by Jaime Raven
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think.’
‘And that’s your problem. You’re not thinking straight. You came out of prison intent on creating merry hell, without fully considering the consequences. You’re saying you were framed and you’re making wild accusations that are bound to get you into trouble again.’
‘They’re not wild accusations. Everything I’ve said is true.’
‘Well, don’t expect others to believe it. It’s a matter of record that you killed Rufus Benedict.’
‘But I didn’t.’
‘Even though you as good as admitted it in court with a plea of manslaughter?’
‘You know I didn’t really have a choice back then. I was told that I didn’t have a hope in hell of getting off if I pleaded not guilty to murder.’
I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. I was singing the same old tune, and he knew it. But I sensed from the softening of his expression that he at least had some sympathy for me.
‘If what you say is actually true then my heart goes out to you, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘It must have been awful. But shit happens. So I’ll repeat what I said before. You should put it behind you and move on.’
‘That’s easy for you to say, detective. You didn’t lose years of your life and your only son didn’t die while you were in prison.’
He chose not to respond to that, and I didn’t know what else to say. I felt utterly deflated. I just sat there in swirls of dark thought as McGrath assessed me with a steady gaze.
After a while, he said, ‘Come on, Lizzie. Let’s get you out of here. I’ll give you a lift home.’
I sat in the passenger seat of McGrath’s Range Rover. The rain was lashing the windscreen, sharp and unforgiving. Outside, the street lights cast orange puddles of wet light.
I felt awful. My head was pounding, and my body felt like it was running on empty. I couldn’t wait to get into bed.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ I said. ‘I appreciate it.’
And I did. He didn’t have to take me home. He could have sent me in a patrol car or called me a cab. I saw it as a sign that he still had some sympathy for me despite what I’d done.
‘Am I right in assuming you were off duty tonight?’ I asked.
He nodded without taking his eyes off the road. ‘I was enjoying a quiet night in watching the box. The wife wasn’t too happy when I left midway through a movie.’
‘So why did you? Surely what happened could have been dealt with by uniform.’
‘DCI Ash called and told me to go to the Centurion. He was concerned because you were involved. You’re lucky he was too busy to go himself. If he had I’m sure you would have been given a much harder time of it.’
‘Is that because Strickland and him are mates?’
He snapped his head towards me. ‘What makes you say that?’
I shrugged. ‘There are rumours doing the rounds that Ash is bent and on Strickland’s payroll.’
‘That’s rubbish.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes. I’ve known the governor for years and he’s as straight as they come.’
‘And I suppose Neil Ferris was too.’
We came to a set of traffic lights, and he applied the brakes so hard we were both thrown forward.
‘For fuck’s sake, Lizzie. Are you deliberately trying to wind me up? Neil Ferris was a good, honest copper.’
‘I heard he was bent.’
‘So where did you hear that?’
‘A little birdy told me. The same little birdy who told me that Ash and Ferris were bum chums with Joe Strickland four years ago when I was stitched up.’
‘So who is this little birdy?’
‘I’ll give you his name if you give me the name of the man with the tattoo.’
‘Grow up, Lizzie. You’re acting like this is a big game. It’s anything but that.’
‘Sounds like I’ve touched a nerve,’ I said. ‘Must mean there’s some truth to the rumours.’
The lights changed to green, and we lurched forward. I studied McGrath as he drove. His features adopted a sullen expression, and he tightened his grip on the wheel.
‘So why did your friend Ferris kill himself?’ I said. ‘He didn’t seem the type to me.’
‘You didn’t know him.’
‘I spent a fair amount of time with him in the interview room. He came across as a decent bloke. Unlike Ash.’
‘He was decent, and honest. What happened was a tragedy.’
‘Did it have anything to do with him being corrupt? Is that it?’
McGrath cleared his throat. ‘Just drop it, will you? You’re out of order and I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Ferris wouldn’t be the first copper to top himself after being exposed.’
McGrath puffed out his cheeks. ‘Jesus, Lizzie. You can be so bloody annoying. I can see now why the governor reckons you’re dangerous. He said you were on a mission to stir up trouble.’
‘And he was right,’ I said. ‘How else will I get to the truth? I can’t flash a warrant card and make people talk to me. And I don’t have access to police files. All I can do is chip away at a brick wall until a crack appears.’
He wheezed out a sigh. ‘And you really believe that’s going to happen?’
‘I don’t believe it,’ I said. ‘I know it. The fact that I’ve already got people in a panic suggests to me that the wall has started to crumble.’
McGrath remained silent during the rest of the drive to the flat. I reckoned it was because I’d given him a lot to think about.
I couldn’t tell from his reaction if he was genuinely shocked to hear that his boss and his former colleague were the subject of unsettling rumours. Or even if he was being honest when he said that there was no truth in them.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said when we pulled up outside the house just before midnight. ‘You’ll probably have to come back to the station to make a statement. But for what it’s worth I’ll do what I can to play this down.’
‘And why would you do that?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Mr Tattoo man came across as an arrogant tosser. He probably deserved a slap.’
I grinned. ‘So what’s happening to him?’
‘He’s also on his way home. I’ll talk to him tomorrow as well.’
Questions had been piling up inside my head like dirty dishes, but it was too late to see if McGrath would answer them. So I thanked him for the lift and said, ‘It might not be too late to go home and finish the movie.’
Then I got out of the car and made a dash for the front door. Scar had it open before I reached it.
‘I’ve been waiting for you to call,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I need a cup of hot tea,’ I said.
I stepped over the threshold and into her arms. The hallway light was on and my eyeballs retreated from the glare.
‘I’ve been so worried about you,’ Scar said.
We clung to each other for about half a minute and then she took my hand and led me up the stairs to the flat.
Tiny was there, having come straight from his vigil outside my mother’s house. No one had turned up there, thank God, and he said all the lights were off inside when he left.
As Scar made the tea, I told them what McGrath had said.
‘So the guy does work for Joe Strickland,’ Scar said.
I nodded. ‘And Strickland has given him an alibi for when I was attacked.’
‘Did McGrath tell you who this bloke is and whether he’s going to press charges?’
The injustice of it was so bloody galling. The tattooed beast had carried out assaults on my brother and me and yet he was the one being labelled the victim.
‘He wouldn’t give me his name,’ I said. ‘And we won’t know until tomorrow whether or not he wants to take it further.’
‘It’ll be an outrage if he does,’ Scar said. ‘It’s not as though he was hurt. He didn’t have a scratch on him.�
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I turned to Tiny. ‘Any chance you can find out the bloke’s name now we know he’s on Strickland’s books?’
‘I’ll try,’ he said. ‘I can make some calls.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve already got something for you,’ he added. ‘Confirmation that Ruby Gillespie’s agency is part of Strickland’s illicit empire. Has been for four or five years apparently.’
As far as I was concerned the evidence was piling up. There was no doubt in my mind that Joe Strickland was complicit in Rufus Benedict’s murder and with what subsequently happened to me.
Despite that, Scar tried to persuade me to draw a line under the whole thing.
‘It’s not worth it, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘Even if you don’t face a charge after last night you’ll end up inside if you keep pushing this.’
Tiny was quick to agree with his ex-wife, which made me wonder if they had been discussing it before I got here.
‘Donna has a point,’ he said. ‘Strickland is ruthless and resourceful. If he feels threatened by you, then I hate to think what he might do.’
Their concerns were justified. I knew that. But what had happened over the past two days had sparked in me an anger I was finding hard to control. I wanted desperately to uncover the truth. For myself. For Leo. And for the man who had died in that hotel room four years ago.
Before we called it a day I told them I wanted to dig a little deeper.
‘Just another day or two,’ I said. ‘Provided I’m not hauled back to Holloway, that is.’
They listened resignedly as I explained what our next move would be.
‘I’m going to the cemetery tomorrow,’ I said. ‘If I’m lucky I’ll catch sight of the mystery woman who’s been putting flowers on Leo’s grave. Maybe she’s involved somehow, and if so can shed some light. Mum said she goes there on Saturday mornings.’
I then asked Scar if she would try to find out more about the Polish prostitute who Benedict had apparently been obsessed with.
‘Her name is Karina Gorski and according to Ruby she suddenly stopped contacting the agency,’ I said. ‘That’s how come I ended up being sent to The Court Hotel that night. Karina used to live in Derby Road apparently, so maybe that’s where you should start. She may even still live there.’
Tiny said he would park up outside my mother’s house as agreed. He then bid us goodnight and left.
Scar fell silent after he’d gone and I sensed she was anxious and perhaps a little annoyed with me. But I could hardly blame her. I’d embarked on a mission that was fraught with risk and danger.
And I wouldn’t be the only one to suffer if it all went belly up.
13
When I woke up the next morning my headache was still there. I’d had a restless sleep. I’d dreamt about what happened that night in The Court Hotel. It’s a recurring dream and it’s always horribly vivid.
I see Rufus Benedict on the bed, the blood-soaked sheets, the knife that was used to kill him. And I hear myself screaming, a sound that doesn’t seem human.
And as always the dream left me yearning for answers to a ton of questions. Who came to our room that night? Who delivered the drugged champagne? How did the killers bypass the security cameras?
For nearly four years those questions had dominated my thoughts. But now I had something else to think about – and that was the prospect of going back to prison. It filled me with dread. But so too did the possibility that I might be forced to accept defeat and never get to the bottom of what had happened and why.
In prison my obsession with finding out the truth had kept me going. It had given me something to believe in; a goal to aim for. And, as a result, my optimism had remained improbably intact.
But now I was scared and confused – and increasingly conscious of the fact that my abilities were limited.
The goal I had set myself seemed suddenly beyond reach. Sure, I’d already stirred up a hornet’s nest, and certain people were in a panic. But I’d also ramped up the threat level against myself and my family.
I certainly hadn’t expected things to move at such a rate of knots. It was only two days since I walked out of Holloway, and in that time my brother and I had been attacked and I’d assaulted a man in a bar. Plus, I was now in trouble with the law and facing threats against my life.
A voice in my head was urging me to listen to Scar and the others and give up before more serious damage was done.
But it was being drowned out by a louder voice that was telling me to carry on because if I didn’t, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.
Scar and I had breakfast together. She made the coffee, and I made the toast. To her credit she didn’t bang on about how stupid or stubborn I was. But she was clearly worried that I might end up back in jail.
We discussed the day ahead. How I’d spend it would depend on whether I was ordered to report back to the police station.
‘In the meantime, I’m going to the cemetery,’ I said. ‘I’ll get there early and wait around as long as I can to see if the blonde woman turns up.’
‘And if she does?’
‘Then I’ll confront her and ask her what the hell is going on.’
Scar said she would see what she could find out about the Polish prostitute who Rufus Benedict had had a thing for. Since she used to live in Derby Road – which was within walking distance of the flat – we agreed that I would take the car.
I hadn’t been behind a wheel in over four years, but it came back to me as soon as I fired up the engine. On the way to the cemetery I only stalled it once and managed to avoid colliding with another vehicle.
It had stopped raining hours ago, but the sky was still a bruised mass, pulsing like something alive. It made the cemetery grey and gloomy. Dew glistened on the grass between the brooding headstones and the air had a damp chill to it.
I parked up on the main road and walked towards where Leo was buried. But I didn’t approach his grave. Instead I stopped some distance away and sat on a bench. From there I’d be able to see anyone walking up to it.
It was nine o’clock and people were starting to appear, most of them carrying flowers and watering cans. I sparked up my first cigarette of the day and waited.
I found it hard to shift my gaze away from my son’s headstone. As I stared at it, I felt a hot stab of tears in my eyes. Before long I was holding my face in my hands and sobbing.
The memory of the funeral was stark and raw. In my head I pictured the scene at the graveside. A surprising number of people turned up, including a couple of the girls who had worked as escorts for Ruby.
Mark and my mother stood either side of me as the priest spoke. The two guards who had escorted me from Holloway stood a discreet distance away, alongside Detective Neil Ferris. I hadn’t expected him to be there and I didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Why would I? He was one of the people who had put me away.
My mother didn’t speak to me once throughout the service, except to deliver her damning indictment that if it hadn’t been for me Leo would have still been alive.
Even after all this time it was hard for me to accept that my boy was dead. My beautiful child was rotting in the ground while a rodent like Joe Strickland enjoyed the high life on his illicit gains. It was sickeningly unfair and it made my blood curdle.
An hour passed and the sky got darker. But the rain held off, and the temperature rose. The peace and tranquillity of the cemetery meant that sitting there wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience. I felt close to Leo and I felt relaxed for the first time since walking out of Holloway.
I watched the people tending the graves of their loved ones and I dared to let myself think about the future. It was a future I could no longer imagine Scar not being a part of.
I felt closer to her than ever. The doubts I’d harboured for so long were being replaced by the growing conviction that she was the one who was going to make me happy. It no longer mattered that it was not a heterosexual relationship. The last forty-
eight hours had shown me that Scar was able to satisfy my physical and emotional needs. I was growing fonder of her by the day, and if I wasn’t already in love with her then I would be soon.
I felt a sudden urge to call her just to let her know that I was thinking about her. But as I reached for my phone, it started to ring.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Is that you, Lizzie?’
I recognised McGrath’s voice. It still sounded strange to hear him use my first name.
‘Yeah, it’s me.’
‘I’m with DCI Ash,’ he said. ‘We’d like you to come to the station right away.’
I experienced a shiver of trepidation.
‘Does that mean I’m in the shit? Are you going to charge me?’
‘You’ll know when you get here,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to send a car to pick you up?’
‘No. I can get there under my own steam.’
‘Good. We’ll be waiting.’
He hung up abruptly, and I was left holding the phone to my ear as my heart started beating furiously against my chest.
I had a feeling they were going to charge me with assault and send me back to prison. And it was my own bloody fault.
But before I could work myself up into a state, I was distracted by the sight of a woman walking along the road towards Leo’s grave.
I screwed up my eyes and stared at her. She was wearing jeans and a short red jacket. And she was tall, maybe five ten allowing for the heels.
She was carrying a bunch of flowers in one hand and a bag in the other.
And she had dishwater blonde hair.
My jaw was clenched tight as I watched her walk up to Leo’s grave. She gave a furtive look around, but didn’t seem to notice me.
She stood looking at the headstone for about fifteen seconds before kneeling down and replacing the old flowers with the new ones.
My body grew rigid, and every nerve ending tingled. I was rooted to the spot as the woman stood up again and dropped her chin onto her chest, as though praying. She was in her forties, but I was too far away to be certain that I didn’t know her. So I started moving slowly towards her, trying to work out in my head what I was going to say.