The Anita Waller Collection

by Anita Waller

  Grausohn lifted his bushy eyebrows in query as they walked back in.

  ‘All done, boss,’ Tommy said.

  ‘Gut,’ he said. He’d miss her, Johanna, but she’d caused him hassle. Now back to the problem of the missing drugs. He’d have some of his people out on the streets, tracking down anybody selling in copious quantities, because the fucking package had been a large deal. He’d sort out another woman as soon as he’d sorted the delivery non-arrival.

  ‘Okay. I need some of the local boys out there. Grunt, Carl, Mikey, Dicko – they’ll do for starters. If we don’t find anything from this, we’ll bring more in, but I want that package found before it all disappears. Kenny, you sort it. Tommy, you stay with me.’

  The two men nodded, and Kenny left the room. He sent the photo he had taken to Grausohn’s phone, followed by a text to the four men, and within an hour, they had joined him in the back room of the local Chinese takeaway. A hefty pay-out each week ensured the room was kept free for Grausohn’s use, the hefty pay-out then disappearing into the local betting office.

  Kenny was precise in the way he spoke. He was muscle, that was undisputed, but he was educated muscle, a dangerous combination. The four men waited patiently while he checked the door that led from the shop was locked, then he bolted the back door.

  ‘Don’t want anybody knowing our business, do we, lads?’

  They muttered no and sat down around the round table in the centre of the room.

  He outlined what had happened, although they all knew of the discovery of Vinnie’s body. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘the drugs were acquired by Mr Grausohn, and he wants them back before some estate low-life sells them all. It’s a fair-sized package, and I understand it’s worth close on quarter of a million.’

  He looked around at their reactions. They sat, their faces inscrutable. This was serious stuff. ‘There’s a bonus in it. The boss wants whoever’s got them, alive. If they’re dead, the bonus for finding him will be ten grand, if alive, twenty grand.’

  Carl Clarkson sucked in his breath. Twenty grand. With twenty grand, he could go, leave that prissy Megan and their smart-arse Daryl. He could start a new life, hopefully still working for the big boss, but away from Sheffield. And he had an advantage; the others had been shipped in, he was local. He’d get out on the streets and find out what the gossip was, who was spending money they didn’t normally have, or even who was looking a bit more glassy-eyed than usual.

  They left quietly, one at a time, not drawing attention to the meeting place. Kenny was the last to go, and he knocked on the door leading into the shop telling them the room was now empty. He fancied the idea of a twenty-grand bonus, and stood for a while, leaning on his car.

  He looked around; it was just after five o’clock, and people were pulling up in cars collecting orders from the takeaway – he thought he might enjoy a chicken in black bean sauce himself, later.

  He got in the car and drove down to where Vinnie Walmsley’s body had been found. It was a shame the silly bitch had killed him; he’d seemed a willing enough lad, one Kenny had had his eye on to bring into the fold for Grausohn.

  This must have been a massive transaction. Grausohn’s supplier had sourced Vinnie Walmsley to be the middleman, but unfortunately, the delivery had gone to an inexperienced Vinnie, who probably hadn’t wanted it in his house. It hadn’t taken Kenny long to figure out what had happened. Vinnie had hidden it, Johanna had turned up to give Vinnie his cut for collecting it, then gone with him to get it. That’s where it had all fallen apart because it wasn’t there.

  Kenny hadn’t understood at first; normally, the boss would send him and Tommy to dispose of any bodies, but this one was right at the side of the police station, and Grausohn had been forced into giving some thought to what to do next. And then, it seemed some bloody estate kids had found Vinnie and run straight round to the station.

  So, no Vinnie, no Johanna, no drugs, and worst of all, no money. Grausohn had paid up front for the delivery, as a show of faith to a new supplier.

  Kenny parked in the Asda car park, as close to the woods as he could get. He stared across and saw the crime scene tape was still strung between the trees; no chance of having a nosey yet. He wanted a walk around the place. Johanna had said, before her unfortunate demise, that Vinnie had buried it in a pretty big hole under a tree. What if it was still there? What if Vinnie had got the wrong tree?

  He'd stop by his sister’s in the morning, he decided, and borrow the dog. He’d have a genuine reason for being in the woods if he happened to bump into a policeman.

  Knowing there was nothing he could do, he put the car into gear and drove back to the takeaway. He picked up his meal and drove home to an empty house; Billy was away overnight. Kenny didn’t start eating until after he’d rung the boss and told him about the meeting.

  Grausohn didn’t waste words. ‘See you in the morning,’ he said, and put down the phone.

  Kenny decided it made sense to try bringing the dog the next day, see what the crack was. See if he could get anywhere near the crime scene.

  Aileen Walmsley couldn’t sleep. Her Vinnie, gone. And for what? She knew he was dealing, but only on a small scale, not enough to have his throat cut.

  She switched on the bedside light and, once more, picked up her book. She read two pages before putting it down; she couldn’t concentrate on the story.

  She got out of bed and crossed to the open window; a hot night, and she leaned out to try to inhale some fresh air.

  Liam had been an absolute brick. He had stayed with her, even after the police had left. They had searched Vinnie’s room and found nothing, but she knew Vinnie had learnt his lesson. There would be nothing left lying around to incriminate him. What had gone so wrong that he had died?

  And who had killed him?

  It was clear Liam knew nothing. She had questioned him, while trying to pretend it wasn’t an interrogation, but she had soon come to realise that other than knowing Vinnie was collecting some drugs, that was it.

  He had no idea who the person was who had arranged to meet Vinnie, no idea where, no idea about anything. She had initially thought he was keeping quiet because it was the police asking the questions, but his answers didn’t change, even when she asked through tears.

  Carl Clarkson saw her standing at the window and wondered if she would answer his knock on the door. He had to be careful. He decided to give it a miss, but tomorrow, he would find some way of accidentally bumping into her. Or maybe take her some flowers from him and Megan, to say how sorry they were.

  Nobody had any idea that he was in with Grausohn; not many really knew the man, anyway. It wasn’t Grausohn’s name out on the streets; it was the likes of Vinnie Walmsley who did the actual dealing. Grausohn supplied the schmucks, laughing at them, knowing they probably sampled and would keep coming back for more.

  Carl didn’t touch the stuff; he preferred being in control of his actions. He had got used to the money, though. Money that he earned from collecting debts, delivering packages, doing a little roughing up. Money that Megan knew nothing about, that he was saving to escape from a marriage that bored him, her and the bloody kid. It used to bother him that Daryl didn’t want any contact with him, preferred the company of his mother, but now, he switched off from the pair of them.

  And, of course, it had to be bloody Daryl who was the hero of the hour, finding Vinnie before Grausohn’s men could dispose of him. He found it incomprehensible that the silly bitch, Johanna, had killed him anyway. Anybody with half a brain would have left him crying into the hole he had dug and walked away to go tell Grausohn what had happened. But, no, she had to kill him. Psychopathic birdbrain, or what? Tasty, of course, but way out of his league. For now.

  Carl stood a few minutes longer, watching Aileen until she went back into her bedroom. He left the security of the tree he had leaned against and walked home. With a bit of luck, they’d be in bed, and he could have a very large whisky, without being nagged about it.
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br />   None of the children slept well. They had all suffered ministrations from their parents, and bedtime was a welcome escape from the “don’t worry about anything” that was being thrown at them by any adults they encountered.

  Mark and Dom were scared, and they knew Freya, despite her couldn’t-care-less attitude, was equally as frightened.

  ‘Did we get away with it?’ Mark whispered.

  ‘Dunno,’ his brother replied. ‘I wish they’d stop talking about it. God knows what they’d do if they found out about that package in the Wendy house.’

  ‘I’ll be glad when it rains. We need to get rid. Shh… footsteps.’

  The footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door, and slowly, it opened. Both boys feigned sleep, and they heard their mother whisper, ‘They’re both asleep’, before closing the door. They heard their parents continue along to Freya’s room and then disappear back down stairs. They guessed Freya was pretending as well.

  ‘Didn’t rate Daryl’s dad, did you?’ Mark kept his voice low.

  ‘Nah, proper thug. His mum’s nice, though. Never talks about his dad, does he?’

  Mark thought for a moment. ‘Gave him a phone, though.’

  ‘A cast off. Didn’t buy it for him.’

  They lay quietly for a couple of minutes.

  ‘I don’t ever want to see another dead body,’ Dom said.

  ‘Me neither. Gruesome. Can’t get it out o’ mi ’ead.’

  ‘Must have been worse for Sammy, he knew him.’

  They mulled this over.

  ‘He was scared of him. Wonder why.’ Dom was the thinker.

  ‘We’ll ask him.’

  They finally drifted off to sleep, but all three children didn’t make it through the night without waking.

  Daryl was still awake when he heard his father creep in. So was his mother. The sounds of movement from downstairs carried on for a while, then he heard footsteps climbing the stairs.

  The argument began as soon as he heard his dad go into the bedroom. He heard his own name mentioned, then his mum telling his dad he’d have to find somewhere else to live, and quick. It went on for some time, and then he caught the sound of footsteps retreating down the stairs, although he wasn’t aware of the bang of a door, so assumed his dad was, once again, sleeping on the sofa.

  Daryl sighed. Sometimes, he wished his dad would go. The atmosphere was much nicer when it was his mum and him, but he guessed it was never going to happen. His dad would never cope on his own.

  He rolled over and pulled the pillow tighter around his head. Sleep, his head moaned, sleep.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Vinnie. If there was anything better designed to put kids off drugs for life, the sight of Vinnie Walmsley’s body, chewed by the animals they loved and cared for in their den, certainly did the trick. It had been horrific. When the others had voted for him and Sammy to go to the police station, he had breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t him and Sammy who had showed bravery by facing the law; it was them for staying with the body.

  His eyes finally closed as daylight crept into his room, and he fell asleep wondering if the others had suffered a sleepless night as well.

  Sammy hadn’t closed his eyes at all. He had lived with the threat of being killed for so long, that now it was finally at an end, it sent his mind into free fall. The day he had seen Vinnie Walmsley swapping money for small packets outside the big school had proved to be the scariest day of his life. Until the day they’d found his body, of course.

  On that day outside the school gates, Vinnie had seen him. Later that night, he had come looking for him, and the threat had been life changing.

  ‘Don’t tell nobody, or else.’

  ‘Or else what?’ he had bravely squeaked.

  There had been a pause long enough for Sammy to recognise he was in deep shit.

  ‘Or else I’ll kill yer.’ Vinnie had drawn his finger across his own throat, somewhat prophetically as it turned out, and then pointed at Sammy. ‘Now, fuck off, kid, and keep that big mouth shut.’

  He had never told the other five, taking heed of the stark warning that had come from Vinnie. He had avoided him ever since, taking the long way home in preference to passing the Walmsley house.

  The relief, to him, was enormous; it occurred to him that he could lead a normal life now, instead of being scared of his own shadow. He would tell the others; they didn’t keep secrets, and he didn’t want this to be only his any longer.

  He got up before six and watched the sun slowly rise in the sky. They had arranged to meet at the Brownlows’, recognising they wouldn’t be able to go to their den; he liked it there, and it would be even better when they managed to get rid of that stuff in the plastic oven.

  Life would be normal again, once that happened.

  Ella slept, thanks to a double dose of six plus Calpol, a hot chocolate, and a bed full of teddies. Her mum stroking her head had helped as well. She stayed with her daughter until she knew for certain sleep had claimed Ella.

  Ella did wake briefly around three, thanks to an overfull bladder. She drifted back to sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, after her stagger to the bathroom.

  Cissie Johnston didn’t sleep too well. There was something not quite right about all of this, and she couldn’t for the life of her work out what it was. Ella knew, of that she was convinced, but she wasn’t saying anything.

  Cissie would bide her time. One day, Ella would break; she wasn’t the type of child to be keeping secrets.

  And then, she suspected, the police would really have to be called in.

  Chapter 6

  DC Heather Shaw watched the CCTV pictures for the third time. The cameras in the Asda car park had picked up Vinnie Walmsley exiting the shelter of the undercover car park and walking across the open-air one to a car, a silver Audi. The number plate had proved to be false; it was registered to a retired teacher, a Mrs Lorna Cuthbert, living in Brighton, who was currently enjoying the summer in her holiday home in France.

  Heather watched as Vinnie had got into the passenger seat, then saw both front doors open and a stunning woman climb out of the driver’s seat, dressed in an eye-catching black and white dress that emphasised her curves. Vinnie had followed her across the car park, and there, the cameras lost the picture.

  Fourteen minutes later, at 4.19pm, the camera registered the woman returning, still looking immaculately dressed from that distance. It was only when the zoom feature was engaged that the dirt on her knees showed up.

  Her sun hat hid her face, and although they suspected this was the murderer of Vinnie Walmsley, the CCTV gave them no clues as to who she was.

  The forensics had revealed he had been killed by someone standing behind him, right-handed, drawing the blade from left to right. It would have been a quick death.

  Heather sighed. How effective was the programme they were running, and had been for a few years, of going into schools and talking about drugs? Vinnie Walmsley had still been so young and must have heard the talk about the dangers, and yet, here he was, walking to his drug-related death.

  She logged out of the CCTV file and pulled the folder of the initial interviews with the children towards her. They would have to be seen again, interviewed a little more in depth, but she knew of the difficulties they faced when talking to kids. These days of CSI and NCIS on television made them wise to police procedure beyond their years, and they tended to only say what they could get away with.

  She checked the Brownlow’s number and picked up the phone. Sally Brownlow arranged to take the three children down to the station for 2pm.

  Sally called them in from the garden and explained what was to happen and watched as the three of them immediately returned to the garden and went into a huddle.

  What did they know? Had they seen something? Apart from a dead body, of course…

  ‘Stick to our story,’ Mark said to his brother and sister. ‘Forget the bit about the drugs. We’re expecting rain at the weekend, acco
rding to Daryl, so we can get rid of them then.’

  ‘It scares me,’ Freya said, biting her bottom lip. Both boys looked at her. She’d never been scared of anything. ‘It scares me that they’ll come and find it, the police. I’ve seen it on telly. They wave a piece of paper at the front door, barge in and search the place.’

  Dom smiled. ‘They’re not going to wave a piece of paper at the front door of your Wendy house, are they? You’re only nine.’

  ‘And they’re not really going to suspect Mum and Dad of stealing some drugs, are they?’ Mark added.

  ‘Who knows,’ Freya countered, stubborn as always. ‘Why can’t we flush it down the toilet?’

  ‘Because it’s a big bag of the stuff. What if it blocked the drains? What would we do, then?’ Dom pulled her close. ‘Come on, little ’un, think about it. We’ve done

  nothing wrong. We’ve got all these drugs off the street, and I bet they’re worth a good… oh, I don’t know, perhaps a thousand pounds, so the police aren’t going to shout at us, are they?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘A thousand pounds? Who do they belong to, then? I bet they’re good an’ mad.’

  The boys looked at each other and grinned. The real Freya was coming back.

  ‘We know what we’re saying, don’t we?’ Dom pushed the point. ‘When the others get here, we’ll talk a bit more about it, make sure we’re all saying the same thing, exactly as it happened yesterday afternoon, forgetting yesterday morning. Yesterday morning, we played croquet here. Yesterday afternoon, we went to the woods for a game of hide and seek and found the body.’

  They nodded, their faces serious.

  The garden gate banged, and Ella ran across the lawn towards them. ‘Sammy and Daryl are walking down the road,’ she said breathlessly. ‘They’ll be here in a minute. I’ve got to go to the police station this afternoon with Mum.’