by Mark Roberts
‘Any information on why he was fixated on Mexico and the Day of the Dead?’ asked Clay.
‘He had no family connections or friends that I’m aware of. At the time of his arrest, he hadn’t even visited the country. I dug up his family tree on Ancestry UK. His family were from the Black Country and various places around the Midlands. I stopped when I got back to the end of the eighteenth century.’
Oh, Karl Stone, thought Clay, you’ve just given me a great idea.
‘Does Truman have any surviving relatives?’ asked Clay, mentally crossing her fingers.
‘His mother’s dead. When she was alive she was almost blind and crippled with arthritis. No surviving relatives. His mother was a product of the care system so there was no extensive family network. Father upped and left before Truman was born. There were huge patches of Truman’s life of which there are no records; he travelled around a lot chasing work, labouring, waiting on tables, picking fruit – real grey areas, missing years.’
‘Thank you, Karl.’
‘I saw your eyes light up, Eve, when I mentioned digging up Truman’s family tree.’ Stone lifted the top piece of paper and turned the blank side to Clay.
‘Hey, stop teasing me, Barney.’
He turned his writing towards her.
Justine Weir
Justin Truman
Escape from custody
Massive transfer of assets to JT
JT named in will
Algiers
No connection to Mexico
No surviving relatives
Ancestry UK
Justin Truman – James Peace
‘If I can trace back Justin Truman on Ancestry UK, wouldn’t it be the same with your old friend James Peace?’
In the silence that followed, Clay was seized by a long-buried memory of her first day at St Michael’s Catholic Care Home for Children.
Jimmy had stopped her in the hall. ‘First day here, kid?’
‘What of it?’ she had blustered.
‘I know what happened from Sister Philomena, and that it’s really rough for you now. If you want to talk about it or if there’s anything I can do to help you, just let me know, OK?’
‘OK!’
‘You’re going to be all right, kid, you’ve got to know that.’
He carried on towards the kitchen and she asked. ‘What’s your name, lad?’
He stopped, turned and smiled at her.
‘Jimmy Peace. Yeah, I know who you are, Eve.’
‘Who am I?’
‘You’re my mate, kid.’
Stone’s voice brought her back. ‘I’m very sorry, Eve. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You haven’t upset me. I was thinking the same as you.’
‘Want me to go ahead and dig up Jimmy Peace’s ancestry?’
‘That’s a great idea.’
‘I’ve got to get on with sorting out Jamieson’s murky finances, dodgy doctor and gagging orders first.’
‘Of course you have. Stick a photocopy of your notes on my desk, please, Karl. Thank you. Thank you so much.’
62
2.15 pm
Clay formally opened the interview with Lucien Burns.
‘Feeling better, Lucien?’ she asked across the table in Interview Suite 2.
‘This is a list of names and email addresses of the biggest psycho bitches from Liverpool who’ve contacted me over the website.’
He slid the paper to Hendricks who looked it up and down.
‘I don’t know any of them, Eve. Do you?’
She looked. ‘No.’
‘I’ve ranked them one to twelve, one being the biggest basket case, twelve being not as frigging crazy as the other bints. I can give you loads of examples and I can go way beyond twelve names.’
‘How do you know their names, Lucien?’ asked Clay.
‘I’ve met up with them. They’ve all made financial donations to the website from their bank accounts.’
‘Are you sure you’re not just throwing us these ladies to put us off your scent?’ asked Clay.
‘You asked for names, I’ve given them to you.’
‘We’ve got some really big questions to ask you, Lucien.’
‘Oh, by the way, I’m really sorry for messing up your other room. It all kind of hit me at once.’
‘This is a very serious business, Lucien. You’re not the first person to throw up when I’m talking to them and you won’t be the last. Sadly. For me.’
‘Have your IT wizards got my laptop?’
‘Yes.’ Clay watched the mental cogs turn in his face.
‘Then there’s no point in lying about what is and isn’t on my laptop.’
Hendricks nodded approvingly. ‘You’re talking sense, Lucien.’
‘Where’s my mother?’
‘Lucien! You’re here to answer not ask questions,’ advised his solicitor.
‘It’s all right,’ said Clay. ‘See that piece of glass behind me? She’s behind the glass. She can see you, and she can hear you.’
Lucien became very quiet and looked even more upset. He turned on his chair and faced the glass. ‘Mother, get out of that room now and go away. I’m going to talk to these coppers and I don’t want you hanging around and sticking your oar in.’
Silence.
‘It’s soundproofed, Lucien.’
Lucien looked at Clay. ‘I’m not saying another word till she’s gone.’
Clay stood up, picked up the list of twelve names supplied by Lucien Burns and said, ‘I’ll deal with your mother.’
As Clay got to the door of the interview suite, from the other side Lucien’s mother shouted, ‘Goodbye, Lucien, thanks so very much for humiliating me in front of the police. I’m off now, so please feel free to talk to complete strangers about the real you while you ignore your poor mother who’s fed you and cleaned up after you for years. Maybe, Lucien, I just won’t come back at all and leave you hanging in the dark. You’re worse than your father!’
Clay opened the door. ‘All right, Annabelle. That’s enough. Go to Garston Village, get yourself a coffee and I’ll talk to you when you come back. When you’re nice and calm.’
Annabelle Burns flounced through a pair of swing doors leading to the front entrance of Trinity Road police station, followed by the worn-looking WPC who’d been assigned to mind her.
‘Jenny,’ said Clay to the WPC. ‘When she’s off the premises, take this list of women’s names supplied by Lucien up to the incident suite. Fill them in on the context and they can get the elimination machine rolling.’
Clay checked her iPhone, saw she had three missed calls, all from Riley. She closed the door of incident suite 2 and called Riley back. ‘What’s happening, Gina?’
‘I’m driving Christine Green to Trinity Road. The traffic on Queens Drive is horrific.’
‘Yes, you’re driving me to the police station while all your little bastard friends are pulling my home to pieces,’ shrieked Christine.
‘OK,’ said Clay. ‘I get the picture. I’ll talk to you when you get back.’
*
Clay met Lucien’s eye as she sat across from him at the table.
Hendricks showed Lucien a list of names, addresses and photographs of the paedophiles who he looked set to name and shame.
‘Where on earth did you get this information about these paedophiles?’ asked Hendricks. ‘You realise how highly secret and sensitive this all is?’
Lucien looked sick.
‘Yeah, yeah, course I do.’
‘Your mother’s not here now,’ said Clay. ‘Talk to us.’
‘OK, I can see you’re conflicted, Lucien,’ said Hendricks. ‘And I’ll tell you now, loyalty is a wonderful quality in any human being. But misguided loyalty’s a terrible thing and can lead you up all manner of dangerous blind alleys. I’m pretty sure that you got this information from someone who works for Merseyside Constabulary as either a police officer or civilian support.’
‘I didn’t. Your IT
people are going to work it out pretty quickly so I’m going to tell you the truth. I got it from the deep web. There, I’ve said it now.’
‘Don’t you mean the dark web?’ clarified Clay, noticing the solicitor’s bottom lip jutting out as she made notes.
‘The dark web and the deep web get mixed up in people’s minds.’
‘How do you get on it?’
‘The deep web’s got sites not indexed by search engines. You need specific software and configurations to get on it. That’s where I got the names, addresses and pictures of the paedophiles. Off a whistleblower site.’
Good God, lad, thought Clay, please be telling us the truth.
‘Lucien, what’s the most important thing, the most special thing that you love beyond anything and everything else? Be truthful and don’t be embarrassed to tell the truth.’
He was quiet and Clay watched his face closely. She saw conflict playing out in the twitching of a muscle in his cheeks and the tension in his eyes.
‘I love my body and I love my future. I want to be a dad sometime.’
‘Then, Lucien, on your body and on your future and your hopes to be a father, did you or did you not receive information from a person or persons in our organisation, Merseyside Constabulary?’
‘How am I, a sixteen-year-old kid, going to hook up with a bent copper and pay him or her for information that’s readily available on the deep web? I’m not being funny but that’s just not going to happen in a month of Sundays. Your IT person will tell you how I got it.’
‘Thank you for that, Lucien,’ said Clay, allowing a little bit of hope into her heavy heart. ‘Can you explain why you haven’t yet published the names, addresses and photographs of these paedophiles you so despise?’
‘Well, two reasons. On my website, most of the verbals, the threats and ranting about destroying paedophiles, it’s all a bit vague because there are no specific targets. When I went on the deep web looking for these scumbags I was certain I was going to ratchet up the website by naming and shaming them. I got the page ready but when the moment came for it to go live, I had this massive... misgiving. I do understand the whole incitement to murder thing and I thought, wait a minute, if something happens to one of these bastards, I’m going to be for the high jump.’
‘Good. Good thinking, Lucien. You said there were two reasons why you didn’t name or shame. What was the second one?’ asked Clay.
‘I went and did a bit more research. I went round to their houses, pretending to be looking for directions. The information’s not accurate. Other people were living there. So I put out that information on the website, innocent people get targeted. Not good.’
‘Why do you hate paedophiles so much, Lucien?’
‘Because they’re disgusting and selfish and they don’t care whose lives they wreck, just so long as they can satisfy their twisted desires.’
‘That kind of adds up, Lucien, but it’s a bit vague given the time and effort you’ve put into this campaign of yours?’
Lucien became very quiet. He watched Clay drinking him in.
‘Are you asking if I’ve been done by a paedo?’
‘Do you want to talk around this area, Lucien?’
A dark silence lengthened. ‘I haven’t, but my mum says she was when she was a teenager. I don’t know the details. Can we move on please?’
‘Did you ever come across any on the deep web?’
‘I didn’t go anywhere near their sites. You can hire a hit man on the deep web, buy and sell drugs, you can even buy gender reassignment from well dodgy doctors. I’d have gone on those sites rather than rub shoulders with the paedos and the filth they peddle between their horrible selves.’
‘Interesting, Lucien,’ said Hendricks. ‘I’m going to ask you some specific questions.’
‘No problem.’
‘Lucien, did you take part in the murder of David Wilson?’
‘No.’
‘Were you aware of the existence of David Wilson?’
‘After his murder was on the news, yes.’
‘With an accomplice, did you take part in the murder of Steven Jamieson?’
‘No.’
‘Did you take part in the torture of Steven Jamieson’s wife, Frances?’
‘No.’
‘Were you aware of the existence of Steven and Frances Jamieson?’
‘After his murder and her death was reported on the news, yes.’
‘Were you in or around the Garston end of Mather Avenue yesterday?’
‘Yes. I live there. But I didn’t leave the house yesterday. It was cold and windy. I hate the cold and I hate the wind.’
‘Do you know who killed and maimed these people?’
‘No.’
‘Has anybody been on your site boasting about killing and maiming these people?’
‘No. You know you were talking about loyalty and misplaced loyalty? I’ve got no loyalty to the people who come on my website. If I knew names, I’d be, like, there you go, these are the names of the people who are bragging they’ve been killing paedos, so can I have my laptop back and can I go home now? I’m not going to sit here and take the punishment for other people.’
‘What were you doing yesterday?’ asked Hendricks.
‘I got up. I worked out. I had a shower. I went online to do my work. I’m doing my GCSEs next summer. When your computer expert digs into my laptop, they’ll find that yesterday, I did mock GCSE papers for Biology, Physics, Chemistry, Maths, English Literature, English Language. Your IT expert will find it in my history.’
‘Was your mum cracking the whip hard?’
‘She was at work. She was on a six am to two pm shift and then she stayed behind to work an extra shift. I don’t need my mother to teach me anything. To be honest she’s a shit teacher but all the teachers I’ve ever had have been crap. She’s got the patience of an angry goat. I want to do well in life, like Justin Truman. He succeeded at what he chose to do and how.’
‘What do you want to do in life, Lucien?’ asked Hendricks.
‘I’m not sure, but I haven’t got the balls to murder people even if they deserve it. But I do know you have to be physically fit and well educated to make good choices in life.’
‘You’re quite a different person, aren’t you?’ asked Clay.
‘How do you mean, Detective Clay?’
‘When your mother’s not around.’
‘I’m happy to say she works long hours. Being near her, physically, it brings out the worst in me.’
He picked up the glass of water in front of him.
‘I’m thirsty,’ Lucien announced. He raised the glass to his mouth and drank the water in one go, his Adam’s apple bulging each time he swallowed. He put the empty glass down on the table and looked directly at Clay.
In a single second, he looked her up and down, his eyes slowing on a micro-beat as they settled on her breasts, and then he looked her directly in the eye, the tip of his tongue appearing lizard-like between his lips and disappearing back inside his mouth.
Clay looked at the social worker and Lucien’s solicitor and read the same question pasted on both their faces.
When are you going to release him from custody?
‘Lucien,’ said Clay. ‘We’re going to keep you here a little longer. We’ve got more questions to ask you, mainly after I’ve had solid feedback about your laptop from our IT expert. But there are some questions I need to ask right now before I suspend the interview.’
He nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘You were physically, literally, round the corner from a murder scene. What were you doing last night between half past six and eight o’clock?’
He considered it, frowned and then his face fell into neutral.
‘I was doing an online GCSE English Literature paper. It’ll be on my history.’
‘Were you with anybody who could back up the evidence on your laptop?’
‘No...’ Lucien held his hand to his mouth and coughed. ‘I was alone.
I spend most of my time alone. I like it that way. Can I ask you a question?’ he said, looking at directly at Clay.
‘Go ahead.’
‘What do you think of the name Lucien?’
‘It’s a nice name,’ she replied.
‘I think it sounds too feminine. I think I’ll change my name to Justin Truman when I turn eighteen. I could never, ever be as great a man as Vindici; that would be impossible. He’s as close as a human being can be to God. He has the power, the wisdom and authority that give him the right to take away the cancerous lives of disgusting paedophiles and I love him with all my heart.’
‘Don’t do it when you’re eighteen, Lucien. Leave it a few more years,’ advised Clay. ‘You might have a change of heart.’
Clay formally closed the interview and called for Sergeant Harris to take Lucien back to his cell.
As Lucien walked to the door, Clay said, ‘Thank you for dropping off the dahlias.’
‘What dahlias?’ He stopped, didn’t turn.
‘The ones Vindici asked you to bring to me.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
*
Clay and Hendricks sat beside each other and waited in silence until they were alone in Interview Suite 2.
‘Clever little bastard,’ observed Hendricks, looking directly ahead.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Clay.
‘Did you see the way he was looking at you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Seems he’s got the raging red hots for you.’
‘Yeah.’
They fell back into silence.
And then burst into fits of unrestrained laughter.
63
2.43 pm
Riley pulled up at the lights at the junction of Muirhead Avenue and Queens Drive, looked in the rear-view mirror at Christine Green sitting on the back seat and handcuffed to one of the plainclothes detectives drafted in from Walton Lane police station to search her house.
‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ asked Christine.
Riley said nothing as she looked in the wing mirror and saw a black Hackney cab pull up behind her.
She looked back in the rear-view mirror and saw that Christine was now staring at her with contempt and anger.
‘Did you find jack shit? asked Christine. ‘No, you didn’t, but you’re still hauling me over the entire length of the city to answer a bunch of poxy questions about some crock-of-shit, trumped-up nothing.’ Her eyes flashed and she said, ‘Are you deaf or what?’