Down Among the Dead Men

by Ed Chatterton

  The uniform starts gesturing for McSkimming to move back.

  'You'll have to work with us sometime, Frank,' says McSkimming.

  'Talk to Peter Moreleigh,' says Frank. He turns away from McSkimming, biting back the venom.

  'Block off the access road at either end,' says Frank to the uniform as he starts leading the journalist away from the riverbank. 'Get some more bodies to help.'

  In the borrowed boots he clumps across a footpath and through some scrubby grass towards the mudflats. It's low tide, and about ten metres from the bank three figures are gathered around the body, another child of the city spat out by the Mersey.

  Harris, Cooper, and a forensic officer Keane doesn't recognise look up at his approach. His feet make a glooping sound in the black mud and it's difficult to stay upright.

  'Give us ten minutes, Phil,' says Harris. She looks at Frank. 'Morning, boss.'

  'No more than ten, please, if you can help it,' says the FO. 'Doesn't take long for the river to come in again.'

  Harris nods and Phil, stepping gingerly, heads past Frank towards solid ground.

  'Fuck,' says Frank. He folds his arms and looks down at the body. 'Who called it in?'

  Cooper gestures in the direction of the road. 'Security patrol spotted it about half an hour ago. Left behind on the tide. They didn't touch him. Just called 999 and waited.'

  Frank can see why. The body is face up, clothed, mouth hanging open, the mottled skin zombie blue. Something's been at the corpse's eyes. Frank bends down for a closer look, almost losing his balance as he does. He reaches up and holds Harris's forearm for balance.

  'Thanks,' he says as she steadies him.

  'The fish have been at him,' Harris says. 'Or maybe crabs.'

  'Do they have fish in here?' says Frank.

  'Good point,' says Cooper, looking at the viscous grey river slopping across the mud. Little oil rainbows lend a toxic sheen to the surface. Frank has heard the Mersey has been getting cleaner but he still wouldn't fancy taking a dip.

  'Fair enough,' he says, standing. He stretches his back. 'It's going to be a busy one today. The papers are going to go to town on this.' He gestures towards the shore. 'One of The Scum was almost here before me. We've got someone feeding him information somewhere.'

  Harris shrugs. 'We're not going to find out who. There's always someone.'

  'Suppose so.'

  The three coppers look down at the body and are silent for a few seconds.

  'Poor lad,' says Frank, staring at the face of the victim. 'He looks different from the photos. Smaller.' There's something about the white skin of the hand against the black mud that resonates with him even more than the charnel-house scene in Birkdale. For the first time the Peters case becomes truly personal. Only four days since the first two victims were found at Birkdale and now they have their third body. The setting at the edge of the water puts him in mind of last year's Stevie White case. That had been drug-related, but Frank's certain this one isn't the same.

  'I was sure it was going to be the boy when the call came in,' says Cooper. 'I didn't see this one coming.'

  'Neither did he,' says Frank. 'Funny, really, considering his job.'

  'He was a writer, not a fortune teller,' says Harris.

  The body on the black Garston mud isn't Nicky Peters.

  It's Dean Quinner.

  Thirty-Three

  The office is packed. With the murders in Birkdale to add to their already creaking caseload – and Nicky Peters still missing – MIT was operating at full stretch even before Dean Quinner washed ashore at Garston. Back at MIT before the briefing, Frank calls Charlie Searle and asks for two more detectives from another section to help ease the pressure. Searle assents but reminds Frank of the planned meeting that afternoon.

  'Let's make it later,' says Searle. 'Five, OK?' He's not asking and Frank's heart sinks.

  'Peter Moreleigh heard from Steve McSkimming,' says Searle. 'He's not happy.'

  'Oh dear.'

  'I'm not saying you have to like the man, Frank. But maybe throw him a bone now and again? It won't hurt to keep them sweet.'

  'All of them, sir?'

  'Just the nasty ones. So yes, all of them. Even The Sun.'

  'I'll try, sir.'

  He signs off without mentioning his suspicions that there's someone feeding information to McSkimming and turns his attention back to the briefing.

  Dean Quinner turning up dead is a development rich in possibilities. There's a palpable buzz in the operations room as the investigation shifts up a gear. The murder also serves to focus attention sharply onto the Tunnels movie production. Everyone at MIT can feel the increase in tension and it feels good, like things are going to happen.

  'There are a few changes we need to run through,' says Frank.

  He's in front of the crime wall in the MIT office, which is growing fast. The discovery of the latest body will mean a further explosion of information.

  'First thing is that myself and DI Harris will assume full control of the case.' Keane looks at Theresa Cooper. 'I know that's a disappointment, Theresa, but that's the way it is. This is no longer a suspected domestic incident and Superintendent Searle has made it clear that MIT should make this case a top priority.'

  Cooper, leaning against a filing cabinet, says nothing, but Keane isn't the only one to note the flush on her neck. It can't be helped.

  In truth, the investigation hasn't been going well.

  The enquiries into Nicky Peters' social and school life have run dry. No bullying they can find. No Facebook trail despite the 'it's complicated' relationship status. No history of trouble. Nothing.

  And although Theresa Cooper has been digging deep into the dead couple's past, that too has proven equally arid. A trial separation three years ago seemed to have been resolved amicably. There's some suggestion that Maddy Peters might have been having an on–off affair with someone but there's nothing solid on that so far to connect with the events of last weekend. There are no obvious business or money issues. Both the remaining partners in the dental practice are clean. The couple had a holiday planned to Portugal in July, a regular spot.

  Harris has a few ideas regarding Terry Peters but so far they're nothing more substantial than vague unease. She's already detailed Scott Corner to look closely at Terry and Alicia and she has Peters coming back in later today, but neither she nor Frank has high hopes of anything being unearthed.

  Quinner being killed does give Frank the opportunity to narrow the angle of the investigation down. With the killing of the Peters couple, there were a multitude of potential ways in which to focus resources, something which always made Frank's heart sink. Many possibilities means that not everything can be covered well. With Quinner, they now know the deaths are connected to the movie.

  In Frank's mind it also makes the chances of finding Nicky Peters alive even more unlikely than they had been.

  Quinner's been killed for something he knows and Frank can't see, if Nicky's innocent, that whoever abducted him will leave that loose end untied.

  'Clearly the deaths in Birkdale and Dean Quinner are connected,' begins Frank. 'The priority for us is still trying to locate Nicky Peters, but we now need to find the link between the Burlington Road murders and Dean Quinner.'

  Cooper glances towards Ronnie Rimmer, who flicks his eyes towards Keane. Tell him. Cooper raises a hand.

  'Theresa?' Frank stops and turns in her direction.

  'We interviewed Quinner yesterday with Conroy and McElway at the movie location.' Cooper gestures towards Rimmer. 'Both of us felt he wasn't telling us something. We were due to interview him alone today.'

  'OK,' says Frank. 'That's good to know.' He leaves it unsaid that it's that kind of slackness that has marked the investigation. Letting things slide over into tomorrow. My fault, he thinks. Poor work.

  He turns back to the wall and taps a finger on a photograph of Terry Peters.

  'This is where we are going to start. Terry Peters is the c
onnection between Birkdale and the movie. I know that DI Harris interviewed him yesterday morning. She and I will talk to him again today. Scott and Theresa, I want you to take Terry Peters' background apart. Anything at all.' Frank looks at Harris. 'When we bring him here we'd like some leverage. If he's involved in any way I want to maximise the nerves.'

  'He's been and gone,' says Harris. 'He came in at ten and I got him to come back at three.'

  'Good,' says Frank. 'We'll get to him then.'

  He looks again at the wall before speaking.

  'Of course, Terry Peters may not be involved. From what DI Harris tells me, he's got a decent rep among the movie people. What that's worth I have no idea but we're getting told he's a good guy. But I'd like more details on the movie production. Schedules, arguments, money issues, anything.' Keane glances at the two loan detectives. 'I want the rest of the production interviewed solo and in depth. DCs Magsi and Flanagan here will dig into all available records on the cast and crew. Arrest sheets, histories, Facebook postings, websites, whatever you can use. And quickly. Ideally feed anything you get to the interviewing investigators before they talk to the movie people. The more we know the more ammunition we have. We're going to make something happen in the next twenty-four hours, and if that means stepping on some toes, then we will step on as many as we need to. Got it?'

  Tread lightly. Charlie Searle's words float across Frank's mind. Fuck it. Searle can't have it both ways. If he has to conduct the investigation like a politician then he'd rather not have the job.

  He puts his hands in his pockets. 'I'll be here for the rest of the day. If anything pops up in the interviews I want to be notified immediately, is that clear? No dicking about. If there's a red flag, get me in. We're no longer interested in keeping the movie people sweet, OK? The fucking thing is probably dead in the water now anyway.'

  Harris coughs. 'I wouldn't be too sure of that. I'll call the production office to check.'

  'You think they'll carry on after this?'

  Harris shrugs. 'Lot of money involved.'

  Frank shakes his head. 'Well, let's find out. Either way, they're all getting interviewed today and tomorrow. No exceptions.'

  Thirty-Four

  'Mr Peters.' Frank gestures towards a chair on the other side of the desk. He and Harris are seated directly opposite Terry Peters. There is a digital voice recorder on one side of the Formica-topped desk. With the new investigation into Quinner's death, events have overtaken Frank's schedule and the interview is taking place late in the afternoon. Peters had been sent away and has returned. Although not ideal, Frank's hoping the fractured day will help the interview. Anger can be useful. Makes people less guarded.

  'Thank you for coming in again. This must be an incredibly difficult time for you.'

  'Yes.'

  Terry Peters is taller than Frank is expecting, taller even than his dead brother. He sits and leans forward on the table, his tired eyes taking in his surroundings.

  'Not very impressive,' says Frank, reading his expression. 'Apologies, but we're pushed for space at the moment.' In fact, he has picked J7 specifically. He's found its cramped, dismal atmosphere to be very helpful in the past.

  Terry Peters shrugs. He makes no attempt to engage DI Harris and she makes no move to be friendly, fish pie or no fish pie.

  'Have there been any developments?' says Peters.

  'How well do you know Dean Quinner?' Harris's ignoring of the question is deliberate. Prior to the interview she and Keane discussed the aggressive stance they would take. With speed a priority, politeness goes out of the window.

  Terry Peters isn't stupid and Frank notes the change in his expression.

  'Dean? What's Dean got to do with it?'

  'If you can just answer the question, Mr Peters.' Harris keeps her voice neutral.

  'Dean didn't have anything to do with . . . with what's happened, did he?' Terry Peters juts his chin out. Frank thinks his reaction looks genuine.

  'Would that surprise you?' Frank asks.

  'What's he done?'

  'How well do you know Mr Quinner?'

  Peters sits back and looks from one cop to the other. 'I know him well enough. We worked on a TV thing a couple of years ago and then on this one. It's a small world – TV and movies, I mean – up here. Most of us have crossed paths before. Why?'

  'Are you friends?'

  'We're friendly, if that's what you mean. I'll have a drink with him from time to time, but it's mostly film business we're talking about.' Peters looks at Frank. 'That's the way it works on location. Everyone's the best of friends for the shoot and then it's on to the next thing. Dean's OK, as far as I know.'

  'Do you know if Nicky knows Mr Quinner well?' Harris puts the merest stress on the word 'well' but it's enough to get a response. Terry Peters' face flushes and his teeth show.

  'What the fuck are you getting at? Has Quinner done something to Nicky?'

  'That's a quick temper you have there, Mr Peters,' says Keane.

  'What do you expect? My family's been . . . been fucking butchered. Nicky's gone. If Quinner's got anything to do with it, I've got a right to know!'

  'And if you thought he did have anything to do with it? What would you do then, Mr Peters?'

  'I'd fucking . . .' Peters stops short. He sits back and a wary look comes into his face. 'Something's happened, hasn't it?'

  'Dean Quinner was found dead this morning. Killed.'

  Peters opens his mouth to speak, blinks and then closes his mouth again. 'What? Jesus. Dean?' He rubs the bridge of his nose. 'I don't understand. What did Dean have to do with what happened to Paul and Maddy?'

  Although Frank's take on Peters is that he is genuinely bewildered at news of Quinner's death, he's not quite ready to let him off just yet. Frank opens the file in front of him and glances inside. He lets the silence ripen. No hurry.

  'You ever been in trouble with the police, Terry?'

  Terry Peters shakes his head. 'I don't fucking believe it.'

  'Is that a "no"?

  Peters looks at Keane and Harris in disgust. 'You know the answer already.'

  'Domestic assault.' Harris purses her lips. 'You were bound over.'

  'I was getting divorced!' Peters looks to the ceiling. 'She put a complaint in when I went round to talk and I ended up punching a window. Just frustration.'

  'Your wife – ex-wife – ended up in the hospital.'

  'She scratched herself on a piece of glass! What has this got to do with anything?'

  'Where were you yesterday evening, Mr Peters?'

  Frank's question hangs in the air. Peters cocks his head on one side and furrows his brow. 'You're not fucking serious, are you? You think I killed Dean? Maybe I killed Paul and Mads and Nicky! Throw in fucking Gaddafi while you're at it!'

  'Mads?' says Harris. 'Is that your pet name for Mrs Peters?'

  It's a wild throw of the dice from Harris. There was something about Terry when she'd interviewed him in Birkdale yesterday, something in the way he spoke about Maddy Peters, and maybe the thumb under the bikini strap in the photo, that prompts her to drop a hook in the water. To both her and Keane's astonishment the bait is taken.

  Terry Peters looks like a child caught with his hand in the charity collection box.

  'We're finished here,' he says, his voice cracking. 'I want to speak to a lawyer.'

  'That won't be necessary, Terry. You're just helping us with our enquiries. There's no need for a brief. Not unless you're planning on surprising us again.' Frank stands and walks over to the wall. He puts his back against it and looks at Peters. His voice is soft.

  'You were seeing Maddy? How long had it been going on? It's better to tell us, Terry, rather than have us find it out later.'

  Peters is shaking his head from side to side, but neither Harris nor Keane thinks it has anything to do with what he's thinking. It's a reflex action, his subconscious denying what all three people in the room now know. He starts crying. Keane and Harris watch in silence.
A lot of people cry in here. After a few seconds, Peters starts talking again in a low, halting voice.

  'We didn't mean to. It just . . . happened.'

  'Did Paul know?'

  Terry Peters shakes his head once more. This time it's clear what he means. 'No! We made sure of that. It was all going to stop.' His face creases again. 'My brother! Jesus!' He buries his head in his hands again and sobs.

  'What about Nicky? Did he know?'

  'Fuck, no!' Peters looks up and wipes his face with his hand. 'I didn't do anything!'

  'It doesn't sound good, though, does it, Terry?' says Harris. 'You didn't say anything to me about this when I interviewed you at home, did you?'

  'I'd only identified my brother the day before . . . I couldn't think straight about Paul and Mads and Nicky! And I couldn't say anything in front of Alicia.' Terry Peters looks up at Harris. 'How could I?'

  'Still, you should have. What we have to decide is why you didn't. Whether it was, as you say, embarrassment at screwing around behind Paul's back – or if there's more.' She fixes Peters with a stare and lowers her voice. 'Is there more, Terry?'

  'It's not like that.'

  'You still haven't told us where you were.' Frank's following Harris now and keeps his voice at the same low tone. 'If you want us to believe you, you're going to have to give us more than you have so far, Terry.'

  Peters makes an effort to calm down.

  'What times?'

  'We'll come back to Dean Quinner in a moment. Let's take things in order, shall we? Just go through your movements the evening of the deaths at Burlington Road. Friday evening or the early hours of Saturday morning. You were working late at the location?'

  'Yeah, until about twelve. Some of the crew will tell you that. I made a few calls to Ethan as well.'

  'And afterwards?'

  'Nothing. It was too late to go down to Maxie's, and besides I was knackered. I just drove home. Got there about one. Had a glass of red wine and went to bed.'