JM04 - Deadly Justice

by DS Butler

  “If he had to leave in a hurry maybe he left behind fingerprints or other evidence.”

  “Yeah,” Collins said. “The team is going through the crime scene with a fine tooth comb at the moment. It seems like the answers keep drifting farther away. At the beginning, it seemed like there was a pattern. He was targeting Vinnie Pearson’s gang. But now he’s targeting a little old lady and a hairdresser. How does that fit into the pattern?”

  They walked in silence towards St Michaels, stopping by the brick wall surrounding the church. Then Collins continued, “I was thinking if our masked man is some kind of vigilante, you know, taking it upon himself to punish the wrong, maybe in his opinion, Syed Hammad was just as bad as Vinnie’s gang. He was selling stolen phones...”

  “That’s a harsh punishment for handling stolen goods.”

  Both men sat on the brick wall. Collins swung his legs, hitting his heels on the rough red bricks. Mackinnon’s legs were long enough to reach the floor.

  “I might have a word with the hairdresser before I go,” Mackinnon said.

  Collins stood up, with a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be on office duty.”

  “I’m here now. I’ll just have a quick word, can’t do any harm.”

  Collins nodded. He knew Mackinnon well enough not to try and stop him.

  66

  THE HAIRDRESSER, KATHY WALKER, stood close to her brother, near to the temporary incident room. Mitch Horrocks had set himself a little further back, as if he were trying to keep his distance. Beside Mitch, a short elderly lady sat on a wooden chair. Mitch’s mother, Mackinnon guessed, the woman Mitch was so desperate to stop them talking to, after Syed Hammad’s death.

  Mackinnon took the opportunity to study the group. By anyone’s standards, Kathy Walker looked terrified. She had her arm looped through her brother’s and seemed to lean on him for support. In her other hand, she held a cigarette and raised it to her lips before sucking hard. The blanket around her shoulders slipped and Stuart Walker caught it before it dropped to the floor.

  Stuart Walker was wearing the same black leather jacket as the first time Mackinnon had seen him. Mackinnon could see Stuart’s lips moving as he spoke to his sister, but from this distance Mackinnon couldn’t identify the words.

  As he drew closer, the brother and sister seemed to sense him, and both of them looked up.

  Kathy looked exhausted. “Don’t tell me you’re going to ask us questions, too.”

  Mackinnon said, “I hear you are quite the hero, helping Mrs. Horrocks to escape.”

  “I didn’t do much.” Kathy shrugged. “I was terrified.”

  Stuart looped his arm around Kathy’s shoulders. “Of course you were. Anyone would be.”

  Kathy looked close to tears.

  “If you don’t need us for anything else, I’d like to take Kathy to my place, but I need to get hold of her stuff,” Stuart said. “Do you know if I can go inside yet? Her flat is above the salon. I’d like to get some clothes, toothbrush and that kind of thing…”

  “I’ve only just got here,” Mackinnon said. “I’m afraid, I don’t know if the building is safe yet. If you don’t mind waiting a moment, I can find out for you.”

  Stuart Walker shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll have a word with him.” Stuart nodded in the direction of the uniformed PC standing guard at the end of East Street who was beginning to take down the blue-and-white police tape.

  “Stuart said he didn’t mind going to get my stuff on his own,” Kathy said. She shivered. “I don’t fancy going back inside yet.”

  “Of course, I don’t mind,” Stuart said. “It won’t take me long.”

  As Stuart headed off to the salon, a woman, with two children under the age of five, walked past Kathy and Mackinnon. The woman carried the girl on her hip and held on to the little boy’s hand. The little boy kicked at his mother’s shins as she tried to pull him along.

  “Get off me, bitch,” the little boy shouted.

  Mackinnon winced. He seemed too young to have such a foul mouth.

  The mother responded by yanking the little boy’s arm. “Don’t mess me about, you little bugger.”

  The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Mackinnon saw that Kathy was watching the ugly scene unfold, too.

  She nodded in the direction of the mother and her two children. “There is no discipline these days. Our mother would never have let us get away with that.”

  Mackinnon nodded. He could never have imagined talking to his own mother like that. He watched the little boy throw himself on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs, as his mother desperately tried to make him stand-up by grabbing the collar of his shirt. Finally, losing her temper completely, the woman set down the little girl on the pavement and smacked the boy’s backside.

  “He that spareth the rod hateth the child,” Kathy Walker muttered.

  “What did you say?” Mackinnon asked.

  Kathy blinked up at him. “Oh, it was just something my mother used to say, spareth the rod, hateth the child.”

  Mackinnon stared at her.

  Kathy smiled. “I suppose it isn’t very politically correct these days, but my mother liked to put it into practice. She never spared the rod for me or Stuart.”

  Mackinnon had heard that saying before. It had been scrawled in black Biro, in the black notebook. He had been looking at it just that afternoon.

  He hesitated. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions again. It was just a saying. And after everything that had happened with Fiona, he didn’t much fancy making a fool of himself again, so soon.

  The killer had worn a mask when Mackinnon had tackled him to the ground, but from the build and from the body weight that had pressed down on him, Mackinnon was sure it wasn’t a woman.

  So if it wasn’t Kathy Walker…

  “Is something wrong?” Kathy asked, shrinking under Mackinnon’s stare.

  “That phrase. I’ve heard it somewhere before.”

  Kathy shrugged. “It’s probably from the Bible or something. Our old mum loved to quote things from the Old Testament.”

  Mackinnon nodded and turned away. “I’m going to go and see how your brother is getting on inside.”

  67

  THE BELL ABOVE THE door jingled as Mackinnon entered the salon.

  The SOCOs had more or less finished in here. There was only one scene of crime officer left in the salon, George Brightland. Dressed in a white paper suit, George smiled at Mackinnon and gave him the thumbs-up sign. The other members of the team would be concentrating their efforts on the cafe, looking for trace evidence left behind.

  Mackinnon headed out back, to the kitchenette and found the stairs leading to the flat above the salon. He climbed the stairs slowly, treading lightly.

  At the top of the stairs, he stepped on a squeaky floorboard and winced. He paused, listening out for Stuart Walker. Muffled sounds of movement came from the room at the end of the hallway.

  It wasn’t a large flat. The door to the kitchen was open on Mackinnon’s right. A bedroom next to that, and another bedroom and bathroom opposite. Which meant the room at the end of the hall should be the sitting room.

  Mackinnon walked towards the un-opened door. He raised his hand, touching the smooth paintwork, and pushed gently.

  The door opened with a drawn-out creak.

  Stuart was in the right-hand corner of the room, hunched over one of the cupboards in the sideboard. He turned slowly.

  There was something in the way Stuart looked at Mackinnon, the way his eyes narrowed, that set off alarm bells.

  The mask had hidden most of the killer’s features when he leaned over Mackinnon, but it hadn’t hidden his eyes. The sharp blue irises were the ones he remembered looming over him before he’d passed out.

  It was him.

  Stuart stood up slowly. The cupboard door remained ajar. Mackinnon saw the white five-litre containers lined up inside. He looked away, pretending not to notice. Mackinnon remembered the lone
SOCO downstairs, oblivious to this threat.

  All Mackinnon needed to do was get Stuart outside. The place was crawling with police.

  “I thought I’d come and see how you were doing,” Mackinnon said.

  Stuart nodded and leaned down to shut the cupboard door. “That’s very kind of you, but I think I’m done here.” He tilted his head to the side and smiled.

  He walked towards the door to the hallway, and Mackinnon expected him to walk through and prepared to follow him.

  But Stuart didn’t enter the hallway. He closed the sitting room door, reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out a key. Before Mackinnon had a chance to react, he’d locked the door.

  “What are you doing, Stuart?” Mackinnon said, keeping his voice calm and level. “Kathy is waiting for you downstairs.”

  Stuart smiled again in a friendly way. “I’ll explain. I’ll explain everything.”

  He walked across the room, as if he were going to look out of the window. Stuart leaned down and released the catch on the window, before raising it a couple of inches.

  Mackinnon had had enough of these games. If Stuart wanted to explain, he could do it at the station.

  Mackinnon moved quickly, taking hold of Stuart’s left-hand and forcing his arm up behind his back.

  Stuart swore and struggled to free himself. Mackinnon kept his grip and shoved Stuart against the wall. “I’m arresting you for –”

  Stuart turned to the side, giving himself just enough room to throw the key.

  Mackinnon watched in horror as the stainless steel key tumbled out of the window. The keys sailed through the air and hit the pavement below with a faint metallic clink.

  As Stuart shut the window, Mackinnon grabbed Stuart’s free arm and pulled him away.

  Stuart laughed.

  Mackinnon kept Stuart pushed up against the wall and fumbled for his mobile phone. “What are you playing at? There are at least twenty police officers on this street. You do realise I can just phone for backup and have that door broken down in seconds.”

  As Mackinnon started to dial, Stuart took his chance. His fingers closed around the figurine of a dancer on the mantelpiece, and he raised it up before smashing it down on Mackinnon’s temple.

  The sharp edge of the broken porcelain slashed the skin above Mackinnon’s left eye. Mackinnon jerked back and felt the sharp edge slice into his neck.

  The gash on his temple oozed blood almost immediately, trickling into Mackinnon’s eyes, making it impossible to see.

  He lost his grip on Stuart’s jacket. His mobile phone tumbled to the floor.

  Mackinnon wiped his eyes, trying to clear them from the sticky blood. He blinked rapidly and saw Stuart kneeling down by the cupboard.

  “You could ring for backup, but that wasn’t exactly how I had planned things,” Stuart said.

  Mackinnon looked around the floor, but he couldn’t see his phone. He had no option but to play for time. “What is your plan?”

  “How’s Tyrell’s girlfriend doing? Has she had the baby yet? I didn’t want to hurt her or her mother, but I had to tie them up. I hadn’t finished.”

  “Look, Stuart, Kathy is waiting outside. She’ll be worried. Why don’t you come with me now and we can talk about all this at the station?”

  Stuart laughed. “I don’t think so. Not yet. I’ve got a better idea.”

  “It will be better for you in the long run if you co-operate now,” Mackinnon said. He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. He felt dizzy.

  Mackinnon stripped off his jacket. The arm of his jacket was already saturated with blood. He was feeling queasy. He wasn’t really bothered by the sight of blood in general, but he wasn’t too keen on seeing his own.

  Surely, all this blood hadn’t come from the cut above his eye. He raised a hand to his neck and when he lowered his hand it was covered with warm, sticky blood. Black spots swam before his eyes.

  He bunched up his jacket and pressed it to the wound to try to stop the bleeding.

  “Does it hurt very much?” Stuart asked, lifting one of the white containers. “The gas, I mean, not the cut. I only wondered because you had first-hand experience of it, didn’t you?”

  “Neither is particularly pleasant,” Mackinnon said.

  “I always wear a mask, of course,” Stuart said. “But I’d like to think it was relatively painless.”

  “It’s not bloody painless. Struggling to breathe is horrific. Of course it is not painless.”

  Stuart cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps because you only had a small dose. In larger quantities it would act faster, minimising suffering.”

  Mackinnon hoped he would never have to find out.

  “My idea,” Stuart said, “is the ultimate statement and you play a part. Now, don’t think I had this planned all along. I’m clever but not quite that clever. It was one of my contingency plans. I didn’t expect to get away with this forever. But I’d like to go out with a bang.”

  Mackinnon didn’t want to think about what this bang involved.

  He leaned back against the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. Despite pressing the material tightly against the wound, blood was still dripping onto his shirt.

  When Stuart leaned down and grasped one of the white containers, the liquid content sloshing inside, Mackinnon moved quickly, standing up and shoving Stuart hard so he fell backwards.

  “Now, now, there’s no need for that,” Stuart said, brushing off his shirt. “I just wanted to show you something.” He looked disappointed. “We both want the same thing. I thought you would understand.”

  “Understand?” Mackinnon was feeling very light-headed. He sank to the ground and lowered his head. “You’ve been killing people with toxic gas and you think I would understand?”

  “I’m not the first to use it. At least it’s a humane way to go.”

  “It is not humane. It’s sick,” Mackinnon said, remembering how his lungs had felt like they were burning as he struggled to reach Robbie Baxter.

  “Just hear me out,” Stuart said.

  Mackinnon watched him carefully as Stuart moved towards the sideboard, still clutching the jagged edge of broken porcelain. He opened one of the drawers, pulled out a couple of sheets of paper and flicked through them before selecting one and smiling. He put the other sheets back in the drawer and turned to Mackinnon.

  He handed the sheet of A4 paper to Mackinnon.

  It was another suicide note.

  This time it was personalised.

  Mackinnon swallowed. His mouth felt dry. The note described Mackinnon’s dissatisfaction with the police force and stated he wanted his death to be a wake-up call.

  Mackinnon stared at Stuart in disbelief. “Do you really think I’d agree to this?”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to do it alone,” Stuart said. “It could be a double suicide. So much more meaningful that way. They would talk about it for years. People would realise they need to stand up for justice, that it isn’t something they can take for granted.”

  Mackinnon squeezed the bundled up fabric against his neck. He was feeling faint. There wasn’t much time left. He had to raise the alarm somehow before he passed out.

  Why hadn’t he told Collins or Charlotte where he was going or what he was thinking? Or better still, why hadn’t he asked one of them to come with him?

  He should have listened to Brookbank and stayed in the bloody office.

  Stuart licked his lips. He had the light of a fanatic in his eyes as he stared at Mackinnon. “It’s the butterfly effect. We make this sacrifice now, only a small change, but it will start ripples. Other people will follow our example. Don’t you see? We could –”

  “So, what? You’re a butterfly now? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Stuart’s face hardened. “Don’t take the piss.”

  “You’re not making sense, Stuart. No one is going to understand why you did this. Why you attacked kids, then went after a little old lady. No o
ne will follow your example.”

  Stuart laughed. “Those kids were delinquents. They were old enough to know better. They terrorised my sister and other people who live around here. Ask anyone. And as for Mrs. Horrocks, she’s a thief. She stole money from my wallet when I visited Mitch. She feeds poison into the ears of anyone who’ll listen. She’s a vindictive old witch who deserves to die.”

  “And the newsagent, Syed Hammad? What did he do to deserve a death like that?”

  Stuart smiled. “He was the worst one of all. He was pretending to be an upright citizen while he was selling stolen phones from his shop.” Stuart leaned close to Mackinnon. His fingers wrapped tightly around the broken porcelain figurine. “Those stolen phones gave me an idea, though. I convinced Vinnie Pearson and his gang of misfits to steal them. That was easy. As you can imagine, Vinnie Pearson didn’t take much convincing. Getting rid of Syed was easy too. He didn’t put up much of a fight. I added tracking apps to five of the stolen phones and dumped the rest in the canal.”

  “Then you hunted them down,” Mackinnon said.

  Stuart nodded. “I gave them a chance. My plan hinged on their greed. If they hadn’t stolen the phones, I wouldn’t have tracked them.”

  “What about your sister?” Mackinnon asked. “What will she do without you?”

  Doubt flickered over Stuart’s face, then he said, “She’ll be ok. She doesn’t need me anymore.” He swallowed. “I didn’t know Kathy would be at the cafe. If I’d known, I would never have … Did you know Kathy wouldn’t talk to anyone but me until she was six-years-old?”

  Mackinnon stared at the base of the sofa. His phone could have fallen under there. Could he shove the sofa back and make a grab for the phone? He looked back at Stuart still gripping the white sliver of porcelain laced with Mackinnon’s blood.

  “I didn’t know that, but I know she’s going to be devastated, Stuart. Don’t hurt her like this. Come to the station and you can explain everything.”

  “I’m not coming to the station,” Stuart said, moving over to the dining table. He gripped the white cotton tablecloth with one hand, and with a flourish, lifted it clear of the table.