I could have the best of both worlds. A comfy life with Kirsty and a wee private habit of taking a nice girl, showing her a good time and nobody is any the wiser. My life is just brilliant.
Sometimes you just find yourself in the groove, if you know what I mean? Like you can do no wrong. That everything is going your way. Like, you could rob a bank and the bank manager would actually help you carry the cash to your car, or as my granny used to say, you could tread in shit and it would turn to gold.
*
On my first day back at work, delivering groceries for one of the country’s biggest supermarkets, the first house I called at had a beautiful young lady opening her door for me. My name for her sprang to mind right away. Daisy. Just like the girl from that old TV show, The Dukes of Hazard. I used to love it. Well, this girl opened her front door and I carried in a crate of groceries. She had legs up to her oxters, and was wearing denim shorts and a blue striped vest. Daisy had long brown hair, a beamer of a smile, dark eyes and stood barefoot.
I mention that she wasn’t wearing shoes because she was tall. Except for her height, she was the shape and type of girl I always go for. Already, I was warming to the task of having her, but it felt strange going home that night to a flat where Kirsty was busy making my tea and nattering away about all the things that had happened to her during the day. I could hardly do the same. I had plans to make for snatching Daisy.
I was thinking of being naughty again.
Chapter 13
A Matrix unit, a specially trained team of officers responsible for the disruption of gang and gun crime on Merseyside, had raided two homes on the Treadwater Estate in the early morning, two days after the killing of Ryan Boswell.
Three men and a woman were arrested and a small amount of drugs was recovered. Those arrested were brought to St Anne Street Station to assist with enquiries. Tara didn’t believe that questioning any of the men arrested would yield much in relation to the murder of Boswell. All three men were known members of the Treadwater Vipers gang. They weren’t likely to be co-operative. Much to Tara’s frustration, the girl arrested turned out to be a girlfriend of the supposed leader of the Vipers and not of Ryan Boswell.
Tara had to go through the motions of interviewing each of them. She wasn’t interested in their gang activities unless she could relate them to Boswell’s murder. Ryan’s brother had been less than helpful and more concerned with preserving his own reputation within this gang than helping the police to find his brother’s killer. Other members were unlikely to be more forthcoming.
Sitting opposite Tara in a ground floor interview room was a young man of twenty-two, looking somewhat the worse for wear, thanks to whatever drug he was slowly coming down from. His name was Craig Lewis.
‘Mr Lewis,’ Tara began after the preliminaries had been completed and the recording of the interview begun. ‘Can you confirm that you are a member of a gang known as the Treadwater Vipers?’
She couldn’t help thinking this gang’s name sounded more like a sports team, but she knew the Vipers were far from sporting.
‘No comment.’
‘The tattoo on your left arm shows an image linked to membership of this gang. Isn’t that correct?’
‘No comment.’
He rubbed at his face with both hands, as if he’d just awoken from a peaceful doze. Mr Lewis didn’t seem at all concerned about his current situation.
‘Can you tell me of your whereabouts last Saturday evening, the fifteenth of April?’
‘No comment.’
The questions continued, as did the repeated response. The interviewee was a heavily built man with shaven head. He wore a light grey hoodie and blue jeans, and gazed sternly through grey eyes as she put her questions to him. His nose was crooked, improperly set after a fight when he was sixteen, and he had a tiny scar on the left side of his lower lip, this merely a footballing injury. He did not look like a man who was easily rattled.
Murray fared equally poorly with the second man to be interviewed, eighteen-year-old Adam Finlay. It seemed clear that these gang members had trained themselves in the ways of dealing with the law. Close ranks, no co-operation.
The third man arrested, Tyler Finlay, Adam’s older brother, was already known to the police as the apparent leader of the Vipers, but Tara was faced with the same response —or rather, lack of response — to her questions. She wasn’t interested in charging him with possession of class A drugs; she wanted information on the murder of Ryan Boswell. But Tyler Finlay would not even admit to knowing the victim.
Shania Smith was seventeen years old, of mixed race, and allegedly the girlfriend of Tyler Finlay. She had been arrested at his flat and in his bed. A rather curvy girl with wide hips, a large round face and voluminous, afro hair, she was apparently more willing than her male peers to provide information. Tara wasn’t sure if the girl was dim-witted or frightened by finding herself in police custody.
‘Please state your address, Shania,’ Tara asked.
‘52 Linwood Drive, Treadwater, Netherton.’ Her voice was barely more than a mumble, and Tara had to ask her to speak up and repeat her answer.
‘So, you do not live at the same address as Tyler Finlay?’
‘No, I just stay over some nights.’ Self-consciously, the girl wrapped her arms around herself. She was wearing black satin pyjamas, pink slippers and a leather jacket.
‘You’re in a relationship with Tyler?’
‘Yes,’ she replied — rather proudly, Tara thought. The girl’s eyes twinkled at the mention of the man’s name.
‘Did you know Ryan Boswell?’
‘I knew him, like, but not really well, if you know what I mean? We didn’t like, hang out together or anything.’
‘How often would you have seen him?’
‘Not much. Seen him around the estate and that.’
‘Did you ever see him at Tyler’s flat?’
‘Couple of times, I think. Sometimes he was with his brother, Aidan. I know him better, like.’
‘Why did Ryan and Aidan come to Tyler’s flat?’
‘Don’t know. Business, I suppose. Tyler wouldn’t let me stay in the room. I used to make tea.’
‘And what about other people, say Craig Lewis and Adam Finlay?’
‘Yeah, I know both of them. ’Cos Adam is, like, Tyler’s brother.’
‘Where were you last Saturday evening?’
The girl looked confused, as though she didn’t recognise a day of the week, as if the notion of individual days was irrelevant to her life. She shook her head slowly.
‘Don’t know.’
‘It was only two nights ago, Shania. Can’t you remember what you were doing?’
‘Oh, then. I was out with me mates.’
‘Out where?’
‘On the estate and that. Went to a party.’
‘Whose party?’
‘It was Aidan’s birthday — at his house.’
‘Do you know where Tyler was at that time?’
‘He was at the party, too.’
‘Did you see Ryan Boswell that night?’
‘No.’
‘What about his girlfriend, did you see her?’
‘Don’t know her.’
‘But you do know her name?’
Shania hesitated, as if she was suddenly conscious that she might be saying too much. Tara smiled her understanding of the girl’s dilemma, but she needed the information.
‘If you know her name, Shania, it may help us find the person who killed Ryan. You want to see this person caught, don’t you?’
‘Her name is Carly McHugh.’
‘Did you see her at the party on Saturday night?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know why Ryan was living in Sunderland and not in Treadwater?’
‘He works there.’
‘For Tyler?’
‘Think so.’
‘What type of work did he do for Tyler?’
The girl paused again and seemed doubtful a
bout answering at all. Tara waited, knowing that she’d just placed the teenager in a difficult — and potentially dangerous — situation.
‘Was it something to do with drugs, Shania?’
‘I’m not sure, I mean, I don’t really know. I’m not supposed to know. Tyler doesn’t like me knowing things.’
‘Does the work have something to do with the Vipers?’
Shania dropped her head. Clearly, she was in a quandary. Tara realised the girl knew much more than she was supposed to, but was too frightened to speak of it.
‘I think Ryan used to deliver things for Tyler.’
‘Do you mean drugs?’
‘I think so.’
Chapter 14
She was certain that it was him. Just sitting there, looking right at her. When he realised she’d recognised him he smiled and maintained his stare. Out of breath from her running, she began to shake. Suddenly, freezing cold, she stood rooted to the spot, looking at the man who had taken her. Fear and loathing coursed through her as she tried to think rationally. Tried to think what she should do next. Why was he here? Had he been waiting for her? Did he know where she lived? She felt it would be defeat to walk or run away, so she remained staring at him.
She recognised him, but still she could not recall what he had done with her on that night when he’d drugged her and driven her away. Murray and her friends, Aisling and Kate, had come to her rescue. They’d found her naked in his van in the car park at the old Leasowe Lighthouse. She’d seen him sentenced for aggravated sexual assault, but it seemed that she would never know exactly what he had done to her on that night. The last time she’d set eyes on him was when she and Murray had saved him from certain death at the hands of the brother and sister hell-bent on ridding the world of sex criminals. The few seconds that she stood, watching him smirking at her, felt like hours. Then, he calmly started the engine on his van and drove away.
It was dusk; a mild evening without breeze and yet she was painfully cold. She gazed around her, as if she’d just been dropped from outer space onto an unfamiliar piece of earth. A few people were walking by the river towards the Albert Dock. She wanted to tell them that he’d been here, watching her, but they’d think she was crazy. A car horn sounded, long and urgent. She glared at the driver, failing at first to understand that she had just stepped onto the road in front of him. He shook his head and drove around her. Suddenly, all those occasions when she’d imagined that someone was watching her now made sense. Those times when she’d heard a car or a van roar away behind her. Times when a car had been parked on double yellows as she drove from her parking space at Wapping Dock onto the main road. A man wearing a hooded anorak who just happened to be waiting at the corner as she drove by. It all made sense.
It was him.
James Guy had been stalking her. Was stalking her. He hadn’t forgotten her after his conviction for assault. Now, and despite her having saved him from certain death, he was still after her.
Going home to her flat didn’t feel like the right thing to do. Instead, she ran to Aisling’s and rang her buzzer. She felt about to throw up, but Aisling was quick to answer and soon Tara was on her sofa with a glass of water.
‘Have you been overdoing it, love?’
‘Something like that,’ she said, still out of breath.
‘Are you all right, Tara? You’re shaking.’
‘He’s been watching me, Aisling. I’ve just seen him.’
‘Who has?’
‘James Guy. I saw him just now in his van. He was waiting for me.’
‘Where, Tara. What do you mean waiting for you?’
‘I saw him. In his van, outside the Beatles Museum. He was waiting for me, I know he was.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He just sat there staring at me, and then he smiled and drove off.’
‘Maybe it was just coincidence. He just happened to be there, that’s all. At least he didn’t try anything.’
‘No, Aisling. It all makes sense now. I’ve had this feeling for ages that someone is watching me. Like in the mornings when I was going to work or coming home. And now I’m out for a run... and he just happens to be there.’
‘But you saved his life, Tara. Surely he wouldn’t want to hurt you after that?’
‘He tried once before. Why not now?’
‘I’ll get you something stronger to drink and then you can lie down. You’re not going home. We’ll talk to Kate in the morning; she’s on duty tonight.’
*
Aisling and Tara eventually drank two bottles of wine between them and followed those up with a couple of shots of peach schnapps. Quite drunk, Tara fell into bed in Aisling’s spare room, her troubling memories of the early evening soon mingled with her dreams, and she slept soundly until six-thirty.
St Anne Street Station was the last place she wanted to be the next morning. Tara would much rather have started off on her holiday with Kate and Aisling, but that was still three months away.
She had no clear plan in her mind of the day’s work ahead. Her stomach still trembled from the experience of seeing James Guy’s grinning face and the consequent recall of her painful memories. Pictures of Guy, and of Lynsey Yeats and Callum and Mark Crawley and the dismembered body of Dinsdale Kirkman all swirled in her head. Then she met Alan Murray on the stairs, and her body suddenly relaxed.
Why did she always feel safer in his presence? She felt the same with John Wilson. Her protectors. Why did seeing Murray put her at ease? She cared for him, but only as a colleague, and maybe after three years working together, as a friend also. But he had a new woman in his life and didn’t give any indication, nowadays, of wanting her. Even his use of innuendo had waned. He seemed happy with Trudy Mitchell, a woman who had initially been their suspect in a case of ritual murder and who was dating Murray now.
Above all this morning, Tara felt confused. Her head throbbed from the wine consumed the previous night, she’d hardly eaten and she realised she didn’t look her best — not even her workday best.
‘Morning, mam.’
‘Morning, Alan. Any news?’
They stopped on the stairs, Tara on her way up to the first floor, Murray on his way down. He was, inevitably, munching on a Twix, and it wasn’t yet nine o’clock.
‘Couple of people from Treadwater have come forward. Seems they remember hearing the screams of a girl on the night Boswell was shot.’
‘Close to the scene?’
‘One close to the shops where the shooting happened, but the other was a bit further away near the park.’
‘Might be connected. Can’t help thinking that it was this girlfriend of Boswell’s. Any news on her whereabouts?’
Murray shook his head.
‘Nothing more from Sunderland police?’
‘All gone quiet. They’re working on an address for her. Wilson has the forensic report on the shooting. That’s it, I’m afraid.’
Wilson was already loitering close to her desk when she entered the office. He was chatting with Paula Bleasdale.
‘Morning, mam,’ he said, ‘The report for the analysis of the bullets retrieved from the scene has come through. The gun used to kill Boswell had been used before.’
‘Oh?’
‘And here’s the interesting part. It was used in a shooting eighteen months ago in Belfast.’
Chapter 15
Iris Hamilton, a sixty-year-old woman, heavy smoker, and — from the smell of her breath at ten o’clock in the morning — a heavy drinker, spoke to Tara and Murray at her doorstep on the Treadwater Estate. Her faced was heavily lined, her teeth badly stained, her shoulder-length hair turning grey and in need of brushing.
‘I heard the screams first, and then I looked out the window. She was running up the middle of the road.’
‘Can you give me a description, Iris?’
‘Young girl, a teenager maybe. Slim, dark hair about same length as mine.’ Iris stroked two fingers through her hair.
‘How was
she dressed?’ Tara asked.
‘Short skirt, sleeveless top, high heels and bare legs. Such a cold night too. Could hardly walk, never mind run.’
‘Did you see anyone else? Did it seem like the girl was running away from someone?’
‘Didn’t see anyone else, not right away. About five minutes later I saw a man walking along the street. Walking quickly but looking around him. Like, peering into the gardens and that.’
‘Did you see the girl at any time after you saw the man?’
The woman shook her head, stepped from her hallway down onto the garden path and pointed.
‘See the football pitch up there? The man went up that way. That’s as far as I can see from my bedroom window. Didn’t think anything of it till I heard young Boswell had been shot.’
Murray pulled a printed sheet of a photograph of Ryan Boswell from his jacket pocket and showed it to the woman.
‘Do you recognise this man?’
‘That’s Boswell. There’s not many people round here wouldn’t know him. Not with all the trouble he caused over the years.’
‘Was that the man you saw walking past your house after the girl?’
‘No, love.’
‘You’re sure, Mrs Hamilton?’
‘It was dark, but the man was much bigger than Ryan. Bulky. Lighter skinned, too.’
*
There was a gathering of around twenty people at the row of shops where Ryan Boswell’s body had been found. The roll-down shutter of the defunct video store and the pavement below were adorned with various bouquets of flowers, cards, scribbled messages on paper and lit candles, all left in tribute to the young lad who’d grown up on the estate and had been shot in cold blood. Tara thought it ironic that there seemed to be as many people glad to see the back of the youth as there were those displaying their grief at his passing. Murray stopped the car to observe, and Tara realised that it was an opportunity to speak to some people who may not have been questioned already. She climbed from the car and stepped towards a group of four young girls.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 56