‘Are you still in contact with Rachel?’
‘Never heard a word from her, since the day she left. Poor wee James was devastated at the time. Cried his wee heart out for days.’
‘Do you know anything of her whereabouts?’
The woman scoffed. Clearly she had finished talking about her sister.
‘And James?’ Tara added. She knew the answer she wanted to hear.
‘Went to England.’
‘Whereabouts in England?’
‘Liverpool. Don’t know where he is now, though.’
*
Before going to her physio appointment, Tara went to her office at St Anne Street. She had to update Tweedy on what she had learned in Belfast, but she was also eager to speak with Murray. In recent months she had begun to feel a deeper, more personal, working relationship with her DS. She could speak freely with him, trusted him and was glad of his advice. She was well aware that he’d been resentful when she first joined Tweedy’s squad. She was young, too young many believed, to be a detective inspector, and she was conscious that Murray believed, given his longer experience, that he should have become DI, rather than her. It had taken a while for mutual respect to emerge but gradually, the chip on his shoulder had eroded, and now she valued him as a close friend as well as a colleague.
Over coffee in the canteen, where Murray tucked into a cooked breakfast of bacon, eggs and sausages, Tara made him the first person she had told about the events surrounding the Boswell case.
‘I’m certain that Carly McHugh was the girl seen wandering through Treadwater on the night Ryan was shot. What I haven’t decided yet, is whether or not she killed him.’
‘But you reckon that all fingers point to Belfast? That the Vipers were not responsible?’ Tara winced. It was difficult to claim categorically that the Vipers had not been involved. After all, Ryan Boswell and his brother Aidan were both members.
‘All I know is that Carly McHugh is up to her eyes in it, and at the moment we can’t touch her, because it is somehow sensitive to the PSNI, DCI Weir or both.’
‘Why can’t we just issue a warrant for her arrest and have the PSNI ship her here?’
‘I’ve suggested that to Tweedy. He’s going to speak with DCI Weir, in case it would have a bearing on work he is doing with the police in Belfast.’
‘These guys who picked you up, are they definitely connected to Carly McHugh?’
‘It would seem so. DS Ferguson wasn’t inclined to chase it up. Given what he told me just before it happened, he wasn’t at all surprised that I had been pulled into a car and threatened. Sabre rattling, he called it.’
Chapter 39
Tara was about to leave for her physio appointment when Murray suddenly realised that he’d forgotten to tell her something.
‘Mam, when you get back I think we should go have a word with Shania Smith.’
‘Why is that?’
‘She was badly beaten a couple of nights ago. Found lying on some waste ground in Treadwater.’
‘How is she?’
‘Broken cheek bone, broken arm, two cracked ribs, lost a couple of teeth and was suffering from exposure when she was found. No word on who did the deed, but worth checking in case it has a bearing on Boswell.’
*
The pain in Tara’s arm seemed trivial compared with the injuries inflicted on the young girl. She drove to her appointment at the offices of a sports physiotherapist, which were in a Georgian building in Rodney Street, near the Anglican Cathedral. She had been a frequent visitor here over the past few years, especially since becoming a detective inspector in Harold Tweedy’s team. She had a growing catalogue of injuries suffered on duty, and if physio was required she preferred the clinic she attended with less violently-acquired ailments; strained muscles from running or from her days when she still had time to play hockey.
After her physio session, the arm felt worse. With all the manipulation, her shoulder ached and her neck was stiff. She hoped that an application of Biofreeze and a couple of anti-inflammatory pills would get her through the rest of the day.
*
Shania Smith lay in a ward at Aintree Hospital. Despite her discomfort, she instinctively reeled back when she saw her visitors approach, but being confined to bed she had nowhere to go. It would prove a difficult meeting, for Shania was unable to speak clearly.
‘If you can manage to nod your head, Shania, that will do fine. And maybe you can write some things down for us,’ said Tara, looking sympathetically at the young woman.
‘Do you know who did this to you, Shania?’ asked Murray.
The girl made no attempt to nod or shake her head. Tara placed her own hand lightly on the girl’s right hand, the one that was not encased in plaster.
‘We want to help you. You’re not in any trouble, but the person who did this to you needs to be caught.’
She watched tears emerge from the corners of the girl’s eyes. ‘Do you really think you deserve to be in this state?’ Slowly, Shania moved her head once to the side. ‘Was it Tyler? Are you trying to protect him, Shania?’
Whimpers turned to sobs and she shifted on the bed. The mention of her boyfriend’s name had struck home, but served only to increase her pain. She tried to shake her head to say no.
‘Can you tell me who it was, if not Tyler?’
She gestured with her hand, and Murray handed her a pen and set a notepad in front of her. Writing awkwardly, she managed to complete a couple of lines, which Tara read back to her.
‘Not Tyler. Don’t know nothing. Leave me alone.’
*
As they drove away from the hospital, neither felt surprised by the reactions of Shania Smith. From their first meeting, Tara had thought her a shy and frightened young woman. Shania had become involved with a criminal gang simply because she was besotted with its leader. She didn’t have the nous to stand up for herself, or the sense to realise that she was mixing with dangerous people. Her beating surely had been a warning as well as a punishment. Tara was in no doubt that Tyler Finlay was behind the attack. Shania Smith had, in some way, stepped out of line.
‘Where to now, mam?’
‘Back to the station. I think it’s time we brought Mr Finlay in to see us, don’t you?’
*
By late afternoon, uniformed officers had arrested Tyler Finlay at his flat on the Treadwater Estate. After being processed and cautioned he was placed in a room where, within a few minutes, Tara and Murray arrived to interview him.
‘I want my brief!’
‘Calm down, Tyler. You’ll get one.’ At that point there was a knock and the door was opened by a duty solicitor, a man well known to both Tara and Murray from previous cases. Martin Grimshaw, a fifty-year-old with a red-blotched face sporting dark-framed glasses, wheezy breath and blue shirt straining at his belly, stepped into the room. His striped tie rested on his bulging tummy as he sat. He was neither a friend to his proposed client, nor to the police officers.
‘A few minutes with Mr Finlay, if you don’t mind,’ he said. Tara and Murray duly obliged and waited in the corridor while Grimshaw got a handle on his client’s situation. When they were called back inside, Grimshaw was the first to speak.
‘Mr Finlay, I believe, has already been questioned regarding the death of Ryan Boswell. He can offer nothing further, and if you have nothing new to put to him he should be allowed to go home.’
Tara smiled at the solicitor; a smile with a sprinkling of contempt. She didn’t like the man, and didn’t care for the way his eyes travelled around her body. But she had to respect his professional status.
‘Mr Finlay knows fine well the reason why he is here. It may well have a bearing on the Ryan Boswell investigation, but for now we will discuss the attack on his girlfriend, Shania Smith.’
‘Don’t know nothing about that,’ snapped Finlay. Grimshaw widened his eyes as if to say there you have it, but Tara ignored him and began to record the interview.
‘Tyler, can you
confirm that you are in a relationship with Shania Smith?’
Tyler remained silent, leering at Tara, a sly grin developing on his mouth.
‘Used to be. Broke up.’
‘When was that, exactly?’
‘Day after you last came to see me.’ He fired a smirk at Murray, who adeptly fired one back.
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Day we broke up.’
‘Did you see her last Thursday night?’
‘No.’
‘Shania was attacked and badly beaten on Thursday night, at some point after nine o’clock. Where were you at that time?’
‘At a party.’
‘Can anyone vouch for that?’
‘Yeah, loads.’
‘Some names please, Tyler.’
The interview dragged on for another twenty minutes, with Tyler giving nothing away. Tara realised that she should have known better. Since Shania had refused to name her attacker, it was always going to be difficult to get anything from her boyfriend. Tara was certain, of course, that Tyler Finlay was responsible for the beating dished out to the girl.
Frustrated, she concluded the interview with a speculative shot at the young gang leader.
‘I was in Belfast this week. Fitter Hobbs was asking after you.’
She watched the change in his expression. It looked as though a shock wave had just passed through him. He made no reply, but his smugness disappeared, and was replaced by a look of unease.
‘You do know Mr Hobbs, don’t you?’
‘Never heard of him.’
Chapter 40
When Tara got back to her desk, intending to collect her coat and bag and be off home, she found a post-it stuck to her screen.
See me. DCI Weir.
She didn’t think it wise to put off the irascible cop until the next day. Whatever he wanted, it was best to deal with now instead of letting it play on her mind all night. She already had more than enough to think about.
She knocked on Weir’s door and waited to be summoned. The knock was answered immediately by his shout. ‘Come in!’
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
‘DI Grogan, yes. Have a seat. You can start by telling me how you got on in Belfast.’
Weir looked rough, unshaven and probably unwashed, and sounded as though he had a heavy cold. Tara hoped the meeting wouldn’t last long.
‘Well, sir, I spoke with Carly McHugh. She was not forthcoming.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. Her father’s a tight-arse as well. Did she tell you anything?’
‘Not really, but I believe she and Ryan Boswell were romantically involved.’
‘You mean they were shaggin’ each other? Doesn’t tell us much, does it? So you got nothing on their drug running activities?’
‘No, sir, but I’m certain Carly knows who was responsible for killing Boswell.’
‘And who do you think was responsible?’
‘Someone from Belfast. I didn’t get to investigate any further. Seems there was a sudden moratorium on asking questions about the McHugh family. Indeed, I experienced at first hand the implications of pursuing the inquiry.’
‘How so?’
‘A couple of heavies warned me to stay out of it. Suggested I left Belfast.’
Weir raised his eyebrows but wasn’t about to come over all sympathetic.
‘I think you’ll find, DI Grogan, that whoever killed the Boswell lad probably has connections to this area. One of the other drug gangs on Merseyside, I suspect. Best to leave this Belfast crowd out of it. Safer, too.’
Tara thought that a strange response to what she had just reported. Surely, to anyone with an ounce of sense, her experience suggested that whoever killed Boswell was to be found among this gang in Belfast? Why had Fitter Hobbs and Rab McHugh been hanging around on Treadwater if they didn’t have some involvement with the Vipers? And McHugh’s daughter was certainly wrapped up in the events of the fifteenth of April.
‘Sorry, I can’t agree with your analysis, sir. I shall be after Carly McHugh when next I have the opportunity.’
‘Time will tell who is right, DI Grogan, but remember you’d be well advised to stay out of operations that do not concern you. That’ll be all.’
‘Sir.’
She left the room quickly before drawing a deep, longed-for breath. That man was so infuriating. What did he know that made him think that another Liverpool gang was responsible for the death of Ryan Boswell? And what had stopped him from sharing that information with her?
Continuing to seethe, she recounted the conversation she’d had with DCI Weir to Alan Murray.
‘Sounds like a right can of worms. I think Weir is just trying to keep you out of whatever operations he has going on, that might relate to this crowd in Belfast.’
‘I hope that’s all it is, Alan. The whole thing is beginning to smell. Meanwhile, our best lead on the murder is safely under the shelter of her father and, it seems, the Belfast police and DCI Weir.’
‘Welcome to the wonderful world of drug dealing. Do you fancy a pint and a bite to eat?’
She was surprised by his offer.
‘Not seeing Trudy this evening?’
‘She’s working tonight. I might call on her later.’
Tara knew she could really do with getting home to a hot bath and an early night, but at the same time she relished the company.
‘In that case, let’s go. I’m starving.’
*
Over savoury mince pie and chips in a tired pub on the London Road, Tara related to Murray her findings connected with Terry Lawler’s list of missing girls. She couldn’t stop her enthusiasm from bubbling over.
‘Lawler was definitely onto something, Alan. He had someone in mind, someone he suspected of taking all those girls, including his sister. He said as much to the mother of Diane McCartney.’
‘Did he mention any names?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’re no further on.’
‘But I can name a suspect that fits.’
Murray took a long drink of lager from his glass.
‘Go ahead, I’m all ears.’
‘I know you’re going to find this hard to swallow, but just hear me out.’ He smiled and sat with arms folded, ready for her story. ‘Terry Lawler’s sister Ruth disappeared, and he came across similar disappearances of girls, while he was searching for her.’
‘Yes, hence the collection of pictures we found at his flat.’
‘That’s right. Taking those cases chronologically, the first and second disappearances occurred in Northern Ireland about eight years ago. Nothing more for close to a year, and then similar cases arose on Merseyside, in Greater Manchester and eventually London, Glasgow, Leeds and another spate around Liverpool. So, the killer begins his work in Belfast, then moves to Liverpool and continues from there.’
‘There’s nothing to say that he stayed in Liverpool. He could have been operating from anywhere, and that’s assuming that it is just one perpetrator.’
‘Fair enough, but now consider this. Ruth Lawler was a nurse at the Royal when she disappeared. Eleanor McCartney told me that Terry Lawler mentioned his sister being worried about a man who may have been stalking her. Someone she knew at work.’
‘Your friend Kate works there, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes, but who do we know of, who comes from Belfast and moved to Liverpool about eight years ago? This person also worked at the Royal at the time Ruth Lawler disappeared, I don’t know why I didn’t connect the two things before.’
‘James Guy. But that’s a big leap, Tara. It’s purely circumstantial.’
‘I looked into him when I was in Belfast, Alan. It has to be him.’
‘Hold on, what did you find out?’
‘Well, I confirmed that he moved from Northern Ireland to England eight years ago. His aunt told me that when James was a young boy, his mother disappeared. Was never heard of again.’
Murray puffed air through his cheeks, bu
t didn’t seem convinced.
‘It could fit his psychological profile,’ said Tara.
‘What are you going to do about it, bring him in?’
‘Not yet. I have someone in Belfast working on a history of the young James Guy. She’s trying to contact childhood friends, teachers and so on.’
‘We’re up to our necks in this Boswell case, Tara.’
‘I know, I know. But I can at least speak with people at the hospital who knew Ruth Lawler and maybe some who worked with Guy. And…’
‘And what?’
‘I was thinking that we could speak with Jason Collywell. Find out what he knew of James Guy, before he and his sister decided to kill him.’
‘You’re going to ask one serial killer to spill the beans on another? I say that’s brilliant, Holmes.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic, Alan. It doesn’t suit you.’
Chapter 41
I wandered around by the Echo Arena, hoping to spy on her jogging along. It’s not like I could do anything, even if I suddenly spotted her right in front of me, but it would be comforting just to know that I was close to her. With all my anxiety over what Tara may be finding out about me, and how she could ruin my new life of love and security, I hadn’t registered the fact I still fancy her. Of all the girls I’ve taken — and there have been some absolute stunners — Tara is the prettiest girl I’ve ever clapped eyes on. What can I say? She floats my boat. What such a beautiful woman is doing working as a police officer, when she could adorn the cover of any fashion magazine, is a mystery to me. But I suppose she’s too friggin’ clever to consider selling her body.
Tonight, there was no sign of her. I dandered through the car parks and around the Albert Dock. Both my feet were giving me gyp. The wounds, where yon bitch Aeron fired big nails through below my ankle bones, caused me some discomfort. The pain was in my Achilles, and it slowed me down. With no sign of Tara, after an hour or so, I limped back to my car.
But the worry over what the hell she had been doing in Belfast sat on me, like a big dinner I’d eaten in a rush. I had to believe it was connected with the finding of Linda Meredith’s body, but what else did she find out? Who did she speak to? What did she learn about me? I haven’t been home to Belfast in eight years, but I was really itching to discover what Tara knew about me. Then I had an idea. I phoned my Aunt Margaret.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 64