‘Did you recognise the bloke who was watching you as a cop, mam?’
‘Not as a police officer, no. It was the taller of the two men we saw on Treadwater and you photographed at the funeral. It’s very strange that the day I speak with Weir that same night there he is watching me.’
‘Have you told Tweedy?’
‘Not yet. Not sure that I should. Besides, he may well hear it soon enough from Weir.’
‘What if these men are not undercover police but are connected to the gang on Treadwater? They don’t like us getting too close.’
‘You think we should have another word with Tyler Finlay? If those guys we saw aren’t Vipers maybe he can tell us who they are.’
‘I doubt he would be willing to tell us much. The one thing these gangs hate more than bizzies is a grass.’
*
Finlay lived in a third-floor flat in the heart of the Treadwater Estate. On a road that skirted around the playing fields, there were a dozen three-storey blocks built line astern such that the outlook for residents in one flat was to look at the rear of the building next to it. Tara always felt uneasy in this area. For one thing, it was the spot associated most with anti-social behaviour on the estate. Crowds of kids gathered in the evening, bored, with nothing else to do but get up to mischief, be that drugs, glue, throwing stones at passing cars, racing along the road or getting drunk.
It was close to the place also where she had first shared a kiss with Callum Armour, a moment that had been both intimate and confusing for the young detective. From the window as they mounted the stairs of the fourth building from the left in the row, she gazed over the playing fields and could see the bench where she had once sat with Callum. It was a memory that seemed to belong to another life now, to another person — someone that wasn’t her. Yet here she was doing the same job, thinking the same painful thoughts and wondering if life would ever improve.
Several bangs on the door, courtesy of Murray’s fist, were required before anyone answered. Eventually, it opened just enough for a face to peer out.
‘Hello, Shania,’ said Tara, smiling at the dark face peering around the crack. ‘We’re here to speak with Tyler, if he’s around?’
The girl didn’t speak, merely stepped away from the door, swinging it open for Tara and Murray to enter. Barefoot, she wore a pale pink T-shirt-style nightdress, her hair now braided. They followed her inside to the living room, which was thick with the smell of smoke — not that of cigarettes, but the stench of weed. Finlay was sprawled on the sofa wearing only a pair of red football shorts and watching a noisy action movie on television. He didn’t seem in the least perturbed that the police had just entered his home.
‘Bizzies? What can I do for you?’
Murray took up a place between Finlay and the television, ensuring they had his full attention. Tara handed him a sheet with a printed photograph. She noticed Finlay’s well-toned body; he was a man obviously proud of his six-pack. So, evidently, he did do something more than lie around all day on his sofa. She couldn’t fail to notice the array of tattoos, including the one of a snake on his left arm.
‘Do you recognise these men?’
He glanced briefly at the sheet then tossed it on the sofa beside him.
‘Should I?’
‘They’ve been seen on the estate in the last few days. They attended Ryan Boswell’s funeral.’
‘Just paying their respects, I suppose.’
‘Do you know who they are?’
‘Nope.’
‘Are they Vipers?’
‘Give us a break, will ya? Just told you, I don’t know them.’
Murray began sniffing the air, his gestures exaggerated for the benefit of Finlay.
‘What’s that I smell?’
‘All right, all right!’ Finlay sat upright. ‘Like I said, I don’t know them. They’re from Belfast. Have some connection to Ryan’s girl. That’s all I know.’
From the man’s reaction, Tara judged that he was frightened, and not of Murray’s threat to have him for possession of some weed. He seemed nervous to be talking of these two men at all; it was as if they held some sway over him.
‘Names?’ she asked.
‘I told you I don’t know them, now back off will ya?’
‘Why are they here in Treadwater? Ryan’s girlfriend lives in Sunderland.’
‘Came to the funeral, that’s all.’
‘Were they here the night Ryan was shot?’
‘I don’t know. Go ask them yourself.’
‘There’s that smell again. Definitely getting stronger,’ said Murray, with several more sniffs.
‘Fuck sake, leave me alone will ya? I’ve told you all I know.’
Tara widened her eyes, waiting for Finlay to relent. He was very agitated, and his shouting brought Shania to the door of the living room. Murray had begun to look about pretending, to search for drugs.
‘You won’t find anything, cop. Now leave me alone.’
‘Where are they staying, Tyler?’
The young man shook his head.
‘Was Carly McHugh here in Treadwater when Ryan was shot?’
Murray dialled a number on his mobile.
‘Can you get a Matrix team out here, now? Drugs bust. It’s flat… what number is this flat, Tyler?’
‘OK, OK. Back off will ya?’
‘Hold on a sec,’ said Murray into the phone.
‘Some guys were here, the night Boswell was killed.’
‘And Ryan’s girl?’
‘She was here too.’
‘What happened to her?’
He shrugged.
‘She disappeared. That’s all I know.’
Chapter 24
Tara and Aisling spent the evening at Kate’s apartment in Canning Street. Adam had now moved out and her friends wanted to be there, to support Kate and her daughter Adele. Unlike the previous evening when the drink had flowed, they’d blown away some cobwebs and Kate had found some closure to her relationship, this evening was more relaxed. All three still felt the effects of their binge and, with the consumption of coffee and cakes, their evening took on a more sober air. The mood also resulted in an earlier than usual end to their get-together.
Tara gave Aisling a lift home to Wapping Dock, since the two women had separate flats in the same complex. As they strolled towards the main door of the building, Tara caught sight of a car parked near the entrance. It was sitting in the middle of the forecourt and not in a designated space. At first, she thought nothing of it but suddenly, with visions of the last two days flashing through her head, she took a second glance at the vehicle. She was looking at it from the rear, a Vauxhall Corsa, dark metallic blue. It was difficult to be sure, but there seemed to be just one person sitting inside. Waiting for someone, she thought, or waiting for her?
Aisling was nattering away about a dress she was intending to buy, when Tara suddenly left her side.
‘Tara?’
Tara marched towards the car as Aisling stood watching.
‘What’s wrong, Tara love?’
An engine roared violently. Tara reached the driver’s door just as the car sped off, its wheels spinning on the smooth concrete of the covered parking area. She’d caught the driver off guard, but as she was about to knock on the window he’d managed to escape. Still, she couldn’t be sure who he was. One of the Vipers from the estate, one of Weir’s officers or was it James Guy? She shivered as she saw the car make the exit and speed away into the quiet road of late evening. Aisling was rooted to the spot.
‘What was that all about?’ she asked.
Tara shook her head and took her friend’s arm.
‘Nothing. I was just going to tell them they couldn’t park there, and they sped off.’
*
Tara double-checked the lock on her front door before going to her bedroom. If her exhaustion took over, then she might sleep. If not, then she would be awake half the night wondering who was keeping tabs on her life. They knew whe
re she lived, they’d followed her on a night out with Kate and Aisling — they were taking an unhealthy interest in her activities. Surely, after her accusing DCI Weir of having her followed, he would not have continued with his prank, not now she was aware of it? So, if not Weir, then who was watching her? She’d seen James Guy a few nights ago close to the Albert Dock. Had he been waiting for her, or was it pure coincidence?
And why had she only become aware of someone watching her in the days since Ryan Boswell had been murdered?
*
Harold Tweedy had left a note on her desk, asking to speak with her first thing. Her shoulders sagged in despair, knowing what was coming. Obviously DCI Weir had bent the superintendent’s ear about her outburst. All seemed clear when she reached Tweedy’s office and saw the bulky frame of the DCI perched on a chair and chatting to her boss.
‘Ah, good morning, Tara,’ said Tweedy in his usual mannerly tone.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘DI Grogan,’ said Weir, more in acknowledgement than as a greeting.
‘Sir.’
‘Please take a seat, Tara. Malcolm and I have just been discussing your case.’
She felt the hairs rise on her neck and couldn’t bring herself to look at the DCI sitting next to her. Convinced that Tweedy already knew of her having confronted Weir, she awaited the reprimand.
‘I gather you met with Tyler Finlay yesterday, DI Grogan?’ said Weir.
He sounded as though he were interviewing a suspect in a case, rather than speaking with a colleague. How did he know she’d spoken to Finlay? She hadn’t even told Tweedy yet. Perhaps he’d spoken to Murray. Both men seemed to be waiting for a reply.
‘Yes, sir, we did.’ She looked at Tweedy, hopeful of some guidance in dealing with this unpleasant detective.
‘What did you find out?’
Again she looked at Tweedy, but he remained oblivious to her predicament. She turned back to Weir.
‘May I ask why you’re interested, sir?’
The fat, unshaven face seemed to baulk at the question.
‘It may have a bearing, DI Grogan, on one of my operations. I did ask you to keep me informed of who you spoke to up in Treadwater, particularly members of the Vipers.’
‘I was trying to identify the men seen by Wilson and Murray at Ryan Boswell’s funeral. I was also trying to find out what has happened to Boswell’s girlfriend.’
‘And what did Finlay tell you?’
‘It seems that a number of men from Belfast were in Treadwater on the night Boswell was shot. Carly McHugh was also present and, according to Finlay, she has since disappeared.’
‘Is that it?’
Tara couldn’t help a cold stare at Weir.
‘Yes,’ was all she could manage in reply.
‘Is that of some use to you, Malcolm?’ Tweedy asked.
‘Not a lot.’
Tara was irritated, both by the man’s derisory attitude and the increasing reek of his body odour.
‘But maybe I can help you,’ said Weir.
Doubt it, thought Tara, unless you’re about to leave the room.
‘How so?’ Tweedy asked.
‘If Carly McHugh has made her way back to Belfast then I can arrange to have her lifted, and the wee lass here can go and have a chat with her.’
‘What do you think, Tara?’
With a quick response in order, she had to let the ‘wee lass’ reference slide and answer the question.
‘It would be helpful, sir. Carly McHugh must know something of what happened on the night Boswell was killed.’
‘Right then, you can make arrangements to travel to Belfast. And DCI Weir can arrange with his contacts in the PSNI to have the girl arrested.’
Chapter 25
Kirsty is thrilled to bits, dear love her, but she’s doing my friggin’ head in.
As soon as it was decided on, the M word, she’s away off to her mother’s, and now they’re planning a big do. Church wedding, reception at a hotel and a bloody honeymoon to Cyprus. At first I thought, this is easy. We don’t have the money for all of that, but it turns out that her parents always had money put away for this very occasion. What can I do? Have to go along with it. The church and the hotel have been booked already. Kirsty has an aunt who owns an apartment in Cyprus, and she has given it to us for two weeks, free of charge. Just have to pay for flights. I’ve never seen anyone look as happy as Kirsty and her ma. And then there’s all this baby talk. The wedding is going to happen when Kirsty is about five months gone, but now they’re discussing the right buggy to buy and the best car seat. Only time there’s a break in the conversation is when she’s throwing up in the toilet.
Mel is going to be her bridesmaid, plus one of Kirsty’s cousins. I’ve seen her at Kirsty’s parents’ house. Lovely wee arse, dead slim and blonde hair down her to her waist, she’s gorgeous but needs to get rid of the acne. She could easily become one of my chosen ones if I was still thinking that way, but I’m trying my best to be a good boy. The thing that pushed me closer to the edge was the suggestion Kirsty made yesterday morning after she’d boaked in the sink.
‘We’ll have to think about moving, honey,’ she said, wiping her mouth with kitchen roll. Honey, she calls me now. That started the minute I put the ring on her finger.
‘Oh, you don’t have to bother with a ring,’ she said. But I reckoned I should do things right, so I bought her a solitaire diamond. She loved it.
‘Thank you so much, honey.’ And that’s what’s she’s tagged me with ever since. I’m her honey.
The moving house scares me though. It really ties me down. My only hope is that I will be refused a mortgage. Of course, she has said that she has enough money to get one in her name. Bloody lovely. Seems she’s got our whole life mapped out already.
I’m really trying not to get tempted by other women. I’ve stopped following Daisy, and I haven’t sought out any new totty. But the other day, in the middle of all the discussion and planning and phone calls and online booking for photographers, florists and wedding cars, I just couldn’t take any more. Kirsty and Mum — have to call Jenn Mum now, part of the family — were debating colours for bridesmaids’ dresses and in doing so had to discuss the wedding dress, too. I was asked to leave the room because I’m not supposed to know any of this stuff. Jenn told me to go and make a list of the people I wanted to invite to the wedding. That wasn’t going to take long. Just me. I’ve no relatives that I keep in contact with, and I don’t have any friends.
I took myself out for a drive. Didn’t take long to end up down by Wapping Dock and Tara’s place. Managed to get my car inside her parking area, but then I nearly got caught by Tara herself. I didn’t notice her coming in, and suddenly I see in my wing mirror this girl stomping toward me. Scared the shit out of me. I started the car and got the fuck out of there. Don’t think she recognised me. And it was Kirsty’s car, so she wouldn’t have recognised that. The whole episode has started me off again. Couple of days later, I was out on deliveries, early morning, and I spied Tara leaving her place in her car. OK, I admit it; I had been sitting waiting in hope of seeing her. She was probably on her way to the cop shop but I followed her anyway. Didn’t take long to realise she wasn’t headed for the police station at St Anne Street. Turned onto the main road heading south. I followed. She wouldn’t think anything of a delivery van sitting behind her in the traffic. We’d only gone a couple of miles when I got the feeling that she was headed to the airport.
Sure as hell, a while later, I watched her pull into one of the long stay car parks. I found a service area where I could leave my van and kept an eye out for her by the entrance to the terminal building. A few minutes later, she walked into departures. I gave her a couple of seconds and followed her inside. She was dressed in a dark skirt, jacket and black tights with mid-heel shoes, and she wheeled a small suitcase behind her. Only a small suitcase, by the look of things she wasn’t travelling far. No sign either of her mates, so I didn’t think she was o
ff on a holiday. Seemed more like business.
Keeping a fair distance between us, I tailed her across the concourse until she joined the queue for EasyJet. I saw she was checking in for a flight to Belfast. Why there? What business did she have in Belfast?
Then it suddenly hit me. Millie. My first girl and the one they’d fished out of the sea. What did Tara know about that? Did she know about me? Why else would she be going to Belfast?
Shit.
Chapter 26
She caught a taxi from Belfast International and twenty-five minutes later entered the city centre PSNI complex at Musgrave Street. Many of the province’s police stations remained behind high walls and security gates, memorials to the troubled years; Musgrave, despite having been modernised, was a fine example of the type. Tara’s contact for the visit was DS Rory Ferguson, a handsome young man of thirty with a fair complexion.
‘Pleased to meet you, DI Grogan. Is this your first time in Belfast?’ He led her along a corridor to a seminar room. There was a long pine table surrounded by a dozen metal-framed chairs. On the wall at one end, a screen was already illuminated by the light from a projector that was connected to a laptop sitting on the table.
‘It is, yes,’ she replied, slipping the strap of her handbag off her shoulder.
‘Take a seat, mam. I’ve organised some coffee, or perhaps you’d prefer tea?’
‘Coffee is fine, thank you.’
She couldn’t help thinking that he was a nice guy. A pleasant manner and a firm looking body. Before she floated off to thoughts inappropriate, she noticed the wedding ring — which quickly doused any notions forming in her head.
Ferguson sat down opposite her and typed his password into the laptop.
‘DCI Weir filled me in on the background to your case, so I thought I should begin by telling you where we are at the moment.’
She wondered exactly what DCI Weir had told Ferguson about her. Nothing complimentary, she surmised. Ferguson clicked the mouse several times, and the image of a man appeared on the screen.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 59