Overkill

by Maureen Carter

‘The game – as you put it – is over as far as I’m concerned,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you what you need to know and I’ll happily pay for what I’ve done.’

  ‘Hang fire a minute.’ Bev raised a palm. ‘It’ll have to be under caution.

  ‘Of course.’ Cooper waited until Carol had run through the Miranda rights, then related a story not unlike many others Bev had heard. A young girl groomed by a pimp, hooked on drugs, sold on the meat market. There were three variations though: first, Clare had found a proper boyfriend and had tried to break free; second, her pimp had killed her as an example to the rest of his stable; and third, her grief-stricken mother had wreaked vengeance by waging war against pimps, wiping them out the same way Clare had died.

  After Clare’s death, Cooper said, she’d been in no fit state to do anything. For months she’d barely been able to drag herself out of bed, tortured by knowing that her daughter’s killer was still out there, still ruining girls’ lives. Pimps got away with murder, she reasoned, and they deserved to pay for it. Her obsession grew, and over the next five years she worked on ideas that would achieve what she regarded as justice.

  She changed her name, moved to Birmingham and started executing her battle plans, gathering the means to attack and targeting the enemy. It didn’t happen overnight, of course, but they say revenge is a dish best served cold. Cooper’s eyes welled up several times during the telling, and Bev felt a scintilla of sympathy for the woman. But four cold-blooded murders?

  Handing her a tissue, Bev said, ‘It was way more than an eye for an eye.’

  ‘Was it?’ She blew her nose. ‘Then I don’t suppose you have children.’

  ‘I do,’ Caz said, ‘boy and girl.’

  ‘Well, imagine a filthy pimp doing to your child what he did to Clare. Everyone who knew her said she was bright, funny, beautiful, loving. When I found my daughter’s body … I couldn’t even recognize her.’

  Bev nodded towards the photographs. ‘So you formed SWAT to do the same to your victims?’

  ‘Victims?’ Bev had never heard a laugh so brittle. ‘They were monsters.’

  ‘They were sons, too, Mrs Cooper.’ Carol’s delivery was tart.

  ‘They deserved everything they got.’

  ‘We’re going to need detail,’ Bev said.

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ She lifted a file off the desk, held it close to her face. ‘It’s all in here. The planning, strategy, execution. A full and frank confession, as they say. I’s dotted, t’s crossed.’

  ‘Not so fast. You didn’t do this on your own,’ Bev said. ‘I want names, numbers—’

  ‘I sign this on one condition.’

  ‘What makes you think you’re in a position to lay down conditions?’

  ‘Because it’s the only way you’ll find out what happened.’

  Bev tapped a finger against pursed lips. ‘So, what’s the condition?’

  ‘As of now, you stop looking for anyone else.’

  ‘No way. That’s not how it works.’

  ‘Fine. I retract the confession.’

  ‘Look, we already know about Kelly Hunt and Val Masters,’ Bev argued.

  ‘Kelly’s left the country. Val had no idea what was going on. She was a pawn. I only used her to lure you here.’

  ‘So you could keep tabs on the inquiry?’

  ‘It helped.’ Cooper smiled. ‘Hearing developments from the horse’s mouth, as it were.’

  ‘Yeah, and I bet you loved pointing us in the wrong direction. Planted evidence, dodgy tip-offs, pictures in the post.’

  ‘It kept you occupied.’ The fleeting smile was thinner this time.

  ‘What was the wallet thing all about?’ Bev asked.

  ‘Wallet?’

  ‘Sam Hayes’s, stuffed with notes; shoved through the door at Darwin Avenue.’

  ‘Oh that. It was a lucky find when I went through Dean Hobbs’s pockets in the porch. My guess is he lifted it off Hayes earlier that night. They both worked in the vice trade, saw each other as rivals. There was no love lost, believe me.’

  ‘I’d have thought the cash would come in handy,’ Bev said. ‘Why didn’t you keep it?’

  ‘Letting you find it was more valuable to me.’ Smirking, she added, ‘Like the Rolex. I’d long relieved Ward of his watch. That particular plant had been planned in advance; but both proved effective distractions, didn’t they?’

  ‘What do you want? A medal?’

  ‘I must say,’ – Cooper again – ‘I did rather want you to focus on Cox.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘I’d got to know him rather too well and he’d outlived his purpose.’

  ‘As in?’

  ‘Cox provided me with entrées to his various sleazy circles. Through him I had access to drugs, vehicles, properties. Generous to a fault was Marty. But I didn’t need him anymore.’

  Bev frowned. They must’ve been bloody close, then. ‘So when you say “too well” …?’

  ‘I’m sure you can use your imagination, detective.’

  Bev stifled a gasp. ‘You were sleeping with the enemy?’

  ‘Needs must. Means to ends. I had to finance the campaign somehow. And poor old Marty fell for me in a big way. The ugly toad was so grateful a half-decent woman would take more than a look at him, it felt to him like I was doing him the favours.’

  ‘You prostituted yourself to be able to execute all this?’

  ‘They say all’s fair, don’t they? In love and war.’

  Bev pinched the bridge of her nose, damn near speechless. ‘Why was Cox the first to die?’

  ‘Take a wild guess.’

  The venom in her voice gave Bev a clue. ‘He was the pimp who killed Clare?’

  ‘Clap, clap, detective.’

  Bev almost had to admire the woman. Cooper and her accomplices had not only infiltrated enemy territory: they’d formed a fighting force to kill and dispose of their quarry. Bev nodded slowly. Of course it was a joint effort. It had to be. How else would they have enticed, overpowered and then manhandled the prey? She stifled a snort. What a bloody misnomer. It had been womanhandling all the way along the military line: lures, decoys, drivers, despatchers, and what’s more, they’d very nearly got away with it.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’ Cooper brandished the file again. ‘If I sign will you leave the others alone? Let them get on with their lives?’

  ‘I’m curious,’ Bev said. ‘Just tell me how many of you were in it, first.’

  ‘Only four.’ That figured: four puncture marks, four knives, gang of …

  ‘Hold on.’ Bev frowned. ‘How come there were five of you in the pic?’

  ‘We had what you might call a loose cannon.’ One of the women had apparently lost her bottle and gone missing before the action started. ‘Anyway, it’s by the bye.’ Cooper shrugged. ‘What’s your answer, detective?’

  Bev held the woman’s gaze for around ten seconds then said, ‘Okay, it’s a deal.’

  ‘Sarge.’ Carol cautioned. ‘You can’t—’

  ‘Leave it out, Caz. Think of the time it’ll save. ’Sides, let’s face it – they were only pimps.’

  ‘If you have a problem?’ Cooper cocked her head at Carol.

  ‘She doesn’t,’ Bev said. ‘Get on with it.’

  Cooper picked up a pen, signed eight sheets of A4, handed the paperwork across the desk.

  Bev leafed through it, then looked up. ‘By the way, I lied.’

  ‘And I’m wired,’ Carol said.

  ‘So you,’ Bev said pointing at Cooper, ‘are well and truly … take a wild guess.’

  Smiling, Cooper raised the glass in a mock-toast before hurling the water at Bev’s face. ‘You’d be fucked, too, if I’d decided to chuck acid again.’

  55

  ‘Knock, knock.’

  Bev glanced up from her desk to see Powell, Mac, Carol and Darren troop into her office. ‘Come in,’ she murmured.

  ‘Joining us for a jar, Morriss?’ Powell waggled an imaginary glass.
<
br />   ‘Nah, you’re all right.’ She didn’t feel in the mood for jollity, but she also had a prior arrangement: a hot date with a cold case.

  ‘Aw, come on, boss,’ Mac said, ‘the others are there waiting to celebrate.’

  ‘Celebrate what? A pyrrhic victory?’

  ‘A what?’ Powell frowned.

  ‘It means—’ Carol started.

  ‘I know what it means, Pemberton,’ Powell said, flapping a hand. ‘But you’re wrong, Bev, ’cause in the end, we’ll have the last laugh. Cooper’s banged to rights and we’ll nab the others soon enough. Think of it as one down, three to go.’

  With the detail in Cooper’s confession and Val Masters’ help – whether she liked it or not – plus weeks, if not months, of painstaking detective work – they’d almost certainly track down Cooper’s sisters-in-arms and secure convictions. They already had several more than promising leads. But.

  ‘It’s not just that, gaffer,’ Bev said. ‘Whichever way you look at it, four blokes are dead. They ain’t coming back.’ She’d even taken down their images from her wall.

  ‘Spilt milk, Morriss.’

  ‘Yeah, and blood. Hell of a lot of that.’

  Powell sniffed. ‘Who’s the chirpy little soul tonight then, eh?’

  ‘I understand, sarge,’ Carol said. ‘No one deserves to die that way.’

  Whatever they’ve done. Bev had almost lost sight of that fact. And it was a sobering thought.

  ‘Know what’ll perk you up, Morriss?’ Powell winked. ‘A stiff drink. Shame you—’

  ‘Out. Now.’ Mock-stern, she pointed her pen at the door. ‘And that’s an order.’

  ‘Come in, bab. Nice to see you again.’

  ‘Ta, Charlie. You look well,’ Bev said, wiping her feet on a ‘Welcome’ mat. Mind, a few weeks in Spain would be enough to give anyone a glow. ‘I see you’ve lost the ’tache.’ Silver-pencil variety. Still had the thatch of white hair, though.

  ‘Well spotted. No flies on you, eh? Have a seat in here, kiddo,’ he said holding open a door on the right. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  She caught a whiff of his baccy breath as she entered. ‘Cuppa tea’d be good.’

  ‘Nothing stronger?’ He frowned. ‘Oh, course, you’re driving. Wouldn’t do for a cop to get in trouble with the law, would it?’

  ‘You’d know all about that, Charlie.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Being an ex-cop.’

  ‘Ah, with you.’ With dentures like Charlie’s, Bev reckoned she’d keep the smiles to a minimum. ‘Shan’t be two ticks,’ he said, ‘make yourself comfy.’

  ‘Will do, ta.’ She watched him leave, noted again the military bearing. He was all of six foot and had no hint of a stoop; looked to Bev like he’d dropped a load of weight, though. Glancing round, she wasn’t too sure about the comfy bit. The sitting room stank of fag smoke and looked more Spartan than snug: twin wing chairs either side of a four-bar fire, low coffee table, old-fashioned sideboard. No telly, pictures or knick-knacks. He’d mentioned sorting out his old police notebooks and files. She couldn’t see them lying around, either. She tightened her lips. She’d be well hacked off if tonight turned out to be a fool’s errand.

  ‘Sugar’s on the tray: help yourself, bab. Not that you don’t look sweet enough to me.’

  She forced a matching smile, then waited until he looked settled before opening proceedings.

  ‘Right bummer about DCI Mellor, isn’t it, Charlie? You finally trace him and he’s only gone and popped his clogs.’ The low-key tone was deliberate.

  ‘Yeah – mind, it came as a shock to his missus, an’ all.’ He glanced up from dunking a digestive in his tea.

  ‘When was it he died?’ Still dead casual.

  ‘I told you – a while back.’

  ‘Days? Weeks?

  His hand stilled slightly as he reached for another biscuit. ‘I think she said a month. To be honest, bab, once I knew he was dead, I sort of lost interest.’

  Bev gave a slow nod. ‘Right.’

  ‘He ain’t around now, so what’s it matter?’

  ‘I just want to get at the truth about how baby Fay died, Charlie.’

  ‘’Course you do, Bev. I can see that. I’m happy to carry on digging’ – more dunking – ‘but as I told you before, Bill Byford always maintained Mellor had a hand in it.’

  ‘Yes, you said,’ she murmured, studying what she could see of his face. So why hadn’t Byford voiced his thoughts to anyone at the time? She’d read his files and notes, knew he’d put nothing on paper, and she’d never heard the name ‘Mellor’ cross the guv’s lips. Didn’t make sense to her, nor did it stack up with what Powell had told her the other day about Mellor being a saint with police awards coming out his ears.

  ‘This cloud Mellor left under,’ she said leaning forward, elbows on knees, ‘what was that all about?’

  He traced a finger along the line where the moustache had been. ‘Something to do with threatening a witness. Or was it falsifying logs? Tell the truth, I don’t rightly remember.’

  Tell the truth? In Bev’s experience, people who came out with that line were usually lying through their teeth. What if there wasn’t anything to remember? What if he’d fabricated the whole Mellor story from the word go? So keen to work a case again, he thought feeding her a new lead – however false – would keep him on board.

  ‘Tell me more about the guv’s suspicions, Charlie.’

  ‘Bill was never one to show his hand, Bev, you’d know that.’ He made eye contact, paused a while before adding, ‘He’d drop the odd word here and there. It kinda gave me the feeling he knew more than he was letting on.’

  Sounded nothing like the guv to her. ‘Would looking through the old notebooks help? I’d love to see them, Charlie.’ Or were they a figment of his imagination as well?

  ‘It might. I searched the loft like I promised, but I must’ve moved them somewhere else.’

  ‘You’ve not found them, then?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Enough already. She might as well go for broke. ‘Straight up, Charlie, are you bullshitting me?’

  ‘Why’d I do that?’

  ‘’Cause I’ve heard things differently.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like this.’ She took a copy of the obit from her pocket and passed it to him, watched as he read the glowing tribute.

  ‘Ah, right,’ he said. ‘I’d not seen that.’

  ‘Did you actually talk to his wife?’

  He dropped his head, murmured a ‘No.’

  ‘Why’d you malign the guy, Charlie? Mellor’s no more a bent cop than I am.’

  He reached for a pack of Embassy and a lighter. ‘It was just something to say to keep you interested, Bev. I made it all up. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Not half as sorry as me, mate.’ Talk about all mouth and no trousers. She’d half a mind to do him for wasting police time. Not that it would work, given her inquiries were off the books. No, the fault was partly hers. She’d been so damn pleased Charlie was batting on baby Fay’s side, she’d taken his words at face value. She’d fallen hook, line and sinker. Make that stinker. Standing, she reached for her bag. ‘Ta for the tea. I’m off.’

  She was halfway to the door before he spoke. ‘I was also keen to know how much you’d already found out.’

  Something in his voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned, watched him spark up. ‘Why’s that, then?’

  He took a deep drag, talked through the smoke. ‘I couldn’t afford to let you get too close. Not that it matters now.’

  Walking back, she asked, ‘So what’s changed?’

  ‘Just had it confirmed – I’ll not be around much longer,’ he said, waving the fag in the air. His consultant had told him that the lung cancer was terminal. The dicky heart didn’t help. At most, he said, he had a few months left. ‘So sit down and listen up. I’ve decided it’s time to get things off my chest.’ She clocked his crooked smile, wondered how long he’d wo
rked on the line.

  This time he waited for Bev to settle. ‘See, it was partly an accident.’

  ‘Accident?’

  Silver took another drag as he gazed into the distance. ‘Her dad was mostly to blame. The guy was a complete tool.’

  Bev sank back into the seat, open-mouthed. Fay’s father, Neil Doolan, had died in a road smash some years back in the States. Byford had always thought there was something dodgy about him.

  ‘I found out he was shagging my wife.’ Features twisted in hate, Silver ground the butt into his saucer. ‘I went round to his house, planning to beat the shit out of him. He came to the door with the baby in his arms. We argued, it got heated, and I took a swing. He held her up as some sort of shield. I never meant to hit her.’

  Bev’s fists were tight balls. ‘You sanctimonious, self-serving bastard.’

  ‘Come on, how’d I know he’d do a thing like that?’

  ‘The pathologist found evidence of broken bones, burn marks.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’m not proud of that. We had to make it look like some sick fuck had abducted her. We were in it together.’

  She swallowed bile. The very sight of him sitting there made her want to vomit. ‘You’re the sick fuck, Silver,’ she yelled, itching to rip off his face.

  ‘I’ve told you, Doolan was in on it too.’

  ‘I don’t give a flying fart about Doolan. Get up. I’m taking you in now.’

  ‘What’s the point? I’ll be a goner before the case gets to court.’

  ‘On your feet.’ Standing waiting for him to shift his ass, Bev delved in her bag for cuffs. She stiffened momentarily when her fingers came across the Taser, still in there from the showdown at SWAT. Using it on Silver was a sorely tempting prospect, but the shock of fifty thousand volts in his sorry hide would probably kill him instantly. Why make it easy for the bastard? She was still wavering when Silver shot out of the chair and made a lunge for her. The decision – if not the Taser – had been taken out of her hands. Dispassionate, she watched him clutch his chest, moaning. Silver staggered a few steps, then collapsed like a dead weight at her feet. Bev stood over him and watched, still impassive, until all movement in his body had stopped and the light had faded from his eyes.