‘Did she mention anyone who may have been causing her problems? Was she frightened, or did she talk about anyone following her?’
Mary looked thoughtful and paused briefly. ‘No, I don’t remember any problems like that.’
‘Do you recall a man named James Guy paying her attention?’
‘James? I remember him. Nice man. He would joke with the nurses all the time.’
‘And Ruth? Did she say that he was bothering her?’
‘No. Ruth flirted with all those boys. Nothing serious.’
At least now she had confirmation that Ruth had known James Guy; the first connection she’d made between Guy and one of the disappeared girls. She thanked Mary and went off to meet the man who had been James Guy’s manager when he’d worked at the hospital.
Dennis Cranley, a man already into retirement age, silver-haired with a sagging stomach, almost collided with her as she entered his office. His face surly, he stepped back abruptly as if he thought he could be prosecuted for accidently touching a woman.
‘Mr Cranley?’
‘Yes, what can I do for you?’
‘I’m Detective Inspector Tara Grogan, my colleague DC Wilson arranged for me to see you.’
‘Oh yes. You wanted to know about that loser James Guy. Take a seat.’
Tara sat on the only spare chair in the office, to the right of Cranley’s untidy desk. He made a display of shuffling some papers, replacing a pen in a desk-tidy and clicking the mouse on his computer. Only then did he sit down.
‘Right, what do you want to know?’
‘How well did you know him?’
‘Well enough.’
It was no answer, but it was clear that James Guy did not feature highly on Cranley’s list of best friends.
‘You were his supervisor, I believe? Was he a good worker?’
Cranley snorted.
‘He was lazy and a poor timekeeper. I came close to sacking him on several occasions. Took liberties, if you ask me.’
‘How well did he get on with other staff?’
‘I didn’t take much notice of who he talked to, but he didn’t seem to be particularly friendly with any of the lads.’
‘What about the nurses and other females?’
‘He thought he was God’s gift. I didn’t like him much. Too cocky, too cheeky.’
‘Did he ever cause trouble with any of the nurses?’
‘Not that I got to hear about. But you never know with the likes of him. After all, he got put away for raping a young girl, you know?’
Tara blushed, and suddenly she had a flashback of herself with James Guy. It was the first time she’d had such a vivid memory of the incident. She could see herself lying naked in the dark. There was a body beside her; a hand was stroking her leg. Somebody was calling out. She heard the screams of a woman. She felt cold. Momentarily, she closed her eyes trying desperately to flush away the vision.
‘Are you all right, inspector?’
‘Er, yes, I’m fine... thanks.’
*
She left the hospital, feeling rattled. Nothing that she had learned about James Guy or Ruth Lawler pointed to Guy having killed her. More disturbing was the vision that now rested within her mind, a sickening image of a man’s hand exploring her naked body and of herself lying helpless.
She ought to make one more call, but she had to get home. She could no longer function, not with these pictures flicking through her mind. A cold sweat enveloped her and her hands were shaking; she tried her best to steady herself by gripping tightly on the steering wheel. She never thought that regaining her memory of the incident could affect her so badly. Indeed, she had convinced herself that the memory of what happened to her on that night would never come back. Now the images were popping up in swift sequence. She was reliving the harrowing experience, her tears flowing, her breathing unsteady. His hands were all over her, stroking and probing...
She drove as fast as she could to reach home. She was fighting the need to vomit before she’d even made it to the door. Once inside, it took seconds for her to succumb. She cried out in desperation, and couldn’t dispel the feeling that his hands were on her right now.
Jason Collywell would have to wait until tomorrow.
Chapter 45
Janek Poska had only just set foot in Duke Street. Aksel, now feeling better following his encounter with thugs unknown, had left him by the junction with Campbell Street, a narrow alley. Janek watched as his companion drove away. He felt nervous pangs rise in his stomach. This was his first day of conducting business since his young cousin Mikk was murdered. His first day of crossing the river and walking the streets of the city. but no one was going to stop him. He had as much right to peddle drugs on these streets as anyone. There was room for everyone. No need for war.
The bizzies had already spoken with him, as Mikk’s next of kin in England. They’d come to the scrapyard in Tranmere and told him what had happened. He was devastated. He blamed himself. He was supposed to have been looking after his cousin; Mikk was only a kid. That’s why he didn’t let him do any of the drug deals. But that lazy moron Sepp had sent him out in the van, had sent him to his death. Janek felt like cutting Sepp’s throat for what he’d done.
And Janek was the one who had to phone Mikk’s ailing mother in Tallinn to break the news. Her beloved son, who’d come all the way to England for the chance of a better life, had met with a violent death. Of course, through her grief, the woman had berated Janek for not taking better care of Mikk. To be honest, he could not disagree with the woman.
He’d only managed a few steps along the street when a car drew to a halt beside him. His thumping heart nearly choked him. He knew they’d come for him. He was about to die as Mikk had died.
Two men were suddenly on the pavement, the car moving slowly forwards as Janek turned to face them. He wanted to run, but fear somehow held him firmly to the spot.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said one of the two detective constables.
Within seconds, Janek was sat in the back of the car on his way to a police station and an interview with a detective interested in what he referred to as the Tallinn Crew.
*
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr Poska,’ said DCI Weir, leaning both elbows on the table so that his burly face came closer to Janek’s. ‘Never easy, losing a loved one at such a young age and in violent circumstances. He was only eighteen, I believe?’
Janek nodded, once. He felt relieved at still being alive, but as his fears of death had subsided his anxiety, that the bizzies were about to nail him for dealing in drugs, began to grow. He’d been carrying some coke for a client — not much, not enough to prove he was dealing. They’d held him in this sparse interview room for most of the day. Now he sat on a plastic chair, wearing his jeans and elderly leather jacket. He’d drunk two cups of piss-weak coffee, waiting for this big policeman to reappear and start asking him questions in his very peculiar accent.
But Janek had already learnt the drill required to deal with police questioning. He’d experienced several interrogations from the police in Tallinn, and had been told that questioning by English police was an altogether more pleasant activity. All he had to do was reply ‘no comment’ to every question, and unless they had evidence and proof to nail him, they would have to let him go. This scruffy-looking policeman with the unusual accent, certainly not one he’d heard in Liverpool before, would have to settle for his non-co-operation.
‘Was Mikk involved in drug dealing?’ DCI Weir asked.
Janek looked directly into the watery eyes of the detective then replied with a ‘no comment’.
‘Are you associated with drug dealing, Mr Poska?’
‘No comment.’
At that point, Janek could see that DCI Weir realised he would get nothing. Weir smiled thinly. ‘Are you a member of a gang called the Tallinn Crew?’
It was Janek’s turn to smile. ‘No comment.’
‘Have you been in contact recently wit
h a gang known as the Treadwater Vipers?’
‘No comment.’
So now he knew that the police were aware of this gang, the Vipers. Maybe they could do something; maybe they would arrest some of them for the murder of his cousin. If they didn’t, then he would fight back. He would avenge the death of Mikk, and he would fight to keep his right to sell drugs in this city. The Vipers would be sorry for starting this war.
‘Tell me what you know about the death of Tyler Finlay?’
‘No comment.’
‘Tell me what you know about the death of Ryan Boswell?’
‘No comment.’
Chapter 46
Despite its modern architecture and layout, there was nothing cheerful about Altcourse Prison in Fazakerly. It was designed to hold category B prisoners and was built to be operated by a private company. Nobody knew why its blocks had been named after Grand National fences, but regardless, the debate continued in public and political circles as to whether the establishment had been a success.
Tara had a ten o’clock appointment, rescheduled from the day before, to see Jason Collywell. Jason was a serial killer of sorts, a man who, with his sister Aeron, had come very close to ending the life of James Guy. Had Tara and Murray not discovered the location where the planned execution was to take place, she would not now be investigating Guy for the murders of so many young women.
She was shown to a booth within the visitor’s centre and afforded the same treatment as a solicitor come to speak with their client. Collywell was serving a full-life sentence for the murders of five people, including his natural father. He would never be freed. In partnership with his sister, he had administered summary justice; initially to the people he believed were responsible for the death of his mother 25 years earlier. Inspired by the Bible, particularly the Book of Proverbs, he had later extended his version of justice to others he believed deserving of it, specifically convicted sex offenders. As a probation officer in Liverpool, he’d had access to the records of many of them, including James Guy. Tara wondered just how much Collywell had known of Guy’s activities before abducting him.
Jason Collywell, a man of slight build with fair hair and smooth face, entered the booth and sat opposite her. He was dressed in blue jeans and a plain, olive green shirt. A leather-bound Bible that he had been carrying was set between them on the table. She couldn’t help thinking of Harold Tweedy, who kept a Bible sitting at the top left-hand corner of his desk.
Collywell smiled wistfully at the young woman responsible for putting him in prison. He had no qualms over admitting what he had done. His only regret, revealed at his trial, was that he had caused such distress to his adoptive parents, Alec and Daphne Collywell.
‘Inspector Grogan, to what do I owe the pleasure? You haven’t uncovered another body, by any chance?’ He smiled at his own little joke and watched carefully for Tara’s reaction. She made no response.
‘Mr Collywell, I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.’
‘Always keen to serve the needs of justice, inspector. I’m sure you know that.’
‘What did you know about James Guy before you tried to kill him?’
Collywell’s simmering grin persisted and Tara continued to ignore it. She wanted information from this man; there was no relationship to cultivate. She would get what she needed from the cold-blooded killer and be out of there. She owed him nothing.
‘Yes, Mr Guy.’
Collywell paused and seemed to examine Tara as if he were putting a story together, one that had involved her, intimately.
‘He is a very lucky man, to have you fight his corner for him.’
‘I am not fighting his corner.’
‘You saved his life.’
‘I saved the life of whomever you were about to butcher on that night.’
‘Do you mean to say that if you’d known it was Guy, you would have let my sister finish the job?’
This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid, this descent into a debate over whether James Guy had deserved to die — or not. She hadn’t come here to argue the merits of the criminal justice system with the likes of Collywell. So she waited. Soon, Collywell would feel the need to plug the gap.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I take it you mean, what do I know of James Guy apart from his conviction for assaulting you?’
She gave no reply, merely waited for him to continue.
‘I realised on first meeting that he was a serial offender. . It struck me that he was bound to have done the same thing long before he was apprehended for abducting you.’
‘Do you know of anything specific?’
‘Aeron and I had our suspicions. We kept him under surveillance for a while. I was in a position to recommend certain activities to him, to help him slip back into normal society after his spell in here. Ironic, isn’t it, that he should now be free while I’m in here? I suggested places for him to go to meet people, certain pubs for instance. Then Aeron would keep an eye on what he got up to. She was quite certain that he abducted at least one woman during that period. Of course, he was extremely careful. If we’d been police, we could never have proven anything.’
‘Do you recall the name of this woman, the one he abducted?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t, inspector. If you care to look back through news reports you might find something. I think she was abducted about two weeks before we tried to rid the world of Mr Guy. Tell me, Inspector, why exactly are you investigating him now?’
‘I can’t answer that, Mr Collywell.’
‘My actions were justified then, in trying to eliminate a beast?’
Tara could only wonder at the unshakeable confidence of the man before her. He was a multiple murderer, and yet saw no parallels between what he’d done and the acts allegedly committed by James Guy. Collywell’s was a strange kind of justice.
But what if he was right? What if the only effective means of dealing with sex fiends and murderers was to remove them from society and put an end to their existence by the cruellest means? If there were people willing to carry out such work, should society allow them to do it?
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Collywell.’
‘My pleasure, inspector. If you don’t mind I should like to end our meeting with a few words of scripture.’
He lifted the Bible and found his place. ‘From the Book of Proverbs… chapter fourteen, verse twelve. There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.’
*
She left Altcourse prison feeling short-changed. Collywell had provided some information, had perhaps given the impression that he wanted to help her, but provided no detail for her to pursue. The impression grew inside her as she drove away, that Collywell would never want to help the woman who had effectively taken his life from him. And with that thought she wondered if he had given her anything useful at all. His final words to her had been draped in warped justification for his actions. But they did unsettle her.
‘Let’s hope that Guy has not claimed any more victims since the time you rescued him, inspector,’ Collywell had said. ‘It would be a sad thing, the death of another innocent girl, when there had been an opportunity to remove him from this world.’
Chapter 47
Tara asked Wilson to check on disappearances that had occurred around the time James Guy so nearly met his end at the hands of Jason and Aeron Collywell. She thought also they should investigate whether any similar disappearances of young women had occurred during the time Guy was serving his sentence for assaulting her. If there had been something of a hiatus during that period, it would strengthen her theory that Guy was a serial killer.
By late afternoon, John Wilson had unearthed some data on missing persons covering a two-week period leading to Guy’s near execution at the hands of the Collywells. Yet this information didn’t clarify anything for Tara.
Each year in the United Kingdom, more than 250,000 people are reported missing. Most are found within
48 hours and their vanishings usually have reasonable explanations: domestic crises, mental illness and people simply choosing to drop contact for short periods. There are, however, approximately 20,000 people each year who go missing for prolonged periods, some of whom are never found. The data in front of Tara related only to just two weeks prior to James Guy’s abduction by Aeron and Jason Collywell. It made for difficult reading. Wilson had extracted from the missing persons list those females from the Merseyside area who had disappeared. Two cases stood out. The first was eighteen-year-old Carrie-Ann Steed from Wallasey, last seen leaving a nightclub in Liverpool city centre in the early hours of Saturday the twelfth of November. That was just five days before Guy was taken by the Collywells. The second missing person was Stephanie Weeks, forty-three, married with two teenage daughters. She came from Woolton but was last seen leaving work at a faculty office at Liverpool John Moores University. She disappeared three days before Carrie-Ann Steed.
Her problems remained. She had no firm proof that Guy was a serial killer of women. She had no bodies and no forensic evidence. She persisted only because of her suspicions, and her own chilling experience of the man.
On her way home she stopped off at a Tesco store and bought some wine and nibbles for the evening ahead. She and Kate had been invited to Aisling’s for a catch-up night, their first since Tara’s return from Belfast and the last before Kate went off on a fortnight’s holiday with her mother and Adele — a sort of pick-me-up following Kate’s split from Adam. Tara had been looking forward to it all day. Just what she needed to purge some horrendous impressions from her mind. In the absence of a lover, there was no one better than Kate and Aisling to help her unwind.
‘Hiya, Tara love,’ sang Aisling, handing her a hefty glass of Chardonnay. ‘You’ll be needing this.’
Aisling always looked immaculate — unless you caught her first thing in the morning or as she was getting ready to go out. Copious black curls tumbled over her shoulders, her makeup and eyes illuminating her pale face, giving the impression of a porcelain doll. Her clothes were more expensive than they needed to be, her figure was such that she wore any dress or skirt fabulously. And even in her flat, it would take some time for her to jettison the designer heels in favour of a pair of slippers. Aisling always seemed happy
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 66