by John Moralee
“Is he drunk?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll see him first then.”
Greg’s father was in his living room, in front of a muted TV, a bottle of half empty whisky on the floor near his feet. He was a big man with a fat stomach under his white T-shirt. When he saw Boone and the WPC, he stared at Boone with hollow eyes.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Chief Inspector Boone.”
He started weeping. “It’s all my fault. Arrest me. Arrest me! If I hadn’t let Greg borrow my stupid van, none of them would be dead. He wouldn’t have gone out if I’d stopped him. I encouraged them to go out. They were young lads. They needed to have fun, make mistakes, learn how to be men. And now my son’s dead because I was a lousy dad. And Jamey’s not even being found! His mother is going to blame me. He’s probably decomposing at the bottom of the lake. Because I let them go out on Friday. You have to punish me. Please. I am the worst father in the world. Arrest me!”
Boone could not make him stop blaming himself. After a few minutes, he passed out on the couch.
“Keep an eye on him,” she told the WPC, then she went into the kitchen, where Jamey’s mother was with a grief counsellor. She looked up when Boone walked in. She looked far more composed than her husband, but it could have been shock.
“Have you found Jamey?”
“No, we haven’t.”
“He could be alive, then?”
“Yes,” Boone said. He could still be alive – if he’s guilty, Boone thought. He’s dead if he’s innocent. Hobson’s choice. Boone didn’t want his mother knowing she considered him a suspect. “When did you last see Jamey?”
“Uh - Friday evening. The boys came home for tea. I gave them pepperoni pizza. They ate it upstairs, which made me mad because they didn’t bring their plates down for washing. I shouted at them. Greg asked his dad for the keys to his van. He wanted to see a band with his girlfriend. I didn’t want Jamey going out to a pub – he’s only sixteen - but he wouldn’t listen to me. He’s been going through a rebellious phase. Jamey went out thinking I hated him, but it isn’t true. I love my boy.”
Both parents blamed themselves. Boone was convinced neither of them was guilty, but she could not say that about their missing son.
“It would help our search if I could look at his room.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll show you where it is.”
The bedroom was at the top of the stairs. “Jamey and Greg share a room. Shared a room.”
The bedroom was roughly split into two different personalities. On one side, above one bed, were football posters and pictures of beautiful girls in bikinis. A collection of dumbbells and sports gear lay on the floor. Boone could smell old sweat in the air, reminding her of the gym where she kept fit. On the other side of the bedroom were science fiction and horror posters, a large DVD collection and shelves of horror books by authors like Shaun Hutson and Clive Barker. There was a computer, TV and a Playstation 3 shared between the two boys.
“Jamey likes reading,” his mother said. “I’m not keen on the stuff he likes – horror is not to my taste - but at least he reads, which is a good thing. He came top in English GCSE at his school. He got eight top grades. He’s academically gifted, his teachers say.” She sighed. “Greg is more into sports. He wanted to play professional football, but he wasn’t accepted when he tried out. I told him he could try out again after doing his A levels, but now ...”
The silence was uncomfortable. Boone knew it would be distressing for Jamey’s mother to watch her searching the room.
“Why don’t you go back downstairs? Have another cup of tea? I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Okay,” she said, unsure. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Thank you.”
Boone put on gloves before touching anything. She considered the computer the best source of information, providing it wasn’t password protected. It would not be a major problem for an expert to break the code but it would inconvenience her. As the computer booted up, she prayed for no password. Luckily, none existed. Boone had learnt from her daughter how to use computers, so she moved the mouse to the web browser menu. She listed their favourite websites.
From the titles alone, she knew they were mostly pornography featuring lesbians. Only adults were supposed to have access to the sites, but the boys could have easily downloaded anything without their parents’ knowledge. The computer had downloaded gigabytes of sexual material, but nothing illegal for adults – though Boone reckoned some of it should have been. The material was explicit. However, she found nothing that could have linked Jamey with the crime, showing he had planned it in advance.
She turned to their emails and other personal files. Greg had dozens of messages from several people. He was popular, with many friends. She wrote down their names and addresses. Someone could interview them later. Greg had been in contact with Holly several times during the last week of his life. His final message was made at 6.35pm Friday, saying he was coming to pick her up in twenty minutes.
In contrast, Jamey had just one personal email from a person calling his or herself Darkman. The email was about the TV series Angel. That was about vampires, Boone knew, for her daughter had a huge crush on the actor David Boreanaz. Angel was always dressed in black. Did Jamey want to be like his hero? Was that why he dressed in black? Because he was a fan of a TV show?
Boone decided to have the computer taken away and analysed more thoroughly. She turned it off and started searching the room. She found some adult magazines and a bong hidden in a box in a closet on Greg’s side of the room. There was also an iPod.
She opened her phone. “DCI Boone here. I’m at 98 Riverdrive. Send forensics over as soon as possible. The boys’ bedroom needs a full examination for evidence.”
She ended the call, only for her phone to ring almost immediately. “DCI Boone here,” she said.
“DS Singh, ma’am. We’ve got a development. We’ve found the boy Jamey.”
“Dead?”
“No,” he answered. “He’s alive, but he’s in a bad condition. He’s going to the hospital right now. I’m escorting the ambulance. ETA five minutes.”
*
Boone hated hospitals. Her father had died in one just like this one. The antiseptic smell brought back bad memories. DS Singh met her in the casualty department.
“Where is he?”
“The doctors are treating him now, ma’am.”
“What happened?”
“He was found on a street near where he lives, beaten up and unconscious. He’s very ill. The doctor says he’s lucky to be alive.”
“Is he conscious now?”
“No. He’s resting. I’ve called his parents. They’re on their way.”
Boone wished he had not done that. Not immediately. She would have liked to have time for questioning Jamey before calling them. He was legally old enough to be questioned without their presence. There was still time. She approached the doctor and showed her ID.
“I need to know what happened to him.”
“Come with me – I’ll show you.”
The doctor showed her to the bed where Jamey was lying unconscious. His face was badly cut and bruised. His chest was bandaged. There was also a drip in his arm. He looked very pale. Machines were monitoring his condition. His right hand looked bruised like he had punched his assailant.
Unfortunately, the doctors and nurses had treated his injuries before she got there, which meant forensic evidence had been lost. If there had been any of his assailant’s blood on his knuckles, it wasn’t there now.
“Those bruises on his face look old,” Boone said.
“Yes, they are probably over twenty-four hours old. He also has some bruises on his chest, plus a broken rib. They aren’t a real danger. The real danger is he came in with hypothermia. He must have been outside in the cold weather for a long time, maybe all night.”
“Will he survive?”
“Yes.”
“How long until he wakes up?”
“Two or three hours.”
Boone cursed to herself. She told DS Singh to stay with him. Forensics would have to collect what they could. In the car park she phoned DI Hollis and updated him on the situation.
“This will interest you,” Hollis said. “The Scum Suckers performed a gig on Friday night at The Sound and The Fury. It’s a trendy student pub close to the university. I’ve questioned the bar staff. One guy remembers seeing the four teenagers on Friday. They were sitting at a table watching the gig. The barman remembered them because Greg Nolan tried to buy beers, but the barman wouldn’t serve him because he couldn’t prove he was eighteen. Later on, the barman saw the four coming out of the toilets looking like they were high, but he didn’t do anything sensible like calling the police. Anyway, I called the coroner. Guess what, boss?”
“What?”
“Tox results show positive for speed, ecstasy and marijuana in all three victims. Looks like they were having a party all of their own. I’m looking to find out who sold them the drugs. Could be a lead if we’re lucky, boss.”
“When did they leave the pub?”
“Shortly after the gig finished at 10.30.”
“Did they socialise with anyone else?”
“They were a clique, not interested in making friends. I’m going to see if I can find out who sold them the drugs. Dealers always know something, boss.”
“Michael?”
“Yes, boss?”
She wanted to tell him to stop calling her “boss”, but she hesitated. She was the boss. What else could he call her? “Lisa” was inappropriate during work hours. “Detective Chief Inspector” was pompous, officious. No. She had to get used to it. “Keep up the good work.”
*
Jamey was awake and strong enough to speak. His mother and stepfather wanted to be there when she talked with him, but Boone suspected their presence would only inhibit the teenager, so she gently persuaded them to wait outside the room.
“Please don’t tell them about this,” he whispered, looking at the door, “but they were all killed because of something Greg did on Wednesday.”
“What did he do, Jamey?”
“He stole something from a car. I didn’t know what he’d done until he came home that evening. He was breathless, like he’d been running miles. When I asked him where he’d been, he grinned and showed me an iPod and a blue Adidas bag. He told me how he’d seen a guy leave his car unlocked while he dashed into a betting shop. Greg was just passing by, but when he saw an iPod on the passenger seat, he couldn’t resist taking it. He wanted one for Christmas but didn’t get it. So he grabbed it and the bag on the back seat, then he ran off before the man returned. Greg didn’t look in the bag until he was half way home. He showed me what was inside. It was filled with pills and tablets. Greg said there was probably twenty thousand pounds worth of drugs.”
“What kind of drugs?”
“Speed and ecstasy. I asked him what he was going to do with it. He said he was going to keep it, use some, sell the rest to his mates. I was nervous about my mum finding it in our room, so I persuaded him to let me hide them somewhere else – somewhere safe. I buried them next to a tree. I didn’t tell him where because I didn’t want him to be tempted into using them like crazy, but he kept some for Friday night, just enough to get high.”
Jamey stopped for a minute to dry his eyes.
“On Friday, we went to a gig and we all tried some of the drugs in the toilets. It was exciting. I hadn’t done any drugs before. Afterwards Greg drove to a quiet place in the woods a few miles out of town, where we could listen to loud music and make out with our girlfriends. At about two in the morning the back doors were suddenly yanked open by a man dressed in a blue anorak, holding a sawn-off shotgun. ‘You,’ he said to Greg. ‘I want my stash back.’ But Greg didn’t know where I’d hidden the drugs. The man didn’t believe him. The man fired his shotgun into the air and said the next one would be in Greg’s knee, the one after that in Holly’s, then mine and Candice’s. He would then do our other knees until someone talked ... I was so scared I told the man I’d take him to them if he didn’t hurt anyone. He made me tie up everyone while we went to get the drugs. He said he would kill my friends if I tried anything. I took him to the drugs, but he wasn’t happy because we’d used some of them. He punched me in the face and chest and looked like he was going to shoot me. I lashed out, hitting him in his face, then ran into the woods before he could kill me. I just kept running all night. I got totally lost. I hid in the forest for two days, hoping it would be safe to come home after that. I made it to a road and walked home. I was so cold and tired I wasn’t scared any more.”
“Can you describe the man?”
“He was white, but ... I never saw his face. He was wearing the anorak’s hood up and it was dark.”
“What kind of vehicle did he have?”
“Uh - a Land Rover. A black one. He had rock-climbing equipment in the back. That’s where he got the rope and tape. Does that ... does that help?”
*
There were four betting shops within the town. Boone had their security tapes for Wednesday examined around the time Greg had robbed the customer’s car. The local police helped identify a likely suspect. He was a mean-looking skinhead wearing a bomber jacket and Doc Martens, the standard footwear for thugs.
“That’s Taz,” the policeman said. “He’s a junkie and dealer. If the kid ripped him off, he was in serious trouble. The man’s a violent nutter.”
“Bring him in,” Boone said.
*
Taz asked for his lawyer as soon as they arrested him. He called him on his mobile phone. The thug looked like he couldn’t afford a bath, never mind a lawyer, but his lawyer soon arrived at the station, fast enough to suggest Taz had him on retainer.
“What’s this about?” the lawyer asked.
“It’s about your client and the murders of three teenagers.”
“My client did not kill anyone and therefore will not be making a statement.”
“Taz, I don’t need you to make a statement. I already have enough evidence to convict you.”
She put the iPod on the desk in front of him. His eyes flashed with recognition.
“This was found in the house of one of the dead boys. He stole it from you on Wednesday along with a sports bag containing twenty thousand pounds worth of drugs. Surprisingly, you bought this iPod with your own debit card last month, so don’t even think of denying it is yours. You were also seen in The Sound and Fury on Friday night, the same place where the victims were. You recognised the kid who’d been outside the betting shop when you went in. How dare he steal from you? You wanted your drugs back, so you followed him after he left the pub –”
“No,” Taz said. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill nobody. I was there watching the gig, yeah, but I went home with a red-headed grunge chick. You can check with her. I was with her all night.”
He folded his arms, looking smug and arrogant.
“Her name, address ...”
“I don’t know her name. Never asked. She lives in a student flat with a bunch of hot girls. They must’ve heard us. She’s a screamer.”
*
Taz’s alibi was confirmed. The girl and her flatmates confirmed that Taz had been in their flat at 2 a.m. and had stayed the night. There was another problem. Taz didn’t own a black Land Rover. His car was a Nissan.
“Could the kid be lying?” Hollis asked her. They were having lunch in a greasy spoon café.
“I was wondering if he’d made it all up about a mysterious man in a blue anorak, but we had the area where Jamey said they parked the van checked. There were at least three types of tread in the dirt. One matches the van. One matched an expensive make of tyre commonly found on Land Rovers and other 4x4s. The last was narrow, from a motorbike.”
“Three vehicles. How do we know the tracks are recent?”
“It rained on Friday afte
rnoon, which would have wiped the ground clean of old marks, but it hasn’t rained since then, so the prints were all made when the ground was wet.”
“This Taz. He has a solid alibi, which makes me think he had someone else follow the kids to the woods. Perhaps this motorbike rider? The accomplice follows them, then returns at two a.m. in a Land Rover?”
“Taz has a mobile phone. I bet he called his accomplice from The Sound and Fury when he saw the thief there.”
Taz’s phone records showed he had made two calls during the evening to another mobile. It was registered as belonging to Terry Hughes.
Six years ago, Hughes had been a chemistry student at a good English university but he had been expelled for making speed in the chemistry lab. He had returned to Wales without a degree but evidently with knowledge of how to make money for himself. He lived in a large farmhouse and described himself as an entrepreneur. He was well-known to the local police, but had never been convicted of a crime. He was smart. He used a number of dealers to sell his product, including Taz. It wasn’t Taz’s drugs that had been stolen, but his employer’s.
Terry Hughes owned a black Land Rover.
“Let’s get him in a line up.”
*
Jamey looked around nervously as he entered the small room. “I don’t understand. You said you’ve arrested him already, so why do I have to do this?”
“The suspect won’t confess so we need you to have a look at him in a line up. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try my best.”
A line up of men dressed in blue anoraks entered the room. Hughes was the fourth man. Jamey looked at them for over a minute before whispering, “Number four.” He was asked to say it louder for the tape. He did. “Can I go home now?”
“We’ll just need a statement, recorded on video.” Boone led Jamey out of the room. She took him into another room, where the equipment was set up. She read him his rights before starting the formal interview. Once Jamey had recounted the details of that night in every detail, Boone thanked him. He was about to stand up when she said, “Just a few more questions, Jamey. Why do you think he went back to the van after he got his drugs back?”