Chapter 69
Aidan Boswell looked, from the end of the road, at the scene of his best mate’s murder. Police and forensics staff were performing a detailed search of every garden, and the pavement around the home of Craig’s girlfriend Tanya. He’d been only a few paces from her house when the killer struck. It all happened just two minutes after he’d dropped off Aidan, when Craig had parked his car by his own flat then walked towards Tanya’s house.
Another group of bizzies, in plain clothes, were going from one house to another, asking questions, taking notes. So fucking what? Now, something nipped at Aidan’s thinking. Everyone else around him, his fellow Vipers — what was left of them — girls, neighbours... their chat and conclusion was that a gang war was in full swing. Speculation over which gang had put an end to Craig, Tyler and Ryan dominated whispered conversations. Another Liverpool outfit? From Toxteth, maybe? Or Bootle, or Speke? Some, better informed, guessed at Birkenhead or Wallasey and Aidan, of course, had his mind on the meeting the previous night between the Vipers and the Tallinn Crew. It would be easy to believe that Sepp had raised two fingers in defiance of Rab McHugh, that he’d blamed the Vipers for the killing of his men at the scrap yard and wanted revenge. Maybe they’d followed Craig back to Treadwater and done him. It was only luck that they hadn’t come after him.
But still he had this nagging doubt. And he knew exactly why. Yeah, it could be a gang war, could have been the Tallinn Crew that killed Tyler and now Craig, the senior members of the Vipers. But he knew it weren’t no Tallinn Crew and it weren’t no other outfit that killed his brother Ryan. Weren’t even their newly-acquired masters from Belfast. When it came to Ryan, the Vipers had killed their own.
The big men from Belfast had sanctioned it, of course. Ryan and his girl had stepped out of line. Tried to set up their own operation in Sunderland, skimming off profits that should have come to the Vipers and then to Belfast. Fitter and McHugh weren’t happy and neither was Tyler or Craig, but they had simply been doing what they were told by the men from Belfast. So Ryan had been summoned to Liverpool, along with his girl. Tyler assured his masters that he would sort it, but it wasn’t enough. McHugh and Fitter wanted blood.
But they weren’t going to do it. No way. The Vipers would have to clean up their own shit. McHugh and Fitter had been in Liverpool that night, but not at his birthday party, in his house. Those guys didn’t want to get themselves implicated. Smart they were. When Ryan turned up with Carly, only Vipers were waiting for them.
Nearly all the Vipers, seventeen in all, were squeezed into his living room. Ryan was separated from his girl and driven to a place where Fitter and McHugh were waiting. They had asked the questions and delivered the beating. Ryan would have to pay for ripping off his own, but what Aidan despised the most was the fact Carly would be allowed to go home. No one would lay a finger on her. Fitter, with a fucking huge grin on his face, handed a gun to Tyler and whispered something in his ear. That was all. Sentence had been passed.
After his brother had been shot, Aidan decided to go after Carly. Why should she be allowed to go home without a word, just because Rab McHugh was her father? She’d stolen from him, same as Ryan. He chased her all through Treadwater, but the bitch had flagged down a car and escaped.
Aidan listened to them, one after another, blaming this gang and that, while he stood watching the bizzies piece together evidence for Craig’s shooting. He shivered. The more he thought on the night his brother Ryan died, the more he feared and the more he was convinced that a gang war had not put an end to Tyler Finlay and Craig Lewis. They could gather all the evidence they wanted, but the bizzies were pissing in the wind.
Chapter 70
He couldn’t relax. A whole day spent in the company of Trudy, a woman he hoped would be the one for him, and all he could think about was Tara. None of his texts had been answered and his calls went immediately to voicemail. Already he had abandoned Trudy once today, when he went in to the station, and now he was thinking that he should call at Tara’s place. Just to check that she was all right.
Most of the day had been spent in bed, making love, dozing, reading and watching movies, so seldom did he have an entire weekend free. Now, after they had showered together, he came up with an excuse to leave Trudy for a short time.
‘I’ll cook dinner,’ he said.
‘We can go out, or get Chinese takeaway.’
‘No, it’s no problem. I’ll nip out and get a couple of steaks and a good bottle of wine.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ he stumbled over the words. ‘You stay here. I won’t be long.’
He was out of the door again before she could say anything further.
*
There was no reply when he rang Tara’s buzzer, so he managed to get up to her landing by swiftly following another tenant as they entered the building. There was no answer to his knock on her door, either. Maybe she had gone away for the weekend. He was well aware that at times she could be quite secretive, private about things, particularly when she had a new man. But nil reply to any of his texts was unnerving.
He was about to leave her block when he remembered that her friend Aisling lived close by. Perhaps she knew what Tara was up to this weekend. He checked his phone, thought he might have her number. Heck, he didn’t even know the girl’s surname. He scrolled through his contacts. He couldn’t see a number for Aisling but found one for Tara’s other close friend, Kate. He dialled it and waited for what seemed like an age for the phone to ring. Eventually, a cheery female voice sang out a hello.
‘Kate? This is Alan Murray here, Tara’s colleague.’
‘Oh yes, Alan, hi, what can I do for you?’
‘I’m just wondering if Tara is with you this weekend. I’m having trouble getting hold of her.’
‘No, Alan. I’m in Lanzarote with my Mum. Have you tried Aisling?’
‘I don’t have her number, can you give me her address? I’m in Tara’s block at the moment, and I know Aisling lives close by.’
Kate gave him the address, but her cheerful tone was now one of deep concern.
‘Is there anything wrong?’
‘Just something urgent at work. Tara probably has her phone switched off. Nothing to worry about.’
‘It’s not like her. She always has her phone on, in case they’re trying to get her at the station.’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Sorry to interrupt your holiday. Thanks for the address.’
He rang off, not wanting to raise Kate’s fears any higher. He was well aware the girls were very close and, from previous experience, he knew how much Kate and Aisling worried about Tara.
*
Trudy texted, wondering why he was taking so long.
*
He hastened his step on the way to Aisling’s apartment. He replied to Trudy, saying he wouldn’t be long. There was no answer at Aisling’s flat. The only other possibility that he could think of was that Tara had gone to her parents’ house for the weekend. Still, that did not explain her failure to reply to any of his calls. They didn’t live so far away, just Caldy, on the Wirral. He called the operations room at the station. Paula Bleasdale was on duty.
‘Hi, Alan, what can I do for you?’
‘Can you look up the telephone number for Tara’s parents?’
‘Yes, sure. What’s up?’
‘Just having trouble getting in contact with Tara. It’s not like her.’
‘Maybe she wants a break from hearing your smooth voice.’
‘Funny. Just get the number, please.’
Paula called him back a few minutes later with the telephone number of the Grogan household. But before calling Tara’s parents, he had to think of how best to ask after their daughter without causing alarm. Paula, despite her quip, might well be correct that Tara was simply taking a complete rest from policing for a mere two days.
He dialled the number. A female voice answered, Murray assumed it was Tara’s mothe
r.
‘May I speak to Tara Grogan, please?’
‘I’m sorry, but Tara is not at home this weekend. May I ask who’s calling?’
‘Merseyside Police, St Anne Street.’
‘You might try her mobile.’
‘OK, thanks, will do. Sorry to bother you.’
‘It’s no trouble.’
Murray ended the call. He couldn’t help being worried. He knew that Tara had continued to pursue her theory on missing girls, a theory she had evolved since their discovery of the photographs at the flat of the murdered journalist Terry Lawler. She tended to dwell on such things in her spare time, then come to him with her latest thoughts on how to further the investigation. Relaxing weekend? Tara never relaxed. Had she gone off in pursuit of one of her notions?
As he made his way from Wapping Dock to the supermarket, he worried that Tara, rather than having gone off somewhere, had been taken against her will. If so, the number one suspect was the man who had done it once before — James Guy. Then, he recalled her telling him what had happened to her in Belfast. Had someone connected to the Boswell murder found reason to snatch her? Maybe those same men who had forced her into a car in Belfast and warned her to stay out of their affairs had decided that she needed to be silenced. Someone connected to Carly McHugh, perhaps? Or even the girl herself?
Chapter 71
She was floating. Weightless, in the arms of — someone. A man. Warm and cosy, her head swooning. She felt safe, cosseted. She could feel his heart beating, or was it her own? Something wet on her face, cold, refreshing. Rain. She was outside in wind and rain and in the arms of a strong man. Still she was flying, his warm breath on her face, and the sky above him steely grey like the dawn. She wanted to sleep again. It was fine. She was safe in his arms.
When she opened her eyes again, either minutes or hours later, she took in her surroundings but failed to understand them. A kettle sat on a small stove, a tiny window behind it and a green-grey nothingness beyond. A jar of coffee and a packet of biscuits sat to the right of the stove, and now she heard a knocking and thumping above her. She felt cold, her head ached and her throat was dry. What was this place? Her hands were gone, no, they were stuck fast behind her. She was bound. Her feet wouldn’t move apart either, and she couldn’t open her mouth. Her voice came as a whimper and a groan. Moving on the narrow bed was difficult, but her eyes caught site of another space, a darkened room with a low ceiling. There were noises coming from within.
She felt her stomach rise and fall. Realisation at last began to creep in, but her memory had still to gain pace. She was inside a boat, a cabin. She sensed the rise and fall, the floating and swaying on water. Her eyes settled on the dark space where the sounds of sobbing, grunting and thrashing grew louder. She tried to sit up, her muscles tightening with the effort. There was an open hatch at the other end of the cabin. She could feel the wind and the occasional spots of rain blowing inside and she smelt the complex odour of sea air. She tried to call for him. The man in whose arms she had slept and felt so comfortable. Couldn’t think of his name. Why was she here?
The cries from the darkened room rose again. Aisling? Her friend. Recent images surged back. For a second she closed her eyes wishing she was wrong, but when she opened them he was standing above her. She glanced from his grinning face to the dark room where Aisling lay. He had been there with her. He had done something to her friend. Tears filled her eyes as she fought to be strong in front of him. She wanted to run, to get away, but she wanted also to comfort Aisling.
‘Don’t fret yourself, Tara. She enjoyed it.’ He pulled up the zipper on his jeans. She tried to speak, to yell at him, but the tape held everything back. ‘Glad to see you’re awake. I have to say, I’ve seen you looking better.’
She kicked out with both feet, but he dodged them easily. She tried to stand, but with one hand he pushed her back onto the bunk, and her head jerked then thumped against the wall. She groaned and allowed herself to collapse on the bed. She was helpless. She could only watch as the man, James Guy, grasped her feet and swung them back onto the bunk.
‘Aren’t you the lucky girl, Tara? Getting to spend time with me and your wee mate. Maybe later you might fancy a threesome. How does that grab you? Can’t do much else for a while. The weather’s closed in; there’s a bit of a swell out there. We’ll have to wait for a calmer sea. Can’t have you and Aisling throwing up everywhere.’
She watched him through tear-filled eyes as he stepped towards the open hatch and slid the small door closed. Then he turned and smiled at her.
‘Now, we’re all nice and cosy.’ He unlocked a drawer beside the stove and produced a knife, a medium-sized bread knife. Sitting down beside her, he gripped her blouse and bra at her cleavage and pulled her up to a sitting position. Suddenly, he jabbed the knife point at her neck. She cried out and tried to pull away.
‘Here’s the deal,’ he said in a harsh whisper. ‘I remove the tape and you promise not to yell or scream, understand?’ He pushed with the knife; the point broke her skin and blood trickled along the blade. ‘Understand?’
Through tears she gazed into his eyes and saw only mischief peering back. She nodded her head once, and it brought a wide smile to his face.
‘Good.’ He gripped the edge of the tape and pulled it roughly from her mouth. Suddenly, she could take a deep breath. ‘Remember, any noise and this goes back on and I draw some more blood.’
‘I want to see Aisling.’
‘She’s sleeping, maybe later.’ He reached her an open bottle of water, holding it up to her mouth.
‘Let her go. You wanted me; she’s done you no harm.’ He smiled, menacingly but didn’t reply. ‘Please, James. Do what you want with me, but I’m begging you. Let Aisling go.’
‘Drink up and shut up, or I’ll put the tape back on.’
She watched her blood dripping onto her white blouse. She could do nothing about it, her hands were still bound. She took a mouthful of water as he held the bottle to her mouth. When she tried to take more he took it away. Her heart raced as she wondered how she could tackle him. Her eyes traversed the cabin, searching for a weapon, anything she might use to bring him down, and watched as he replaced the knife in the drawer and locked it. If she couldn’t overcome him then she and Aisling were lost.
Whatever this man did with his victims after raping them, it involved taking them out to sea. Now she regretted her decision to do what he’d ordered in not alerting her colleagues. Now she was on her own, and her macabre thought was that his raping her was not the worst thing that could happen. If anything happened to Aisling she would never forgive herself. She must find a way off this boat.
Chapter 72
He got a call from St Anne Street. It was eight o’clock, Sunday morning, Trudy asleep beside him. They’d planned a walk at Crosby and a pub lunch before she had to head back to Salford. But the news wasn’t good. Another shooting at Treadwater. What was worse, however, was that there was still no word from Tara.
Trudy continued to sleep as he eased himself from the bed, dressed hastily in jogging trousers and T-shirt and went to his lounge. There, he scribbled a brief note of where he was going and an apology for scuppering their Sunday morning. Pulling on a pair of trainers, he grabbed his keys and hurried out.
On the way to the car he composed another text to Tara, telling her of yet another shooting. He had quickly become used to not expecting a reply. He stopped the car on what was now a familiar road on the Treadwater Estate, close to the shops and by the entrance to the playing fields. Twenty yards beyond, a piece of incident tape stretched across the road and effectively blocked access. An ambulance was just moving off as he walked to the scene of the incident, passing a cluster of uniformed officers and a dozen or so local residents. His heart sank when he saw DCI Weir dishing out instructions to a couple of SOCOs dressed in hooded white overalls. Now, he regretted coming. But it wasn’t long before Weir clocked his approach and turned to greet him.
‘
DS Murray, sorry to spoil your lie-in, but we’re a bit light on detectives this weekend.’
‘Morning, sir. What have we got?’
‘Another shooting, not fatal. One male, hit in the leg.’
‘Is he a Viper?’
‘Oh yes. Seems the gang war goes on.’
Murray, looking around him, taking in the blood spattered on the pavement, posed another question. ‘The leg wounds, were they punishment style?’
Weir glared at him, looking irritated by the question. ‘No, Murray they were not. Someone, unseen, took a pot-shot at the lad.’ After a pause, he added. ‘You know, Murray, I wouldn’t advise that you throw your lot in with DI Grogan.’
‘Why’s that, sir?’
‘Not a smart career move, that’s all. You could do better than to traipse around with her.’
Rather than indulge this petulant copper, Murray decided to mention his present concerns. ‘I’m having trouble making contact with DI Grogan at the moment. She’s not responding to my calls.’
‘Probably out on the rip with some lad.’
‘It’s not like her not to respond. She’s always clued into her work. I’m worried that she may have been taken by someone.’
Weir scoffed. Murray expected an offensive reply from the DCI but was surprised by his quite sober question.
‘You’re not thinking that she’s got herself caught up in this gang fight?’
‘I’m not sure. She was pulled off the street by some guys in Belfast.’
‘I warned her to keep her nose out of this affair. She has no idea who she is dealing with. How certain are you that she’s disappeared?’
‘It’s just not like her to drop off the radar. I’m worried about her.’
Suddenly, Weir seemed fired up. ‘Well, you’d better get your arse to the station and get to work. Let’s hope she’s not caught up in this mess, or we’ll be looking for another body.’ He bounded off as Murray’s thoughts immediately turned to the other possibility — that James Guy had snatched Tara.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 73