There was a final wrapping of a woven material concealing something within. Billy repeated his cutting with the knife. Harry helped to pull the sheeting away, but very soon wished he hadn’t.
‘Holy shit,’ said Dessie. ‘It’s a body.’
Harry managed only the briefest of glimpses. He bolted to the side and threw up.
Chapter 1
She couldn’t run fast in heels. She’d take them off but the ground was uneven; flagstones, tarmac, broken glass scattered, it would slow her down anyway. Leaning her back against a gable wall, she drew a lungful of cold night air, dampened with the rain of the evening. She prayed she’d lost him. Her chest ached from the pounding of her heart, and the thumping in her head fuelled her fear. She could never outrun him. She heard his call. Not angry — taunting, confident that he would find her. He was playing a game. But his shout gave away his position. He was still searching. Coming for her.
She continued down the alley between the houses, her heels clattering in double time. And she realised that he would hear them. If only she knew someone, she could knock on their door ask them to hide her. But she knew no one around here. Not on this estate.
Except for Ryan. He’d brought her here. But he couldn’t help her now. And her tears came, blurring her vision. Tears for herself and for Ryan. They’d both been so stupid. Gullible. A birthday party for his brother Aidan, they should have realised they were being set up. And naively she had come dressed for a good time, short dress and stiletto heels. She’d even got her hair and her nails done. For what? From the moment they entered the house she felt something was wrong. It wasn’t simply a place where people were enjoying themselves drinking, smoking and doing some blow. Most of the fellas looked uneasy. Only the girls were getting drunk. And then, suddenly, she was helpless and alone as Ryan was summoned. He smiled sadly as he let go of her hand for the last time. She tried to follow him. She made it as far as the kitchen, but as she attempted to step outside after him three of the guys closed ranks.
They did so in a way that made it seem like they were wasted, but she realised what they were doing. With Ryan gone, one of them took his chance to cop a feel of her bum. She bounced from one to the other, each of them seizing a feel of her breasts, her bum and her crotch. She called for Ryan, but all they did was laugh at her. Suddenly her face met the floor, and when she looked up she thought at first that Ryan was looking down on her and they were safe. But it was Craig, Ryan’s best friend. He said nothing as she struggled unaided to her feet.
‘Where’s Ryan?’
He didn’t reply. Instead, he moved right in close to her face. She backed away. He stepped closer, as if itching for a fight. She knew then that they were doomed. They knew about Ryan and they knew about her. Knew exactly what they’d done.
‘I want to speak to Ryan.’
Craig suddenly relaxed his stance. He smiled.
‘He’s just having a chat with the lads, that’s all. Everything’s cool.’
She pushed her way to the door.
‘I want to see him.’
She was jostled from one to another, and eventually they let her go. Outside, the garden was deserted. She saw movement beyond the high wooden gate, pulled it open and stepped into the parking area at the rear of the houses. A car door slammed, headlights illuminated the empty space, an engine revved and the car sped from the cul-de-sac.
She glanced behind her. No one from the party seemed interested in her now. The back door of the house was closed and Craig stood at the window, peering out. Only the loud music thumped into the street.
She ran, in desperation at first, hopelessly trying to follow the car. Then a boundless fear took hold, and she realised she had to get away. If only her da was here. He might get angry but he wouldn’t have allowed these guys to hurt Ryan, not when he meant so much to her. She realised too that she was in for an ear-bashing when next she saw her da. For now though, she had to get away from this place before somebody decided it was all her fault and came looking for her.
They never should have come to Liverpool, never mind Treadwater. In Sunderland they had been safe. Once they’d made the money on the deal, they could have scarpered. It was a chance of a lifetime, one deal to make them rich and they could have disappeared for good. But somebody got to know what they were up to. She’d warned Ryan to be careful, to keep his mouth shut. Now it was too late. There would be no deal, no money, no fresh start, no new life in the sun, and they would not be going back to Sunderland. She shuddered at the thought of what they would do to Ryan. Had they plans for her, too?
She had to get away.
Pushing on from the relative sanctuary of the alleyway, trying her best to create only silent steps, she was suddenly free of the houses, into open space — playing fields. Now her heels sank into the damp earth. She wept. Stay on your toes, she thought as her speed picked up. But it was not enough. She glanced behind and saw him emerge from the alley.
Her right foot slipped from her shoe as the heel snagged in the grass. Quickly, she removed her left and ran barefoot. Now she was putting distance between them. She had more energy than she’d dared hope, and she knew how to run. She’d been running her whole life. If only she could get away now, she promised herself a fresh start of her own. She still had enough money put away to help her disappear. It wasn’t the amount she and Ryan could have made on the deal, but it was enough for just her. She dared another glance over her shoulder. The figure had stopped. He stood at the edge of the green, watching her run. He was no longer giving chase. She ran all the harder. By the time she’d reached the road on the far side, she looked again and saw him talking on his phone. A car braked to halt in front of her. She squinted into the headlights, suddenly aware that she’d stepped right into the path of the car. Holding both shoes in her hands, she moved to the driver’s window.
‘Please! Help me. Somebody is following me.’
The driver, middle-aged, thin-haired and smoking, had already lowered his window.
‘Get in,’ he said.
She stole a final glimpse of the man who’d chased her. Now he watched, as she got into the car and it drove away.
Chapter 2
The restaurant was noisy, not that the girls minded. Their chatter and laughter was partly to blame. Into their second bottle of Chardonnay and awaiting the arrival of their main course, Tara was ravenous. She’d been saving herself for this meal all day. Hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and even then it was nothing more than a slice of toast and a cup of tea. A busy day spent at the station on case preparation, she’d been looking forward to meeting up with her friends Kate and Aisling.
‘Well, I fancy Cancun. It’s different for us,’ said Kate.
‘Ibiza, I love Ibiza,’ said Aisling.
‘Do you not think we’re getting a bit old for Ibiza?’ said Tara.
‘You’re never too old, Tara love.’
‘How about a cruise?’ Kate suggested.
‘What are you, seventy-five?’
‘Plenty of people our age go on cruises nowadays. It would be great.’
‘Anywhere would be great,’ Tara admitted with a sigh. ‘I just need to get away. I really need a holiday.’
In truth, it was more than just a holiday Tara had been considering recently. She needed a change. What shape this change should be she had no clue. Married rather than single? Possibly. Relocation? But where would she go? Change her career? Leave policing? Too much to think about. Not now, not with her mates, the noise in the restaurant and drink taken. Best to think only of a holiday for now.
‘How about Canada?’ she said. Aisling nearly spat her drink over the table.
‘Sometimes, Tara, I think you say things just to wind us up. What are we supposed to do in Canada while you go chasing after one of those Mountie fellas?’
‘Nothing to stop you from chasing after one of them, Aisling,’ said Kate. ‘Seeing as how you like men in uniform.’
The debate continued as a waitress brought thei
r meal. The arrival of food coincided with the vibration of Tara’s phone on the table. She picked it up and answered the call from her DS, Alan Murray.
‘Hi Alan, what’s up?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, mam, I know you’re out for the evening, but we have an incident to attend.’
‘Where?’
‘Treadwater Estate.’
The very name sent a shiver down her back. She hated the place, hated more the history she had there.
‘Can you pick me up, Alan? I’ll meet you at the corner of Cook Street and North John Street.’
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
Aisling and Kate didn’t speak. Both faces said it all. Their evening had just been trashed. Tara knew better than to apologise but still felt the need.
‘Sorry girls. Have to go. Not supposed to be on call but we’re short-staffed at the moment. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ Her friends smiled weakly their understanding. Little more could be said. They were used to this.
*
She was hardly dressed for a crime scene, being clad in a little black dress, strappy heels and a short fur-collared coat. An icy breeze cut along the street as she waited for Murray. Her cheeks tingled in the air and her breath condensed as it left her. She didn’t look like a detective inspector, not at five-foot-one, slim figure, dressed as she was and with the face of a pretty teenager rather than a woman of thirty-one. Such things didn’t bother her; she could assert herself when she needed to.
A black Vauxhall Insignia, with Murray at the wheel, braked quickly and came to a halt in front of her. Murray took a last glimpse of the cute girl with blonde hair before she climbed into the car and became his boss.
‘What do we know so far?’
‘Young lad’s been shot.’
‘Dead?’
‘Afraid so. Likely that it’s drugs or gang related but we’ll see when we get there.’
Treadwater was a sprawling council estate to the north of the city in Netherton. High unemployment, low income families, anti-social behaviour, gangs and drugs: Treadwater had them all. It was not a place for a police officer to feel safe, and Tara never had. Then again, her only connection to this area had been her job. Investigating murder had brought her here, had damn well nearly killed her — twice. How could she ever look fondly upon this place?
Murray bumped the car over a series of ramps. They were intended to stop the young lads racing their cars around the streets; instead, they had become part of the fun. Who cared about broken suspension? Cars were stolen anyway. A number of police and emergency response vehicles were parked up along a street close by a row of four shop units. Only two of the units appeared to be in use: a mini-market at one end on the left, a betting shop at the other. Graffiti on battered metal shutters obscured what had been a Chinese takeaway and a video store, both long since defunct.
A forensic team was coming and going from an alley to the left of the mini-market. As she got out of the car, Tara spotted DC John Wilson donning a white forensic suit. Had to be extra-large, Wilson was a tall and bulky man. Tara always felt safer when he was around.
‘Evening, mam,’ he said, looking admiringly at the stunningly dressed DI. He had one leg into the coverall, resting his hand on a wall to steady himself.
‘Evening, John. What have we got?’
‘One male, late teens or early twenties. Dead at the scene.’
Murray had collected two protective suits and handed one of them to Tara.
‘Witnesses?’ she asked.
Wilson shook his head.
‘Not so far. No weapon either.’
‘Who found the body?’
‘A 999 call reported hearing a commotion and shots. Patrol car responded and discovered the scene.’
When all three had dressed in the requisite suits and foot protectors, they made their way between a low wall and the gable of the mini-market. Two large metal wheelie-bins obstructed their initial view of the scene, and each of them had to squeeze by to get a clear sight of the victim. Arc lights had been erected to illuminate the body. He lay on his left side, a dark pool of blood spread out before him on the concrete.
Tara gave a deep sigh and puffed air through her lips. No one could tell her that she would ever grow used to such a scene. He was no more than a boy, hardly a man, despite the tattoos on both arms and on his neck. His hair was shaven and there was a hefty bruise below his right eye. She thought his blood-soaked T-shirt had once been a light shade of blue, and he wore ripped jeans and black trainers.
The forensic pathologist, Dr Brian Witney, groaned as he stiffly rose from a crouch to his feet. He couldn’t help but smile at Tara, regardless of the situation.
‘Took a bit of a beating first, then shot twice.’
As he spoke, the victim was turned onto to his back. Tara saw, immediately, exactly what a bullet can do to a body.
Chapter 3
Don’t want to put the scud on it but I think my life is definitely on the up. My hands and feet are healing nicely after that sicko Aeron Collywell fired nails through them. I thought I was finished that night, until wee DI Tara Grogan turns up to rescue me. Who’d have thought it? The girl for whom I had already done time in prison, had saved my life. Now, I can’t say that her deed wrought any kind of change in me. I haven’t suddenly decided to turn over a new leaf, be a good boy, follow Jesus, or start a charity for victims of rape and murder, but things seem less turbulent at the moment. I’ve learned, shall we say, to be a bit more careful in what I get up to. Still off work, delivering groceries to the great and needy, I’ve had a bit of time on my hands. Time to go wandering, if you know what I mean?
On Friday morning I drove all the way to Aberdeen, way up in the north of Scotland. Spent a lot of time there recently, ever since I spotted a nice wee ass by the name of Megan. At least, that’s the name I’ve given her. In recent times I’ve taken too many girls in and around Liverpool. It was time to spread my wings. What I do, and I have to say, do very well, is that I choose a nice girl, a real looker, actually, no point otherwise. I learn as much as I can about her routine, where she goes, who she meets and so on. I make careful plans to snatch her so that I don’t get caught, and once I have her in the back of my van, I drug her, do the business with her and finally put her to sleep for good. Then, I take her body out to sea and dump her.
It’s brilliant, the perfect crime. No body, no witnesses and no crime scene. Been doing it for years now and only got caught once, when I tried to snatch that clever wee cop Tara Grogan. I was lucky to get away with eighteen months for aggravated sexual assault. No one knows, including the police, what I’ve really done.
Anyway, with Megan I planned everything in meticulous fashion. I’d learned where she lived, where she worked, what she did socially, where she went and who she went with. Heck, I’d even discovered her shoe size, the name of her bank, her boyfriend and even her bloody dentist.
It’s good when my girls have a boyfriend. It means that when the girl goes missing the suspicion falls on lover-boy and never on me.
Megan’s boy will forever regret having a row with her and storming off. Don’t know what it was about, but it happened when the two of them came out of a pub in Belmont Street in Aberdeen on Saturday night. It wasn’t late, but I’d say they both had taken a fair amount of drink. The boy headed off towards Union Street, while poor wee Megan wondered along in the opposite direction in her high heels, and bumped into yours truly, biding his time right beside his van.
I swear Megan didn’t have the chance to look behind her after the boyfriend, or to call for help. I grabbed her under the chin and marched her backwards and had her inside the van before you could say och aye the noo. Like all my catches, I bound Megan at her hands and feet and put a lovely strip of duct tape over her gob. Then I gave her a wee jab of china white — that’s fentanyl, my date-rape drug of choice — and she drifted into a nice wee sleep.
Twenty minutes later, I’d found a lovely spot by the sea, and
the rest of the night was mine... to enjoy the delights of a lovely Scottish lass. Dear love her, she’d even gone to the bother of wearing a tartan skirt — not that she was wearing much by the time I’d finished.
Next morning, I drove all the way to Maryport in Cumbria where I had my boat, Mother Freedom, moored and all kitted out with the things I needed to dispose of Megan’s body. When the tide was right I motored into the Irish Sea. I packaged Megan neatly in one of those big sports holdalls, along with a couple bags of garden stones, enough to see her to the seabed. That done, feeling refreshed and satisfied, I made for home.
*
Megan had been my first snatch for a while. Hadn’t been feeling the same urges lately, but I reckoned I should keep my hand in. You never know when I might have to, for instance, get rid of a certain wee cop. Recently, I’ve been feeling a bit more settled, a bit more at ease with myself. For one thing, I have a girlfriend — a proper, no nonsense girlfriend.
In fact, I think I might be in love. Whatever that means.
As soon as I’d got back on my feet and was walking without a bloody stick, after my near-death experience at the hands of Aeron the axe-murderer, I went down to that pub I’d been enjoying before Aeron nearly put an end to me. The Swallow’s Tail is, loosely speaking, an Irish pub off Matthew Street in Liverpool. Lovely talent in there, most nights. I was minding my own business when in walked two girls I’d met a few months earlier, Kirsty and Mel. We’d shared a laugh, a few drinks and a snog, and Kirsty had given me her phone number. With all that happened, I never had the chance or the inclination to call her. She was quite tall, especially in the kind of heels she wore. She had dark brown hair, a nice smile, plenty of lipstick and eye liner. Pretty fit-looking for a girl of thirty-five. Mel wasn’t bad either, bit smaller and plumper, giggled a lot.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 53