‘Now, now, don’t make a fuss, Inspector.’
He tugged on the belt and she began to choke. While she gasped for breath, Ewing unscrewed the cap of the vial and dribbled the contents over her prawn salad.
‘Jez told me that there is a risk of various natural toxins in almost every food. It’s just that seafood is riskier than most. All sorts of nasty things in shellfish. You see, many of them, like mussels and oysters, feed on plankton in the sea. They filter seawater and extract all manner of weird stuff. Then all the nasty things accumulate inside them and dumb people like you and me come along and eat the buggers. Next thing you know, we have a gippy tummy or we’re throwing up all around the place. Some aren’t quite as lucky, though, and they die. Did you know that Jez was something of an expert on seafood toxins? I bet you didn’t.’
CHAPTER 51
Murray did not go home. He was in no hurry to return to an empty flat. Wilson, also, had no reason to leave the station early. He wanted to get through more of the CCTV recordings they had amassed at St Anne Street as part of this enquiry. Both detectives were convinced they had found the poisoner, but neither one had identified the culprit. Murray realized that Tara was adamant that the perpetrator was linked to Harbinson Fine Foods, but he wasn’t convinced. For instance, why hadn’t the poisoner planted the poison at one of the Harbinson factories if they were connected to the firm? Surely, this would have been the best way to discredit the company. Instead, the perpetrator had visited several food stores, putting themselves at greater risk of being caught directly, or on CCTV. Murray reckoned this could simply be a case of a nut-job acting alone, wanting people dead just for kicks. Or maybe it was a disgruntled customer, taking his complaint to the extreme by attempting to blacken the name of the company.
As both detectives studied the video images well into the evening without further success they were beginning to think their luck had run out.
Murray sat back from his computer, yawning and stretching his arms in the air. Wilson had nipped out of the station and brought back some fish and chips with lots of salt and vinegar and a couple of cans of fizzy drink. Just the stuff to keep you on the job for another hour or two.
‘They didn’t have cod,’ said Wilson, ‘so I got haddock.’
It didn’t matter. Murray could seldom taste the difference.
‘I’m bloody starving,’ said Murray. ‘Staring at all that food in the supermarkets has given me an appetite.’
‘Find anything interesting?’
Murray shook his head, his mouth full of battered fish.
‘I was wondering about a car,’ Wilson continued, ‘before I went out.’ He logged into his screen and called up an image of a vintage sports car. Then he turned his screen for Murray to see. ‘It’s a Triumph Stag. Don’t know the year, but the same car appears several times in various car parks around the city.’
Murray shrugged, so what. He was enjoying his meal.
‘I was just thinking,’ said Wilson, who had yet to eat even one chip. ‘That spanner, the one used to kill Maggie Hull. We reckoned it came from a toolkit or a set of tools, you know, like the ones you used to get when you bought a new motor. My dad bought a Toyota in the seventies and he still has the tool roll that came with it. It’s got spanners, screwdrivers, pliers, a spark-plug spanner and a hammer.’
‘So what’s your point?’ Murray asked before taking a slurp of his drink.
‘If we can identify the car used by the poisoner, and if it’s a classic like this one then maybe the spanner will be missing from the toolkit.’
‘Jeez, Wilson, you sound like Tara linking the murder of Maggie Hull with the poisoner again. And then you go off on one about a nice motor you’ve spotted in a car park.’
Wilson grimaced and finally took one of his chips.
‘Well, I think I’ll keep an eye out for this car, just in case.’
CHAPTER 52
‘One squeak from you, Inspector Grogan, and I’ll pull the belt tight until you’re dead, understand?’
Ewing removed the tape from Tara’s mouth. It snagged painfully in her hair and she cried out. The sound died in her throat as Ewing tugged hard on the belt fastened to her wrists and around her neck. Tara’s face turned red. She gagged. Ewing stood behind her, his knee pressed into the small of her back, his hands holding the belt tight like a pair of reins. Her legs could no longer support her, but Ewing released his grip and she collapsed to the floor. Before she caught a decent breath, he hauled her to her feet again and stood her to face him. He held her steady, grasping her by the arms, pinching at her skin. His pale face was a picture of hate.
‘What do you want from me?’ she managed to croak as she struggled to catch a deep breath.
‘You should have stayed out of it.’
‘I’m a police officer. Innocent people are dead because of what you’ve done.’
He grinned a remorseless sneer in response to what she’d said.
‘Have a prawn, Inspector!’
He picked a single prawn from the plate and pressed it to her mouth. Despite the pain in her neck, she managed to turn her face away. Ewing scooped a handful of food from the plate, pulled Tara closer and pressed his hand to her mouth. She tried desperately to keep her mouth closed, but Ewing, with his free hand, jerked her head back by pulling her hair. Still, her mouth stayed shut. He stepped behind her and held the food tight against her mouth and nose. She had to breathe. Suffocate, or die from the toxin in the food. Her reflexes finally succumbed and Ewing pushed lettuce, prawns and seafood sauce into her mouth. Holding her from behind, he reached to the plate for another helping.
Tara struggled at the most inopportune moment for Ewing. His hand missed the plate, and as Tara thrashed back and forth, choking on the mouthful of food, the plate swept off the counter and smashed on the floor. With all her strength, she backed Ewing against her fridge and tried to wrestle free. She spat out the food from her mouth, praying that she had not swallowed any of the poison. Before Ewing could catch hold of the belt that still was choking her, she scurried away.
‘Come here, you little bitch!’
Her mobile rang. Despite the wine spill, it was still working. She scrambled to reach it on the coffee table. Ewing chased after her and tackled her to the floor. Falling short of the phone, she at least saw the caller ID. It was from Wilson.
‘No, you don’t, Inspector. I haven’t finished with you.’ Ewing grabbed the ringing mobile and threw it across the room. It clattered against a wall.
‘Let me go! That’s my colleague; he’s at the front door.’
‘You’re lying!’
‘Stay and find out. While you’re here, you can give yourself up.’
She saw the nervous expression return to Ewing’s face. This man was no hardened killer. He rolled her over so that she lay face down on the floor, Ewing sitting astride her lower back. Suddenly, her head felt as though a ton weight had just dropped upon it. Ewing had thumped her across the back of her head. He yelled frantically and rained punches into her head and back. He pulled tight on the belt around her neck. Then he struck her hard to the side of her face. She was vaguely aware of him rising from her. She thought she would never again draw breath. All went dark and silent.
CHAPTER 53
Murray was first to react when he saw the broken plate and prawn salad scattered over the kitchen floor. Wilson was already calling for an ambulance. Tara was groggy but conscious.
‘The food, Tara, was it poisoned?’ asked Murray.
He unfastened the pink towelling belt from around Tara’s throat and wrists and noticed the deep red imprint on her skin. He saw also the remnants of food smeared on her cheek. There was blood smudged over her face where Ewing had inflicted his panicked blows. Tara’s eyes were open, there were a few uttered groans but she couldn’t speak coherently.
‘Ambulance on its way,’ said Wilson, helping Murray to lift Tara onto her sofa.
The detectives had reacted after their second call to Ta
ra’s mobile. With no reply, Murray decided, from previous experience with his DI, that something was amiss. Tara seldom ignored calls. Once Ewing had fled, Tara finally managed to answer the third call from Wilson by pressing her nose to the call answer symbol on her screen. Beyond that, she was incapable of anything more. With no response to his questions, Wilson decided immediately that Tara was in trouble. They had to hope that they would find her at home.
* * *
At the Royal Liverpool Hospital, Tara was treated in the same manner as the other victims of poisoning had been. Her stomach was flushed, and she was placed on a high intake of fluids. Murray had gathered some of the food from the kitchen floor and it was sent immediately for testing. Both detectives stayed with Tara until her parents arrived. By then, Tara was fully awake and slowly regaining some strength to her voice. She couldn’t help a slight giggle when she noticed her two police companions standing over her bed in the A & E department.
‘It was Toby Ewing,’ she muttered.
‘We know, ma’am. That’s why we were calling you,’ said Murray. ‘John made a brilliant discovery.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Wilson. ‘We couldn’t get a face of the poisoner on the CCTV, but I noticed a car in the car park at several stores. Sometimes it was just a glimpse of it coming and going, but we managed to get the licence plate. It’s a classic car, a Triumph Stag, 1972, royal blue convertible, registered in the name of Toby Ewing. I thought it was too big of a coincidence for his car to be at several of the stores affected by the poisonings.’
‘Well done, John, very good job,’ said Tara with a sigh. ‘I knew it had to be someone in that damn company.’
At that point, Tara’s parents and Superintendent Tweedy arrived. Murray and Wilson stepped outside to catch some fresh air. It had been a long night.
After a few minutes listening to her mother’s concerns for her well-being, Tara soon had the urge to be out of the hospital and alongside her colleagues working to bring an end to this case. Even as her mother issued plans for her convalescence at home in Caldy, Tara was dealing with questions still unanswered. Was Toby Ewing the sole perpetrator? Had she been wrong about Jez? If Ewing was the poisoner, why had he done it, and was he also the person who had murdered Jez and Maggie?
She had to get out of the hospital. Surely, if she were to be affected by the toxin it would have already taken its toll. She ached all over and had no strength in her voice but that was not going to stop her.
CHAPTER 54
Following a restless night on a ward where she had been transferred, finally, at three-thirty in the morning, she was relieved that she didn’t seem to have any ill-effects from the food that had been forced down her throat by Ewing. At least, she didn’t believe so. Her head pounded, her eyes were puffy and her back was so stiff she felt like a woman three times her age. Once the junior doctor had done his morning rounds and the nurse had checked her blood pressure and temperature, Tara wasted no time in asking to use a telephone. She was allowed the use of a desk phone at the nurse’s station. She called Murray.
‘Come and get me out of here,’ she whispered when he answered the call.
‘Ma’am?’
‘I said, get me out of here. We have work to do.’
‘But you should be resting, Tara. You can’t just up and walk out of hospital.’
‘Yes, I can and don’t call me Tara. It’s ma’am to you. So get your ass over here now!’
She put the phone down. The young nurse seated at the desk looked open-mouthed at her. Tara smiled demurely as if all was well and limped back to bed.
She was dressed and waiting in the ward when Murray arrived.
‘Ewing’s done a runner,’ he said, as she carefully eased herself into the front seat of his car.
‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Have you been to his home?’
‘Not yet. A patrol car was despatched there late last night. No one at home.’
‘Right then. Let’s get out there now. And afterwards, I want Harbinson brought to the station for questioning.’
‘Harbinson?’ Murray drove into the morning traffic.
‘Yes, Harbinson. That man knows exactly what has been going on the whole time. We’ll make do with him until we get our hands on Toby Ewing. Talking of whom, where exactly does he live?’
‘Barnston.’
‘Wow, not that far from Royden Park. He wasn’t too concerned where he did his killing.’
Tara thought on about Toby Ewing as Murray drove to The Wirral. She had to admit that on the first meeting with the man, despite his rather anxious manner, he was not someone she had in her mind for any of these killings. She regretted now, not having done enough background checks on him.
* * *
The Ewing house was a renovated stone cottage that sat on a quiet road not far from the centre of Barnston village. The area was probably well-suited to the lifestyle that Ewing enjoyed, Tara mused. Murray parked the car on the gravel drive. A double garage, both doors open, was separated from the house by a wide farm-style gate that led to extensive gardens at the rear. Murray alerted Tara to the vehicle inside the garage.
‘Ma’am. The car that Wilson identified on the CCTV.’
Tara looked briefly at the well-maintained classic. Murray, thinking the same thoughts as his boss, had gone straight to the bonnet.
‘No signs of any damage if it was used to run down the Riordan woman,’ he said, inspecting the front bumper.
Tara shivered at the thought.
‘I’m sure he has at least one other vehicle.’
Murray joined her as they approached the solid oak door of the cottage. There was no bell, so Murray used the heavy knocker to summon whoever might be at home. A moment later a woman’s face peered out from the quartered window of the kitchen. Tara glared back until the face disappeared.
‘Who is it?’ said a distorted female voice. Only then did Tara and Murray notice the intercom, fixed to a wooden post to their left and partially obscured by a potted palm.
‘Detective Inspector Grogan and Detective Sergeant Murray, Merseyside Police,’ Tara replied into the speaker.
‘How can I help you?’ said the voice.
Tara puffed in exasperation. Were they going to conduct the entire interview through this bloody machine?
‘We would like to speak with Mr Toby Ewing,’ said Murray. ‘Is he at home this morning?’
There was no immediate reply until, a few seconds later, there came the sound of a bolt being released and the heavy door edged open on a chain. Tara stepped forward, taking command.
‘Morning, Mrs Ewing, is it?’ She didn’t let her answer. She presented her warrant card for the face to inspect. ‘Is your husband at home this morning?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the face. The voice was soft but concerned, the accent typical of a soul who has spent more years in the south than on Merseyside. The face looked thin, rather bony and sported a pair of dark-framed glasses. That was as much as could be seen through the partially open door.
‘Then maybe you could help us, Mrs Ewing?’ said Tara, keeping patience.
The door closed momentarily as the chain was slid off.
‘You’d better come in,’ Ewing said nervously as she opened the door wide.
Tara didn’t find the woman at all pretty, slim yes, wearing a dark skirt, cream blouse and a pair of pink fluffy slippers but not attractive. She looked more like someone, an academic, for instance, who cared more for her work than her appearance. Her mousey hair, resting on her shoulders, was straight and unadventurously styled, her pasty face devoid of make-up. Considering also the curt tone of the woman, as far as Tara was concerned, she seemed to lack any charm at all.
She led them through a chilly and dim hall with several coats hanging from hooks and several pairs of wellington boots standing on the stone floor. The kitchen felt much warmer, an Aga was doing its job and there was a rich smell of coffee percolating. Mrs Ewing did not invite them to sit; it was u
nlikely therefore that they would be offered any of the coffee.
Tara had been right on one score. Several heavy-looking books were open on the kitchen table.
‘How can I help you?’ Mrs Ewing said. She seemed to inspect the bruised face of the young officer who had limped into her home.
‘Doing a spot of work, I see,’ Tara commented and nodded towards the books, her attempt at being friendly.
Ewing winced more than smiled but offered no further information.
‘My husband will not be home until late tonight, Inspector. What is this about?’
‘You’re certain of that?’
‘Yes. I’m not sure of his plans exactly, but I do expect him home tonight.’
Tara snatched a glance around the room. A modern kitchen with all the gadgets, the coffee maker, microwave, double fridge-freezer, an enormous wine rack, well-stocked, a plasma television in one corner beside a comfortable sofa and a computer workstation close by. Mrs Ewing had watched Tara carefully as she scanned her room.
‘When did you last speak with him?’
‘Yesterday afternoon, why? Please tell me why you wish to speak with him, Inspector.’
‘Did he come home last night?’ Tara asked, ignoring, for now, the woman’s plea for information.
‘I refuse to answer any further questions, Inspector, until you tell me exactly what this is all about.’ Defiant, but looking more like a fuming schoolgirl, Catherine Ewing folded her arms and glared at Tara.
‘We wish to speak to Mr Ewing in connection with the murders of four people. You may have heard about them in the news. They were poisoned.’
Ewing’s arms dropped to her sides. She looked like someone who had just seen a boulder crashing through her kitchen.
‘But I thought Harbinson’s had been cleared of any blame. The poison did not come from the factory.’
THE DARING NIGHT Page 19