The Initial Blow

by Paul Vincent Lee

  ‘Who was the guy, Julie?’

  ‘Joe, I don’t want to ....’ again the raised hand.

  ‘Was it Harris?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No? Then who?’

  ‘I don’t....’

  The blow from the outside of Turner’s right hand took her completely by surprise. A couple of Argyle Street veterans, perched at the bar, didn’t bother to look over; they’d seen it all before.

  ‘You bastard.’ More a whimper than a shout.

  Julie Connor rushed to the door of the Ladies screaming, ‘no wonder Kate was leaving you, you fucking arsehole.’

  The man watched, considered intervening but waited. Intrigued as to what Joe would do now. Turner sat in the booth, unsure himself what to do. He rose to head for the door, turned, walked to the Ladies and went in.

  Julie was bent over a grubby hand basin, dabbing the side of her face with a damp paper towel.

  ‘I loved Kate, Julie.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t love you. I wonder why, eh Joe.’

  Neither Joe nor Julie would ever be fully aware of what happened in the next few seconds. Blows rained down on Julie, Joe thought of Kate with another man, semen stains, leaving him. When he looked down Julie was sitting in the corner, her face bloodied and tearful, shock and fear in equal measure in her eyes. Joe turned and walked out of the door, picked up his suitcase, crossed the sparse bar area and scurried out into the dull Glasgow afternoon.

  The man entered the toilet corridor from the lounge area, unseen.

  Julie Connor heard the toilet door opening.

  Was it Turner coming back? Was it the barmaid coming to her aid?

  Her reaction on seeing him coming over to her was one of overwhelming relief, her shock and outrage momentarily dissipated.

  Why had this happened? How? What had come over him?

  Confusion and surprise swirled in her mind, but at least she was safe.

  The blade was cool as it sliced her neck from the base of one ear to the base of the other. The smart blue suit Julie wore to work was slowly enveloped in a dark red shroud.

  The man turned in disgust from the sight of the sanitary towel dispenser that Julie Connor’s head rested against, and left the toilet and lounge bar the anonymous way he had entered.

  ***

  Jill French stood at the door of Susan Dornan’s office.

  ‘Ma’am, there’s been another woman murdered, stabbed.’

  ‘Yeah, I just heard. Welcome to the City of Culture, eh.’

  French was confused; she couldn’t understand Dornan’s reaction.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  The tone and urgency in French’s voice alerted both Dornan and Healy, something was wrong.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Julie Connor, from The Marriott? It’s her.’

  Dornan, Healy and the rest of the team and all the backup services were at the murder scene within ten minutes. This sealed it for Healy, Joe Turner was their killer. For a fleeting moment he thought of the weekend in Marbella. The barmaid and the couple of regulars who were in the bar reluctantly gave their statements and although it was obvious they didn’t want involved, their description of the man who had struck Julie Connor and then followed her into the Ladies matched Joe Turner. She also told them that the guy who had done it was carrying a suitcase. Healy signalled to Dornan to come with him. The Argyle Street pub was just at the base of a slip road onto the M8 motorway which went straight past Glasgow Airport. Healy drove and reached the airport in less than 15 minutes. Joe Turner was sitting in one of the bars in the Departure Lounge, his bruised fingers wrapped around a pint tumbler.

  ‘Not going to say “cheerio”, Joe?’

  Joe Turner looked up.

  Dornan was sure he had been crying.

  Healy was sure he was a murderer.

  ‘Better come with us, Joe.’

  ‘Fine, but the bitch deserved it.’

  Matt Healy really was thinking about Marbella now.

  ***

  I have always considered myself to be a diligent enough worker so it was unusual for me to have “thrown a few sickies” recently, and I was using up my holiday entitlement fast; but how can you sit in an office when you think that someone you know has killed, and may well be considering killing again? I sat in my flat, decimating the coffee jar, and trying to reconcile friendship with “the right thing to do.” I wished I had one of the many so-called bad habits that other people seemed to have no worries about having; smoking, biting my nails, drugs even, anything that might help alleviate this inner turmoil. I wasn’t even into music that much, so I couldn’t even allow myself to become absorbed in something like that as a distraction. I kept turning over in my mind that a friend was dead and another friend may well have killed her. I hadn’t spoken to Joe for a couple of days, not since he was ranting and raving about Julie Connor, and I wasn’t sure that I actually wanted to speak to him, although I did think it was strange that Joe hadn’t phoned me from Spain to say he’d arrived back. At that point I became aware that the phone was, in fact, ringing.

  Christ, this whole thing is freaking me out.

  ‘Is that you, Ray?’

  ‘Yes.’ I recognised the voice but wasn’t quite sure who it was; a woman from Personnel probably, just checking my current health “status” as they liked to call it these days.

  ‘Hello, Ray. It’s Martha Reid, Kate’s mum.’

  ‘Martha. God, that’s really weird. I was just thinking of Kate and Joe and things. How are you?’

  ‘Well, not too good actually, Ray. I have some terrible news.’

  Terrible news, what could be more terrible than what had already happened?

  ‘Jesus, Martha. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Kate’s friend, Julie Connor, has been murdered.’

  All sense of reason, balance and normality left my life as if someone had just flicked a switch. I wasn’t sure if I could even talk.

  ‘What? When? How? Are you sure Martha?’

  ‘Yes, this afternoon. But it’s worse than that, Ray. Joe has been arrested for it.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The police phoned here. I’m the only family member they knew how to contact.’

  I had never felt anything like the sensation I felt then. This was my fault; I had killed Julie Connor just as surely as if I had put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

  Joe, you fucking, fucking bastard; I will nail you for this, I swear.

  I was breathless yet my chest was heaving at the same time. I had tears in my eyes but wasn’t crying. I was angry at Joe Turner, the world, but mostly at myself. I was also resolved. I would be phoning the police as soon as I got off this call. This was the end. It was over for Joe.

  ‘I thought I’d phone you straight away, especially since you spoke to Julie so recently.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sure. I understand. Have the police been to see you about this as well Martha?’

  ‘No, not yet, but I expect they will.’

  ‘I imagine they might. Will you be OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be fine. I don’t believe Joe had anything to do with any of this, Ray. He has his faults, God knows, but he isn’t a killer, I’m sure of that. I’m also going to tell them about what I suspect Kate was up to that week-end. ’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Oh I think we both know the answer to that, Ray’

  I wasn’t sure if Martha knew of Joe’s violent past and I saw no point in bringing it up now. I also sensed a kind of family dignity in her tone, protecting her own in times of crises. I was impressed; humbled even.

  ‘I don’t know what to think, Martha.’

  ‘Will you go and see him, Ray? As a friend; if not as his lawyer.’

  ‘Well, I’m pretty busy at work just now, Martha; working from home to-day, though, and Joe will probably get out on bail tomorrow. Then again, with him resident in Spain I don’t know. Christ, what a mess.’r />
  ‘I know, Ray, I know, all so very sad. I’ll tell the police when I speak to them that Joe can stay with me, if they’re prepared to release him that is.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s good of you, Martha. Are you sure you want to do that, given the circumstances?’

  ‘I told you, Ray, I don’t believe for a moment, not a moment, that Joe hurt anyone, especially Kate and what possible reason would he have for killing Julie Connor? The whole thing is totally absurd.’’

  ‘I’m sure, you’re right. Martha, do me a favour and keep me informed about what’s happening, especially if the police are coming to speak to you. They might say something I can pass on to help Joe.’

  ‘Oh, I will, Ray, don’t worry. If Joe could rely on anyone it was always you. I’ll phone you as soon as I know anything.’

  After Martha rang off, I sat deep in thought. Unlike her, I was sure Joe had killed Kate and Julie and I knew I should really speak to the police but, still, my sense of loyalty to a friend was an issue and if I was honest with myself, I didn’t really want to become too involved in the whole thing. I reasoned that if Joe got out on bail, he was bound to phone me and I would take things from there. I sat staring at the phone for a long time. I thought of Kate and Julie, thought of Joe, thought about Martha’s call and knew what had to be done.

  ***

  ‘You’re becoming quite a regular, Joe.’ Matt Healy was sitting opposite a rather bedraggled Joe Turner. Susan Dornan was the only other person in the room. Joe Turner “didn’t need a lawyer.”

  ‘OK, I shouldn’t have done it. But that cow Connor has never liked me. Didn’t think I was good enough for Kate. Snobby cow. Don’t think I don’t know she was the bitch who told you about my ancient history.’

  ‘Not that ancient, Joe. Kate’s body had a number of older bruises, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, well.’

  ‘Well what? She deserved them, did she?’

  ‘It was nothing, the odd push more than anything.’

  ‘And what about Julie Connor? She needed a push did she?’

  Healy and Dornan were positive Joe Turner had killed Julie Connor, and probably Kate as well. But they were a little put off by the lack of blood on his clothes.

  ‘Look, I admit it. I hit her. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Charge me and let’s get this over with. I’ve got a flight to catch.’

  ‘Bit more to it than that, Joe.’

  ‘Yeah, what?’

  Healy kept his anger in check. He wasn’t going to blow this. He knew Joe Turner was now a double killer and he wasn’t going to let any stupid moves on his part stop putting him away for a long time.

  ‘Julie Connor’s dead, Joe. That’s what.’

  Joe Turner looked from Healy to Susan Dornan and back again, trying to suss out the bluff.

  ‘What of, Mad Cow Disease?’

  Matt Healy had had enough. He rose slowly and lent over the table to within a couple of inches of Joe Turner’s face.

  ‘No, Joe. Knifed to death, just like Kate, and I’m going to put you away for a long time for both of them.’

  Healy sat back down, never taking his eyes from Turner.

  ‘Anything you want to say, Joe?’ Susan Dornan asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want a lawyer.’

  Joe Turner was given a plastic jump suit to wear while his clothes were taken to forensics. He sat in his cold, whitewashed cell picking a hole in one of the sleeves. He knew he hadn’t killed Kate, he knew; but Julie, the red mist, he had kept it in check so long, but....

  Help me, Kate, help me.

  Kate Turner didn’t respond.

  The next day Joe Turner was granted bail for the murder of Julie Connor. Martha Reid didn’t attend; but had made sure that the provisionally appointed defence lawyer made the court aware that he was welcome, as a valued member of the family, to stay at her address and that she, as a respected pillar of the West End community, would vouch for his appearance at any future court hearing. Joe Turner was given bail and left the court at 4.00pm in theory a free man, but one without a passport. Matt Healy had pressed the PF to strenuously oppose bail pointing out that Turner had actually been arrested at Glasgow Airport attempting to “flee the country” but he knew that bail was likely to be granted as Turner had only been charged with one murder at that point; not a major thing in modern Scotland apparently.

  On being released Joe phoned Martha to thank her for everything she had done and told her that he was going to do some shopping for toiletries and things before heading out to her flat.

  ‘That’s fine, Joe. I’ve had a set of keys made for you and you can come and go as you please once you have them’ Martha said.

  ‘Thanks again, Martha, I don’t know what I would have done without you. I didn’t kill Kate, Martha, or Julie.’

  ‘I know that, Joe. Oh, by the way, I phoned Ray yesterday; I thought you’d want him to know. He was very concerned and upset, as you can imagine. He would have come to court but he’s very busy at work just now, but he wants you to phone him when you can. He was confident you would be let out.’

  ‘That’s great, Martha. I’ll do that.’

  Chapter 8

  But what can I do

  I can’t control my mood

  It feels like you mean so much

  But you’ll forget me soon enough

  I knew Joe would phone me. I sat compiling all my thoughts and fears surrounding his past, his fraught relationship with Kate, his intention “to kill” Julie Connor and my knowledge of the “smoking gun”, the return ticket from Edinburgh’s Waverly Station to Glasgow’s Queen Street Station for the Saturday that Kate Turner died. The one that Joe had discarded on the bedside table of his bedsit, the one the police would find in the inside lining of his brown leather jacket; if I told them to look there. I knew that because I had placed it there. I felt like a Judas but I wasn’t motivated by greed; there were no 30 pieces of silver for me. I just wanted the nightmare to end. I started to cry and didn’t stop even though my ribs started to ache. I went to the fridge, poured a glass of wine and sat gingerly down in front of the TV. “Coronation Street” was on; a soap about an ordinary Manchester street that was nothing like any street I had ever come across. What was “ordinary” anyway? Up until a few weeks ago I thought Joe Turner and Julie Connor were ordinary, not to mention poor Kate.

  I’m just about to betray my friend. I don’t know for a fact that he has done anything and I’m condemning him out of hand. Why would he kill Kate, anyway? He’s always been a good friend to me. What the fuck have I done?

  I needed to get out. Have a few drinks, relax. Think. I didn’t have a circle of friends as such, more a few acquaintances that I occasionally teamed up with. Tonight I was going to try something different. Something that perhaps it was best your friends didn’t know about.

  ***

  Although he had never asked Susan outright if she dated men, Healy suspected that perhaps she did occasionally. He felt that they were in some form of relationship but wanted to know where he stood. On the way back from the court hearing he had asked her if she fancied a movie. She had said sorry but she had something planned.

  ‘No sweat, I’ll see you Friday night anyway. Remember? Squad bonding night?’ he casually responded.

  ‘Yes. Of course. Looking forward to it. I’ll see you then’ she replied over her shoulder; as she sauntered off, not wanting to admit that she had forgotten all about the night out with the squad.

  Healy brooded in the squad room. He was looking over some case notes, pondering whether to go home or to the pub to watch a Scotland World Cup qualifying match that was on Sky, a form of self-flagellation that would maybe suit his mood.

  She’d better not sleep with this bastard, whoever he is. Bet he’s an arsehole, anyway.

  ***

  Susan Dornan couldn’t believe she had actually been persuaded to try speed dating by a friend. She had had a couple of dates with Tom Barbour
but didn’t see that going anywhere so had just thought, “why not?” Her friend, Myra, had insisted that “it would be a great laugh” and certainly some of the guys, who had turned up, to Dornan’s mind had to be having a laugh. But on her second trip around the tables she had found herself sitting opposite a familiar face.

  ‘Ray Ford. God, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Same thing as you, I’m guessing. Unless you’re working, of course’ I replied.

  ‘No. God, this is embarrassing’ replied Dornan.

  ‘Why? I don’t think so. In fact I’m quite pleased, that you’re here.’

  Dornan was flattered, pleased and excited.

  Over a coffee later in the evening I explained that I didn’t socialise much with work colleagues or others in the legal profession; that I preferred to separate my work and my private life. We had our first official “date” the following evening with comedy to the fore as l had suggested a visit to Jongleurs Comedy Club in Glasgow’s city centre.

  Susan obviously knew of comedy clubs but had never actually been in one and had seemed to thoroughly enjoy the evening especially, like most Glaswegians, when there was a touch of cruelty in the rapid routines.

  “Dyslexia, yeah, can be a bit of a problem. Like the agnostic one who didn’t believe in dogs, or the pimp one who bought a warehouse or the Devil Worshiper one who sold his soul to Santa.”

  “I hear those Glaswegian Siamese twins have written a biography.....Oor Wullie it’s called.”

  “Thought I’d made love for an hour and 5 minutes last night until I realised the clocks had gone forward an hour.”