by Conrad Jones
18
Liam Johnson watched as the police set up a cordon at the end of the road and then shepherded the residents from their houses via their back doors along an alleyway. As his neighbours appeared one family at a time, the armed police were readying to move in on the van. When he saw Katelyn and Daryl emerge from the alleyway, he ran to them. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Katelyn said, frightened but angry. “Where have you been?”
“I’ll explain when we get out of here.” He said guiding her along the pavement. “Are you okay, Daryl?” he said with a half smile.
“What is going on?” Daryl moaned, his Xbox paused on level six of his favourite game.
“We need to get away from here for a while, mate,” he said ruffling his hair. “The police are going to arrest someone and there might be trouble.”
“Is this anything to do with you?” Katelyn asked suspiciously. She knew that Liam and his brother made a living stealing lorries but he had always promised her that no one would ever get hurt. She loved him and his word was good enough for her. He had done more for Daryl than his real father had ever done and he treated her like a princess, always romancing her with flowers and meals out. No one had treated her like that before so she turned a blind eye to his activities and had never asked any questions until now. “What the hell have you been up to?”
“Ray is in trouble. I’ll explain later,” Liam said nervously as they got beyond the police cordon. “Have you got your mobile?” he asked in a panic. She searched through her bag and then handed him her mobile phone. Opening the back, he took out her SIM card, replacing it with his. He could only hope that it would work. The phone came back on and he scrolled through his contacts looking for a number. He found what he was looking for. Once he had his family safe, he would make the call. He guided Katelyn and Daryl along the road until he could flag down a cab. His family away from the house, he had to work on getting Ray freed before it was too late. As the cab pulled away, he didn’t notice the black Nissan that slipped into the traffic behind them.
Braddick looked around the office and felt like a stranger. Some of the old faces were still there. The view of the river and the Albert Docks was the same but he didn’t feel at home anymore. To the south, the Anglican Cathedral towered above the city, a gothic monolith that dominated the skyline. Across the road, the mythical Liver Birds sat atop the Three Graces, guarding the city from their stone perches. They were sights that were emblazoned in his heart and mind and would stay there for life. The surroundings were familiar but something inside him had intrinsically changed. The city was a constant; it was Marcus Braddick that was different. He knew that coming back to the city from London would be difficult but he hadn’t anticipated being tossed onto the frontline from day one. There had been no time to readjust. His feet hadn’t touched the ground since he walked into the first briefing. The Major Investigation Team’s figureheads, Detective Superintendent Ramsay was taking a sabbatical and his DI, Annie Jones was on extended sick leave. The word was that she wouldn’t be coming back following an arson attack on her home, her abduction and a near fatal assault and that Ramsay and her had become an item.
Braddick knew of both of them but hadn’t worked directly with either. The MIT was in transition but the criminals seemed to be completely unaware that they needed a breather while they got reorganised. There was no let up, no timeout and no holidays in the criminal underworld; making money from illegal activities was a round the clock business. Braddick felt like he was wading through concrete. There had been no breakthrough on the Johnson murders and the Farrell case was a ticking time bomb that could go off at anytime. The fact that the Karpovs were linked to the case was a further complication that he hadn’t expected. His blood boiled at the mention of their name.
Ade Burns walked out of the lift, his hair tussled and in need of washing. He waved as he headed in a straight line for the coffee machine, cursing when he realised that someone had put the empty jug back on the hotplate without making a fresh brew.
“There are some lazy bastards in this office,” he moaned. His suit jacket looked like he’d screwed it up, jumped on it and then put it back on. “Do you want one, Guv?” he asked as he opened a packet of grounds and set up a fresh pot. He looked tired, bags beneath his eyes, his shoulders sagging from fatigue. “It’s been a long day.”
“It has.”
“Did you say you wanted a drink?”
“No. I’m still nursing one here,” Braddick said yawning. “I need something stronger to be honest.”
“Don’t tempt me. If I start drinking, I won’t stop. I’ve only just finished giving my report on Paulie Williams. Fancy nearly dying in the cells before we interviewed him, inconsiderate at best,” Ade tutted and shook his head, a sarcastic grin on his face. “I’m just glad that I didn’t have to pick him up and carry him to the ambulance,” Ade added, his dark humour not lost on Braddick who tried to hide a smile. “What a fucking pain in the rear end. Fourteen hours and I feel like I’ve achieved bugger all. It’s been a shitty day.”
“It has,” Braddick agreed. “Did they find out anything from the Facebook list?”
“Nothing, Guv. Google went home an hour ago. Nobody is prepared to make a statement. He said he’ll be back in at seven to have another crack at them but he’s not holding his breath that anyone will come forward.”
“I’m not holding mine either but someone knows who killed the Johnsons. If we keep shaking the tree, something will fall out,” Braddick sighed. He stood up and picked up his overcoat. It was too late for fresh information to come in and he needed to clear his head. His brain felt like it was turning to sludge. There was a point where staying at work became counterproductive and he had reached it an hour before. “We’re not going to achieve anything tonight. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay thanks, Guv,” Ade put his empty cup down. “It’s good to have you back. See you tomorrow.” He smiled awkwardly and turned towards the lifts. Braddick made a mock salute in response. He looked at Ade’s crumpled jacket and wondered if he had tipped off the Drug Squad about the raid. He’d known Adrian Burns for ten years. They were the same rank before Braddick transferred; they were never close friends but they got on well enough on the odd occasion that they met. There was a mutual respect between them although Braddick knew that time changed people. It had changed him. He didn’t figure Ade as a snake but then he didn’t know him anymore, time would tell. Whoever tipped off the Drug Squad was trying to make his life difficult and he intended to find out who it was. When he did, he would kick them up the arse.
Braddick put his coat on and walked to the window. The Ferris wheel at the Albert Docks was dormant, the ferries moored up for the night. He thought about walking to one of the bars in the docks, maybe booking into a hotel for the night to save driving home. His tussle with Eddie Farrell Junior had unsettled him and he needed something to help him unwind. He didn’t think that he would sleep, knowing that the Evans family were targets. Mark Evans had sent him a text message with an address on Anglesey where his brother was taking them. He made the arrangements with the neighbouring forces to make sure that they would be made a priority if they made an emergency call but it didn’t feel like it was enough. Bar taking them home with him, there was nothing more that he could do.
“I thought you might still be here,” a female voice disturbed his thoughts. “I’m going for a drink across the road. Do you fancy coming?” Steff Cain said from the doorway of the office. Braddick desperately wanted to say yes. He wanted alcohol and he wanted to discuss the day’s events. Female company wouldn’t go amiss either. It made sense to socialise with colleagues from the station. It was the best way to catch up and familiarise himself with the force as it stood. The problem was that he knew that she just wanted the gossip on why he had come back. He didn’t trust her; not one bit.
“No thanks,” Braddick said glancing around at her. “I’m going to go home and
get some sleep, early start tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, thanks for the offer though.”
“There are some decent bars over there nowadays if you fancy a late drink. We go quite a lot. I’m going to book into the Holiday Inn Express.” She held up a small rucksack. “I’m sharing a twin room with one of my DC’S, half the cost,” she shrugged “No strings attached, just a drink....”
Braddick smiled and shook his head, confused. “Nothing like having your arm twisted when your willpower is at an all time low.”
“I was pretty sure that I wound you up today. I certainly didn’t mean to, this time around anyway,” Cain smirked. “I’m not trying to get into your pants. I am going for a drink with a few colleagues and I thought it would be nice to invite you.”
“Life’s very short and I do want a drink,” Braddick shrugged. “Sod the early night.”
“So is that a yes then?”
“Yes. Your round first,” Braddick said, his mind made up. He thought about Anthony Farrell, Bryn Evans, the Johnsons and Karin. Especially Karin. They had had no choices, fate forced their arm.
“You’re right. Life’s short.” She agreed.
The phone on his desk rang. He thought about leaving it and then picked it up. “DI Braddick.”
“Are you the bloke in charge of the Johnson murders?” a male voice rasped, slightly muffled by a tissue over the mouthpiece, Braddick guessed.
“I am, yes.” He fumbled for a pen and held it poised above his pad. Cain rolled her eyes skyward and frowned, pointing to her watch. “How can I help you?” Braddick asked.
“It is more a case that I can help you,” the voice said. Braddick could hear traffic in the distance. The caller was using a phone box. “I know who killed the Johnsons, the ones found in the alley but I’ll only talk to you and I’m not going to court.”
“Okay, where and when?” Braddick thought that it could be a set up, Eddie Farrell Junior seeking revenge for their spat, trying to lure him somewhere remote.
“Meet me at the McDonald’s drive thru on Edge Lane. I’ll be inside,” the voice sounded frightened. Farrell wouldn’t have picked such a public place. “You make sure that you come alone or I’m gone.”
“I’ll be alone, don’t worry.”
“What car do you drive?”
“A Range Rover Evoque.”
“How long will you be?”
“I’m on my way.” The line went dead and he replaced the receiver, looking at Cain. “Sorry,” he shrugged. “Another time maybe?”
“Maybe,” she said aloofly. She turned and walked through the doors to the landing. He heard her footsteps on the stairs and he waited until they had faded before he followed her. He opted to take the lift, feeling slightly relieved that he wasn’t going to wake up in the morning a bit hung over and a little embarrassed. There was no sign of her on the ground floor and he jogged across the secure car park to the Evoque. The drive through the city to Edge Lane took fifteen minutes, the roads virtually empty. When he pulled into the car park, he picked a spot in full view of the restaurant’s dining area. He could see four people inside, a couple and two lone diners. None of them took any notice of his arrival. He checked his mobile and turned off the engine, nervously looking into the darker reaches of the rundown trading estate. The yellow light from the lampposts that surrounded the fast food outlet couldn’t penetrate the blackness beyond the car park and the shadows seemed to shift and swirl as he stared into the night.
A knock on the passenger window made him jump. He turned to see a crooked smile, most of the teeth missing, the remainder stained. A beanie hat was pulled low to brow level, his ears covered. Braddick wound down the window a few inches.
“Are you going to let me in or what?” the man snapped, looking around nervously. He pulled at the handle. “Come on I haven’t got all night.” Braddick looked at him, assessing the threat level. He unlocked the door and watched him climb in. The odour of stale sweat and mould came in with him. His skin looked pale and grey in the dull light, his time in the sun limited at best. “I could murder a coffee,” he said closing the door, rubbing his hands together against the cold. He cupped them together and blew onto them, nodding towards the drive thru. “A hot drink would work wonders. It’s getting cold at night isn’t it?”
“It is,” Braddick agreed, realising that the man was one of the city’s many homeless people. The smell of living rough hung thick in the air. He started the engine and pulled the vehicle towards the drive-thru lane. A taxi and a van pulled into the line before him. “Have you eaten?”
The man shook his head and blew into his hands again. “A cheeseburger wouldn’t go amiss,” his toothless grin appeared once more. It wasn’t pretty but it was disarming. There was something genuine about his manner. The order post crackled into life.
“Will a quarter pounder with cheese and fries do you?” Braddick asked with a grin.
“It would be much appreciated.”
Braddick talked into the order post and bought two large coffees, a quarter pounder with cheese and a large fries. They picked up their order at the next window and found a place to park a hundred yards away from the building. Braddick handed him the food and his drink and kept his own coffee. “What’s your name?” he asked as the man shoved a handful of fries into his mouth.
“People call me Cookie,” he said chewing greedily. He bit into the burger and washed it down with a mouthful of coffee. “Danny Cook is my full name, Cookie for short.” He wiped his greasy hands on a napkin. “Thanks for this. I didn’t realise how hungry I was. You get past it when you haven’t eaten for a while, you know what I mean, don’t you.” He gulped at his coffee. “Actually you probably don’t know.”
Braddick shook his head, sipped his coffee and allowed Cookie to finish his food. He had sympathy for him. It didn’t take much for life to fall out of kilter. There were plenty of people on the streets who could have been police officers if life had been different for them and there were plenty of police officers who could have ended up destitute if luck hadn’t shined on them. There was a fine line between lucky and unlucky. Fate was fragile in the inner cities and many lives once full of hope and promise fell by the wayside. “What can you tell me about the Johnsons, Cookie?”
“I don’t know them personally,” Cookie said wiping his mouth. “But I know what happened to them. Fucking shocking it was.”
“I’m listening.”
“See where the old B&Q is over there?” he pointed across the car park to a row of unused warehouses. They were rotting hulks silhouetted against the yellowed light pollution from the city beyond them. “There’s an old bowling alley behind it. It’s been closed for years now.”
“It used to be the Superbowl,” Braddick nodded, remembering a few boozy nights out as a teenager. “I remember when this retail park was in its heyday. Do you remember the skateboard park over there on Rathbone Road?”
“I do,” Cookie smiled ear to ear. “I used to play there from dawn till dusk when I was at school. Loved my board.”
“Me too, although I think I would break my neck on one nowadays,” Braddick laughed.
“You’re indestructible at that age though, aren’t you?”
“We thought we were, eh?” Braddick sipped his coffee and looked towards the derelict hulks. “What’s the old retail park got to do with the Johnsons’ murders?”
“Drive me over there and I’ll show you,” Cookie said enthusiastically pointing into the gloom. “It’ll be easier to show you,” he insisted. A car turned the corner, headlights glinting in his eyes. His pupils were tiny pinheads of black against the green irises, heroin a common visitor to his bloodstream.
Braddick hesitated and looked at Cookie sternly. “That’s not happening.” He wanted a breakthrough on the murders but it was too risky. “I’m not driving out of sight of the road on the word of a man I’ve just met, Cookie.” He paused and sipped his coffee. “You seem like a nice bloke
but I’m going to need more than what you have told me so far before I make any decisions.”
Cookie sipped his coffee. “Fair enough, I understand you have to be careful but I’m on the level.” He shrugged. “I’m trying to help because what happened to the Johnsons was wrong in so many ways. It was sick... I mean burning their legs like that.”
“Wait a minute,” Braddick stopped him. They hadn’t released any details. “How do you know what happened to them?”
“I saw it, man,” Cookie shook his head and grimaced.
“You saw it happen?”
“Not quite.”
“What are you saying exactly?”
“I’ve been sleeping in the bowling alley for about a month,” Cookie said pointing at the dark shadows beyond the derelict hardware store. Braddick remembered back to when the bowling alley was open. There were three or four other buildings there, a carpet warehouse, an electrical store and a furniture outlet, all which shared a football pitch sized car park. They were all empty now and it was too dangerous to go alone on a tipoff despite the temptation. “It’s dry in there and more to the point it was safe. Safe is hard to find these days but it was safe in there,” he nodded, a sad look on his face. “It was the best place I’ve slept for ages. Not anymore.”
“Tell me what happened?”
“The Tuckers that’s what happened,” Cookie frowned and shook his head. “They broke in last night with some of their goons. The noise woke me up. I was upstairs so they didn’t see me. I’d been using, so I hid, but I was listening to them. I heard every word they said and I knew them straight away.”
“By their voices?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “They were waiting for something. I didn’t know what until a lorry turned up with a container on the back. I saw the lights on the car park.”
“Go on.”
“The next thing is I crept to the top of the balcony and looked over. They had two blokes tied to some old chairs. One of them was fucked up, man.”