‘Where’s Tara?’ said Kate. Aisling, having regained some composure, looked puzzled.
‘What do you mean?’
The white van drove by.
‘She went to speak to that bloke with the van and now it’s gone and so is she.’
‘Woohoo! At least one of us has got a fella tonight.’
‘Something’s wrong, Aisling. Our Tara wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t rush off without saying anything. I think it was that fella we set her up with, the one who works at the Royal.’
A black cab pulled up and two girls were about to climb inside. Kate barged past them, pulling Aisling with her.
‘Sorry girls. Emergency.’ Kate and Aisling clambered in. ‘Can you follow that white van, luv? Please don’t lose it.’ The cab roared away, the white van only forty yards ahead having stopped to give way at the junction.
Kate was suddenly remarkably sober, in touch at least with her rational thinking. Aisling remained in a daze, a mix of alcohol and her harrowing experience at the hands of several rugby players.
‘Where are we going? Is Tara going to be all right?’
Kate clasped her mobile in both hands.
‘Quiet, Aisling. I’m calling the bizzies. That bloke’s taken off with our Tara.’
‘Oh my God. What are we going to do?’
‘Shut up, Aisling’
As the cab joined the late night traffic Kate managed to get through to St Anne Street station in the hope that somebody there who knew Tara would be able to help.’
‘What’s going on girls?’ The taxi driver called out. ‘This van seems to be heading for the tunnel.’
When Kate mentioned Tara’s name to the officer who answered the call she asked to speak with DS Murray and was put through to Murray’s mobile phone.
‘Just keep following,’ she said to the driver. ‘Our friend’s in that van and the fella driving is a friggin’ weirdo.’
Chapter 65
Guy
It wasn’t perfect, but I got her. I had Tara in my van. One of her mates spotted me, I think, but what was she going to do about it? They were so pissed I bet they didn’t even realise their mate had gone. Tara was so wasted I hardly needed to give her any China White to knock her out. I hoped she didn’t get a bad trip mixing the drugs with the drink. I wanted her mostly conscious when I did the business. I wanted her to know that the man she had dumped was still entitled to have her. I’d chosen her. I wanted her to recognise me and to be aware of what I was doing to her without having the strength to put up a fight.
I headed for Kingsway; traffic wasn’t so bad, and my wee passenger had gone quiet. From all the weeks of waiting I had at least spent time in planning this night. I drove out to Wallasey, taking my time; couldn’t afford any accidents or getting clocked for speeding. Remember, leave no traces, and you don’t get caught. Soon I was in open country with the Irish Sea, on my right as I drove. I pulled off a lane into a car park at the Leasowe Lighthouse – a nice wee romantic spot. I parked in the section furthest from the entrance, behind the cover of the concrete bollards that divided the car park into sections. There were a couple of cars parked nearby, windows steamed up. Young lovers enjoying themselves. The rain was bouncing on the roof, not exactly the romantic clear sky and bright moon I had envisaged, but I wasn’t about to let the British weather spoil my evening.
I jumped out of the driver’s seat, slid open the side door and switched on the bulkhead light. Tara lay perfectly still. I climbed in and sat on the mattress beside her, watching for a while as she slept. Good enough to eat. Despite her hair being soaked, I ran my fingers through it, easing out the tangles. I rubbed the back of my hand softly on her cheek and she moved her head slightly. Then both hands slipped over her dress, down her legs all the way to her trim ankles. I felt the stirring inside me. I was hard, too. But I knew I must wait. I wanted her to enjoy this as much as me. In the meantime, I got everything ready.
Cutting the cable ties on her hands and feet, I slipped off her shoes. Reaching behind her, I slid the zip of her dress downwards. Then raising her arms over her head, I slowly peeled her dress upwards, tugging it until it came free. I sat back, admiring my handiwork. She lay motionless in a black lace bra and panties. I couldn’t resist touching them, feeling the delicate lace between my fingers, exploring the line of her pants as it disappeared between her legs. It took all of my willpower not to slip my hand inside her. I placed her dress and her jacket in the holdall that eventually would contain her lifeless body, ready for burial at sea. Next I removed all of my clothes and added them to the bag. Slowly then, savouring every moment, I undid the clasp of her bra and pulled it from her body. Unable to resist any longer, I ran my hand gently across her breasts taking a nipple lightly between thumb and forefinger. I touched myself with my free hand and my heart began to pound. I felt a pulse in the side of my head as finally I took hold of her delicate panties and slid them down her legs. Both items, I placed in the holdall. Although I was now over-excited gazing at the vision of beauty lying there, I felt a chill in the air. As usual I had brought a couple of blankets and, spreading them over Tara, I crawled beneath them and drew her close to me. Kissing her shoulder, I lay back to wait for some life to return to her wee body.
Chapter 66
Guy
Murray rushed from his flat and called on his mobile for back-up. Barely in control of his car, he weaved through traffic and jumped the lights a couple of times until he had a clear route to the tunnel. He called Kate to get an update.
‘We can still see them,’ she said through her tears. ‘This is all my fault. I’ll never forgive meself if anything happens to our Tara.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll get them. Where are you now?’
Kate asked the driver.
‘Leasowe Road, just passing the golf club.’
‘Ok, I know it.’
Murray topped 80mph through the tunnel. It wouldn’t take long to catch them up.
Aisling and Kate sat in the taxi gripping each other’s hands, both shivering and crying.
‘I’ve lost them, girls,’ said the driver. ‘I can’t see their lights with the rain.’
‘Oh my God,’ Aisling cried, tugging at Kate.
‘Where do you think they were headed?’
‘I don’t bloody know,’ Kate shouted. ‘He’s going to kill her, I know he is.’
They’d driven all the way along Leasowe Road, bearing left onto the straight section of Pasture Road. When they reached Moreton Station the taxi slowed to a halt and the driver did a U-turn.
‘He couldn’t have got this far ahead. He must have turned off somewhere.’
Kate phoned Murray again.
‘What are we going to do, we’ve lost them?’
‘Let me speak to the driver, Kate.’
She passed the phone through to the bulky frame of the driver.
‘This is DS Murray. Where are you?’
The driver explained that they were headed back along Pasture Road toward the sea.
‘He must have turned off somewhere,’ he said.
‘I’m on Leasowe Road now. I reckon he’s ducked into one of the lay-bys round here.’
‘The lighthouse, maybe?’
‘Keep looking. I’ll meet you along the way.’
Murray slowed his car at every lay-by, junction and lane way, peering through the dark in the hope of catching a glimpse of a white van. On Pasture Road a beleaguered taxi driver was doing exactly the same, except that he had to endure the frantic cries of two girls in his cab.
The vehicles met at the bend where Leasowe Road ends and Pasture Road begins. Kate and Aisling, along with the taxi driver, ran to greet Murray.
‘Anything?’ said Murray.
‘Nothing,’ the driver replied. He was a heavy man, crew-cut head, thick neck and wearing a dark anorak.
Murray pointed at the laneway to his right.
‘The lighthouse car park, must be the only place left to go. When we find them, let me
handle it. You girls stay in the cab.’
‘But Tara needs us,’ said Aisling.
‘Stay in the cab until I tell you to come out.’
‘Come on, Aisling, let’s do as he says,’ said Kate. They were walking back to the cab when a patrol car pulled over beside them. Murray quickly explained the situation and the two officers inside roared off down Lingham Lane.
The land to the right on the lane was open links until it met the sea. The old lighthouse lay dead ahead, and a few yards beyond was a visitors car park. By the time Murray arrived, and the taxi a little way behind, the uniformed officers had found a white van sitting in the far corner of the car park. Murray’s car skidded to a halt on the gravel, and he was out of the vehicle, reaching the van at the same time as the uniforms. He banged on the side with his fist, calling out for Tara. There was no reply. He tried the driver’s door; it was open, but there was no one inside, and the cab was self-contained, partitioned from the rear of the van. One of the uniforms slid open the side panel, but Murray was first to look inside. In the gloom, the face of a man peered out from under some blankets.
‘What the fuck?’ he said.
Murray yanked the blankets toward him, and his eyes widened in shock yet tinged with some relief. Both naked, Tara lay close to the man, in the spoon position. She didn’t react to being exposed.
‘Are you all right, mam?’
‘What the fuck is this?’ the man shouted in reply. ‘You some kind of pervert. I’m trying to sleep with my girlfriend.’
‘Get him the hell out of there,’ Murray said to the uniforms. But the man refused to let go of Tara. One of the uniforms managed to grip his feet, the other one joined him and they pulled hard until the man slid out of the van, landing with a thud on the gravel. The two officers hauled him to his feet and, with his arms jerked behind him, they marched him to their car. Murray climbed inside the van, shining a torch. He threw one of the blankets over Tara’s naked body then placed his fingers at her neck to check for a pulse. She made a slight groaning sound and her head rolled to the side.
‘Call an ambulance,’ he shouted after the uniforms.
Kate, in bare feet, tip-toed from the taxi.
‘Tara? Is she all right?’ Murray grabbed her before she could get into the van.
‘She’ll be fine. Let’s wait for the ambulance.’
‘I’m a nurse for god’s sake, let me see her.’ She pushed past Murray and climbed inside. Then Aisling came hobbling across the gravel.
‘Kate, is everything all right, where’s Tara?’
‘Keep her out of the way,’ Kate said to Murray.
Chapter 67
Tara
A gentle breeze from the river wafted the curtain on her window. Not enough to make her feel cold, but mild refreshment. It helped her headache, a pain she seemed to have constantly since that night. And that was all she had. It felt like a scrape across a shiny car bonnet, as if someone had taken their key and scored over gleaming paintwork. A part of her was flawed, something deliberately etched into her very soul. She had no memory of what it was, but in the weeks since then her friends had gently explained the source of her trauma. The doctors said she might get it back one day. The trouble was she didn’t know if she wanted it to come back. The reality might be worse than what she now imagined, her vision pieced together only by the little carefully told her by Kate. She learned that she had not been raped. A man she’d known briefly had snatched her as she left a nightclub, and she’d been drunk. But she’d felt little relief when she saw this man put away in prison. How long would her sentence be? How long before she felt able to return to work? Would she cope with being a Detective Inspector again?
A glass of Chardonnay sat on the coffee table. She’d taken a few sips, but it tasted vile. Used to be her favourite drink with the girls. It did nothing to ease the hangover she’d suffered for weeks. At this late hour of the night it meant nothing. It gave no comfort. She’d thought it might help her sleep, but how would she know if she couldn’t drink it? A book, a light read by Wendy Holden, lay discarded beside her on the sofa. The television, showing a documentary on Alaskan homesteaders, had failed to hold her interest and she had long since muted the sound. The images on screen were at least company at three in the morning. Her hands slid one photograph to the top corner of the table. Then she moved another to the bottom. She’d added dates as labels to every picture, the dates when each of the girls had disappeared. Having placed them in a timeline, she studied the photo of each girl in chronological order. She didn’t know why she was doing this except that it had been connected to the murder of Terry Lawler. That case was closed, or at least on hold until they managed to bring Evan Blackley home to Liverpool. But she’d held onto the photographs. They’d done nothing in helping them solve the murder of Lawler, but it didn’t mean that these girls had not gone missing. It didn’t mean that somehow they were alive and back home with their families. It meant that one person, perhaps several, had taken these girls and no one was doing anything to find them.
Chapter 68
Guy
She was just warming up nicely and then that slimy git pulled the van door open. Talk about spoiling the mood. But I held Tara close to me. As far as they knew I was on a date with the wee cop. Only thing was that big eejit wasn’t taking fuck-off for an answer. Next thing I know I’m lying bollock-naked on the freezing ground and these two assholes are pulling and hauling at me to get up.
Could have been a lot worse. I mean, what did they really have me for? I didn’t kill her; I hadn’t even made love to her. And most importantly of all, they knew nothing of my previous activities. See what I mean? Destroy the evidence; don’t give them a crime scene to gawp at and don’t keep mementos of your exploits. I was damned pissed off at myself for getting caught, all for the sake of wanting to have a nice policewoman, but it wasn’t the end of the world.
I was taken back to Liverpool, and that big glipe, Detective Sergeant Murray questioned me. He’s a miserable sod. Never smiled once, not once. Then some aged Superintendent, a bloody coffin-dodger, asked me questions. He looked as though he was about to croak, but at least he let me speak without interrupting, not like Murray who kept trying to put words in my mouth. Both peelers wanted to do me for aggravated rape, but my legal-aid brief was a turn-up for the books. I thought these cheapos would side with the cops, but this young guy was sharp and he stood up for me. He told them they didn’t have any proof to charge me with rape. In the end they charged me with aggravated sexual assault. Seemed that ‘aggravated’ was the word of the day. Nothing said though about how the peelers aggravated me. They searched my flat in Toxteth, but didn’t find anything. Surprise, surprise. Like I said before, I don’t keep mementos of any of my girls. No research information, nothing. They didn’t even find anything that could lead them to Mother Freedom.
My trial was a hoot and a half. Not only had my brief been on the ball at the time I was charged but he got me a brilliant barrister. At one point I thought he was going to get me off completely. His plea to the court was that Tara and I had been engaged in consensual lovemaking which got interrupted by Merseyside’s finest. But the sucker punch was the drugs. Tara was barely conscious when the police got to her and my brief couldn’t argue against the fact that she was not in a position to give her consent to intercourse while she was under the influence of drugs.
I sat in court gazing at her. She seemed to look straight through me before I realised that she didn’t even remember me. Hadn’t a baldy notion who I was except that I was in the dock, on trial for sexually assaulting her. My barrister told me that Tara had no recollection of the event. Not a thing. I wondered if they’d all been like that, every one of my girls. Would’ve saved me the bother of disposing of them.
The peelers even had a hard job proving I had abducted her. The only witnesses had been pissed out of their heads. Yes, they saw me driving away with Tara in the van. But they couldn’t prove that I’d forced her inside, althoug
h they tried hard by producing the piece of tape I’d stuck on her mouth and the cable ties I’d used on her hands and feet. In the end they settled for the fact that I had administered an intramuscular dose of fentanyl, that at some point I’d applied pressure to her neck, I’d removed her clothes and my own, finally placing my body against hers. They’d found nothing to suggest that we had sex, after poor Tara had been subjected to a medical examination. Really, she would have had a much better time if they’d let us get on with things. But, at the heels of the hunt, I got done for aggravated sexual assault. I had no previous record and so I got three years. I’ll be out in less than two.
I’ve been a good boy here in Altcourse Prison. The psychology department of the place assigned some kind of social worker to me. Young lad, straight out of uni. He talks a lot, full of shite mostly, but he suggested as part of my rehabilitation that I should write down my feelings over what I’ve done. He said it should help me to deal with my life once I’m out of here. I don’t think so. My granny used to say that when you fell off your bike you should get back on right away. At the time I didn’t understand why, I was only six, but now I know what she meant. And I just can’t wait till I get back to what I do best. Taking women. I’ve written everything down, more than the wee social worker could ever imagine, but I don’t think I’ll ever let anyone read it. Might be a tad incriminating.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 25