‘Will do.’
Tara read through the report on the search in Sunderland, but couldn’t help pondering the fate of Carly McHugh. Was she the girl heard screaming on the Treadwater Estate? Had she been taken by the people who killed Boswell? Was she dead, too? Or had she simply scarpered from her flat in Sunderland? Perhaps she was back in Northern Ireland.
This last idea brought Tara to consider the history of the gun used to kill Boswell, but just as quickly she switched to thinking of Linda Meredith... and the investigation begun by Terry Lawler.
*
She didn’t know DCI Malcolm Weir terribly well. Saw him at the odd briefing, in attendance at a few murder scenes and passing by in the corridors at St Anne Street. She knew he was a Scot, and Merseyside policeman for thirty years. He was a contemporary of Harold Tweedy but beyond that the comparison floundered. Weir was round, heavy and round, shirts strained across his belly and his trousers sported an ever-growing collection of coffee stains. He wasn’t celebrated for his dress sense; his usual attire was jeans and a faded sweatshirt emblazoned with the image of a 1970s rock band, and he rarely shaved. His once thick and curly hair was now greying and thinning. Even Tara had noticed the change in Weir over the few years she’d spent at St Anne Street, but she was wise enough to know that appearances deceived. Malcolm Weir’s main tag was that he did not bear fools gladly or in any other way.
Tara knocked on the windowed door. Weir, head down, gave no response, so she entered anyway. Only then did he raise a hand to stop her. He was in the middle of a phone call, conducted on speakerphone. Embarrassed already, she stepped back outside the door and waited.
Clearly, he didn’t hurry himself. Ten minutes passed, and Tara stood waiting. When, finally, she was summoned inside, Weir gave no apology for the delay. Instead, he got right to the point.
‘So you’re looking a run down on the Vipers?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied, feeling bold enough to take a seat opposite him; a seat he hadn’t offered. Weir, despite his years in Liverpool, had lost none of his Glaswegian accent. At that moment, Tara wished she were speaking to someone else. Someone with personality and warmth, or at least with manners.
‘Small fry,’ he said. ‘Mostly confined to north Liverpool. They’re into dealing drugs, protection and I heard recently they’ve attempted to set up a money-laundering operation through a couple of nightclubs. We’re working on that at the moment, so I would prefer if you kept that little nugget to yourself, DI Grogan.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Strange, she thought, his reference to the Vipers as small fry considering Ryan Boswell had been living as far away as Sunderland, apparently working on behalf of the gang.
‘Anything else I can help you with?’
Tara was astounded at the DCI’s dismissive attitude. He leaned back in his chair, scratching his head vigorously with both hands and stretching. Perhaps, like others Tara knew, he didn’t think she looked the part of a DI. Yes, she looked much younger than thirty-one, but her slight frame and lack of height also made her seem weak and vulnerable, unsuited for police work. She decided to take her time, slow this copper down, use his time and hopefully make him less dismissive of her.
‘Boswell had been living in Sunderland. Do you know if the Vipers operate that far afield?’
Weir pursed his lips. He didn’t look happy.
‘Not as far I know,’ he said curtly.
‘What about Belfast?’
‘Belfast? You’re poking your finger in a lot of pies, DI Grogan.’
She didn’t respond to his condescension, merely returned his gaze. He sighed and rubbed his hand across his bristled chin.
‘Do you have something specific in relation to Belfast?’
‘The gun used to kill Boswell had been used previously in a Belfast shooting, eighteen months ago. Boswell’s girlfriend, who was living with him in Sunderland, has disappeared. She hails from Northern Ireland. I’m wondering if the connections between Belfast and Liverpool are relevant.’
‘We try to keep tabs on the activities of the various gangs in this city, but it is not an exact science. You could say that Liverpool is central to a lot of the drug dealing that goes on in the north of England and for that matter in Scotland and Ireland too. Stuff comes in and stuff goes out. It’s a port, for goodness’ sake.’
‘So it is possible that Ryan Boswell acted as a courier, transporting drugs from Liverpool to Sunderland and perhaps he had links also to Belfast?’
‘I suppose so. But as I’ve said, the Vipers are small players. Mostly kids. It’s the big boys we need to worry about. They’re the guys with the connections.’
‘Thank you, sir, you’ve been very helpful.’
Weir didn’t respond as Tara rose from the chair. Then as she opened the door he made a request which came across as a combination of order and threat.
‘DI Grogan, I want to know of your progress in this case. I want to know if you’re about to go snooping into organised crime franchises. We have investigations ongoing, some of them undercover. I don’t want any of our work compromised, understand? You need to OK it with me before you pull anyone in, is that clear?’
‘Perfectly, sir.’
She closed the door and walked briskly back to her office. She was fuming at Weir's attitude, but she was also certain of one thing. She would clear her proposed activities with her boss Harold Tweedy. He could decide what DCI Weir needed to know. She was investigating a case of murder. That fact was sufficient to override DCI Weir’s requests. There was no way she was involving the unpleasant man any further in her work.
Chapter 20
Kirsty has started acting very strange with me, and it’s pissing me off. I think she is still suspicious of what I get up to, when I go out. We’ve hardly spoken, and certainly done nothing in bed, for more than a week.
I’m getting stressed. To keep myself sane I’ve continued my surveillance of Daisy. She lives at Stockbridge Village, in Knowsley. It’s not the kind of place that would make for an easy snatch, too many houses close together. Too great a chance of someone noticing me hanging around. So I’ve had to find out what she does during the day, where she works. Took me a few days but I managed to track her one morning walking to the bus stop. I followed the bus in my delivery van, and luckily she got off when I was still trailing it. She works in a bank in West Derby. Now I have to suss out her routine on weekdays and at weekends, so I can decide the best place and time to take her.
My real worry is that I shouldn’t be doing this. Not in this city. I should be looking for a girl much further away. I’ve taken far too many women in and around Liverpool. A smart cop like DI Grogan might put the proverbial twos together and my name might creep into the conversation. But I can’t afford for Kirsty to get any more suspicious of me, and travelling to some other town would take up too much time. My job allows me to find all these beautiful girls, so I’m not going to ignore the opportunity, especially when I’m getting nothing from Kirsty.
Seeing Tara down by the Albert Dock set me thinking again. I know she likes to run, and I know where she goes running. Really, I should get my act together once and for all and have another crack at her. But if she ever went missing the entire police force in Liverpool would come looking for me. I’m the one with the previous for taking her. I’d be their number one suspect.
For now, I suppose, wee Tara is safe from me.
Last night, though, my whole world was rocked. I couldn’t take much more of Kirsty’s moodiness and me thinking she was growing very distrustful of me, so I tackled her about it.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ I said. We were out shopping for new clothes. I went with her, thinking it would help cheer her up, show her I was still interested in her and that I loved her. ‘You’ve hardly said a word since we came out. Have I done something wrong?’
Suddenly, big tears welled in her eyes. She does have lovely eyes. She squeezed my hand and sort of smiled.
‘What’s wrong, Kirsty?�
�
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.
Chapter 21
In the late afternoon, Murray and Wilson returned from the funeral of Ryan Boswell. Murray went to the canteen for some food, but Wilson walked over to Tara’s desk.
‘How did it go, John?’
‘Big funeral, as you might expect, although I would say there were as many there to say good riddance as to pay respects.’
‘Anything suspicious?’
‘Plenty of Vipers there. Six as pallbearers. A couple of guys that I didn’t recognise as being from around the estate, but they seemed to be well acquainted with Tyler Finlay.’
‘Description?’
‘Probably in their fifties. One tall, around six foot, white, short hair; the other stocky and bald. Both smoked fags, casually dressed in jeans and anoraks.’
‘Did you hear them speak?’
Wilson shook his head.
‘Didn’t get that close, mam. But Murray got a picture on his phone.’
A couple of minutes later, Murray strode in, a coffee in one hand, a pack of sandwiches in the other. He tossed the package to Wilson.
‘Egg and cress, all they had left.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ said Wilson, looking disappointed.
‘John said that you got a picture of two suspicious characters.’
‘Yes, mam. Same two guys we saw the other day at the shops.’
‘Do they look familiar?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’m wondering if they’re undercover cops. Part of DCI Weir’s team.’
‘I certainly didn’t recognise them, but I suppose they could be.’
‘If they’re not undercover guys then perhaps they’re from out of town. I’m thinking of Belfast. That’s where the murder weapon came from.’
*
Tara had brought a change of clothes to work, which was just as well since she didn’t have time to get home before meeting up with Kate and Aisling for dinner. She slipped into a pair of shiny black leggings, a flowery patterned tunic and a pair of silver strappy heels. Before leaving the station, she brushed her hair and did her makeup. Tonight was going to be a novel night out with the girls. For the first time in years, at least since Tara’s student days at Oxford, all three of them were officially single at the same time. They had been close friends since their school days on the Wirral, staying in contact through Tara’s years in Oxford and Kate’s training to be a nurse.
While Tara had a trail of quite disastrous relationships behind her, Aisling had focused on the hunt for a rich and handsome partner, with less than moderate success. She had just dumped her most recent flame, a banker named Kevin. For the past seven years, Kate seemed to have been in a settled and lasting partnership with Adam. Both worked at the Royal Liverpool hospital, Kate as a cardiac nurse and Adam as a doctor most recently in accident and emergency. They had a baby daughter, Adele. But recently their relationship had floundered, both blaming shift work and lack of meaningful time spent in each other’s company. So they had agreed to part ways in fairly amicable fashion, both determined to protect Adele from any real upset.
This evening was a mark of their close friendship, with Tara and Aisling eager to show their love and support for Kate. They gathered in a bar/restaurant in the city centre. The bar was busy and had a lively atmosphere, the kind of place to let your hair down.
‘Here’s to the future, without men,’ said Aisling. The other two were well used to such sweeping statements and knew that Aisling didn’t mean a word of them. All three gulped down their shots.
‘I like the hair,’ said Tara. Kate was prone to changing her hair style and colour at a moment’s notice — or indeed without any notice whatsoever.
‘I thought I would mark my separation with something other than tears,’ Kate replied, touching her platinum-blonde locks. ‘Another toast,’ she said, raising her glass. ‘To L’Oréal, Garnier and all the great hair colours of the world!’
Six more glasses were set in front of them, two for each girl, one containing Baileys, the other lime juice. The idea was to hold the Baileys in the mouth then swill it with the lime juice before swallowing. The name of this charming cocktail was quite appropriate: Woman’s Revenge.
‘To the three of us,’ said Aisling. ‘May we always be up for having a laugh together.’
Tara drank the Baileys and added the lime juice before swallowing.
‘Ugh! Glad we did that one before we get really drunk,’ she said.
As the night flashed by the shots were ever more daring, the toasts more ridiculous and the fun more hilarious. The girls exchanged ever-more-wild stories, opinions and anecdotes about their dealings with men. Kate had really only her recent experience with Adam to offer, while Aisling spoke of the failings of one rich boyfriend after another, and Tara exorcised the remains of her tragic encounters with Callum Armour, Philip Tweedy and her first real love, the man who ended their relationship on the day they ended their student lives at Oxford, Simon.
When the night air hit them none of the girls was capable of much. Given their sudden craving for food, they decided to take a detour to the kebab shop — although Kate managed to throw up before they reached it.
Despite her drunken state, and their disarray in trying to arrange a taxi home, Tara was struck by a peculiar feeling. As they waited for their taxi to arrive, she felt on edge, unsafe. She had company, but she didn’t feel secure.
She glanced around the street. A few people were making their way home or going to other clubs, but still she was spooked. Something wasn’t right in this street scene and Tara felt uneasy.
That unease rose to fear when she noticed him. Hands in anorak pockets, he leaned against a shop window on the other side of the street. And he was looking right at her. She even glanced over her shoulder, hoping that maybe he was looking at someone else. No. When he realised that she had noticed him, he casually walked away and was soon out of sight.
Chapter 22
I’m going to be a good boy from now on. No more women, except maybe the odd wee peek at Tara Grogan, but I’ve already dropped my plans for Daisy. Such a lovely girl is going to have to do without my attention. I’m sure she will cope.
Kirsty seemed relieved when she saw that I was delighted with her news. I’m going to be a da. Me!
‘Are you sure you’re all right with this?’ she asked me, in bed. I kissed her on the forehead and gave her a squeeze.
‘Couldn’t be happier,’ I said.
‘I’m so happy too. I love you so much, James. You’ll be a brilliant dad.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I just know you’ll take good care of him — or her.’
‘Have you told your parents?’
‘Not yet. I’ve been so worried about telling you, and I thought you should be the first to know. I’ll go see them in the morning.’
I nearly asked her if she was sure the kid was mine, but I realised it had to be. We’d done it so many times since I moved in with her she wouldn’t have had time to do it with anyone else. Instead, I popped the question. Sort of.
‘We could get married, if you like? Before it’s born.’
She smiled, but tears came at the same time.
‘We don’t have to. I’m not trying to trap you.’
‘I know that. I just thought it would be nice, that’s all.’
She sprang up and sat, gazing hopefully into my eyes. I suppose she was trying to convince herself I was being serious.
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Of course I do. I love you to bits, Kirsty.’
‘Oh, James, I’m so happy. I don’t deserve you!’
She threw her arms around me and kissed me on the mouth. Before I knew it we were doing the business or, I should say, she was doing the business to me.
Sweet.
So now I’m on the straight and narrow. This is a new start for me, and I’m not feeling the urge to go chasing after any other women.
&nb
sp; I’m a settled man.
For now.
Chapter 23
She knocked on the door, but this time, without invitation, she barged straight in.
‘Why have your men been following me?’
‘DI Grogan, good morning. What can I do for you?’
‘Last night. I was out with friends and one of your men followed us from a club to a kebab shop. Was he one of yours?’
Weir had a bemused smirk on his face, a look that said he was about to enjoy this confrontation. But first, he reminded Tara of something.
‘DI Grogan, please remember who you are talking to.’
She didn’t look the part, certainly not this morning. Hastily dressed in a long-sleeved blue T-shirt and jeans, without make-up and her hair still wet from her shower, she looked neither like a cop nor a sweet teenager. She looked rough. Weir’s reprimand stopped her in her tracks.
‘Sir, I would like to know why you are having me followed.’
‘Firstly, DI Grogan, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, and secondly, I don’t take kindly to officers, particularly those junior in rank, accusing me of all sorts. If you’ve nothing more to say I suggest you get out and do something useful.’
Tara could see that DCI Weir would not be the type to admit to anything, even if he was in the wrong. With a pounding headache and a delicate stomach, she could not think of anything more to support her accusation. She could be wrong, but she didn’t think so. Without a word, she closed the door behind her and went quickly to her desk. Weir would be the type to take things further and she braced herself to expect a dressing down from Tweedy.
When Murray entered the office she told him about her being watched and her squabble with DCI Weir.
‘You certainly don’t pull your punches, Tara.’
She glared at him, fuming. ‘It’s mam to you, and no I wasn’t going to let it pass. If Weir is having me followed I want to know what he’s up to.’
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 58