Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  Jan fumbled about at the front of the taxi and handed over a couple of business cards and a pen.

  ‘Go ahead, Amy.’

  I carefully wrote down the numbers.

  ‘What’s up? Anything interesting? I could do with something for the breakfast show. All I’ve got so far is a runaway Shetland pony and an off-licence theft in Kirkham.’

  ‘It’s just a bit of research, Amy. It might turn into something interesting. Thanks for your help. Cheers!’

  I hung up.

  ‘Do you want to start driving us to Ivy’s place?’ I said to Jan, thinking that we might as well be moving while I was making calls. She started up the car again and, after turning around at the end of the road, we began to move slowly along the street.

  I dialled Russell Black’s mobile number first, thinking that would be a direct route to him wherever he was at that time of night. It didn’t even ring. It was a dead number.

  ‘Bollocks, he must have changed his mobile number.’

  Then I tapped in the numbers for the home phone. It rang. I hoped Russell Black hadn’t moved house since 2007.

  I put the call on speakerphone.

  ‘Hello. Russell Black speaking.’

  ‘Fuck, that’s no police car. Look who it is!’

  Alex’s outburst took me by surprise, and I ended the call immediately.

  ‘Damn it, Alex. What’s up? You might have timed that a bit better!’

  I snapped at her, she might have put my pitch to Russell Black in jeopardy now. He’d think we were pranksters.

  ‘Didn’t you see who was sitting in that car? It’s nothing to do with the police. It was that blackmailing bastard Charlie Lucas!’

  ‘Pull over, Jan, please,’ I said. ‘Just along here – don’t let him see us.’

  ‘What’s he up to?’ Alex said, looking out of the rear window.

  ‘Probably hoping he’ll witness the next body being dumped there. Imagine the scoop that would be.’

  ‘It seems like a hard way to do your journalism, Pete. Shall we tap on his window and let him know that we’re here?’

  ‘I’d rather avoid the sneaky little rat if I can. The less we have to do with him, the better, but I suppose he might know something.’

  ‘You go,’ said Alex. ‘I might punch the man if I see him again.’

  I got out of the car and walked along the road using the stick. My leg was feeling better. It was still uncomfortable, but I was able to move well again.

  The fencing that Alex and I had squeezed through to get a look inside Woodlands Edge had been newly secured. There were Keep Out signs attached to each panel, and I could make out the police cordon tape around the tree where the bodies had been left.

  Charlie almost jumped out of his skin when I tapped on his window. He was sipping a coffee and it splashed on his trousers. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. He wound down the window.

  ‘Did you have to do that?’ he snarled. ‘You might have given me warning that you were coming.’

  ‘It’s very quiet on this road, Charlie. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve made my name as a journalist getting big scoops, Mr Bailey. They tend not to drop in your lap. You have to control the situation and make sure that you’re in the right place at the right time. And what brings you out here?’

  ‘Same thing, I suspect. I wanted to see how the crime scene looked. They’ve got this place sewn up nice and tight. There won’t be any more bodies dumped by that tree, that’s for sure.’

  ‘You never can tell, Mr Bailey. I’m surprised that the police haven’t left some form of surveillance up here. They removed their man after that lollipop man, Bob Taylor, got killed.’

  ‘How long will you be sitting here? It seems a bit extreme lurking in your car all night when you’ve got a comfy hotel to go to.’

  ‘I’ll be here as long as it takes, Mr Bailey, as long as it takes. This place owes me. It screwed up my marriage. I’d like it to pay up with a big story again.’

  ‘You know what you said about my video and the photos of Alex with the escorts, Charlie? What would it take to make those go away? Alex’s first. What would I have to do for you to destroy her part in that story?’

  ‘A good journalist knows how to be patient, Mr Bailey. You never know when you might need a particular piece of information. Sometimes you hang onto it for years before making use of it, and other times it never sees the light of day. There’s very little that you could do that would make me destroy that information. Consider it a pension pot. However, if you could get me in a room with Russell Black for ten minutes, that might do for starters.’

  ‘Russell Black? And what would you give me if I could arrange that?’

  ‘It’s not enough for you to get your friend off the hook, but your video isn’t worth very much to me. Get me to Russell Black and it’s yours. He mustn’t know I’m coming. We have what you might call history.’

  ‘I might just be able to deliver that, but I want Alex’s information too. You know there’s nothing salacious going on there. She’s not cheating on anybody. If I give you Russell Black, you let me have any information you have on Alex too. Okay?’

  ‘Not okay, but put it this way. If I get what I want from Mr Black, before some nutter with a revenge mission kills him, I’m prepared to make that deal.’

  ‘You make sure you’re as good as your word, Charlie,’ I warned.

  I walked back to Jan’s taxi. The engine was still idling. I kept the conversation to myself – I didn’t want to get Alex’s hopes up. Neither did I want her to know what a shitty thing I was about to do.

  ‘Let’s get to Ivy’s house,’ I said. ‘And I need to call Russell Black. Hopefully he’ll pick up again.’

  Jan started driving. I dialled Russell Black’s home phone number. It rang for some time before he picked up.

  ‘Hello. Russell Black speaking.’

  ‘Hello Mr Black. I’m sorry to disturb you at this time in the evening. My name is Peter Bailey. I’m a radio journalist at North West News FM ...’

  ‘Mr Bailey. I heard you interviewing my friend June Dodds on the radio. I hope you’re not going to invite me to endure the same humiliation, as it’ll be a polite refusal I’m afraid.’

  ‘I would like to speak to you, but it’s on behalf of a good friend of mine. Have you watched Crime Beaters on the TV, Mr Black?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied slowly, waiting to see which way the wind was blowing.

  ‘Alex Kennedy is a good friend of mine. She’s staying with me in Blackpool at the moment and is filming a documentary on social care in the nineteen-nineties. She’d love to chat to you with a view to putting you on national television.’

  ‘This is nothing to do with Tony Dodds’ death or any of the other unfortunate events at the children’s home?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with that, Mr Black. Ms Kennedy happened to tell me that she was looking for a charismatic and capable social services director who was active during the nineties. I told her that I have the very man.’

  Alex made a wanker signal with her hand. I smiled. If I was Pinocchio, my nose would have grown one inch longer.

  ‘I could maybe meet with her when all of this has blown over. Perhaps in a week or two?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Black. Alex returns to London next week. You would be the missing piece in the puzzle. If we could speak tonight, that would be really useful.’

  There was silence on the end of the line. Alex took the phone from me, sensing that we needed to add a little more seasoning to the lie.

  ‘Mr Black, hello. It’s Alex Kennedy from Crime Beaters here.’

  She missed out the bit about being newly retired.

  ‘Peter has told me how influential you were in Blackpool in the nineties. It sounds like you’re the professional voice that we’re looking for.’

  ‘Good evening, Ms Kennedy. It’s a pleasure to speak to you—’

  ‘Can I interrupt you? You have a superb broadcas
ting voice. It’s good enough to be on the radio. Your diction is wonderful.’

  This time I made the wanker sign with my hand.

  ‘That’s very nice of you to say so, Ms Kennedy. Thank you. So what is this programme that you’re making?’

  It took Alex less than five minutes to close the deal. I’d suspected he was vain, but he was gullible too. There had been many times in my radio career where I’d talked important people into doing things that they really shouldn’t have done. What was it Meg used to say? ‘You chat people up for a living.’ Well, if that was the case, Alex and I had just had a threesome with Russell Black.

  ‘He’ll meet us at the Grande Royale Hotel at nine o’clock. It has to be in the bar, in the open.’

  ‘This is Ivy’s street,’ Jan said from the front of the car. ‘It should be one of these ... number 32 … number 34 ... Here it is: number 36.’

  We pulled up a little way along the road where there was a space.

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked. I was missing my phone.

  ‘Twenty past eight,’ Jan replied. ‘Leave yourself a clear ten minutes to get to the Grande Royale from here.’

  I took Alex’s phone and called Charlie Lucas. I was brief and curt with him, not really sure if I was doing the right thing. I had to think of Meg. Charlie Lucas could take care of himself. He was a cockroach – a survivor.

  ‘Russell Black will be at the Grande Royale Hotel at 9 o’clock. I’ll turn up five minutes late. You’ve got that long with him. Make it look like a coincidence; tell him you’re staying there. And when I arrive, don’t show that you know me. Make your excuses and go. Got it? You make sure that you honour your word. Remember our deal.’

  ‘If I get what I want from Russell Black, I’ll settle up with you,’ was all he said. Bastard. It was the only chance I had to find Meg, get her out safely and finally get Charlie off our case. It seemed like my best bet.

  Alex and I stepped out of the car. We knocked on Ivy’s door, number 36. This would have to be a brief visit, but it was one I’d been looking forward to for a long time. I was finally about to meet the child who might have been my son.

  Chapter Seventeen

  1993 Tom and Meg spent that night in a hotel on the seafront, paid for in cash by Charlie Lucas. He was protecting his deal. He hung around long enough to make sure that Meg was fine, but insisted that she didn’t go to the hospital. She rallied quickly, the warmth of the radiators in the hotel helped no end. Tom called from a phone box to let his wife know why they’d been delayed. He made up a story about spending some bonding time together and staying out late to enjoy the illuminations. Mavis wasn’t at all sure, but she accepted it. She never found out what had happened that night. But in any case, it was over.

  Russell Black and Tony Dodds did exactly as they’d been asked by Charlie Lucas. He had both the evidence and the means to get that information out into the open. The men met up in private on the day that they received their brown envelopes from Charlie. They were no idle threats. His photographs would have sunk the careers of both men if they were ever leaked. The direct debit paperwork was completed and payments were made.

  Charlie never came looking for more. That wasn’t his game. The payments from the men replaced the income that he lost from his divorce. He honoured his promise. The information stayed locked up in a safe-deposit box.

  Things moved fast after Charlie had struck his deal. Tom and Meg gave evidence to support the claims that had been made against Gary Maxwell. Meg was given anonymity and permitted to give her evidence via video. Tom pushed hard for that. The poor girl had been through enough. She’d been traumatised by what had happened on the beach. Both she and Tom recognised that the best deal had been struck. They didn’t know about the financial arrangement between the three men, but they were getting their man. Somebody’s head was going to roll.

  Gary Maxwell was jailed for ten years for the repeated rape of Debbie Simmonds. Throughout the trial, Debbie maintained Gary’s innocence, claiming that they were in love, that the sexual contact had been consensual, and that they’d got it wrong. She attempted to avoid all questions that painted Gary Maxwell as the monster that he was and refused to believe he was guilty of a crime. She was distraught when he was sentenced for his repeated raping of a minor. His position of trust and responsibility made things worse. Debbie, like Meg, retained her anonymity throughout Gary’s trial.

  Meg didn’t know what happened to Debbie afterwards, and she didn’t particularly care. A part of her felt sorry for the girl and her delusion, but she was an evil bitch who’d sent Meg to her fate that night. Gary Maxwell and Debbie Simmonds deserved each other.

  Life returned to relative normality once the outcry in the national newspapers had died down. Charlie Lucas had his name splashed all over the papers; he’d landed exclusive interviews with all of the protagonists who could be identified and his post-trial reporting won him an award for outstanding journalism.

  Meg got her first sense of what a stable family life was like. She and Hannah began to see how lucky there were. As Hannah entered her eighteenth year in 1995, things were looking good. The trial was in the past. Hannah was taking driving lessons. They had their whole future in front of them. Meg had made good progress at school for the first time in her life. She was focused and had a sense of direction. She’d taken a great interest in the procedures around the trial and had become determined to find a job within the justice system.

  On the bad days, and there were many of them, Meg would burn with indignation about what those men had done. She’d want to kill Tony Dodds, Russell Black and the other men who’d hurt them – she didn’t even know their names. She remembered the late-night parties, the drunken men, the cigars and cigarette smoke, the laughter and contempt with which they treated the children. She felt ashamed, dirty, humiliated and wretched whenever she thought back to those times. She wanted to kill those men, every single one of them. One day, when she was older, perhaps her revenge would come. One day.

  There had been good times too. David, for instance, was a precious memory. And the adoption: Tom and Mavis were doting parents. She finally had people in her life she trusted enough to call Mum and Dad.

  But nothing lasts forever and for Meg Yates the pain had only just begun.

  It was almost a year after the incident on the beach. The weather had turned cold again, the heating was on, and the family was gathered in the living room to watch TV.

  Like many arguments, it came out of nowhere.

  ‘You still haven’t fixed that heater, Tom!’ Mavis scolded.

  It had been a long day at work. Tom was tired and not in the mood for it.

  ‘It still lights. We can’t afford the part for it, alright? If you’d help out by taking a job, that would help to pay for it. Even Hannah and Meg have part-time jobs—’

  ‘Don’t start that again!’ Mavis retaliated. ‘We agreed that I’d be home for the girls. We always said that. The girls come first – we cut our cloth.’

  ‘But couldn’t you even take a small job at the corner shop or something? If you want the heater fixed, that’s how it gets done. I can barely afford to pay the mortgage at the moment; the heater is the least of my problems!’

  ‘Mum, Dad, we’re trying to watch the TV,’ Hannah interrupted.

  ‘Enough!’ Mavis shouted. ‘This is important!’

  Hannah stomped off to her room. Meg waited to see if it died down. This was unusual for Tom and Mavis. They had their arguments like everybody else, but the heater had become a bit of a battleground.

  The argument escalated. They ended up hurling everything into the pot that they could think of: work clothes that hadn’t been ironed on time; Tom’s supposedly secret smoking habit that had mysteriously started up again – Mavis could smell it on his clothes. Voices were raised and tempers frayed. Things were said that never should have been.

  ‘And if you think you’re sleeping with me tonight then you’re very much mistaken!’ Mavis shoute
d as Tom headed upstairs, defeated and worn out by the stupid row.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take the spare room!’ he shouted back. They’d be the last words he would ever say to his wife.

  ‘And you still haven’t sorted out that door. I’ve been asking you to do that for just as long!’

  Tom slammed the spare room door hard. He spent his days fixing stuff that was broken. Why couldn’t she appreciate that sometimes he wanted a break from it at home?

  Once he’d settled in the spare room, Mavis retired to the sanctuary of their bedroom, leaving Meg alone in the sitting room. There was a gentle tap at the front door. It was their neighbour wondering if everything was alright.

  Meg was angry. She felt vulnerable whenever the couple rowed. She feared that they’d be sent back to the home, as if the arrangement was temporary. She had no experience of marital ups and downs. She believed the row was more serious than it was.

  ‘Just my bloody mum and dad,’ she raged. ‘I hate them!’

  She slammed the door on the neighbour and headed up to the room she shared with Hannah. They’d talk quietly in the privacy of their bedroom, and Hannah would reassure her that all couples argued this way sometimes. It would be alright.

  Mavis had been right to scold Tom about the faulty gas heater. Meg had forgotten to switch it off. The girls were usually first in bed so she didn’t even think about it. They chatted for about an hour and then settled down to sleep. It was school the next day and they’d be up early. The entire family was worn out by the row.

  It was the crackling that Meg heard first. She knew it was a threat straightaway, even though she hadn’t worked out what it was yet.

  ‘Hannah, are you awake? Hannah. I think I left the heater on downstairs. Can you make sure I’ve switched it off? I’m not sure what Dad does to turn it off properly.’

  Hannah looked at her through tired eyes.

  ‘Oh God, Meg. Can’t you go down and do it yourself? Okay then, come on, I’ll show you how to do it.’

  As they stepped down the stairs into the lounge, they saw the entire room ablaze. The sofa was in flames throwing up thick black smoke. It caught their throats and they began to cough.