by Luca Veste
So far, only he and DC Kirkham had been able to handle looking at the body for any period of time. The sight of the charred remains had already cost them a few uniforms, and DC Hale had bolted from the clearing saying he’d check that there were no members of the public in the vicinity, but Murphy had known the truth.
‘Corpse sniffer?’
Murphy turned towards DC Kirkham and nodded. ‘We’d already found out that his phone was switched off in this area, so it would only have been a matter of time.’
‘Is this private land?’
‘Think so, but it’s not exactly off-limits. There’s only a few footpaths, so you can walk through here without even realising. Uniforms have already spoken to the woman.’
DC Kirkham walked away, probably to find the uniforms who had spoken to the female dog-walker who had discovered the body. Another example of the public being involved in the discovery of crimes, without having any intention of doing so. It was enough of a cliche that it put Murphy off ever wanting to own a dog. He could do without finding a dead body whilst out walking the damn thing.
‘Christ . . .’
Murphy turned towards the voice behind him. Dr Houghton was standing a few steps away, taking in the scene, much as Murphy had, eyes locked on the body hanging from the tree.
‘It must be bad,’ Murphy said, taking a step back to allow Dr Houghton to move past him. ‘Never heard you invoke His name at a crime scene before.’
‘There’s something about fire which always gets to me, David.’
‘I know what you mean.’
Dr Houghton stood closer to the body, hands on his hips as he surveyed what was left behind. Forensic techs moved into view, none of the usual joviality and gallows humour on display. Even the scattered uniforms were keeping themselves to themselves, the eerie stillness of the area remaining undisturbed despite the increasing number of people descending on the scene.
DC Kirkham reappeared, moving to Murphy’s side and looking towards the clearing without speaking.
‘How is she doing?’ Murphy said, leading DC Kirkham further away.
‘They’ve called an ambulance for her,’ DC Kirkham said, taking one last look behind him before trudging off in step with Murphy. ‘She’s in shock. It’s about the last thing you’d expect to walk into. They’ve managed to get out of her that she usually walks the dog this way every mid-morning. She called it in straight away and didn’t get too close.’
‘She knew what she was looking at then?’
‘I would say so,’ DC Kirkham replied, shoving his hands in his pockets as they came to a stop a few more feet away. They came to a halt on a narrow path, dense woodland surrounding them, leaving little room for the two of them to stand comfortably. ‘The smell probably didn’t help matters.’
‘She didn’t see anything, I’m guessing?’
‘Not that they’ve managed to get out of her yet. But I can’t imagine anyone hanging around long after doing something like this.’
‘We’re isolated enough that I doubt anyone even saw the fire when it was going,’ Murphy said, peering through the trees. ‘I think the nearest house is over the next field.’ He pointed in what he thought was the right direction, but wasn’t entirely sure.
‘How did the fire go out?’ DC Kirkham said, joining Murphy at the top of the small bank he had ascended to get a better look at the surrounding woodland. ‘Could have burned down a fair few trees, which would have made it easier to notice. Seems like it was all contained in one area.’
‘Just the tree and the surrounding patch of grass . . . good question. I doubt whoever did this brought a hose with them.’
‘Could just be the way it was done. I don’t know. I haven’t exactly come across something like this before.’
Murphy stepped back onto the path, glancing back towards the clearing, before walking away further. ‘About seven or eight years ago I worked something similar. A homeless guy, beaten up and then rolled onto a bonfire. We lifted the lad who did it within a few hours. Just a kid. Teenager, who had a history of trouble. He’d run away from a foster home and met with this guy, smoked his cigarettes and shared a can with him. Then beat the shit out of him, for no reason we could find. It was bommy night, so a few people were watching this bonfire still going at about one in the morning. The homeless guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. We could never find out if he was still conscious when he was set on fire, but they suspected so. Always hoped the beating was enough, you know.’
‘Doesn’t bear thinking about,’ DC Kirkham said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘The one way I don’t want to go.’
‘I don’t think we get much choice in the matter.’
DC Kirkham was about to reply, but then seemed to change his mind. He brushed a shoe across some loose soil and turned his head towards the trees. ‘Two left then. What, with Tim Johnson in prison. Can’t imagine it would be easy to get to him in there.’
‘Get on the phone to the uniforms watching Simon Jackson. I don’t care what we have to do, just get him out of that building and into safe custody. Hopefully we catch whoever it is trying to get to him.’
‘Yes sir,’ DC Kirkham said, snapping off his gloves.
Murphy watched the forensic techs continue to work the scene. ‘James Morley – what do we know about him?’
DC Kirkham huffed out a breath. ‘Not much really. He’s another one who moved back down south after graduating from university here. We’re struggling to find him, but there’s nothing to suggest he’s in the area.’
‘Keep on it,’ Murphy replied, pulling out his phone and checking the time. ‘This feels like the end game now. Two bodies in two days means whoever we’re looking for has escalated. Started to panic maybe. Means we’re close.’
He waited for DC Kirkham to leave his side before reading the message from Sarah which had buzzed through just before he pulled out his phone.
Hope all is OK. Off to the uni. Will see you at home later. xx
He fired off a quick reply, then pocketed his phone and felt a little buzz of adrenaline.
It really was the end game, he thought. Four days after being told to look into the disappearance of a local prospective MP, he now had three bodies . . . the investigation had moved in ways he could never have predicted.
That was the way of things. Nothing was ever as it seemed.
He thought of the three remaining men, the last surviving founding members of the Abercromby Boys Club, and wondered if they understood what was hurtling towards them. Tim Johnson secure in prison, but the other two less safe.
He considered whether they had always suspected this would happen one day.
There was a part of him which admired the simplistic vision of revenge that was being enacted upon them. An act of vengeance they couldn’t escape.
Murphy shoved his hands in his coat pockets and shook his head at the futility of it all. Wished not for the first time that he could choose who the victims were, so it made his life just a little easier.
In a way, it was no different from Jess having to defend the worst of humankind. He was currently tasked with stopping someone who was only cleaning up a mess that had been allowed to fester over the years.
If he could provide justice to only those who deserved it most, his job would be a simple one. Instead, he put his head down and trudged back to the latest crime scene and kept going.
You
You know how this began. You’re beginning to see how this will all end.
You check the information again, wondering if fate is real after all. James Morley, back where it all started.
You think of him, wondering if he will know what your intentions are as soon as you walk into the room.
It doesn’t matter to you really. It will almost be the end. One last name, once James Morley is no more.
You watched a man burn to death just a few hours ago. Led him to his death, tied him up to a tree, then covered him in petrol. Lay a trail to a few feet away, where you could start the
fire without worrying about your own safety.
You wonder if it would have been better to have died with that man in those woods, burning alongside him.
Death scares you. You know that’s normal. We all fear the only inevitable thing in our lives. You’re no different. You wonder what is on the other side.
You wonder if you have made a difference.
You think of Tim Johnson, rotting in that prison cell. You wish he was dead now. You wish your list could be complete, with none of them ever breathing again. You regret not killing him. In some ways, you wish he had been found not guilty. Once he was convicted, it was done. You had no chance.
Prison is a slow death.
Tim Johnson will never accept responsibility. He will never get out.
You used to lie awake at night, trying to envisage a future where you wouldn’t be plagued by nightmares as soon as you shut your eyes. You feel you might be closer now. That you will soon be able to be at peace with everything that happened. That it will no longer haunt you.
There are two names left on your battered list. Two birdies. You need just the one stone.
You have peered into windows, late at night, trying to listen to what they were doing. You have witnessed them take women back home. Stayed until the next morning, just to make sure they reappear.
You have seen them be normal.
You watched a man burn to death. Heard his screams, the pain and agony of his suffering. You saw the realisation cross his face when he understood what was going to happen to him. Heard him pleading and begging for his life.
He said your name, hoping that would help. It didn’t. It only made things worse.
You wonder if you will ever forget the images which crawl through your mind. You remember Sam Byrne as you choked the life out of him. His eyes bulging as he struggled to breathe. You remember Matthew Williams and the sound of his head being pulverised by the hammer. You remember Paul Wright, desperately trying to loosen the noose around his neck. His eyes bulging, his face turning an inhuman colour. You remember the face of Chris Roberts as he fell into the darkness.
You think you will remember Neil Letherby most of all. The glow of the fire, the heat as it rose to full flame. At one point, as he burned in front of you, you could only see hell there.
You wonder if that’s where you’re going.
The heat from the fire returns as a memory. You had wanted to turn away, but you couldn’t stop watching as the man stopped screaming and the noise of the burning took over. You had to watch as the man’s skin blackened, his clothes disintegrated.
You enjoyed watching him suffer. You wanted him to.
Now, it’s the end. When you discovered that James Morley would be going back to where it all began, it felt apt, somehow. It begins and ends in the same place. There is a poetry to that fact. A perfect circle being formed.
Soon, you will have finished your work. Soon, you will have what you need.
It is time.
It is time.
Now.
Thirty-four
Rossi read the news update on her phone and swore at the screen in her hand. She clicked off it and tried ringing her brother again. When the voicemail kicked in, she thought about leaving another message, but decided the other fifteen she’d left probably made the point.
She lit another cigarette, chucking the lighter back onto the coffee table. Images of the latest crime scene appeared on the muted television screen. Rossi imagined reporters scrambling to the newest place of interest within the city.
‘Do you have to smoke in here?’ Darren said, popping his head round the living-room door. Rossi looked up at him, giving him a quick glance before turning back to the television. He was dressed for work, but seemed to be hanging around, waiting to leave.
‘I can smoke where I like,’ Rossi said, trying to keep her voice level. ‘If you don’t like it, open a window.’
‘It’s not that. I just don’t think it’s that healthy for you. You’ve done so well over the last year.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m having a little slip. I think it’s fine in the circumstances, don’t you?’
Rossi ignored the heavy sigh which came from Darren at the doorway.
‘I need to get to work,’ he said after a long period of silence. ‘Are you going to be OK?’
‘I don’t need you,’ Rossi said, hearing the words after she’d spoken them, realising the harshness of them. ‘I mean, I’m fine.’
‘I know what you meant,’ Darren said, the hurt apparent in his voice. Rossi felt the need to qualify her statement further, but ignored it.
‘Just leave, Darren,’ she said, taking another drag from her cigarette, watching the smoke settle in the air above her. ‘I’ll be OK.’
‘You can’t keep shutting me out, you know? We’re supposed to be a partnership. Whatever you’re going through, I should be going through it with you. That’s what I’m here for.’
‘Just go,’ Rossi said, shaking her head as Darren’s words made her teeth clench. ‘I don’t need you trying to sort out my problems for me. I’m more than capable of fixing things myself.’
Another heavy sigh from the doorway. She could feel her patience wearing thin, as if it were a tangible thing.
‘I’m going then,’ Darren said, taking a step further into the room, before stopping and looking towards her. She could feel his eyes on her, but didn’t turn in his direction. ‘Speak later?’
‘Have I got any choice?’
She heard the front door close a little harder than usual. Things between the pair had turned frostier as the week had progressed. Rossi had the feeling he’d been gearing up to chat about starting a family for a while and hadn’t particularly liked her response. What he didn’t know, was that he had instead picked the worst time to bring it up.
She turned the volume up on the television and banished Darren from her thoughts.
It was only by stepping back, having nothing else to do, that she began to realise just how much interest there was in this case. She had lived within a bubble for much of the week – not knowing that Sam Byrne’s death had resonated so strongly with the wider public. The media frenzy had plainly been compounded by the other deaths that week, of which this new one was the third, but the fact that the prime minister had come out and spoken about the murder of a prospective Tory MP meant that the case was front-page news.
Rossi wondered if the PM would be so keen to comment once the full details of Sam Byrne’s private life were revealed. It wouldn’t be long, she thought. There was nothing like a bit of juicy gossip to keep the newspapers happy. She had already checked social media to see if anyone was making any noise, but it seemed that it was being kept quiet for now.
It wouldn’t last.
She thought about Murphy, what he would be doing out in those woods now. Who would be with him and whether or not he was missing her being by his side. This would be the first time he had been out in the field without her for years. They had been with each other for so long now, she wondered if it would be weird for him.
Rossi lifted her phone again, finger hovering over the dial option, and pressed it once more. Each time, she willed the phone to ring, but instead it was the same voice again.
Welcome to the O2 messaging service . . .
She lifted the remote from the side of the sofa and turned up the volume even more, listening as the reporter on screen spoke about the newly discovered crime scene. The words didn’t permeate her thoughts, however, as she tucked her legs beneath her and flicked ash onto the saucer she had turned into an ashtray.
What have you done?
She had been in awe of her older brothers, as they moved in and out of her young life. They seemed to exist on a different planet to her – each one bigger and more distant than the last.
Except for Vincenzo. He was closest in age to her, only a few years between them. She still looked up to him, but they at least had some things in common, which was more than she had with her older brot
hers. He would make time for her, in ways the others wouldn’t when she was younger. Most of the time, they just complained that she had her own room and they all had to share.
She had driven around aimlessly the night before, hoping to find him. After she’d visited his home and got no reply, she’d dropped in on her parents – who hadn’t seen him in a long time. She didn’t know enough about him to be able to call at places he may have spent any spare time so she had taken to the roads, just hoping to find him by chance. There was a disconnect in their lives, which she’d allowed to grow over the previous few years. They all had their own things going on. That’s just the way it was.
She sat forwards on the sofa, putting her cigarette out and pulling her boots back on. There was no use sitting around doing nothing but calling his number over and over, hoping for a different result. She had been out to his workplace that morning, but he wasn’t there. She knew Murphy would be trying to track him down by now as well.
She wanted to get to him before he ended up in a cell.
Rossi grabbed her car keys from the coffee table and pulled her jacket on in the hallway. She ignored the mirror hanging on the wall close by, and turned towards the door.
There was someone there. A figure was standing outside her front door, making no movement. The frosted glass made it impossible to make out who was there, but the outline was enough.
She made her way towards the door, grabbing the baton she kept nearby and moving it into reach.
‘Who’s there?’
No answer. She wondered if her voice had carried through the PVC door. The shape of the man didn’t seem familiar but it was hard to tell.
There was silence, then she jumped back as the figure raised a hand and banged on the door.
‘Let me in,’ a deep voice said from the outside. ‘Now.’
She was still for a moment, then grabbed for the handle and pulled the door towards her.
‘Fuck’s sake, sis. Can you let me in?’
Rossi stood for a second, still holding onto the door, turning slightly as Vincenzo slipped past her and into the hallway.