Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  Tara didn’t reply to the woman’s question, allowing Murray to take over.

  ‘Someone using this IP address was in email contact with Maurice Young. He had attempted to make arrangements to meet.’

  ‘Is there something wrong in that?’

  ‘A week after the last email was sent Maurice Young was murdered.’

  ‘Oh my goodness. And you think I may be in danger?’

  ‘If you’re the person who was in contact with him then you may have been the last person to see him alive.’

  Tara stood impassively as Murray continued to question the woman. Why on earth hadn’t she admitted to knowing Young from the outset, instead of the pretence that he may have been a customer or that her young assistant may have been the one who’d used the computer? Awkward, Tara thought. Toying with them. But why?

  ‘He did ask me to meet him, but I didn’t reply.’

  At least that tallied with what was found on Young’s computer, thought Tara.

  ‘Why did he want to meet you?’ Murray asked.

  The girl smiled, and her eyes widened.

  ‘Business. He wanted to discuss a design for a coffee table.’

  ‘Why didn’t he come to the workshop?’

  ‘Between you and me, I think it was just an excuse to meet me for a drink.’

  ‘And are you in the habit of meeting up with total strangers you’ve encountered on the internet?’

  ‘I’ve done it a couple of times. I’m single, Sergeant. I’ve not had much success with men so far.’ She smiled at him, and Tara could see Murray flush with embarrassment or most likely a lurid thought. ‘My photograph is on our company website; I get emails all the time from men with an interest in furniture-making wanting to meet me. I suppose I’m a bit of a novelty in their world.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s very dangerous meeting up with strangers?’ Tara asked.

  ‘I think I can take care of myself, Inspector, but I appreciate your concern.’

  ‘Did you ever speak with Maurice Young?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I may have done. If he was a potential customer we might have spoken on the phone. But I don’t remember anyone identifying themselves as Maurice Young.’

  ‘But did you make any arrangements by telephone to meet him?’

  ‘No. What was he like?’

  Tara ignored the question as Murray asked another.

  ‘Do you use the internet a lot to meet people? Are you registered with any dating sites?’

  The woman removed her glasses and smiled at Murray.

  ‘Not really, do you, Detective Sergeant Murray?’ He flushed again, but to his credit, Tara thought, he persevered.

  ‘Ever access the dark web?’

  ‘I don’t know what that is.’

  Tara was not amused by the woman’s attitude, but Murray had a smirk on his face suggesting that he had enjoyed the flirt. All they had come away with was the woman’s business card, although Murray behaved as if he might return to see her again on a less formal basis. But on the way back to the station something still irritated Tara. She examined the business card. When she got back to St Anne Street she would get Wilson to check out this company.

  Chapter 73

  She’d put off travelling back to Cornwall. The weather was poor, cold and wet, and she didn’t relish driving a hired car down the motorway in such conditions. Her own car had remained at her cottage when the police had come for her. But it wasn’t just the journey that was putting her off. Somehow, and suddenly, her cottage had lost its appeal. It was no longer her secret place, her sanctuary, her bolt-hole. How could she have been so stupid leaving the address lying about her house for those coppers to find when they came snooping? And it hadn’t taken them long to do just that. The house in Worsley had been empty; Lottie had gone off to visit her mother. But why had Janet, her close friend, shopped her? Maybe she had to. Maybe her kids, Peter and Sandra, had found out what really happened to their father, and they had forced their mother’s confession. Worse than that. Perhaps they were out to avenge their father’s death. They had killed Maurice and poor Dinsdale. That young girl, DI Tara Grogan, was a clever lass, despite her baby-face. She’d somehow managed to untangle the things that happened so long ago when those creeps Bailey and Jones were sacrificed. Her own attempts to muddy the waters with stories of CND and Greenham Common hadn’t put Grogan off. And if this copper was correct now in her assessment of these latest killings then she too was a target. Somebody had taken issue with Vera Deitate. She could only hope it didn’t involve her. After all, she’d left years ago when Mary stopped going because of her illness. They’d done some very wild and, at times, wicked things, but in the end it still came down to friendships, to personal relationships. She’d loved Mary, admired her, saw her commitment to her beliefs, however strange and out of keeping with the norm. They had enjoyed wonderful sex together, even when Charles had joined them. But who had they hurt, and hurt so badly that after all these years they were seeking retribution?

  This house was too big for her and Lottie now. Strange that she felt that way also. That her freshly aroused fears could cast shadows over every aspect of her life. Mostly they confined themselves to one sitting room, the kitchen and their bedroom. But this evening she was drawn to the lounge to the right of the hallway, a place where they often welcomed their friends. She sat in a deep cushioned sofa, a strong black coffee in her hand, gazing in the dim light of a single table lamp at the picture on the wall above the mantelpiece. Three stars in gold over a black sun. Mary had come up with the symbols, only she and Mary would ever know their meaning. Three stars: Charles, Mary and her, reigning over chaos. She should move to Cornwall permanently, end things with Lottie. Lottie was much too young to be wasting her life living in an old house with an old woman. She should be with someone younger, someone closer to her own age. Besides, if there was trouble ahead then she would never forgive herself if Lottie were to get hurt. Maybe she should retire from working, write again perhaps. But what on earth was she thinking? If DI Grogan continued her digging, she might come up with definite proof of who had hammered nails into the hands and feet of those excuses for men. That she had handed the axe to Mary as she had done many times, even if it were only the sacrifice of a lamb.

  Her doorbell chimed. She froze. She wasn’t expecting callers. Lottie had her own key and wasn’t due back for at least another couple of days. Her hands trembled, and silently she set down her cup on the coffee table. Why did she feel the room growing colder? Relax. Could be anybody; it wasn’t late, just gone half-past six. With a growing expectancy that she would be faced again with the police and DI Tara Grogan, or maybe someone from the press, she padded to the front door. By the time she’d released the lock, she felt resigned to her fate. At least in police custody she would be safe. She opened the door wide.

  ‘Hello, Angela.’

  Chapter 74

  ‘So how are you settling into the new job?’

  ‘Dead on,’ I replied. ‘Gets me out and about. That’s what I like. Couldn’t stand being closed up in an office all day.’

  Collywell raised an eyebrow and smiled. Then I realised what I’d just said, him doing exactly that.

  ‘Definitely better than the kitchen job,’ I added.

  ‘Good.’ He wrote something into his file. ‘And how is the social life?’

  I shrugged. Didn’t know how and didn’t really want to answer that question.

  ‘Any outings? Join any clubs?’

  ‘Na. I’ve been going down to a pub in the city centre some nights. Good atmosphere and music sometimes.’

  He didn’t seem overly impressed with that, but as usual he didn’t try to judge me, just nodded and wrote in the file. I felt obliged to say something that might impress him.

  ‘I’m thinking of taking up fishing again. Used to do it when I was a kid.’

  ‘Good idea.’ He wrote in the file again. ‘You know, James, filling your time usefully is the key to it all. Settin
g a few targets, having something to aim for, will keep you out of mischief.’

  I certainly had plenty of targets, loads to aim for, but it wasn’t going to keep me out of mischief. He gave me some more leaflets on men’s health and well-being. What to do if I thought I had mental health problems. I began to wonder exactly what this man thought of me. He was very professional, I suppose, just following procedures. Probably hated my guts, but who gives a shit? As soon as the dust settles over the missing Ella and Vicki I’m going to get everything ready for another crack at Tara. She cost me my freedom once; she’s not going to do it again. And I never walk away from a challenge.

  Chapter 75

  First thing, before going to St Anne Street, she made a quick detour out to Bootle. Norman Pritchard was still in his dressing gown when he answered the door.

  ‘Sorry for calling so early, Norman, but if you don’t mind I have a couple more questions to ask you.’

  ‘Our Molly’s not up yet, so come in, luv, and I’ll put the kettle on.’ She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he filled the kettle, got two mugs ready and a tea-pot. She realised just how difficult she had probably made his life in recent days. Can’t have been easy coming to terms with the finding of your daughter’s remains, and tragically just the head, after more than twenty years. He was aware that Kelly had passed from natural causes, but the removal of her head for some kind of religious ceremony would be difficult for him, or any family, to bear.

  ‘How have you been coping?’ she asked him.

  ‘Okay, luv, okay. Me family have been good. They’ve arranged a small funeral for our Kelly. Seems right to give her some sort of Christian resting place even though she weren’t that way.’

  ‘Let me know when it is. I would like to come.’

  ‘Very good of you, luv. Can’t have been easy for you finding all those things at that house. Glad I don’t have your job.’

  When the tea was made she followed him into the sitting room, looking exactly as it had on her previous visit except for Molly’s vacant chair in front of the telly.

  ‘I wanted to ask you a couple more questions, Norman.’

  ‘That’s fine, luv, go ahead.’

  ‘Can you remind me of the names of Kelly’s children?’

  ‘You haven’t found them as well, have you?’

  ‘No, I was just wondering about their names and where they may have ended up.’ She could hardly explain her nebulous thoughts that she might well have found his granddaughter and then to break his heart by suggesting that she was a murderer.

  ‘There was Corey, the young lad, and Aeron was the girl.’

  ‘Do you know what surname they took?’

  ‘Never really thought on it, but I suppose they took their Dad’s.’

  ‘Keron wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, Keron Fogge.’

  Something still gnawed at her about these children.

  ‘And you said that Keron moved to the States and took the children with him?’

  ‘Far as I know, luv.’

  ‘You’ve not heard anything since Kelly died?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Do you know where he came from originally, before he met Kelly?’

  ‘Yorkshire. He were a Yorkshire man as plain as day.’ Norman seemed to drift off on his thoughts as he sipped at his tea. Tara drank some from the mug, but the old man had sweetened it like his own, with three spoons of sugar. Tasted like hot syrup.

  ‘Any idea where in Yorkshire?’

  ‘He were a Leeds United supporter, so I think maybe he came from there. Never did have a lot in common with the lad.’

  ‘Thank you for the tea, Norman. I’ll let you get on.’

  ‘No problem, luv.’

  She hurried to the station, and encumbered John Wilson with yet another task of research.

  ‘Can you check if there is a Keron Fogge living in the Leeds area? It’s a long shot, but I need to ask him about his children.’

  ‘Yes, mam.’

  ‘And let me know when you’ve got something on that furniture place.’

  She went in search of Murray who, by this time of the morning, was likely to be filling his face with scones, toast or sandwiches.

  ‘I had a word with Norman Pritchard this morning. I wanted to confirm the names of Kelly’s children.’ Murray was working to clear his mouth. Tara sat opposite him in the station canteen nursing a mug of coffee. ‘The girl’s name was Aeron.’

  ‘What about the surname?’

  ‘If she took her father’s it would be Fogge. Wilson is trying to find an address for Keron Fogge.’

  ‘I thought he’d gone to the States?’

  ‘I know, but it’s worth checking that he hasn’t come back again.’

  ‘Bit of a long shot.’

  Tara sipped at her coffee, and her thoughts drifted. Murray continued with his Full English.

  ‘Do you think it’s too much of a coincidence that the person Maurice Young tried to meet with might be the daughter of Kelly Pritchard?’

  ‘When you put it like that, yes. Different name for a start. And it’s a big assumption to make that somehow these kids are out there waging war. And for why? Kelly died of natural causes.’

  ‘What if the kids don’t know that?’

  Chapter 76

  ‘What if it’s true, Corey?’

  ‘It isn’t. I know what I saw.’

  ‘But you were eight years old. Maybe she got really sick and then she died.’

  ‘I saw what they did to her. That bitch Sanders handed an axe to Mary, and she cut off our Mam’s head.’

  ‘But Angela was adamant that Mam was already dead. She said they just gave her the funeral that she wanted.’

  ‘No, Aeron. Mam was only sleeping. We’d only just left her; we kissed her goodnight before Dad took us out of the bedroom. It was a sacrifice, like all the rest of them. I saw others killed, too. I saw what they did to Simeon. You were too young to remember. Simeon was good to us. He looked after us better than our Dad. It was after they killed him that I decided to get out of there. And then on the night they killed our Mam, I took you by the hand and we ran away.’

  ‘But we may have killed people for nothing?’

  ‘No! I’ve told you, Aeron. These animals did things to us and to other kids. They deserved to die.’

  ‘And what about the others?’

  ‘The others are just the same. They’re scum. They’ve hurt so many people. We have a duty to deliver God’s justice.’

  Aeron sat upon a sofa, her knees pulled close to her chest. There were tears in her eyes. Corey fiddled with the TV remote, flicking through channels, checking for news of the latest kill.

  ‘You know I’ve always been right, Aeron. I’ve always looked after us, haven’t I? You’re too young to remember that place, what went on there.’

  ‘I remember some things,’ she said, wiping a tissue across her nose. ‘I can still remember Simeon reading to us, telling us stories from the Bible. And I know things went bad. I know he was taken from us. And I can remember our Mam, just a little bit. She was always laughing.’

  Corey came and sat close to his sister, placing his hand on her head.

  ‘There you go, see? It were people like Saunders and Young who took Simeon from us. Then they took our Mam. And Fat Dinny did unspeakable things to you and the other girls, particularly the older ones. He got what he deserved, Aeron.’

  She snuggled her body into her brother as he stroked her hair.

  ‘I can never forget what they did,’ he continued in a quiet voice. ‘It is our duty to remove this evil. Only one more to go from our time at Vera Deitate and then we can concentrate on the filth who walk the streets. I need you to be strong, Aeron. I can’t do it without you.’

  She put her arms around him and squeezed him tight. He kissed the top of her head.

  ‘We need to make plans for your latest friend,’ he said.

  ‘He’s kind of cute, don’t you think
?’

  ‘Don’t go soft on me, Aeron. You know what he’s done. The anger of the Lord is upon him.’

  ‘I know he deserves to die. But I can have some fun with him first. And what about this girl cop? She’s finding out a lot of stuff.’

  ‘We’ll have to keep an eye on her. Don’t want her getting close.’

  He kissed his sister again on the forehead, and she hugged him like she always did. He got to his feet, held his hands out for her, she rose, and he led her to their bed.

  Chapter 77

  Her alarm sounded. Felt like she’d never been asleep. Too much coffee the day before and too many theories running through her head, she knew she was still wide awake at half past three. And recently she’d suffered terrible bouts of loneliness, particularly after a poor night’s sleep. She longed for someone to talk to first thing in the morning. Exchanging texts with Kate or Aisling as they hurried to work or with Kate as she came off a night shift helped, but it wasn’t a person beside her, touching her, whispering a good morning or even a shout of wake up, we’ve slept in. It was easy to slip Philip into that vision, he being her most recent lover, but this morning it wasn’t him in the frame. She scolded herself for being so damned silly. Alan Murray was clearly not the man for her, and yet they spent so much time together. Mostly it was rushing from one crime scene to the next, from one suspect to another, a snatched lunch or a coffee at the station. But they did talk and on occasion not just about their work. She reckoned she knew him as well as any woman currently in his life and vice versa. Physical attraction was hardly the determining factor when you knew a person as well as she knew Murray. He wasn’t unattractive to her, but she was his boss for goodness sake. She had never regarded him as a friend. Maybe now she was thinking of him because she was beginning to wonder if the only man who could ever share her life, and understand her, had to be a cop. Someone who shared her experiences, who knew what it was like to deal with horrible scenes of violence, who had encountered difficult and violent people, who had felt in danger and had suffered in their private life because of their job. Someone who had adjusted to the bizarre world of the police officer and in doing so had become maladjusted to ordinary life.