An Early Grave

by Robert McCracken

  ‘Did you talk to the other girls who came to the house? Ask them what they got up to inside there?’ The Everton shirt persisted with his nil response, but Tara wasn’t looking at him; she looked at Debbie, who, with each question, seemed to grow more uneasy, chewing on her nails then her bottom lip.

  ‘Maybe you took part in some of their film making? Bit of fun? Some cash in it, too?’

  Debbie disappeared from the door.

  ‘You know, Mark, if you did take part in one of those films we will find out. They’re made to be sold. It is a business. Television, DVDs, internet. Won’t be hard to track down.’

  ‘Only sold in Poland and Russia, those films,’ he said at last, and Tara knew she had him.

  ‘Is that what they told you?’

  ‘Didn’t say they told me anything.’ His attention returned to his video game. ‘Are you gonna fucking move, or what?’ he said to Wilson, who stood like a nightclub bouncer, smirking and making it clear he was not intimidated.

  ‘We haven’t completed all the forensic tests on Audra,’ Tara continued. ‘There were traces of semen found on her body. If you took part in sexual activity with her we’ll soon know.’

  He glared at Tara once again. For a moment it seemed he was mulling things over. Then his stare resumed that cold aggression she’d witnessed on their first encounter. Finally, he cracked a disturbing smile.

  ‘It was a porno film. Bound to be cum all over the place.’ His stare was one of suggestion, but Tara no longer feared this insolent youth. She matched his smile with her own.

  ‘What time did you go into the house, Mark?’

  He laughed, nervously, but he laughed.

  ‘Just tell her, Mark.’ Debbie stood again at the doorway, rubbing the coldness from her arms.

  ‘Ah, you stupid bitch!’

  CHAPTER 40

  ‘I think your friend Crawley may wish to change his story,’ said Tara.

  Murray looked at her doubtfully. She dropped into her desk chair, dumping her bag on the floor. She felt exhausted. A long day suppressing emotions, trying to wangle the truth from people determined not to give it. She was in no mood to debate matters with her colleague. He’d left the station a couple of hours earlier convinced he was right about Callum Armour and that she was wrong. Now, if she wanted to, if she cared to, she could make him feel two feet tall. She was in the right. Not that she held Callum in any great spotlight of trust, but she knew that Crawley was a hot suspect for murder when suddenly he came forward claiming to have witnessed Callum entering the house with Audra. He had been trying to deflect attention from himself, but he was too stupid to realise he had no need to do so. The investigation hadn’t been heading his way, but once he opened his mouth then she was going to ask why. She should be getting ready for home about now; instead she had four interview rooms occupied. Mark Crawley persisted with his tough exterior. To her it was like boast plaster on a wall. One hefty tap and he would crumble to bits. The two girls, Laima Gabrys and Ruta Mankus waited to go over their story for her benefit, having already gushed to Murray when he picked them up. Callum, she’d left to meditate on his despicable behaviour. Her face glowed with anger thinking of what he’d done to her, while all she had tried to do was help him. Murray was wrong about him, she knew that certainly, but from recent harsh experience she also knew that Callum had more information tucked away in his scheming brain.

  ‘Who’s first?’ Murray asked, ripping the cardboard from a pack of egg and cress sandwiches. He offered her a share, but she didn’t think her stomach could take it. While he ate, she fed him details of what happened when she questioned Crawley.

  ‘His girlfriend, Debbie, knows the story. She’s ready to pop any day. I didn’t want her waiting around here, getting in a state. Can’t be good for the baby. But if Crawley clams up, we’ll have to bring her in.’

  By nine in the evening Tara and Murray, moving between the interviewees, had learned much from the girls, little from Callum, and nothing at all from Crawley. Laima Gabrys and Ruta Mankus were stunned to learn they were even regarded as suspects in the case. Once that prospect sank in they were only too happy to tell all they knew regarding Audra Bagdonas. Interviewed in separate rooms, their stories matched up perfectly. Both girls had been at the house with Audra that evening, but Audra was very much alive when they left and headed for home, a few minutes after ten o’clock they claimed. Most significantly, they left the house before the two budding Fellinis, who had continued to shoot movies of Audra. Callum, it seemed, had missed their departure or had decided not to mention it. At that point Tara left the interview with the older woman Ruta Mankus and went to visit Callum. A constable opened the door, but Tara went no further than the threshold. He looked tired and rather vacant, leaning over the table where she last saw him.

  ‘What time did the two men leave the house that night?’

  Callum pondered the question. He looked for a trace of empathy in her stare, in those eyes, usually warm, but there was none. She’d come only for answers.

  ‘Around midnight.’

  ‘Did you see the girls leaving?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you think they were still in the house when the men left at twelve?’

  He managed to shrug. She walked away without another word, and the constable swung the door closed behind her.

  ‘Tara!’

  She re-traced her steps, nodded for the door to be re-opened, and once more stood on the threshold.

  ‘There’s something else I haven’t told you.’

  *

  Tara went straight to the adjacent interview room, where she found Murray questioning Laima Gabrys. His face was a picture to behold. Tara beckoned him outside, leaving the young girl frowning at the flurry of activity.

  ‘It might be true that the girls left before the men,’ she said. They walked a few yards along the narrow the corridor. ‘Armour said the men left around twelve, but he doesn’t know if the girls were still inside.’

  ‘Are you ready for this?’ said Murray, gazing through a window into a darkening night pierced by street lights and passing traffic on St. Anne Street.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gabrys just told me that Mark Crawley was in the house with them and was still there when they left.’

  Tara burst into the room, where Laima Gabrys, nervous and pale, sat with her arms supporting her head on the table. Her eyes were red and filled with tears. She clearly believed herself to be in a lot of trouble.

  ‘Laima, can you tell me what Mark Crawley was doing inside the house?’

  She wiped the back of her hand across her nose, sniffing tears. Tara saw the slender arms trembling, saw her chest heave in a deep sob. Her polo-neck jumper, thin and grey, stretched across her bust, her padded bra straining the fabric. Tara, usually quick to offer sympathy to a distressed witness, decided in this instance that an out-pouring of emotion was speeding things along. If Laima continued to believe she was under threat of arrest for murder, it would surely loosen her tongue.

  ‘He wanted to be in movie,’ she answered.

  ‘Was this the first time he’d been in the house?’

  Laima shook her head vigorously, her hair wafting around her face.

  ‘No. He come every day to ask guys if he can help with movie.’

  ‘And did they let him help?’

  ‘No. But he keep on asking. They let him come three times. But not to do film.’

  ‘Ok. What did he do?’

  ‘Make coffee. Order pizza. He held lights.’

  ‘He saw what went on in making the films?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tara looked at Murray. He smiled, and she took it in the spirit in which he’d offered it. Respect for a job almost done.

  ‘Thank you, Laima. We will try not to keep you much longer.’ The girl nodded, pulling a crumpled tissue from her pocket.

  Tara and Murray walked to the room at the end of the corridor. Murray stepped as
ide to let her go first. She smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Alan.’ They sat down opposite a worried looking Mark Crawley, although when he spoke his words carried only indignation.

  ‘Can I go home now?’

  ‘Not for a while, Mark,’ Tara replied. Murray had already started the recorder. ‘Were you really so keen to be involved in adult films?’

  Crawley glared from Tara to Murray as if considering a nil response.

  ‘Thought you might show up, Tara.’ He grinned proudly at his sick humour.

  ‘Detective Inspector Grogan, if you don’t mind. Our Lithuanian friends tell me you acted as tea boy. Is that correct?’

  ‘So what? I got paid for doing it. I was helping out.’

  ‘But what you really wanted was to get some acting experience?’ said Murray. ‘You wanted into the action with the girls, isn’t that right?’

  Crawley shrugged, but made no reply.

  ‘A yes or no will do fine, Mark,’ said Murray.

  Still he refused to answer.

  ‘What were the guys like? Friendly? Must have been OK to let you into the house?’

  ‘They were great. They needed help.’

  ‘Very kind of you to make the gesture. Which of the girls do you think was best at her job?’

  Another shrug.

  ‘Ok, let me put it this way. Which one did you fancy having a go with?’

  Crawley fell silent as the cockiness deserted him.

  ‘Why did you claim to have seen Callum Armour going into the house with Audra?’ Tara asked.

  ‘Cos he’s a fucking paedo.’

  ‘Callum was trying to protect Audra, wasn’t he? You were annoying her, and he scared you off?’

  Crawley slouched in the chair, arms folded, feet outstretched. Enough of a show to prevent him talking. Tara didn’t think he would hold out much longer.

  ‘I’m going to put my theory to you, Mark. I want you to stop me when I’ve got something wrong. OK?’ His gaze fell to the floor. ‘You intended going into the house that day. You were dying for a starring role in one of those films. Help out for a while and maybe those guys would give you a chance. You waited outside with Audra, but she didn’t care much for your hanging around, and when Callum Armour came along she had someone to help get rid of you. Off you go, no problem. But later on, Mark, maybe after dark, you came back, and the guys let you into the house. Laima and Ruta left about ten o’clock. Audra was still being filmed. With one of the men? Or did you get your chance? The two film-makers left around midnight, leaving you alone with Audra.’

  ‘No. I left before the men.’

  ‘What about Audra? Why didn’t she leave?’

  ‘I thought the guys would give her a lift home.’

  ‘So you went back to the house later on to check who was still inside? Did she let you in, Mark? Was the door unlocked? Don’t forget to stop me if I get the story wrong. You thought; Audra does all sorts of things in those films. She does it with men, and she does it with other girls. She’s up for it. It’ll be the same thing except there are no cameras running. You’ve seen the things she can do with her body, with her mouth and her hands. Maybe you picked up a few tips from watching the men.’ Crawley’s face glowed red. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His gaze remained downward, but he stole glances at Tara as she continued with the description of Audra’s final minutes. ‘How am I doing, Mark? Sound familiar?’

  ‘Nice story no proof, cop.’

  ‘You think?’ His eyes met Tara’s then turned to Murray as if he might find solace there. ‘Let’s talk about Callum Armour, shall we?’ Tara continued.

  He shrugged indifference, but Tara saw him wilt. She reckoned by now she’d planted enough doubt in his mind. He must be wondering who he could trust. Debbie perhaps? She was about to rub out his last hope.

  ‘Why did you attack him with a stun gun?’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Did you think he was going to tell us what he’d seen? Were you trying to scare him off? Kill him, shut him up for good?’

  ‘He’s a paedo. Shouldn’t be allowed out.’

  ‘He was the best friend you ever had, Mark. And you didn’t even realise it.’

  Crawley attempted a laugh; it died in his throat and became a cough.

  ‘Whatever you did to Audra Bagdonas, and whenever you did it, Callum saw you leaving the house.’

  ‘Proves nothing. I didn’t kill her. More likely to be him, friggin weirdo.’

  ‘No, Mark. Too late with the denial, I’m afraid. He saw what happened later on, just before daylight. Once again, stop me if I get it wrong. You killed her, probably raped her, too, but we can prove that later. Then you went home to Debbie, who’s eight months pregnant with your child. Hard to sleep after you’ve killed a young girl, isn’t it? So you lie awake thinking, and you begin to wonder if, in your haste, things might look a bit obvious even to us dumb bizees when Audra’s body is discovered. Maybe I should go back and clear up the mess I’ve made? Make it look like someone else is responsible. Only three doors down. I’ll slip back there and mix it up a little. Most nights, Mark, your friend Callum doesn’t sleep well. His life is filled with more tragedy than you can possibly imagine. He sits by his window, gazing into the street. Once again, he sees the figure of Mark Crawley slipping in the back door of the house, where Audra is already lying dead. He could have called the police straightaway. Even when he’d heard that Audra was dead, a girl he knew well enough to stop and say hello, he could have told us that he saw you going in and out of the house during the night. He could have told us that he saw you taking away Audra’s clothes, her bag and shoes. You did a pretty good job gutting the place. Busy night, wasn’t it?’

  Sweat and now tears poured down the youth’s face. His hands moved randomly from under his arms to the table, to his pockets, to wiping his eyes. He was finding it hard to sit in any comfort.

  ‘But you had a friend in Callum Armour, and you didn’t even know it. He was never going to tell on you, Mark. Do you know why? Do you?’ She shouted the questions, angry with him, angry with Callum but much more with herself. She felt too gullible for police work. Too many people spinning yarns to deceive. In future she would take a step back and have a good hard look before accepting a story at face value. Time now to finish off this disturbed young man.

  ‘You couldn’t sleep that night, but neither could your girlfriend. She’s expecting your child, and you’re off with other girls, growing more frustrated as they reject you. Finally, you decide to take something that isn’t yours. You rape and you murder, and then you return to your girlfriend’s bed. Debbie can’t sleep either. She’s awake when you return to the house. She follows you, right inside, into the very room where Audra lies dead. She is so frightened by what she sees, but you beg her to help you and to keep quiet. As the pair of you leave the house for the last time Callum is still watching. Debbie knew it. But Callum was never going to tell. Audra is dead; telling won’t bring her back. Debbie is heavily pregnant. Callum’s not going to ruin her life and the lives of her children. You’re only kids, he thinks. You were in the clear, Mark, until you opened your mouth. Until you tried to stitch up Callum. Only then did he decide we should hear the truth.’

  She was already on her feet, looking down on the wasted youth, his head buried in his hands.

  ‘How did I do, Mark?’

  CHAPTER 41

  Strong tea with sugar wasn’t enough to shake out the dull feeling in her head. It went beyond tiredness, approaching nervous exhaustion. Home for six hours, no real sleep, a mere doze on the sofa as late night television ran from boisterous American sitcoms to gung-ho American police forensics. Just on the cusp of deep sleep, tele-shopping appeared, the Country Music Collection on CD, running on a three minute loop. Next a quick-fire sales voice explained how to strip a multi-functional vacuum cleaner to its component parts, put it back together and spring clean an entire house, and, of course, this was not available to buy in shops.r />
  ‘You look…’

  ‘Don’t say it; I know I look like shit.’

  ‘I was going to say you look well considering the day you had yesterday,’ said Murray, who certainly wasn’t his dapper self. She smiled thinly, striving to feel grateful for small mercies. Same clothes as the day before, hair unwashed and she’d taken no care with make-up, in fact she had no recollection of doing anything in readiness for work. She’d dozed on the sofa, woke up, drank some orange juice and left.

  The pair of them sat in Tweedy’s office ready to brief the Superintendent on the outcome of their case. Murray attempted to treat his lack of rest by ingesting ridiculously strong coffee.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Tweedy quite jovially, entering the office and placing his leather-bound bible at its usual spot on his desk. Tara didn’t know whether he’d been reading it somewhere in the station or whether he carried it to and from work each day. Tweedy, judging by his ebullient manner, didn’t look as if he had any trouble sleeping. Tara knew he was a policeman from the old days, from the old ways, a veteran. He’d presided over the successful closure of many cases; he’d suffered frustrations and setbacks when others had ended badly. At his age and with so much water having passed under his bridge, Tara reckoned there was little to surprise or to shock him. Maybe after forty years’ service he’d achieved a certain inner peace that allowed him to sleep well and to rise each morning and face the day with enthusiasm, no matter what lay ahead. And perhaps faith did work; perhaps he gained strength from the words in his Bible; a belief in God was all he needed to tackle life head on.

  ‘I gather this young man, Crawley, will make a full statement this morning?’

  ‘That’s correct, sir,’ Murray replied.

  ‘Very good work, both of you. Perhaps you could answer some questions for me? Crawley has a girlfriend who is pregnant?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Tara. ‘Any day now. We intend interviewing her, but we think it can wait until after she gives birth, assuming Crawley makes his full confession.’

  Tweedy nodded his approval.