‘Can I get you anything, Doreen? Do you need a doctor?’
She laughed.
‘Doctors can’t cure what I’ve got.’
‘I think it’s time to explain your part in the killing of Terry Lawler, Doreen. We know he was threatening to expose your affair with Matt Sullivan—’
‘I went into politics to help people, do you know that? I just wanted to make a difference.’
‘So what happened?’ Murray asked. Doreen smiled at him, her eyes beginning to sparkle in the presence of the hefty yet attractive Detective Sergeant.
‘You know, Sergeant, if you’re a free agent, I could teach you a thing or two.’
‘I’ll keep it mind, Doreen. Now tell us what happened.’
‘What happened? Evan bloody Blackley, that’s what happened.’
Chapter 62
Tara
Their arrival at the house in Lymm was timed perfectly with a torrential downpour, water already overpowering the drains in the laneway. Murray didn’t slow the car, and it splashed through the open gates, coming to a halt as close to the front door of the house as he could get it. Gwen Blackley stood at the open door, her daughter Maisie and her ex-husband’s sister Beth were beside her. It seemed to Tara like they were expected. She dashed from the car to the welcoming party.
‘We’d like to speak with your husband, Mrs Blackley.’
‘So would I, Inspector.’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Not exactly, but my guess is he’s out of the country. Would you like to come inside?’
She and Murray went indoors, both Maisie and Beth stayed close to Gwen Blackley as she led the way into the sitting room. Her face was pale, eyes red; she clutched her arms as if freezing cold; dressed in black jeans and ruffled T-shirt, not the appearance of the woman that Tara had come to expect. Maisie, in a red mini-skirt proceeded to pose for Murray’s benefit, making sure her long bare legs were crossed, uncrossed then crossed again before him. She was a very precocious young girl. Beth switched on the TV and flopped down between Tara and Gwen on the sofa.
‘Not now, Beth, please,’ said Gwen. ‘Go and watch in the kitchen.’ The heavy girl stamped out of the room, grunting under her breath as she went. Tara noted that Maisie had no intention of following suit. Instead she stroked her long hair behind her, pushing out her chest as a result. Murray sat grinning.
‘I take it that you have no idea if or when your husband intends to return home?’
Gwen held both hands to her face, stretching her skin backwards.
‘He told me nothing. All he said was that he had to get away.’
‘How long has he been gone? Can we stop him at the airport?’
The woman shook her head and sighed.
‘Yesterday afternoon.’
‘Just after we spoke to him at the golf club?’ said Murray.
‘How much trouble is he in?’ asked Gwen.
‘Soliciting to murder,’ Tara replied. ‘We believe he ordered the deaths of your ex-husband and of Paul Macklin.’
It was clear from Gwen Blackley’s reaction that she had no prior knowledge of her husband’s activities. She cried sorely, burying her head in her lap. Young Maisie dropped her posing and fell to her knees beside her mother and cried also.
‘Do you know which airport, Gwen?’ The woman shook her head. Murray stepped into the hall and called the station. They might well be too late, but still they had to confirm with airports and ports if Evan Blackley had skipped the country.
*
By late afternoon Tara and Murray had presented Superintendent Tweedy with a statement given by Doreen Leitch in the presence of her solicitor. Tara summarised the facts of the case, filling in those details they previously had not deduced but now were confirmed by the disgraced councillor.
‘Blackley had been paying Sullivan for favours for a number of years, but Sullivan was desperate to end the arrangement, especially after being hauled through the courts when he’d been forced to challenge Terry Lawler’s accusations.’
‘What about Doreen Leitch, was she accepting bribes also?’
‘No, sir. Her only involvement was her affair with Matt Sullivan. When Sullivan tried to end his dealings with Blackley, Blackley told him that he knew all about his affair with Leitch. He threatened to expose them both if Sullivan didn’t continue to do his bidding.’
‘How did the murder of Terry Lawler come about?’
‘Lawler had threatened to publish fresh allegations against Blackley regarding his bribery of Sullivan, but he’d also uncovered new evidence about Blackley’s activities while playing football in Italy. There had always been rumours of his involvement in the match-fixing scandal back in the Nineties. It was all too much for Blackley and he ordered Sullivan to get rid of Terry Lawler.’
‘Lawler had also threatened to expose the affair between Sullivan and Leitch?’ said Tweedy.
‘Exactly. But the plans to kill Lawler were already in place before Lawler turned up at Sullivan’s house and saw him with Doreen Leitch. Sullivan had told Leitch about Blackley’s instructions and, fortuitously, Doreen knew just the person to carry out the killing. Lynsey Yeats, a drug addict who had become very much dependent upon the friendship and care of Doreen Leitch, also had strong motive for killing Lawler. He was her ex-boyfriend and she wanted retribution for him dropping her as soon as he’d got his story on the crackheads in Treadwater Estate.’
Tweedy as always seemed to take revelations such as these at a deeply personal level. He sat in his chair, his brow furrowed, hands clenched together on the desk. Tara believed she knew what he was thinking at that moment – that nothing so trivial could ever justify the taking of human life. No matter how bizarre or frantic the circumstances, no one in that circle of friends and associates deserved to have their lives ruined. She realised that Tweedy had his own way to deal with these experiences. If he didn’t, then he would not have survived in policing for all these years. She had learned also that she and Murray and the other guys in the squad all must develop their own mechanisms to deal with the stark realities of murder.
‘I take it that Paul Macklin got himself involved in a situation where he put his own life at risk?’
Tara allowed Murray to continue the report.
‘Macklin tried to take over where Lawler had left off. He threatened both Evan Blackley and Councillor Sullivan. Seems he was too stupid to realise he was dealing with the people who’d arranged the murder of his best friend. When Blackley instructed Sullivan to dispose of Macklin it was Leitch’s idea to have the body placed at one of Blackley’s building sites. She hoped that it might help implicate Blackley in the murder. They all gave themselves an alibi by having dinner together on the night that Macklin was killed. Interestingly, according to Leitch, if Macklin had not surfaced after Lawler’s murder, the intention was to have Yeats kill Evan Blackley.’
‘A lucky break for Mr Blackley. And how does Councillor Sullivan fare in all of this?’
‘Well, sir,’ said Tara, ‘he shared his worries with Doreen Leitch over his involvement with Blackley. She took charge of the whole affair. Despite his denials, and Doreen’s insistence that he knew nothing of the murders, I’m certain he was well aware of every step Doreen was taking.’
‘She’d have been much better off ending her love affair with Councillor Sullivan.’
‘Seems it was quite a serious relationship; both have remained quite defensive of the other.’
‘But why such brutal killings?’
‘All down to Lynsey Yeats. Ross told us that she was hyper on drugs when she carried out the killings. She dug a hole in the sand with her bare hands just to bury Lawler. I don’t think she even remembers exactly what she did to her victims.’
*
The bustle in the operations room had died to the hum of a laser printer and the odd tapping of keys at a computer. Murray was putting the finishing touches to the statements taken so far from Doreen Leitch and Danny Ross. Intervie
ws were set for the following day with Matt Sullivan and Gwen Blackley. It was doubtful that in the near future they would get anything sensible from Lynsey Yeats, and the whereabouts of Evan Blackley remained unknown.
For Tara, alone at her desk, she tried to implement her method of dealing with recent events. Seldom did they ever have a completely sharp end to a case. All the loose ends tied up. This one was far from satisfactory. The killer was no longer in her right mind and the man who’d called the shots was, for now, scot free.
Murray came over to leave the statements with her. He looked tired and, as she had come to notice recently, he tended to fall rather quiet and withdrawn upon the closure of a murder investigation. His way, she supposed, of dealing with the horrors of human behaviour.
‘What are you doing, mam? Time to get off home. We’ve done enough for today.’
Spread across her desk were the 20 or so photographs of the missing girls taken from the wall of Terry Lawler’s flat.
‘Can’t help thinking there’s a lot of unfinished business out there.’ She lifted the picture of Ruth Lawler. ‘Some families seem to corner the market on tragedy. First Ruth, then Terry and now poor Beth left on her own.’
‘I’m sure Gwen Blackley will take good care of her.’
‘I suppose you’re right. I just can’t help wondering if Terry Lawler was really onto something when he went searching for his sister. Is there a serial killer out there? Someone who’s murdered more than 20 young women?’
Chapter 63
Guy
Game on. Tonight’s the night, baby. Tara is going to have one hell of an evening and so am I. Pity it has to be her last, but that’s life, isn’t it?
I was dragging myself into work for another night shift and I bumped into the wee red-head nurse, Kate, the one who’s friendly with Tara. I’d kept watch on her house several times, when I couldn’t keep tabs on her friend. I don’t know which of us was the more surprised. First time we’d met she’d seemed very friendly, very tasty.
‘Hi there,’ she said, a strange look of shock on her face. I wondered if Tara had filled her in about me. Maybe she was just distracted. Eventually, she smiled and asked how I was doing.
‘Dead on,’ I replied. ‘Just starting a shift. How about you?’
‘Finished for today, thank goodness.’
‘Home to relax?’
‘Not tonight. Out with the girls for dinner.’
‘Very nice. How’s Tara doing; we seem to have lost contact?’
‘She’s as busy as ever. It’s hard getting her out for a night. Half the time she cancels.’
‘I suppose it’s the nature of her job. Tell her I was asking for her.’
‘Will do. Have to fly. I don’t want to be the one who’s late.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Mal Maison first, then on to Club 66.’
I watched her hurry on down the corridor, coat in one hand, handbag in the other. Suddenly, the notion for working scarpered. I waited for the girl to disappear then headed for the exit. When Tara arrived at the restaurant I would be waiting for her.
My van was parked way out by Knowsley. I’d left her in a lay-by in the middle of an industrial estate. After running into Tara at Treadwater, I thought it best not to leave the van there any longer.
I had to speed through evening traffic, but at least I was already well-prepared for the night ahead. The van was kitted out with a new mattress, hold-all, gaffer tape, a heady supply of China White and syringes. Mother Freedom also was well-prepared, fuelled up and ready to go.
All I needed for the party of a life-time was for the cutest police inspector I’ve ever laid eyes on to come sallying down the street all alone with not a care in the world.
Chapter 64
Tara
‘He looks promising,’ said Tara as best as she could. If she were counting, she reckoned they were into double figures of various cocktails: Mojitos, Tequila Sunrise, Sex on the Beach, Manhattans and the latest concoction, A Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall. Aisling beamed, while Kate hurled another drink down her throat.
‘I’m going to give him the time of his life,’ said Aisling as the 6ft 6ins, broad-framed Australian returned from the bar carrying another tray of drinks. He set each glass on the table and handed the tray to a passing waitress.
‘Here we go ladies,’ he said. ‘Get those down you, put hairs on your chest.’ All three giggled like teenagers at a school disco. Chris – bleached hair, sturdy jaw and slightly cauliflower ears – sat next to Aisling, immediately slipping his muscular hand onto her bare thigh. She didn’t seem to mind.
‘Chris has invited us to watch his match on Saturday,’ said Aisling.
‘Whish mash?’ Kate just managed to ask.
‘I play a bit of footie,’ Chris replied with a broad smile. ‘Some of me team mates will be along later.’
‘Are you playing at home?’ Tara asked.
‘No, he’s playing away,’ said Kate, bursting into laughter. Suddenly Tara and Kate were bystanders as Chris and Aisling began kissing, the rugby player’s big hands getting to grips with Aisling’s shapely figure.
‘Time we weren’t here,’ said Kate. ‘Let’s go find some talent of our own.’
Both girls could do little more than hobble toward the bar. Kate wore five-inch heels, a short maroon leather skirt and a pink camisole vest; her current hair colour wasn’t far from a match to her skirt. Tara also wore very high platform heels in patent black and a body contour mini-dress with black lace which sat off her shoulders. By the time they struggled to the bar, nudging through the crowd, they were ready for another drink.
‘Better make this one the last,’ said Tara. ‘It’s time I was home in bed.’
‘My point exactly,’ said Kate, swaying. ‘Just pick your fella and then you can go home.’
‘Very funny.’
‘Go on, there’s plenty here to choose from. Or maybe you want to wait for one of Chris’s friends to show up.’ Kate patted Tara on the shoulder. ‘What about him?’ She blatantly pointed toward a man of at least 50, bald, overweight and red-faced as a young girl danced around him, rubbing her bottom against his groin. Twerking. Others in their company were in kinks of laughter. Clearly, it was a crowd out on a works do.
‘Yeah sure,’ said Tara. ‘I’m not proud. I’ll open me legs for any poor sod who’ll have me’
‘Okay, I’ll go and ask him. See if he’s willing to show my friend a good time.’ Both girls laughed as the actions of the man became more lurid. He now stood behind the girl, both his hands weighing her breasts. Another girl, taller than the man, stepped behind him and fondled his bum.
‘I think he has his hands full already,’ said Tara.
Barely able to finish whatever cocktail they had last ordered, she finally admitted defeat.
‘Time to go, I think.’
‘You’re right, luv, I don’t feel so good.’
When they had paid a final visit to the toilets and signalled to Aisling that they were leaving, they battled their way outside in the hope of hailing a taxi. Rain was hurtling down, filling the gutters and bouncing on the pavement. Tara donned a white leather jacket over her dress, but Kate had nothing more than a scarf. There was a mix of people huddled under an awning by the doorway of Club 66 nightclub, some waiting for taxis, others having a smoke.
‘Get me out of here. I’m finished with men.’ It was Aisling, shivering beside them in a pair of black shorts and sequined black vest.
‘What’s the matter, Aisling, Chris dumped you already?’ said Tara.
‘Bloody pervert. Wasn’t content having me to himself. He had three team-mates lined up for a gang-bang. I might look easy, but I’m not that sort of girl.’ She exploded into floods of tears.
‘Come on, luv,’ said Kate. ‘Of course you’re not.’ She gave her friend a hug, allowing her to sob into her shoulder.
There were plenty of cabs coming and going, all pre-booked it seemed, as groups of
three and four hurried inside the vehicles to escape the downpour. Tara then noticed a van a few yards away along the narrow street, parked up on the pavement. She could see a figure inside. As she was about to turn away to comfort Aisling the headlights flashed several times. She looked around her in case someone had been waiting for their lift. The lights flashed again and the driver climbed out. He waved, and suddenly Tara recognised her most recent date. It was James beckoning her to the van.
‘Back in a sec girls.’ Carefully, on her high heels, she stepped toward him. A crowd of girls on a hen night meandered past her, seemingly oblivious to the rain, the bride-to-be encouraged to offer herself to the man standing in the road. James was smiling wistfully as Tara approached.
‘Hi, Tara. Can I give you girls a lift home?’
Tara stumbled on the cobbles, her head already spinning in the night air. James reached out to catch her. She smiled gormlessly at him.
‘Hellooo,’ she said. ‘I know you, I think.’ She peered into his eyes, her hair dripping wet. Despite her drunken state, she felt a strange sensation from his hands holding her by the arms. He made no reply to her slurred phrases but continued to smile. She noticed the side panel of the van was open, and suddenly she felt a tightness at her neck. His hand gripped her under the chin, squeezing hard. She staggered backwards, but he had a firm hold. She tried to call out, but the sound died in her throat. He swung his left arm around her waist and hauled her to the open door of the van. Tara had still to realise exactly what was happening. She had pain in her throat, but somehow it felt they were playing a game. He was messing with her. She glanced down the street to the club. Kate was comforting Aisling, stroking her hair. Now she was hardly aware of being out of the rain. She was in the van and the door was closing. James wiped a cloth across her face. She had no fear. Only confusion. What were they doing? She heard something rip. There was a dim light above her. She was lying on something soft. She couldn’t see James properly, silhouetted against the yellow light. Her head began to spin. Then hands were on her face and pressed on her mouth. At first she tried to giggle, but now she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t open her mouth. She wrestled but lost as he pulled at her jacket until her arms slipped out of it. He took her hands and in seconds she could no longer pull them apart. Fear replaced her drunken confusion. She tried to wriggle away from this man towering over her, but now he had her by the legs and she could no longer move one foot without the other. She screamed, but only a dull whine was audible. She thrashed her body, trying to get away. And for a moment she was free as he fumbled in a bag. In a second he held something aloft then he turned and grabbed her once more by the throat, pinning her to the mattress. A sharp pain as the needle pierced her arm and then a burning sensation as the fluid entered her body. The van door opened then closed, and he was gone. She rolled toward the door and banged the side of the van with both feet. The engine started up. They were moving and she was growing weak and drowsy.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 24