by Mark Roberts
How long did you live after stepping into that car? Clay wondered.
‘Carol, can we look at the next two minutes after the white Uno went off screen.’
As Clay watched, she counted in her head, made a mental journey to the junction near St Anne’s Church and pictured coming back the other way along Aigburth Road towards the top of Jericho Lane and Otterspool Park.
‘Stop there, please. He performed an illegal U-turn by the church.’
On-screen there was no traffic passing Gino’s Bar or pedestrians on the icy pavement.
‘What are we looking at, Eve?’ asked White.
‘We’re looking at the moment, or as close as can be to it, when the Fiat Uno was taking the woman back down Aigburth Road and to her death in the park. We can’t see it for sure but we can be pretty certain that just out of the CCTV’s range there’s our quarry.’
‘What do you want us to do, Eve?’ asked Poppy.
‘Poppy, once Barney gets back, ask him to track the white Uno on the automatic number plate recognition cameras going back along Aigburth Road to the Dingle and Toxteth. Carol, can you circulate the picture of the woman from Gino’s Bar’s CCTV. We’re going to give this poor woman a name, and have this Raymond character in Interview Suite 1 within the next few hours.’
66
10.15 pm
In her room in Alder Hey, Marta Ondřej was asleep and having bad dreams.
Riley watched her mother Verka stroking her head and making comforting noises that did nothing to quell the torment that Marta was going through. As the rising sounds from Marta reached screaming point, she stopped suddenly and opened her eyes wide, like she’d hauled herself out of the void and had landed on the other side, where the light was brightest.
‘Matka...’
‘She’s just acknowledged her mother,’ Kate whispered to Riley. ‘Matka. Mother.’
Marta looked away from her mother and around the room. When her eyes settled on Riley, she said, ‘Policistka.’
‘Yes, Marta, that’s right,’ replied Riley. ‘I’m a policewoman.’
Marta’s eyes filled with light as she pulled down the bedding and swung her legs out. As her feet touched the floor, she supported her weight by holding onto the mattress.
‘This is what she is like,’ said Verka. ‘She is often scared and she understands little.’
‘Maybe she understands more than we think – she just can’t put it into words that well,’ said Riley.
Marta knelt down and looked under the bed for several moments. As she rose to her full height, she said, ‘Nic tam není.’
‘She said There’s nothing there,’ said Kate.
Marta walked towards the toilet, opened the door and had a good hard look at the space around the sink. She stood and faced the mirror. Riley took a deep breath, expecting her to start a prolonged bout of screaming, but instead she remained calm and silent.
She looked at Riley and made a motion with her hands for her to come and join her. ‘Policistka!’ She waved her hand rapidly and, as Riley did as she asked, noticed that her mother was coming, too.
She held up a hand in a stopping gesture. ‘Ne!’
‘Sit back down please, Verka,’ said Riley.
At the mirror, Riley stood behind Marta who continued staring calmly at the mirror. In the reflection, her eyes sought out Riley.
‘Nic tam není,’ said Marta, her voice measured but loaded with sadness.
‘It will grow back,’ replied Riley, moving her fingers from her scalp down to her collarbone. Marta copied the mime and Riley turned her round, placed her arms around her and felt the child’s hands copying her and patting her back as if she were a baby.
‘Gina Riley,’ said Marta. She pulled away from Riley’s arms and looked at the translator sitting by the door. ‘Kate?’
‘Ano. Kate.’
‘Kate, je policistka?’
‘Ne.’
She looked at her mother and said, ‘Matka.’
Verka smiled and pointed at herself. ‘Ano, Matka.’
Marta hobbled back to her bed and looked around the bedside table. She picked up the small silver and blue tin of rosary beads that the priest had left for her and, holding it to her left ear, shook the box, making the beads rattle.
As she walked to the glass partition, Marta opened the tin with her thumb and dropped the lid to the floor. She stood at the glass looking at the corridor outside. A look of immeasurable sadness crossed her features and it struck Riley that the girl had run out of tears. The lost and haunted look in her eyes made her appear a lot older than fourteen.
Marta sighed, and the whole weight of her recent memory was registered in the sinking of her shoulders. She looked into the corridor at the same spot with growing intensity, as if she could see someone who was invisible to everyone else’s eyes.
Verka stood up.
Instinct told Riley to hold up her hand and say, ‘Please Verka, no!’
As Marta stared out, she removed the rosary beads from the tin and allowed the base of the tin to join the lid on the floor.
She twisted the rosary beads around her fingers, rubbed and pulled them.
Her breathing grew louder and quicker as the seconds ticked by.
She pulled with growing force and one of the small metal clasps that linked the beads snapped. Marta whipped the broken rosary to the floor and her breathing grew quieter and slower as she stared out into the corridor.
‘Gina Riley,’ said Marta. ‘Chyťte toho ďábla. Chci svoje vlasy.’
Riley looked at Kate.
‘She said, Catch the Devil. I want my hair.’
Marta looked away from the corridor and at Riley.
‘Toho ďábla. Muže.’
‘The Devil is a man?’ asked Riley.
‘The Devil. Man,’ said Kate.
67
11.59 pm
Detective Sergeant Karl Stone placed the third sugar in his mug of coffee, stirred it and congratulated himself on cutting down from four spikes in his ten-a-day caffeine regime.
He looked at the document he had printed off from the internet and settled back to double-check the information he had discovered about Black Sun before firing off his round-robin on the fascist organisation to the team.
Stone confirmed the origin of the far-right sect, the way it spread across the globe after the fall of the Nazi regime, its criminal activities, its secrecy, the racist and anti-left engine that drove it and its ultimate demise as a force of any reckoning.
He heard a thin whistle five desks away and saw a broad smile lighting up Barney Cole’s face.
‘Good news, Barney?’
Cole dialled Clay’s number on his desk phone. ‘The very best, Karl...’ He hit speakerphone. ‘Hello, Eve.’
‘What have you got for me?’
‘Really great news. Data from the automatic number plate recognition cameras track the Fiat Uno. Going backwards from Aigburth Vale, I get a hit on Aigburth Road by the TA Barracks. I get a hit by the library. Is he coming in from Lark Lane and hence from Sefton Park? No. Is he driving at over forty and getting clocked by the speed cameras? Yes. I get a hit from the camera at the top of Aigburth Road at the junction. Is he coming from the Dingle or Toxteth? The Dingle. I get a hit on Park Road by Tesco. And then he hits a speed camera as he turns out of Dell Street. We’re looking for a man called Raymond who probably lives or is staying in or around Dell Street. He stole the Fiat Uno from Moses Street which is a two-minute walk from Dell Street. My next trick’s to narrow down the Raymonds in the neighbourhood, starting with those who live on Dell Street. I’ll try peopletracer.co.uk and dive into the electoral register. It’ll be quick, Eve.’
‘I’ll wait for your call and then go pay a visit to the Dingle. Who’s with you?’
‘Karl Stone.’
‘Ask him to wait for my call. I need him to come to the Dingle with me.’
‘I caught that, Eve,’ called Stone.
Cole placed the receiver bac
k.
‘How about you, Karl?’
‘I’ve been looking up Black Sun, seeing if I can shed a bit of light on the graffiti at both murder scenes.’
‘What have you got so far?’
‘Black Sun grew out of a far-right group called New Order back in 1973. It had lots of cells all across Italy, but they wanted to expand. By the late 1970s they had spread across Europe and into the USA, Japan, Brazil and Nigeria. They bombed public places, robbed banks and hijacked airplanes. They didn’t care who they killed but, here’s the irony, they had a strong Christian identity. Killing was acceptable because they were at war with governments who were agents of Satan. They did exceptionally well in the USA, sucking in all the anti-government, anti-gay, racist, gun-lobbying religious zealot meatheads.’
‘Any names jump out at you, Karl?’
‘Not yet. I’ll send you my email with a bit more detailed information.’
He looked at the email on his laptop screen and pressed send.
He stood up and put on his coat from the back of the chair.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘Park Road. To put myself in position for Eve when she calls. You?’
‘I’m tracking down our Ray or Raymond. I’ll be in touch.’
68
11.59 pm
Carmel Dare held on to her son Jack’s arm as he walked with her round the corner towards their home.
‘How’s Raymond been?’ she asked.
‘Doctor Salah told him off. I’ve taken his prescription to the chemist’s. Doctor Salah’s referring him back to Broad Oak, and wants to see him on a weekly basis.’
‘Thank you so much, Jack. You’re so good to me and your brother.’
He drank in the relief in his mother’s face as they arrived at the gate.
‘How’s he been this evening?’
‘Asleep as far as I know. Last time I saw him he was spread out over his bed. I think he’d been drinking vodka or white rum by the kip of his breath. I was working out in my room.’
Jack turned the key in the front door lock and felt his heart freefall as he put on the hall light. Something was wrong. The house was unnaturally still.
‘Wait here, Mum.’ He looked at the kitchen door, where Jasmine would normally be scratching the paintwork to attract his attention as soon he stepped over the threshold.
‘Jasmine?’
Silence and no barking.
‘Jasmine?’
He opened the kitchen door and scanned the room but there was no sign of her.
‘Raymond?’
Jack ran up the stairs two at a time.
Raymond was not in his room.
He rattled the lock on his bedroom door, and the room was secure.
Carmel was at the bottom of the stairs. ‘There’s no one downstairs, Jack.’
He checked the bathroom and his mother’s room and there was nothing and no one there.
‘If anything’s happened to my dog, if he’s harmed her in any way, I swear to God, I’m going to kill him. Wait a minute. Wait a minute.’
Jack hurried down the stairs, to the kitchen and the door leading into the back garden. He looked at the hook on the back door and felt a surge of anger and a physical pain in his core like a smack from a baseball bat.
Jasmine’s lead wasn’t there.
‘What’s he thinking of?’
He opened the back door and tripped the security light.
‘He’s left the back door unlocked,’ said Jack, walking across the grass to the bottom of the garden in seconds.
He tried the shed door and found it locked. Taking his keys from his jacket pocket, he found the shed key and unlocked the door.
He looked at the floor-to-ceiling junk, but there was no sign of Jasmine.
‘He’s taken her out, the idiot,’ said Jack, marching back to the house.
‘Try not to be too angry with him, Jack.’ Carmel blocked the back door. ‘Tell me you won’t be too angry with him!’
‘Mum, please get out of the way. I need to go out and look for her.’
Carmel moved to one side and said, ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you stay here in case he shows up with Jasmine. If he does, call me straight away.’
As he ran down the street, he looked in one direction and thought of Sefton Park. Then he looked the other way at Otterspool Promenade.
He headed for the vastness of Otterspool Promenade, seven kilometres long and half a kilometre wide.
Day Three
Wednesday, 3rd December
69
00.25 am
At twenty-five minutes past midnight, Clay received a call from DC Barney Cole. Someone called Raymond who wasn’t on the electoral register had shown up on People Tracker.
She drove down Park Road followed by Detective Sergeant Karl Stone in his car, and a pair of constables in a third vehicle as back-up. She turned left into Wellington Road and picking up the even side slowed down, looking for the door to 102.
‘108, 106,’ she said to herself. ‘104.’ She parked her car to block the vehicles in and around 102 Wellington Road, and felt adrenaline pump through her body as she approached the frosted PVC front door.
Ringing the bell, she heard Stone getting out of his vehicle, and the constables splitting up to block the alleyway behind the houses at the top and bottom ends. In houses on either side of 102 Wellington Road, lights went out as the neighbours prepared for a better view.
Clay kept her finger on the bell and banged hard on the door. A light came on in the bedroom above her and a woman’s voice filtered into the night.
‘All right, all right, for fuck’s sake, I’m coming!’
The downstairs hall light came on and feet hurried down the stairs. The woman opened the door but kept the chain on, poked her pudgy face into the gap.
Clay showed the woman her warrant card and said, ‘Detective Chief Inspector Eve Clay.’
‘Oh, he’s done something really serious this time, for the likes of you to be coming to the door at this hour.’
‘Your neighbours are watching, Terri.’
‘Nosey bastards,’ she observed, unchaining the door. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘Electoral register.’
‘What the fuck’s he done now?’ asked Terri, moving aside to allow Clay and Stone over the doorstep.
‘Who?’ asked Clay.
‘Benji.’
‘We’re not here about him. We’re here about Raymond.’
Terri leaned her bulk against the banister rail, folded her arms and looked utterly confused. ‘Raymond?’
‘Is he here?’
‘Of course he’s here. Come on, I’ll show you.’
Clay followed Terri up the stairs as Stone stayed put at the bottom to catch any runners.
‘Raymond’s in there,’ she said, pointing at a closed door across the narrow corridor from a bathroom. ‘Benji’s in the box room, next to mine.’
Clay looked into Terri’s bedroom and was shocked at the depth and variety of pinks in the space.
‘Benji’s asleep in there. He’s out for the count. Shouldn’t tell you this but... weed.’
‘Can you wake Raymond for me, Terri?’
She opened his door and the first thing Clay noticed was the ventilating machine to which the old man was attached.
‘Dad was a heavy smoker for years.’
Clay nodded, felt claws of disappointment running down her back.
‘Show me Benjamin.’
As the door opened, Clay noticed that the bedside lamp was still on, picking out a skinny boy of about twelve years of age. ‘He’s scared of the dark, but he thinks he’s a big man now that he’s started smoking weed. What can I do? I can’t keep him locked up in the house twenty-four/seven.’
Clay looked around the room, saw the walls were covered with pictures of skaters and snowboarders.
‘Could you come and have a word with him when he’s a full shilling in the morning? Put the
living shits up him!’
‘I’ll send a community officer round.’ Clay stifled the urge to scream with frustration, and headed back down the stairs. ‘We’re looking for someone called Ray or Raymond who lives locally. Ring any bells?’
‘Oh, yeah. Don’t I fucking just know for a fact he was the cunt who broke into my house when I was on holiday. Same cunt who gave Benji free weed for a couple of weeks and then started charging him down at the skateboard park in Otterspool.’
Clay sensed that Terri was on the verge of a long and passionate rant, so she intervened. ‘We’re in a hurry. Name and address?’
‘His name’s Raymond Dare and he lives in the Holy Land, at 62 Jeremiah Street next to Moses Street.’
70
00.45 am
After running for fifteen minutes along the concrete promenade, Jack Dare had not made out a single human form on the path that followed the winding River Mersey. Dark water lapped at the concrete beneath his feet, a melancholic sound that spiked his desperation and mounting anxiety.
He stopped when his phone rang out. ‘Mum, what’s happening?’
‘You sound out of breath, Jack.’
‘I’ve been running.’ He looked up at the globe of the overhead street light and wished that Jasmine would come trotting down the grassy slope to him.
‘Raymond’s showed up at home.’
‘With Jasmine?’
‘No. He says he took her to Sefton Park and she ran away.’
‘I’ll meet you there, Sefton Park. Bring soft lad with you.’
‘He’s rambling.’
‘Just do it, will you!’
‘Jack, no, I’m sorry. He’s not well.’
Disappointment stabbed his heart and split it into two cold halves. ‘Did he say where he lost her?’
‘He said something about the lake near Aigburth Vale.’