out to Birkdale. Still, it was worth taking a look at the Range Rover. Murray removed a small torch from his jacket pocket and set about a thorough inspection of the boot. Tara began at the front. There were a few loose-leaf papers lying on the passenger seat: council memos, nothing she found of any interest. A green waterproof anorak lay on the back seat. Apart from that the car interior was pristine, hardly a speck of dust.

  ‘Find anything?’

  ‘All clean here,’ Murray called out.

  ‘Right then, let’s get over to Sullivan’s place.’

  They returned the keys to a disgruntled Mr Leitch and headed to the Sullivan house at Aintree.

  The house was in darkness and hidden from the street by a neat row of leylandii. There was little natural light at all on such a damp night so Murray used his torch from the moment he stepped from the car. A silver Mercedes belonging to Sullivan was parked to the left side of the house. This time they had no keys and so managed only a cursory look through the window. Nothing seemed out of place. Doreen Leitch’s car was parked farther along the drive toward the back of the house, an attempt perhaps to hide it from prying eyes, Tara thought. Murray tried the door handle at the driver’s side and found it locked. Neither of them lingered on the fact and set about an inspection of the interior of the Audi by shining the torch through the window.

  ‘Never seen cars so bloody clean, except in a showroom. She must have them valeted regularly,’ said Murray. Tara sighed in frustration and disappointment. She hadn’t thought of the vehicle perhaps having been valeted since the murders.

  ‘I’ll get forensics to check over both cars just in case. Sorry to waste your evening, Alan. I was sure I had it sussed.’

  ‘No problem, mam. Wasn’t doing much.’

  ‘How the hell did Yeats get Lawler out to Crosby Beach?’

  ‘Let’s ask Ross. This time we’ll bring him in.’

  ‘First thing in the morning,’ said Tara. ‘Time we were home in our beds.’

  *

  A beleaguered-looking youth sat before them in the interview room. His shirt was blood-stained and a cut one inch long sat above his left eye. He was a very reluctant witness at 9.30am. Tara allowed Murray to handle the questions. Ross’s solicitor, a young man, fresh-faced and recently qualified in legal aid, by the name of Josh Hegarty, grey suit, white shirt and blue and white striped tie, sat in silence. His blue eyes were fixed on Tara, not in the blatant manner of Matt Sullivan, more in admiration of her stature. He’d been appointed to the case when Ross had been interviewed in relation to his drugs activities.

  ‘Okay, Danny,’ Murray began. ‘We know you helped Lynsey Yeats to kill Terry Lawler and Paul Macklin. We know she probably did the cutting, but we want you to tell us why and how you took Lawler all the way out to Crosby Beach?’

  Ross looked at Hegarty for a lead, but the solicitor signalled for him to respond. It seemed that Ross had now resigned himself to being implicated in the murders. Little did he know, however, that Tara was still without hard evidence to prove it.

  ‘Lynsey wanted to
do him there. That’s where they used to go when they were together, for walks and stuff.’

  ‘Do you have a car, Danny?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Does Lynsey have a car?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How did you get Lawler out there?’

  ‘Drove him in the boot of a car.’

  ‘Whose car, Danny?’

  ‘I don’t know. Lynsey borrowed it.’

  ‘Where did she get it? Was it stolen?’

  Ross seemed reluctant to answer. He glanced again at the solicitor who remained impassive, continuing to have eyes only for Tara. She smiled thinly as if to acknowledge his interest in her.

  ‘All I did was drive the car, right. I didn’t do nothin’ to the bloke. Lynsey did the killin’.’

  ‘I’m quite sure you did a lot more than that, Danny, but for now just tell us about the car,’ said Tara.

  ‘Who owned it, Danny? Murray repeated.

  ‘It was Doreen’s,’ he said with a sigh. ‘She let Lynsey use it.’

  Murray shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think so. We’ve checked her cars, or did you get it cleaned out afterwards?’

  ‘What are you on about, cop? I told you we used Doreen’s car.’

  ‘What make of car, Danny?’ Tara asked.

  ‘BMW, a big black one. Dead expensive and that.’

  Tara looked at Murray. Again they had slipped up. They’d walked past the BMW, ignoring it because it belonged to the husband.

  Tara left the interview and went straight to the operations room where she ordered a uniformed patrol car and a forensic team out to the home of Doreen Leitch. Now, hopefully, she had all the parties to the murders of Lawler and Macklin and she might have some forensic evidence too.

  Chapter 60

  Tara

  ‘Danny, you don’t have to protect Lynsey any longer.’

  Ross sniffed back his tears and rubbed a shirt sleeve across his mouth and nose.

  ‘We know she killed Terry Lawler and Paul Macklin, but we need you to tell us why, Danny. We can’t help you if you won’t explain what happened.’