‘12 Canliffe Gardens, L8, mate,’ Craig slurred down the phone.
‘Is Laura awake, Craig?’ Nick asked, his heart thumping.
‘No, mate. She’s out of it on the sofa,’ Craig said.
‘I’m on my way,’ Nick said as he hung up and saw Jonesy approaching.
‘You dropped a bollock in there, mate!’ Jonesy chortled but then he saw Nick’s expression. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Laura rang me. She’s in a state somewhere in Liverpool. Mate, I need to get there now,’ Nick said, his voice full of panic.
Jonesy tossed him the keys. ‘Take the car. I’ll get someone to pick me up. I hope she’s all right.’
Fifteen minutes later, Nick was hammering up the M56 towards Liverpool. He had now hit 100 mph and was having to undertake cars to get past the traffic. His mind was racing.
As Nick hit 110 mph, he dialled Laura’s phone.
A male voice picked it up, ‘Hello?’. They sounded authoritative.
‘Hi. I’m PC Nick Evans from the North Wales Police. I’m also Laura Foley’s boyfriend. Who is this?’
‘My name’s Gerry. I’m a paramedic with the Royal Liverpool Hospital. I’m with Laura now. She’s unconscious but she’s stable. We’re just leaving now and we’ll be at the Royal Liverpool in about ten minutes,’ Gerry said in a very calm voice.
Nick felt his anxiety lessen for a moment. Laura was in good hands. ‘Right, thank you.’
‘If you come to the Royal Liverpool, we’ll be taking Laura straight to ICU where she can be assessed,’ Gerry explained.
‘Okay. Thank you so much,’ Nick said as he ended the call.
At least he knew where she was and who she was with. Sitting back in the seat, he felt the sweat stick his police shirt to his back. What he really needed was a drink.
A minute later, Nick entered the darkness of the Mersey Tunnel at 50 mph. The wall lights flashed past in a blur. He came out the other side and sped up Dale Street, heading north through Liverpool City Centre. No one was going stop him – he was in a police car. And he wasn’t stopping for anyone anyway.
Nick entered the Royal Liverpool Hospital car park, parked in a reserved space and sprinted inside. As he ran through the corridors, Nick looked up until he saw a sign for the ICU.
He jogged into the ICU and the nurses looked over. They saw he was in uniform and a ward sister came over.
‘Can I help?’ the ward sister asked.
‘I’m looking for Laura Foley,’ Nick explained.
‘The crash team are with Laura at the moment. If you want to wait over there, I’ll let you know when there is any news,’ the ward sister said, pointing to some chairs. ‘That’s the young man that came in with her.’
As Nick got his breath back, he walked over to a scruffy looking man in his 20s with a ponytail. ‘Craig?’
Craig looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. ‘Yeah?’
‘I’m Nick. I spoke to you on the phone?’ Nick explained.
Craig’s eyes widened. ‘Christ, I didn’t know you were a copper.’
‘What’s going on?’ Nick asked.
‘I dunno. They won’t tell me anything,’ Craig said, looking upset. ‘She’s been in there for half an hour.’
Nick sat down and his breathing started to slow. A television screen was mounted on the wall. Some kind of chart show was on – ‘Breathe’ by Blu Cantrell was playing. It was No 1. Nick hated the song but it’s all he ever heard on the radio at the moment.
Nick took out his phone. He needed to ring Gwen and tell her what had happened and where Laura was.
Before Nick could find Gwen’s number, a young male doctor approached.
‘You’ve come to see Laura Foley. Is that right?’ the doctor asked.
‘Yes,’ Nick said, his pulse quickening – he was trying to guess what the doctor was going to tell him.
‘Are you a relative?’ the doctor asked.
‘No. Boyfriend,’ Nick said. He didn’t like the sound of that question one bit.
‘Are any of Laura’s relatives here at the moment?’ the doctor asked.
‘No, it’s just me,’ Nick said as he started to take short breaths. He was a police officer and he knew where this was going.
‘If you come into my office for a moment ...’ the doctor said.
Now full of panic, Nick didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t want to go with the doctor. He knew what the doctor was going to say.
Please god, make her all right. Please.
Nick could feel himself tremble as he sat down in the doctor’s office and watched as he closed the door. Nick felt sick.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
‘When Laura arrived, she was having trouble breathing and her blood pressure was dropping very fast. It seems that she had taken an overdose of heroin. We tried our best to stabilise her but she failed to respond to the treatment. I’m deeply sorry. We did everything we could for her,’ the doctor said.
Nick took in the words and then replayed them.
Did he mean she was dead? Is that what he was saying? He didn’t say the word though. I don’t understand.
Nick blinked at the doctor. He felt like he was in a dream. ‘She’s dead? She’s been clean for months ...’
‘I’m so sorry. Yes. Sometimes if an addict hasn’t used for a while, their body isn’t used to the drug. It can cause an overdose very easily,’ the doctor said. ‘I can arrange for you to see her if you would like that?’
Nick nodded – he felt like he had been hit by a bus. He got up and muttered, ‘Yes. I need to speak to her mum.’
Wandering over to the seats in a daze, Nick looked at Craig, ‘She’s dead.’
Craig shook his head. ‘What? Oh god, no.’
A feeling of anger was starting to take over from the numbness of the shock.
‘Where did she get the drugs from?’ Nick asked with gritted teeth.
Craig shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m so sorry...’
‘Don’t fuck me about. Where did she get the drugs from?’ Nick growled.
Craig looked at him. He was terrified. ‘I can’t tell you ...’
Nick leaned forward so he was six inches from Craig’s face. ‘You tell me, or I will arrest you, put you in my car in handcuffs and throw you in the Mersey.’
‘You ... you can’t do that,’ Craig stammered.
Taking the cuffs from his belt, Nick pulled Craig roughly to his feet. ‘Come on, Craig. We’re going for a little drive.’
‘His name is Curtis Blake. He’s some big dealer she used to go out with. He thinks he’s a fuckin’ gangster,’ Craig said as he visibly shook.
Nick stood up. ‘Where do I find this Curtis Blake?’
‘Croxteth,’ Craig said. ‘He calls himself the King of Croxteth.’
CHAPTER 6
August 2003
TAKING A BOTTLE OF wine from the glove compartment, Nick looked around furtively, then took two big mouthfuls and sat back in the driver’s seat.
Phew, that’s better. I just need to keep topped up if I’m gonna do this, he thought as he let out an audible breath. He gazed up at St Mark’s Roman Catholic Church and squinted. It was another boiling hot day in a record breaking summer heatwave.
Nick had been parked outside the church in Croxteth for nearly an hour now. Even though the main body of the church was 18th century, Nick could see that at the far end, the entrance had different colour brickwork. It had been damaged in the Blitz of 1941 and rebuilt.
A house of God? You’re joking, aren’t you? Well God can go and fuck himself, Nick thought. He had only asked God for two things in his life. And he had prayed for those with every ounce of his soul. But God had allowed his mum and Laura to die. So, unless God came down right now and tapped him on the shoulder for a little chat, he was done with him and everything to do with religion.
Nick could feel the alcohol swirling around his body and fogging his brain. It was calming his nerves, but it was also stopping him from
thinking straight. Nick was on his second bottle of wine that day and it was only eleven o’clock in the morning. And he was sixty miles from home. Looking down at the six inch steel Bowie knife that he had stashed in the door of the car, Nick contemplated what he was about to do. Then he checked the rear view mirror. Nothing. No one around. Good.
Checking his watch, Nick saw he had five minutes before Curtis Blake was due to arrive at the church to lay flowers at his brother’s grave. From the intel that Nick had managed to get, Curtis did it like clockwork. Eleven o’clock every Sunday morning. Sometimes he came with his mother, Doreen. Today, Curtis Blake was going to be joining his brother, and Doreen Blake would have two sons to visit at St Mark’s.
Nick had hardly slept since Laura had died forty-eight hours earlier. Having broken the news to Gwen Foley, he had watched her dissolve into a hysterical mess. Now all Nick wanted to do was murder Curtis Blake, the man who had given Laura free heroin the day she died. From what he could understand, it was Laura’s relationship with Curtis Blake that had led her down the path of drugs in the first place. He was probably the person who had picked Laura up that day from Llancastell in a black Cherokee Jeep.
Suddenly, Nick saw a figure coming up the road. He sat upright and leant forward to get a better look. As his eyes focussed, Nick saw that the figure was holding a bunch of red flowers. A thick set man in his twenties with short black hair. He walked like a boxer.
It was Curtis Blake.
Nick felt his pulse quicken. He would wait for Blake to go to the graveyard at the rear of the church. Then he would attack and kill him there, out of sight. Even though he had a lot of alcohol in his system, Nick felt his whole body tense. His eyes locked onto Blake as he turned and walked down the path to the graveyard. He hated the very sight of him. He was doing society a favour. Blake was a drug dealing scumbag who was going to get what was coming to him. No one would be surprised when Blake was discovered stabbed to death. It went with the territory.
Reaching down, Nick picked up the knife, placing the carved handle in his palm. He then reached for the door.
This is it. Here we go!
Suddenly a man’s face appeared at the window. It made Nick jump out of his skin.
What the fuck!
Before Nick could react, the man had tapped on the window and showed him a warrant card – he was a plain clothes police officer.
You’re joking, aren’t you? What the fuck is going on?
Nick had no choice but to buzz down the window.
‘Constable Nick Evans?’ the detective asked.
‘Yeah,’ Nick said, wondering how the detective knew his name.
‘You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’
‘DI Ray Devlin, North West Regional Organised Crime Unit. Mind if I get in?’ Devlin asked.
‘Do I have a choice?’ Nick asked.
‘No ... No you don’t,’ Devlin said with a sarcastic laugh as he went around the car and got into the passenger side. He closed the door and pulled a face, ‘Jesus, Nick, it smells like a brewery in here.’
‘What do you want?’ Nick growled.
‘Bit of a coincidence, you sitting here just as Curtis Blake arrives to put flowers on his brother’s grave, isn’t it?’ Devlin said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Who’s Curtis Blake?’ Nick said, but he knew the game was up. He was now wondering what the repercussions were going to be.
‘Don’t piss me about. I did a PNC check on your car an hour ago. I’ve spoken to your Super. And I know why you’re here,’ Devlin said.
‘I doubt that,’ Nick said. How could he know? Unless Jonesy had told the Super?
‘I know about this girl. Laura wasn’t it? I’m really sorry to hear about what happened to her. But murdering Curtis Blake isn’t going to bring her back,’ Delvin said.
‘It’s what he deserves,’ Nick said, angry that he had missed his chance to get Blake and probably wouldn’t get another one.
‘No. He deserves to be prosecuted through the courts and spend the rest of his life in prison,’ Devlin said. ‘Blake is an animal. He solves his problems by stabbing and shooting people. That’s not you, is it? You’re a bright young police officer with a brilliant record, Nick.’
Nick didn’t want to hear what Devlin had to say. Killing Blake would have made Nick feel better and probably saved dozens of lives. ‘No one’s going to miss him. He makes his money off other people’s misery.’
‘What, and you’re going to go around as some vigilante cop taking all the scumbags off the street, are you?’ Devlin said, raising his voice. ‘Don’t be so fucking naïve.’
For a moment, there was silence in the car.
‘What would Laura say to you if she was sitting right here where I’m sitting now? She wouldn’t thank you for committing murder and ruining your life, would she?’ Delvin said.
Nick thought about what Laura would have said. Devlin had a good point. As Nick imagined Laura sitting next to him, his anger was replaced by a wave of overwhelming grief. She was never going to be sitting next to him again. He was never going to see her again. How was that possible?
Nick blinked as a tear came to his eye, ‘She shouldn’t have died like that. She deserved to live a long, happy life.’
Nick closed his eyes as tears came. He shuddered as he took a deep breath.
‘It’s all right, son. We’ve all been where you’ve been at one time or another. But you can’t drink it away. That’s not the answer,’ Delvin said.
‘Yeah, I know. Sorry ... I’m sorry,’ Nick said.
‘And taking revenge isn’t the way either,’ Devlin said as he looked directly at Nick. ‘This is what I want you to do. Get yourself home and get yourself sober. You tell your Super you need a couple of days compassionate leave, okay? And then you spend the rest of your life getting scumbags like Blake off the street. And you do that for Laura. Because that’s exactly what Laura would have wanted you to do.’
Nick nodded. He couldn’t have put it better himself.
CURTIS STOOD OVER SHAUN’S grave for a moment. Then he crouched and laid down the bright red flowers. Red was Shaun’s favourite colour. It was the colour of their football team. The mighty Reds.
The air smelt of someone having a barbeque nearby. Shaun loved barbeques – he insisted on doing all the cooking. Their mum had bought Shaun a black apron that read ‘ELVIS ate here!’. She didn’t want Shaun to get all the fat over his nice clothes. The sound of children playing and squealing came from a garden further down the hill. Curtis watched as two young boys climbed up a tree to get a football that had stuck in its branches.
Shaun wanted to be Kenny Dalglish when he was kid, Curtis thought.
As Curtis went down on his haunches, he could feel that even the material of his trousers was hot.
‘I tell you what lad, it’s hot today. Scorchio. Do you remember that from when we were kids. Scorchio. Fast Show wasn’t it?’ Curtis said out loud and smiled. ‘Ethethetheth, Chris Waddle! Buono Estenté. That’s what she used to say, wasn’t it?’
As the hot breeze picked up, Curtis stood up for a moment. It was a clear day and as he gazed west towards the Mersey, he could see the feint outline of the Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral, or the Paddy’s Wigwam as it was now known because of its distinctive roof.
‘Didn’t bring mum today. I wanted it to be just us, you know?’ Curtis reached inside his trouser pocket and pulled out a small bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey. ‘And I wanted to tell you that I’ve sorted it. I got the fella that shot you. He’s dead now, kid. I shot him in the face. And I thought we’d have a drink to celebrate, eh?’
Curtis took a long swig from the bottle and then poured the rest of it over Shaun’s grave.
‘You can sleep peacefully now, Shaun. I wanted you to know that,’ Curtis said, feeling emotional. ‘So, I’ll be off now. I’ll come and see you next Sunday. I’ll bring mum, shall I?’
Curtis looked at the grave for a few
more seconds, turned and left.
CHAPTER 7
September 2003
The summer was starting to wane and the first hints of autumn were appearing. Nick and Gwen, Laura’s mother, walked slowly down the well-tended lawn.
‘The man came with it yesterday,’ Gwen said as she led the way down her long garden.
Even though it was a little cloudy, Nick was still hot and uncomfortable in his regulation North Wales Police non-operational jacket.
As they got towards the corner, Nick could see where a five-foot Cherry Blossom tree had been freshly planted. He didn’t know why they were called Cherry Blossom – the colour of the small petals was a delicate pink.
Gwen had ordered it as a memorial to Laura, and Nick was honoured that he was the first person she had called to come and see it.
‘What do you think?’ Gwen said, sounding a little apprehensive.
‘It’s beautiful, Gwen. Really beautiful. Laura would have loved it,’ Nick said as a small breeze shook the tree’s petals and leaves.
‘Are you sure?’ Gwen said, putting her hand on Nick’s arm.
‘It’s perfect,’ Nick said as he turned and smiled at her.
‘The man said that Cherry Blossom trees originally come from Japan where they are called Sakura ... I think that’s it. They are used to remember the loss of loved ones, but they also symbolise rebirth too,’ Gwen explained.
‘That sounds just the thing,’ Nick said, trying to reassure her.
Looking at the bottom of the tree, Nick could see the wooden memorial plaque that Gwen had made – In memory of our beautiful daughter, Laura, lost too soon. "Isn't it lovely, when the dawn brings the dew? I'll be watching over you." –
It was a lyric from the Manic Street Preacher’s song ‘William’s Last Words’. Gwen had asked Nick to come up with something for the plaque and this is what he had chosen. Laura loved the band, and her and Nick had spent many hours listening and singing to their songs. As a quote, it seemed perfect in its sentiment.
For a while, Nick and Gwen stood and looked at the tree and thought of Laura.
‘Shall I make some tea?’ Gwen said, sounding emotional.
The Curtis Blake Killings Page 6