Ritchie McLaughlin hammered on the door again. Philip’s legs trembled and his mind emptied. He decided to just stay behind the curtain and hope the visitor left. McLaughlin moved away from the door, stepping into Philip’s line of sight, and looked up at the house. His gaze passed across the front windows until he looked straight at Philip. McLaughlin looked like an advert for a menswear shop, except for his shaved head and foreboding expression. Philip froze. After what felt like an age, he saw movement on the drive and his mother appeared in her nurse’s uniform. He gulped in a lungful of air, realising he’d stopped breathing.
Rebecca Mason walked towards the visitor. “Can I help you?” she asked.
McLaughlin faced her and she studied his expensive clothes and shoes before her eyes locked on his. Philip almost felt sorry for him.
“Hello, I’m Ritchie,” he said, extending his hand and wearing an insincere smile.
Rebecca stared at him until his smile faded and he withdrew his hand. “Well Ritchie, what do you want?”
McLaughlin looked at her and then back at the house, staring straight at Philip.
“Are you going to answer me?”
The man still didn’t answer but moved closer and loomed over her. His mother looked tiny and Philip’s muscles tensed. If Ritchie touched her, he would go straight down there and batter him, regardless of who he was. Before he could act, his mother surprised him by laughing at McLaughlin.
“Ritchie,” she said, “my father was a bully and he was bigger than you. Now, either tell me what you want, or leave.”
McLaughlin stepped away, his complexion reddening. “I wanted to speak to Philip.” He studied the window, making Philip cringe. “I’d say ‘your son’, but you’re not old enough—”
“Don’t bother, Ritchie. Flattery doesn’t work on me.” She glanced up at the window. “Philip’s not available now. Why do you want to speak to him?”
McLaughlin looked at the window again and Philip attempted to melt into the room without moving. “I just wanted to know if he’d spoken to my nephew, Liam; his mother’s worried about him.”
“Tell her I’ll give Philip your message and he’ll ring her if he’s got anything to say.”
While she spoke to McLaughlin, Rebecca had manoeuvred him round and she now stood between him and the door. McLaughlin scowled when he noticed and he spun on his heel before walking stiffly to his car.
Philip’s high opinion of his mother increased, but the glow of pride faded as he realised he now had to face her. The front door closed and, from the hall below, his mother called his name.
By the time she got upstairs, Philip had returned to bed. Her footsteps sounded in the hall outside and she rapped on the door, opening it before he could reply.
“Philip?”
“Yes.” He tried to make his voice sound sleepy.
The light switch snapped on and he screwed up his eyes at the harsh overhead light. “Don’t try to make out you slept through that racket. I could hear that thug banging on the door from the corner. Why did he come here?”
Philip sat up and blinked, trying to come up with an explanation, but unable to do so, he shrugged.
“Don’t shrug at me, young man. He said he’s Liam’s uncle. Why did he think you know where Liam’s gone?”
Starting to shrug again, he thought better of it. “I don’t know, Mum. He’s a bit of a nutter.”
“Yes, I could see what kind of man he is and I don’t want him coming to our house.” She looked at her watch. “Thanks to our visitor, I haven’t time to make your lunch. You’ll have to get your own.”
“Yeah okay, Mum. I’ll be fine.” His limbs trembled but he caught himself before he sighed.
“I don’t doubt it.” She kissed his forehead and killed the light. “This isn’t over, young man. I want an explanation from you when I get home tonight.”
Philip lay on his back and listened to the sounds of his mother leaving the house. The front door slammed and, as the echoes died, his thoughts returned to his predicament.
Mugisa and the others wouldn’t rest until they’d silenced him. Liam’s uncle would also return and, despite his mother’s courage, he realised she wouldn’t stand a chance if McLaughlin attacked her. Worse still, next time it might be one of his sisters. What he knew of McLaughlin made him shiver.
How had he got himself mixed up in this? And, of more concern now, how could he escape? He needed someone he could go to for help. Not the police: his part in getting Liam to the mill made him an accessory to his friend’s killing.
A sound from the front door cut through his thoughts and he lay frozen, straining to hear above the surge of his pulse pounding in his ears. He roused himself from the temporary paralysis and, taking the telephone with him, shuffled to the front window.
He couldn’t see anyone on the drive and he studied the street. Through the hedge, he caught a glint of silver paint. A large car sat at the kerb. His heart missed a beat.
Backing away from the widow, he left his parents’ room and sat at the top of the stairs, sweat pouring off him. When his breathing slowed, he switched on the handset and dialled the number. His parents wouldn’t be happy, but he couldn’t think of anyone else.
Siobhan sat in her office preparing for the afternoon meeting when her phone rang.
“Boss, I’ve got a Mrs McLaughlin here who says her son Liam’s missing. She’s got a photo and I’m pretty sure it’s our lad.”
The knowledge she’d have to inform the woman of her son’s death tempered her excitement. “Good work, Eddy. I’ll come straight down.” She checked the time: past one thirty.
After closing the file, she stepped out into the main office. “Please tell everyone the meeting’s postponed until 16.00, Youssef.”
“Right, Boss.”
Impatient to identify their young victim, she rushed to the interview room. Siobhan opened the door and a woman of about forty started. She was attractive in an obvious way — Siobhan’s mother would have described her as ‘brassy’ — with too much make up and heady perfume which made Siobhan’s eyes water. Eddy had his head down, going through the standard missing person’s form.
“Good afternoon, Mrs McLaughlin, my name’s Siobhan Quinn.”
“Maria.” The woman offered a damp hand.
Siobhan sat down and Eddy passed her the form with a photo of a smiling lad in school uniform on top of it. The contrast with the image of the butchered youth in the burnt-out house shocked her but she didn’t think the mother noticed her reaction. She read through the notes and gave the victim’s mother a sympathetic smile.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Maria. Can I call you Maria?”
Liam’s mother nodded.
“Can you tell me when you last saw Liam?”
Maria looked thoughtful. “Just after breakfast yesterday. He’d got up late; he’d been out drinking…” She smiled apologetically. “I know he’s only seventeen…”
“I understand, Maria. We’ve all done it.”
“Like I say, he ate breakfast about eleven. I did him a fry-up. He loves a fry-up but we don’t have time most days; couldn’t afford it, anyway.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Oh yes, he was meeting friends at the pub. They were going to watch the match. We don’t have Sky at home.” She mentioned a pub Siobhan remembered passing on her way into work.
“Popular with students,” Eddy said. “I reckon Liam wouldn’t have been the only one under eighteen.”
“What time?” Siobhan asked.
“About one. The match started at three.”
“What about once the match finished?”
“He rang me from the pub to say he was going to a friend’s to do some work. They get loads of homework.”
“Do you have the friend’s name?”
“Philip Mason.”
“Have you got his address?” Eddy said, not hiding his eagerness.
Maria produced a scruffy notebook. “He keeps all hi
s friends’ numbers in here. I rang them all from work this morning.”
“Can I have a look?” Eddy held out his hand and Maria gave it to him. He found the address.
Siobhan took over, not wanting Eddy to get ahead of himself. “So you’ve spoken to Philip?”
“I rang, but he put the phone down and he hasn’t answered since.”
“Are you sure it was him? You didn’t get a wrong number?”
“That’s what Ritchie said, my brother-in-law,” she explained. “But I’m sure. I recognised his voice. Ritchie’s going round to speak to—”
“Ritchie McLaughlin?” Eddy leant forward, his face tense.
Maria nodded. “Yes, do you know him?”
“I’ve heard the name.” He glanced at Siobhan before continuing, “You say he’s gone round to this lad’s house?”
“He said he’d go later on, after he’d seen somebody else.”
Siobhan gave Eddy a quizzical look, but he shook his head and she returned her attention to Maria.
“Can we keep this?” Siobhan asked, holding up the notebook. “We need to make a copy, but we’ll let you have it back.” Maria nodded and Siobhan alerted Eddy to her intentions. “Maria, I’m afraid we may have bad news about Liam. We found the body of a young man last night—”
“Liam? What happened? I knew something had happened to him. Was it a car accident?” Her voice became shrill.
“We’re not even sure it is Liam at this point, Maria, but you should prepare yourself.”
Maria looked bewildered but, with a visible effort, controlled her emotions. She nodded and took a deep breath. “Do you want me to look at the body?”
“Yes, please. If you wait here, I’ll get the car and we’ll take you.” Siobhan stood up and gestured to Eddy to wait with the woman as she fetched her car. She always hated this part of the job and suspected this one would be worse than usual.
CHAPTER 5
More screams and shouting came from the huts, along with the sharp crack of small-arms fire. The boys rounded the little outcrop which lay between their homes and the school. Ahead, the familiar collection of huts they called home lay under siege.
Several vehicles, some with engines still running, had parked in a haphazard jumble amongst the homes. Men and youths had spilled out of them and now moved between the dwellings. All gripped weapons, a few of the older ones with firearms, but most carried Chinese-made machetes or traditional spears.
The invaders rounded up the occupants of the huts, smashing through their flimsy doors and dragging out those who tried to take refuge in their homes. Bodies lay in the spaces between the houses, wounds leaking blood into the black earth. Screams of pain and terror mixed with the excited yells of the attackers.
The following afternoon, Byron Mason sat at his desk, focussed on memorising the cash-flow forecasts before his meeting with the bank. He shouldn’t have gone out last night but getting a babysitter wasn’t easy. The phone on his untidy desk buzzed. Alison, his PA. He frowned in irritation but she wouldn’t disturb him unless she thought it important.
“Byron, I’ve got a young man on the phone. A Philip Mason. He claims he’s your nephew and he sounds upset.”
What on earth does he want? Despite not wanting to disturb his train of thought Byron decided to take the call. “Thanks, Alison. Put him through.”
“Hi, Uncle Byron. It’s Philip.” The boy’s voice sounded small and distant.
“Hi, Philip. What did you want?” Byron, his mind still on his forthcoming meeting, responded brusquely.
“Err, I wondered…” The boy hesitated.
Byron realised he’d spoken abruptly. “Is everything all right, Philip?” When had he last spoken to the lad? It must have been the Christmas before last, at Dad’s.
“Fine, thanks.” Philip hesitated again and cleared his throat. “Uncle Byron, I’m in trouble and I need your help.”
A surge of adrenaline made Byron sit up, his attention now on the call. “You know I’ll do anything I can.”
“You mustn’t tell anybody, especially my parents.”
“I can’t promise that.” Byron thought for a moment. “I tell you what I’ll do. If I think you need to tell your parents, you can tell them.”
After a lengthy pause, Philip replied, “Okay. But you must promise not to tell the police.”
Byron’s scalp prickled. What the hell had the lad got involved in? Had he started dabbling in drugs? Not sure he could make that promise, he didn’t reply.
Philip hesitated for a few seconds, then the words tumbled out. Byron listened with growing alarm. When Philip finished speaking, Byron thought for a few seconds before he made a decision.
“Okay, Philip. It does sound as if you need help. I’ll book myself on to a train this evening. You’re at home now?”
“Yeah.”
“Is anyone else there?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Don’t answer the door to anyone. Keep the phone with you and make a note of this number.” He dictated his mobile number. “If anyone you don’t recognise comes round, ring 999 and set off the panic button on the burglar alarm. Where are you now?”
“In my room. There’s a button in Mum and Dad’s room.”
“Good. I don’t want you to worry, Philip. It probably won’t be necessary, but there’s no point in taking chances. Ring me on my mobile any time you want to talk, okay?”
“Yeah sure. Thank you, Uncle Byron.”
“No problem. I’ll see you in a few hours and Philip … don’t worry.”
Byron ended the call and let out a heartfelt exclamation. If what Philip said was true, he had plenty to worry about. He didn’t want Ritchie McLaughlin anywhere near his family. The fact he wouldn’t arrive until late bothered Byron, especially if the thug was still hanging around outside the house…
Byron dialled Adam’s number, listening to the ringtone in frustration until he concluded his friend wasn’t going to answer. Why the hell didn’t he get a mobile, or at least an answering machine like everyone else in the twentieth century?
Mugisa pulled up on his bike and paused at the kerb, looking towards Philip’s house. He wasn’t sure he should give him a second chance just because of a sentimental memory of a boyhood friend. It might make him appear weak to the others. He dismissed his concern and wheeled his bike up to the door.
As he approached, he could hear excited chatter from behind it. Still uneasy, he laid the bike on its side and rang the doorbell. The door flew open and Philip’s youngest sister stood in the opening. Despite his trepidation, his spirits lifted.
“Hello, Mugisa.”
He returned her smile. “Hello Lucy. Can I speak to Philip?”
“I don’t know if he’s home. I’ve only just got back.”
She bellowed her brother’s name. Behind her, Mugisa saw her sister, who waved hello. Philip had obviously said nothing to them. Lucy shouted her brother’s name again and stepped back to let Mugisa into the hall. Mugisa entered the doorway. Philip appeared at the top of the stairs and faltered when he saw Mugisa. A look of panic crossed his face.
“Hello, Philip. I came to see how you are.”
Philip rushed down the stairs and shoved Mugisa out of the door. Caught by surprise, Mugisa offered little resistance. He caught the wrought iron handrail and stopped himself falling. The door slammed behind him.
Through the door he heard Lucy. “Philip, what are you playing at?”
“Don’t let him in. Ever,” Philip shouted, sounding strained.
Mugisa hesitated for a few seconds. The embarrassment Philip’s behaviour had caused him changed to anger with every step. He would have to do whatever it took to destroy Philip.
With Eddy giving directions, Siobhan drove to the mortuary. Eddy signed them in and an orderly showed them down a gloomy corridor infused with a musty medical smell. Their footsteps echoed and Siobhan studied Maria, who wore a determined expression. The orderly led them to a wide, dark wooden door bi
sected horizontally by a scuffed metal plate. He put his hand on the door and paused.
“Are you ready, Maria?” Siobhan asked.
Maria blinked and nodded. Siobhan wanted to leave her to it, but signalling Eddy to wait, she led the way into the room. The smell of disinfectant and bleach intensified. Maria flinched when she saw Liam and, in an almost inaudible voice, confirmed he was her son. She asked if she could spend a few minutes alone with him.
Siobhan re-joined Eddy and seeing the question in his eyes, she nodded.
“Poor woman.” He checked the time. “Most of his friends will be at college. I’m not sure when they finish but should we get over there and question them?”
“Good idea, Eddy. How far is it?”
“Less than a mile. I can walk over and meet the others there if you want.”
Siobhan considered this for a few moments. “I’ll go, if you give me directions. You can make sure Maria gets home and come over afterwards.” She handed him her keys.
Not hiding his disappointment, he told her how to get to the college.
“Do you know who did it?” Maria stood in the open doorway.
“Not yet, Maria.” Siobhan couldn’t help feeling defensive. “We need to speak to the people he saw last night.”
“I already told you, he was with Philip Mason,” she spat. “He must have something to do with it. I never trusted the black bastard.”
The shock must have shown on Siobhan’s face.
“What’s the matter? Not politically correct enough for you?”
“I don’t think the colour of a person’s skin is relevant.” Heat spread across Siobhan’s torso.
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