Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  At St Anne Street, it took a while to contact Tweedy — who was enjoying a family weekend in the Lake District — and give him the news that Tara had apparently disappeared. He explained that DCI Weir was considering the possibility that she’d become embroiled in the gang war. But Tweedy, like Murray, thought it more likely that Tara had gone off investigating the cases of the missing girls. So, when he’d finished speaking with Tweedy, Murray managed to dig out a current address for James Guy. He was still on probation after his conviction for abducting Tara a couple of years ago. The current home of Mr Guy had to be the obvious place to start looking for Tara.

  Before leaving the station, Murray organised an officer to search for Tara’s car using automatic number plate recognition, usually referred to as ANPR. Hopefully, if she had driven somewhere this weekend her registration had been picked up by a road camera and logged. He rushed from the station, thinking that if he eliminated the possibility of James Guy having snatched Tara, the likelihood was that she had been taken by the drugs boys who had threatened her in Belfast. Neither possibility filled him with much hope for her safety.

  Chapter 73

  Of all the bloody days for a storm, it had to be a day when I had two women to dispose of. The wind was cutting up the water, even in the harbour at Penrhyn, and Mother Freedom was constantly thumping against the wall of the quay. My biggest concern, though, was that the peelers would now be wise to the fact that Tara had disappeared and that already they were searching for her. Their first place to call, I was certain, would be my flat. Dear help my wee Kirsty. She would get one hell of a shock, and her pregnant. I would have some explaining to do when I got home.

  It was strange that I still felt confident of getting home and taking up with my new life, even after I’d disposed of Tara and her mate. As long as I supplied the police with a good alibi for my weekend away from home, they wouldn’t have anything on me. Like I said before, I’m careful, I’m meticulous; I don’t make mistakes. Tara has to go before she discovers anything further about my life. She went to Belfast and started digging. That’s the only reason I’m doing this. I wouldn’t have gone near her otherwise. I have a new life now, I’m going to be a husband and a father; I don’t need to be taking women.

  It is fun though. And it’s all gone smoothly so far. If I’ve done things right, Tara and Aisling will disappear without trace, and no one will ever hear from them again. As long as a bloody trawler doesn’t fish them up in a year’s time. One thing I can’t be certain of is whether Tara has or has not discussed what she’s found out about me with any of her police buddies. I won’t know for sure until after she’s gone.

  I had only a few pills left. Didn’t have many to start with. That wee creep in Toxteth didn’t have much to sell me, and I swear it was sub-standard gear anyway. Hardly enough in one pill to keep Aisling sleeping for more than a couple of hours at a time. Now I won’t have enough to see off either woman. I’ll just have to drop them into the water alive. Sleeping maybe, but still alive. I couldn’t bear to kill with my hands, it’s not my style. I don’t get a buzz from the kill. My joy is in what I do with my girls before they snuff it.

  Killing’s just a necessity.

  I got sick listening to Tara whingeing on and on, begging to see Aisling. You know, you can really go off people, when they turn out to be someone you don’t much like at all. Tara is gorgeous, but let’s face it, my experiences with her have been far from pleasant. First, I got caught for snatching her and spent eighteen months in jail. Next time she’s saving me from the hands of that mad axe murderer Aeron and her brother. Now, I’m having to take her again — simply to stop her finding out exactly what I’ve done. It’s not the way I wanted it to be. Love is a sweet, pure thing and her nagging me to let Aisling go free is just spoiling the mood.

  So I stuck some tape back on her mouth.

  She lay back on the bunk, but all the while her eyes never left me. I was quite sure she understood that I had been with Aisling more than once since taking her, and that would be more than enough for her to hate me. Her eyes were red from crying, but she maintained an icy stare, as if she was trying to curse me or paralyse me telepathically. I made some tea, opened a pack of chocolate biscuits and sat down opposite her.

  ‘You know, Tara, this is all your fault.’

  I sipped from the mug and munched on a biscuit, letting my words sink in. ‘You couldn’t keep from poking your nose into my life, could you? What do you think you were doing, going to see my Aunt Margaret and asking all about me? I suppose you’re thinking I’m this way because my mother left me when I was kid?’

  She tried to speak, her eyes begging me to remove the tape. Shit. My curiosity got the better of me, so I ripped it off with some aplomb. She cried out, but I warned her to settle herself.

  ‘If you don’t quieten down I’ll do more than put the tape back.’

  She fumed. I reckon she was considering yelling the place down, in the hope that somebody was nearby. But it was an awful day, a day when no one in their right mind would be anywhere near a boat.

  ‘Do you want some tea?’

  ‘Tell me about your mother,’ she asked, ignoring my offer.

  I fucking glared at her. Felt like giving her a slap. I knew what she was doing. Trying to get under my skin, trying to gain my trust and explain away all my sins. Fuck her. She was dead anyway. In a few hours she wouldn’t be saying much, and I would have given her a good send off.

  From my wallet, I slipped out a small photograph, passport size, and held it up to her. She looked closely.

  ‘I’ve seen that picture before.’

  ‘Oh aye, where’d you see it?’

  ‘I found it on the wall in Terry Lawler’s flat. Along with two dozen others. She disappeared on you, James, isn’t that correct?’

  ‘So what? She was beautiful, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Did she even say goodbye to you?’

  For a moment I debated with myself whether to answer the bitch.

  ‘Told me she was going to Dublin for the weekend.’

  ‘And she never came back?’

  I shook my head, but couldn’t summon any words. The clever wee bitch was going for it.

  ‘Did you ever try to find her? She might still be alive, unless…’

  ‘Unless what? Unless I killed her? Is that what you think? I was only eight years old, for fuck’s sake! What was I going to do, eh? And no, I never tried to find her. She wouldn’t be interested in me.’

  Then she had the bloody nerve to ask the obvious question.

  ‘Is that why you killed all those women? Because you’re angry that your mum walked out on you?’

  ‘You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you, Tara? You think you have all the answers.’

  ‘I know you’ve killed young women, innocent women who did you no harm. How many, James?’

  I changed the subject, no way was she going to rile me.

  ‘I’m going to be a da, you know? And I’m getting married.’

  ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’

  ‘Her name is Kirsty. Everything was all rosy in the garden until I saw you sneaking off to Belfast. When I’m finished with you I’m going home to Kirsty and getting on with my life. You aren’t going to cause me any more trouble.’

  ‘You think I went to Belfast because I was investigating you?’

  ‘Why else?’

  ‘I do have other cases, James. I didn’t go to Belfast because of you.’

  ‘Sure you did. You went to find out about Linda’s body being dragged from the sea. And then you went to visit my aunt.’

  She smiled at her little victory.

  ‘Was Linda your first?’

  ‘Shut your face, Tara.’ I grabbed the tape and stuck it back on her gob. ‘First light in the morning, we’re out of here. By then you won’t give a shit how many women I’ve taken.’

  Chapter 74

  Murray was greeted at the door of the Penny Lane flat by an attractive brunette, Guy
’s fiancée Kirsty. Wearing a pale blue T-shirt and denim skirt, her hand went instinctively to her small pregnancy bump as Murray introduced himself.

  ‘James has gone away for the weekend,’ she replied cheerfully to Murray’s enquiry.

  ‘Do you know where he’s gone?’

  ‘Not exactly, he’s fishing but I don’t know where. Is there something wrong?’

  ‘I need to speak with him. Do you have a number for him?’

  Kirsty was growing less comfortable with the situation.

  ‘Why do you need to speak with him? What’s happened?’

  ‘Hopefully, it’s nothing, Miss Scholes, I just need to eliminate him from our enquiries.’

  ‘What sort of enquiry? What do you think he’s done?’

  ‘If you could get me his number I won’t trouble you any further.’

  Kirsty, now visibly nervous, went inside to her lounge and a few seconds later returned, holding her mobile. She dictated a number that Murray tapped into his phone. He walked away from the door of the flat, but Kirsty came with him, her fears rising that something was amiss with her fiancé. Murray listened to the phone ring and then switch to a voicemail message.

  ‘Mr Guy, it’s Detective Sergeant Murray, Merseyside Police, please give me a call back as soon as you can. Thank you.’

  As he began to walk away, Kirsty came after him.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me what this is about? I’m his fiancée.’

  ‘I can’t do that, miss.’ He handed her his card. ‘If he gets in touch with you, please call me on that number.’

  James Guy’s absence from home and his failure to answer his phone did nothing to soothe Murray’s unease, specifically his growing fear that he had taken Tara. If she had been abducted, it seemed more likely that someone connected to this Belfast drug gang was involved, but still James Guy had previous. If Guy had been gone all weekend, he may have already carried out his intentions concerning Tara.

  Time may have already run out for his DI.

  *

  He drove quickly back to St Anne Street. Alan Wilson had come in, having received a message from Murray that Tara was missing. He had taken charge of co-ordinating the survey of traffic activity recorded by roadside cameras.

  ‘Any joy?’ Murray asked as he barged into the operations room.

  ‘Some,’ replied Wilson, flitting from his desk to another where the computer was running the camera check. ‘Tara’s car passed a camera in Speke on Friday evening, 17.46. Then Runcorn Station car park at 18.21, again at 18.33. Another trigger near Chester on the M56, then another in Wales on the A494 at 19.28. Nothing after that.’

  ‘Where the hell was she going? Is there anything for Saturday?’

  ‘Not a squeak.’

  ‘Does that mean she is stationary, or is she some place with no cameras around?’ Murray looked for a phone number on his desk then tapped it into his mobile.

  ‘Miss Scholes, what vehicle is James using this weekend?’ There was silence at the other end. ‘Miss Scholes?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sergeant. I don’t know what James is driving. Our car is here.’

  ‘Does he have another car, or a van or something he drives for work?’

  ‘He drives a delivery van, but he doesn’t get to bring it home.’

  ‘You’re telling me that James has gone fishing, you don’t know where, and you don’t know how he’s travelling? Has he gone alone?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Murray cut the call. He’d learned nothing. Tara, it seemed, had driven into north Wales on Friday evening. James Guy had gone fishing on Friday. And Murray had no clue as to what became of either person after that.

  Chapter 75

  Tara felt exhausted, but no way could she sleep. Her arms ached at her shoulders, her hands still bound behind her. She had managed to stretch her legs, but it resulted in more discomfort at her neck and shoulders as she lay on the bunk without a pillow.

  Guy, before drifting off to sleep, had risen from his seat and draped a blanket over her. So at least she was warm. Strong winds continued to sweep the coast, and heavy rain at times spattered the roof of the cabin. She prayed that someone would come by, but who was likely to be around, in this weather and at this hour? And she didn’t know where she was, except it that it was a place where a boat could be moored. No one was searching for them, because she had failed to follow police procedure and inform her colleagues of what had occurred and where she’d be going. A mistake, a deliberate decision she’d made in order to keep her friend alive. Now she realised it had been a catastrophic error. She and Aisling were both dead if she couldn’t overcome James Guy. They were no different from any of the girls he’d taken before, who had died at his hands. No one would be coming to help them. She must find a way off this boat.

  Every sound, from a wave slapping the hull to the thud of the boat against the harbour wall, set her thinking that something was happening, something was changing that could aid her escape. If she could get away, she could raise the alarm and come back for Aisling. Or maybe she could disable Guy in some way. In the darkness, she couldn’t see his face clearly, but she was sure he was sleeping on the bench seat to the left of the cooker. His breathing was steady, his body quite still.

  In the bow cabin, the sliding door had been left open, and she sensed that Aisling was beginning to regain consciousness. Tara’s immediate thought was to get to her, to comfort and reassure her friend that all would be well. She was surprised that Guy hadn’t secured her to the bunk because that meant that, in theory, she could rise and attempt an escape. Maybe he was confident that she wouldn’t get far, convinced that she wouldn’t take off without Aisling. Hopefully, she could make him pay for his complacency.

  But her first attempts to move weren’t promising. She struggled to raise herself to a seated position without fuss and noise. Eventually, she sat with her legs over the side of the bunk, waiting and watching to see if she had disturbed Guy’s slumber. With no sign of him waking, she pushed herself to her feet but remained on the spot, fighting to maintain her balance and control her breathing, worried that Guy might hear even the pounding of her heart. With her feet strapped tightly together, she was capable only of tiny shuffling steps as she edged towards the bow cabin.

  Aisling was thrashing in her sleep, moaning and sighing periodically. When Tara reached the doorway, she had to descend slowly to the floor and sit on her bottom in order to lift her feet over the lip of the door frame. Once her feet were inside, she wedged her back against the frame and tried to raise herself once more. In seconds she was upright. A few more shuffled steps and her legs met the edge of the double bed. She sat on the mattress and tried to focus on the form of her friend, who lay naked and still asleep. She cried for her. If they survived, would Aisling remember anything of what Guy had done to her? She prayed not, but it didn’t halt the tears sliding down her cheeks. What could drive a man to do such things to a woman?Why did he need to do this? How many lives had been shattered by James Guy?

  Then she heard him. Awake. Stomping on the floor of the galley. Suddenly, the cabin filled with light, and Guy stood over her.

  ‘Found your wee mate then?’

  She couldn’t reply, her mouth still covered with tape.

  ‘What am I going to do with you, Tara Grogan?’

  Chapter 76

  James Guy had not responded to his message, so Murray was now convinced that he had taken Tara and possibly her friend Aisling, too. He ordered a data check on Tara’s phone and on that of James Guy. Even a signal registered on an identifiable phone mast might help to pinpoint her location.

  Patrols, all over the northwest and into Wales, were now on the lookout for Tara’s blue Ford Focus. Everything suggested Guy was responsible for whatever had happened. Murray had to bring himself up to date with what Tara had discovered about the man. He felt at a loss, powerless to act as he recalled what Guy did to his victims. He recalled Tara’s interest in the pictures of disappeared girls
, the ones they found on the wall in Terry Lawler’s flat, of how she had theorised and suggested that one man was responsible for all of the murders. He found it easy to believe now, that James Guy could be that killer. But where did he go, what did he do with his victims? The story given to him by Kirsty Scholes, that her boyfriend had gone fishing, sent waves of sickening dread through him. He thought of the recent find in the Irish Sea, the girl’s body fished out by a trawler, and his conversation with Tara when she’d returned from Belfast, convinced that at last she was onto something regarding the missing girls. Where did Guy go fishing? Presumably, if he dumped his victims at sea he had owned or had access to a boat. But where? Which port?

  He was startled by Wilson calling from across the office.

  ‘Sir, we’ve found her car!’

  Murray rushed to his colleague’s desk and read the screen as Wilson narrated.

  ‘Llyn Ogwen? Where in hell is that?’

  Wilson typed the name into a map search and a red flag appeared on the screen. Both men tried to make sense of the location.

  ‘Middle of bloody nowhere,’ said Wilson. Murray was pulling on his jacket and gathering his keys.

  ‘Let’s get out there,’ he said. At least it felt like he was doing something at last. But how did finding Tara’s car in the middle of the Welsh countryside stack up with James Guy dumping his victims at sea? Llyn Ogwen was a lake; perhaps Guy used any convenient stretch of water. If that were so, and Tara’s car had been found abandoned by the lake, then they were already too late. His heart sank.

  *

  A patrol car containing two officers from North Wales Police drew up beside them at the lay-by where Tara’s car had been found. Two in the morning, and the wind and rain beat at their faces as they first broke into and then inspected the Ford Focus.