Brotherhood

by David Beckler

  “Adam.”

  “Thank you, Adam.” She saluted him with the mug, took a sip and spoke to Reid. “I know you’ve already spoken to one of my colleagues, so please bear with me.”

  “Ask away.”

  “You had to break in, I understand?”

  “Yes, the door was secure when we arrived. Pete smashed the lock.”

  “What about the back?”

  “My sub officer checked it.” Reid gestured towards the other pump. “But I’m fairly sure he couldn’t get in.”

  Her expression grew serious. “You took twenty minutes to find the body. How come?”

  Adam wanted to protest but kept quiet.

  “We weren’t expecting occupants,” Reid sounded defensive. “The place was derelict.”

  “I’m not making accusations, Geoff.” She held her free hand up. “I’m just trying to build a picture of what happened. Who found the body?”

  “Adam.” Reid jerked a thumb at him.

  “Can you talk me through what happened, Adam?” Siobhan’s eyes grew darker as she studied him. The amusement of earlier gone.

  A surge of irritation flared. What do you know about firefighting? “By the time we arrived we encountered a developed fire and a ceiling temperature of almost a thousand degrees—”

  “That’s about gas mark twenty, love.” Jed, the driver of the second pump had joined them.

  Siobhan stiffened, irritation, then disappointment, flickering across her features. “I presume you didn’t waltz in at ceiling height.”

  Adam’s neck grew hot. Thanks Jed, you arsehole. He continued, giving Siobhan an account of the firefighting and search, and she nodded in encouragement. “We’d checked all the rooms and cupboards. I moved the bin to see if we could use it to take out the crap but it fell over. You saw what came out.”

  “That explains why it took twenty minutes.” She returned her mug. “Thanks for the tea,” she said and addressed Reid. “What’s your sub called?”

  “Mike Holt. They’re all on the pump.” He waved towards the other vehicle. “They’ve been hammered, so he’ll probably be dozing.”

  “Thanks, Geoff. Please make sure you all provide written statements before you go off duty.”

  She walked over to the second pump without giving Adam a second glance.

  “Philip, get up now or you’ll be late,” his father called for the third time. “Don’t make me come up there.”

  Philip burrowed into the pillow. He couldn’t handle going to college today. The knot in his gut felt like a large ball of rubber bands.

  His mother’s voice carried. “Leave him to me. He came home late last night.”

  “That’s no excuse; he needs to learn about responsibility. He is seventeen.”

  “Get going, Samuel, otherwise you’ll be late.”

  His father called his goodbyes and after a few moments the front door slammed. Philip studied the ceiling, the events of last night racing in his thoughts. The relief he’d experienced when he saw the night bus had soon passed, replaced by the fear Mugisa and the others would be waiting for him at home.

  He could still see the savage determination on their faces. Guilt over his role in getting Liam to the mill compounded the horror of what had happened to his friend. Why had the others killed him? When Philip discussed it with them, they’d agreed to scare him and rough him up. Had they all planned it or did Mugisa pull their strings as he so often did? Unable to dismiss the images, Philip squeezed his eyes shut and as he remembered his friend, tears soaked into his pillow.

  A loud knocking on his bedroom door jolted him and he sat up, pulse racing, until he heard his mother’s voice.

  “Philip?”

  “Hold on, Mum, I’m coming,” he croaked.

  He wiped his tears, struggled out of bed and pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Rebecca stood outside the door, concern in her eyes.

  “Are you okay, Philip?” She studied him.

  He managed to stop himself shifting his feet. “I’m fine, Mum.”

  “You don’t look fine. What time did you get in last night?”

  He shrugged.

  “The shower came on at half two. Why did you stay out so late?”

  He shrugged again but her frown told him he needed to give an explanation. “I went to Mugisa’s to work. We had a project to finish.” Philip sniffed. “Mum, is it okay if I don’t go in today? I’m not feeling great.”

  She examined him and he shifted his feet, chewing on the inside of his cheek, certain she could read his thoughts. She placed her hand against his forehead and he relaxed, comforted by the familiar gesture.

  “Mmm, you do feel hot. I’ll get you a couple of aspirins. Now get back to bed.”

  Philip crept under the covers and switched on the bedside lamp. She returned a few minutes later with the tablets, a glass of water and a cordless phone.

  “Take two of these. I’ll leave you the phone; ring me if you feel worse. I’ll pop in at lunchtime. Do you want me to bring you breakfast before I go?”

  “No thanks, Mum.”

  “You must be really ill.” She smiled and after kissing his forehead, she left him.

  Philip lay in bed and listened to the sounds of his family preparing for a new day. The usual noises seemed somehow alien as if what he’d done and witnessed just a few hours ago had changed his world. Panic gripped him as he contemplated the fallout from last night.

  Mugisa sat in the kitchen of the house he still couldn’t think of as home. The memory of Philip’s behaviour infuriated him. He took a bite from a piece of toast as Joseph Walcott entered the room.

  “Good morning, Matthew. How are you today?” Joseph said.

  Mugisa had learned to respond to this name, but it didn’t belong to him. He nodded, finished chewing and swallowed.

  “I’m very well, sir. And how are you?”

  “You don’t have to call me sir.” Joseph smiled and took a seat. “Call me Dad, like I told you.”

  Unwelcome memories of his last meeting with his father assaulted Mugisa.

  “Good morning. Good morning.” Miriam’s cheery voice broke through the silence. “Breakfast?” she asked.

  “This will be fine, thank you.” Mugisa waved his last piece of toast.

  Miriam tutted. “It’s not enough for a growing body.”

  “Let the boy be, dear. You know he doesn’t eat much in the morning.”

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day—”

  “You’d better get on and make mine then.” He smiled to rob his words of offence and winked at Mugisa. “You came home late last night, Matthew.”

  Mugisa kept his voice even and held Joseph’s gaze. “I went to Philip’s. We had to finish a project.”

  “If you want to stay out late, that’s fine.” Joseph glanced at his wife but she’d found something of interest on the floor. “It’s just we worry if we don’t know where you are.”

  “Sorry, sir, I’ll tell you next time.” Mugisa bobbed his head, concerned at the unexpected interrogation. “Can I go now?”

  “Of course, son.”

  Mugisa said his goodbyes and left the kitchen. One thing he’d liked about living here was that they both went to bed early, so they never knew when he got home. And before today, they’d never questioned him. If that changed, he might have to do something about it. He pulled on his jacket, his mind already on how to deal with Philip.

  The silence in the kitchen thickened as they waited for the front door to slam. Joseph studied his wife, wondering what she was thinking.

  She spoke first. “Are you happy with him staying out so late?”

  “Why not? Philip’s a nice boy and I’ve met his parents. They’re a decent family. It’s good for him to mix with people like them.”

  Miriam frowned. “He’s out late a lot and I don’t like it. You know what they said about him. He needs stability, routines.”

  “Yes, but he also needs to find his own feet. The counsellor thinks
he’s doing fine, ‘remarkably well-adjusted’ she said last time.”

  “Mmm … you know my opinion of her: book wise, life foolish.”

  “I’ll talk to him tonight and suggest he spends more time studying at home. I might even get him a computer. A friend at work said he can get them cheap.” Joseph thought his wife was worrying about nothing. Despite the dreadful start in life the boy had endured, they’d done a good job since he’d come to live with them.

  Siobhan studied the papers on the desk in the unfamiliar office. Although Harrogate was the more historic city, the irony that her last station was a modern concrete edifice and she now worked in an old building wasn’t lost on her. She checked the time: five minutes before she had to go. She summoned Eddy, mulling over the details of the incident as she waited for him. Undertakers had removed the bodies and forensic examinations continued at the crime scenes. The drug addicts found upstairs had seemed asleep; the reddening of their features and soot marks round their nostrils the only clues to how they’d died. In contrast, the body in the wheelie bin looked anything but peaceful.

  “Boss?” Eddy stepped into the open doorway.

  “Eddy, we need to identify our victims as a matter of priority.” She saw his expression. “Sorry, I don’t mean to…” She offered a smile. “Can you check the incident room is ready for me? I’m off to see the Chief Super but make sure everyone’s in there for my briefing in half an hour.”

  Eddy left and Siobhan set off for her rendezvous, a slight fluttering in her stomach. The chief superintendent’s secretary led her into his office without delay. A young high-flier, he had a reputation as a running fanatic, maybe one reason she’d got the job. He looked up from the papers on his desk and smiled.

  “Good morning, Chief Inspector. Welcome to GMP. We’ve landed a particularly nasty murder on you on your first day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In at the deep end. Well, I won’t keep you. Please take a seat and give me a quick outline.” He gestured to a chair in front of his desk.

  Siobhan sat down and started, eager to return to her investigation. “There are three victims.” She described their injuries. “It looks like the boy in the bin was the target and the two upstairs died because they were in the wrong place, so I want to treat this as one incident. I’ll obviously not rule out the possibility someone set the fire to kill them and accidentally involved the dead boy, however unlikely that seems.”

  “Good idea: avoids duplication and we don’t want to run up unnecessary overtime bills. The investigation into Shipman is eating resources.”

  “We think the victim in the bin died outside and the killers hid him in the house afterwards. We found a big patch of blood in the alley.”

  “Killers?” His brow furrowed.

  “It would have taken at least two to carry the bin into the house.”

  “How did they get in? The council should have secured those houses.”

  “It looks like they’d removed the grille securing the back door but reattached it when they’d finished.”

  “Hmmm.” He frowned. “Do we know who he is?”

  “Not at the moment. We found a student ID on him but couldn’t read it, soaked in blood. Forensics are trying to get something from it but, until they do, we’ve got nothing.”

  “Would you say whoever killed him knew what they were doing?”

  She nodded, remembering the youth’s injuries. “Despite the damage to his neck and upper body, his face remained untouched apart from a graze and a bruise on his forehead. It’s possible his attackers deliberately avoided damaging it, maybe to make sure identification wasn’t delayed, as a message...”

  He pondered this for a few moments. “You’re aware we’ve had more than our share of gang killings in the past.” He grimaced. “An ambitious journalist made sure the whole country heard about these, and some of those victims were young lads.” He fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “I’m dammed if I’ll allow it to start again on my watch. We need to catch whoever’s behind this ASAP.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “I hope you do, Chief Inspector. You have the chance to make your mark. How you handle this will determine how you’re viewed in this force.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll expect you to keep me updated on all developments, however minor.”

  Siobhan’s insides shrank. “Of course, sir, but I assume you won’t want me to hold up the investigation in order to appraise you.”

  “Of course not.”

  Siobhan held his gaze.

  “You’d better get to it then.” He picked up his pen and returned his attention to the pad on his desk. “Your superiors in North Yorkshire had a high opinion of you, but you’ll discover it takes more to impress me.”

  I bet it does, you pompous arse.

  CHAPTER 4

  The teacher left in a battered white Fiat. A cloud of black smoke pursued her as she made her way to the next village school where another class of pupils awaited her arrival.

  The Boy looked around at the group who remained and organised two teams from amongst them, making sure they shared out the weaker boys evenly.

  Four small piles of schoolbooks provided the goalposts and a bundle of rags, tied together into a small solid sphere, acted as a ball. The well-matched teams played a closely contested game. One side claimed a disputed goal and the boys stood arguing in high voices.

  A shrill scream rent the air, silencing them. Bewildered, they looked at each other, in search of guidance. The Boy reacted first, concern for his mother and sister propelling him homeward. The others followed and soon all the boys picked up their bundles and ran homeward.

  Siobhan checked her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She attempted to still the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Not only did she have to make sure she did her best for the victims; she also had to win over the whole team. Apart from Eddy, she didn’t know anyone else. She’d met a few of them fleetingly, following her final interview, but knew she wouldn’t remember any names. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Come on Siobhan, you can do this,” she muttered to herself, knowing once she started she’d be fine.

  She walked into the briefing room at half past eight. A low murmur of conversation and the smell of damp clothes greeted her. Officers in uniform and detectives sat in most of the chairs facing the front of the room where Eddy had set up an incident board. Beside it stood a lectern with a glass of water on it. She walked to the front of the room. The other officers fell silent and focussed on her. Her cheeks grew warm and she hoped she hadn’t gone bright red.

  “Good morning,” she began.

  “Good morning, Boss.” Eddy led the chorus of response.

  She gave him a grateful smile and continued. “For those who haven’t met me before, and that’s most of you,” she said, scanning the room, “I’m Chief Inspector Quinn.”

  A few nods greeted this. Everyone stared at her.

  “We are here to investigate the deaths of these three people.” She indicated the board. “As you can see, Eddy’s divided the board into three columns and added a brief description of each victim, details of when and where they were found, along with short accounts of their injuries. We can add photos and names later, along with accurate information from the post-mortem report.” Without referring to notes she gave an outline of the incident, including a summary of the information gleaned from the fire crew.

  “The first job is to identify the victims, in particular the young lad in the wheelie bin. One interesting thing about him is that, despite his terrible injuries, his killers hadn’t damaged his face, apart from a graze on his forehead and a bruise here.” She stroked her left temple.

  A hand shot up. “Yes, Detective…?”

  “DC Youssef Khan, Boss,” he said in a broad Birmingham accent. “I think I know the girl: she’s a junkie called Ingrid. She has a tattoo of a red rose on her right hand, like it says up there.” He pointed at the board.
“But she’s got red hair, not blonde…”

  “Do you have any background on her? A surname?”

  “Sorry, Boss. I just know she squats in the area and begs outside the local shopping centre. She’s sometimes with a bloke called Dave, and his description fits the other guy.” He pointed to the last column on the board.

  “Boss, there’s a clinic behind the shopping precinct with a needle exchange. They might know her,” Eddy volunteered.

  “Thank you. Can you find out, DC Khan? Check if the photos of both victims are ready and take them with you.”

  Khan nodded and made a note.

  “Boss?” Another hand raised and Siobhan signalled for the detective to speak. “DC Stefan Dabrowski. You say the other victim’s a student. Should we check the universities and colleges, to see if anyone fitting his description is missing?”

  “I’d hate to think how many students bunk off on a Monday morning.” A ripple of laughter greeted this. “Not a bad idea, but let’s explore other avenues first. Thank you DC Dabrowski.” She addressed the room. “Until we have more information about the victims and how they died, I want the rest of you to concentrate on finding witnesses. That means house to house. Is there much CCTV in the area, Eddy?”

  “Not street cameras. There might be traffic cameras on the main road but that’s a fair distance away.”

  Siobhan tried to hide her disappointment. “Please get someone to check those?” Eddy nodded, and she saw another hand raised.

  “What about the businesses in the area? There’s not many but some will have CCTV to protect their premises,” a uniformed constable said.

  “Good idea, Constable...?”

  “Matthews. Debbie Matthews.”

  “Take charge of that please, Constable Matthews.” Siobhan checked the time. “Let’s reconvene here at 14.00 by which time we should have more information about the victims. Thank you everyone.” The team dispersed and she took a sip from her glass. That wasn’t so bad.

  Even from his bedroom, the banging on the front door sounded as if the visitor was trying to smash through it. His heart pounding, Philip jumped out of bed. He pulled on his tracksuit bottoms before struggling into a sweatshirt and hurrying through his parents’ room. As usual, it looked like a show home, in contrast to his untidy den. Keeping behind the curtain, he looked down but couldn’t see the face of the man peering through the letterbox. He could however see the large silver SUV parked across the drive and recognised it with a jolt of apprehension. Liam had pointed it out. It belonged to his uncle Ritchie. What the hell did he want? He couldn’t already have discovered his part in Liam’s death.