Brotherhood

by David Beckler

  “Unlikely. I don’t think the police identified the body until late yesterday so the college might not know one of their pupils is dead and even if they do, they won’t have had time to organise anything.”

  “What about McLaughlin?”

  Byron made a gesture of dismissal. “No need to worry about him.”

  “Oh yeah?” What Adam knew of the man suggested he’d be a big threat, especially with their history and after Byron had thwarted him last night.

  Byron drummed his fingers against the car seat, a sure sign someone better beware, but Adam wasn’t sure if Byron realised what forces McLaughlin now controlled.

  Siobhan had arrived at work early and although pleased the team had updated the incident board, she found the failure to find CCTV evidence disappointing. Maybe they would find something today. She’d brought her team to Liam’s college at the earliest possible time, eager to press on. The admin building with its smell of candle wax and its stained-glass windows made her think of boring Sunday mornings listening to interminable sermons. She checked the time again as she waited for the receptionist to return with the principal. As she waited, she relived her embarrassment when she’d mistaken her drunk neighbour for a burglar. At least he’d taken it in good spirit. She heard voices and adjusted her expression.

  A tall thin man with rounded shoulders and wearing a business suit walked ahead of the receptionist. His receding hairline, prominent Adams apple and beaky nose brought to mind a vulture.

  “Chief Inspector.” He held out a bony hand. “I’m Stephen Hughes and I’m in charge here, for my sins.”

  “Chief Inspector Quinn,” Siobhan said as they shook hands, his withdrawn almost before they’d made contact. “Do you have somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “My office.” He looked past Siobhan to her entourage. “But I’m afraid you won’t all fit in.”

  “That’s fine; it will just be the two of us.” She introduced Eddy.

  The principal led the way to his office and, although shocked when he learned of the murder of one of his pupils, he soon recovered.

  “That’s dreadful news, Chief Inspector. Do you know who might have done it?”

  “Not yet, sir. We want to interview Liam’s friends. Find out if anyone saw him on Sunday so we can build up a picture of his movements in the hours before he died.”

  “Of course. I’m sure they’ll be only too glad to help.” He frowned, repeating, “Dreadful news. Have you told his mother? Of course you have. How’s she bearing up?”

  “She seemed to be coping, sir,” Eddy replied. “We have a superb team of counsellors.”

  “Do you have somewhere where we can speak to Liam’s friends?” Siobhan asked. “Somewhere private, where people can talk without being overheard? If you have more than one room…”

  “Of course.” He produced a timetable and studied it.

  “We need to borrow a few of your staff. Some of the people we want to speak to are minors and will need to have an appropriate adult with them.”

  The principal nodded and reached for the phone on his desk. Siobhan prepared herself for a long and distressing morning.

  “Chief Inspector Quinn?” A tall, muscular youth stood at the door with a friendly, but serious expression.

  “Matthew Walcott?” she asked.

  Walcott nodded.

  “Come in.” Beside her Eddy picked up his pen. The college welfare officer shifted in her seat and gave a tight smile.

  Walcott didn’t look at all nervous and strode to the desk with a confident, easy manner. “Good morning,” he said, including the other two.

  She recognised his accent as African, although she didn’t know from which part of the continent. “Please sit down, Matthew. Can I call you Matthew? Or do you prefer Mugisa?”

  Surprise made his eyes widen.

  “I’m called Matthew in college.”

  As they’d agreed, Siobhan let Eddy take the lead.

  “Okay, Matthew. I’m Sergeant Arkwright. There’s nothing for you to worry about. We just need to trace Liam McLaughlin’s movements on Sunday evening.”

  “I heard someone killed Liam,” Walcott said. “Who would do such a thing? He was very popular. What happened?”

  Eddy ignored the questions and asked his own, establishing Matthew’s identity and personal details. This usually helped to relax witnesses, but Siobhan didn’t think this witness needed help.

  “We’re trying to build up a picture of his movements over the weekend,” Eddy said. “When did you last see him?”

  Walcott looked pensive. “Friday. We had a history class together.”

  “You haven’t seen him since?”

  “No, sir.”

  Siobhan insides fluttered as one strand of Philip’s alibi fell apart.

  Eddy expression didn’t change. “Can you tell me where you were Sunday night?”

  “Is that when he died?” Walcott’s look of concern returned.

  Eddy studied him.

  “I was with some friends; we were meant to go to Philip’s, to work on a project.” He gave a conspiratorial smile. “We didn’t go.”

  “Philip?”

  “Philip Mason.”

  “So he was with you Sunday night?”

  “Until about eight.”

  Siobhan felt disappointed, but Philip still had to explain why he said Liam was with them.

  “And you didn’t see Liam?” Eddy asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Where did you hang out?”

  Walcott mentioned local landmarks, which Eddy seemed to recognise.

  “Can you tell me the names of the other people with you?”

  Eddy noted the names. The same ones Philip had given the night before.

  Siobhan took over. “Thank you, Matthew. You’ve been very helpful, but we might need to talk to you again, just to clarify a few points.”

  Walcott pushed his chair back and stood. She saw him deciding whether to shake hands with her before settling on a nod to each of the room’s occupants.

  Siobhan addressed the college welfare officer. “Do you want to grab a cup of tea? We’ll take a break.” Siobhan waited until the woman left. “What do you think of Matthew Walcott?”

  “Pretty cool, very believable.”

  “I agree, but we know he’s an accomplished liar. He lied to his parents about being at Philip Mason’s house last night.”

  “What do you want to do next?”

  “I think we should interview Philip Mason now. Get him to explain the discrepancy with his version of what happened on Sunday evening.”

  Eddy pushed his chair away. “I’ll get him. Do you want a brew?”

  “Yes please. Milk no sugar.”

  As she waited, Siobhan replayed the interview. Something about Matthew wasn’t right, but she couldn’t pinpoint the cause of her disquiet. She left the idea alone; it wouldn’t come if she chased it, but she would put Matthew Walcott on the list of people to re-interview.

  The door opened and Eddy returned, wearing a frown. “Philip Mason’s not shown up today.”

  Although she shouldn’t have been surprised, alarm bells rang. “I’ll sort out the paperwork and visit him at home. Matthews and Khan can come with me and you take over here. Let me know if anything else crops up.”

  Byron returned to the car and waited for Adam to return. Their failure to find Philp weighed on him. The confidence he’d started out with drained away with every setback and they were running out of options. And he still had to decide what to do about McLaughlin, something he couldn’t put off for too long.

  Adam jogged out of an alleyway and returned to the car. “Any joy?”

  “Anthony’s mother claimed he stayed home all evening. She said he’s been withdrawn since the weekend and hasn’t been out, except to go to college.”

  “That figures, if he took part in the killing.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, each remembering the first time they’d seen violent deat
h at close quarters.

  “Alternatively,” Adam said, “he could be genuinely upset about the murder of a close friend.”

  “Nah, there’s no question he’s involved.” He didn’t want to consider the alternative, that Philip had lied to him. “You find anything round the back?”

  “Another row of houses. They’ve got a small back yard with no outbuildings and nowhere you could stash someone.”

  It was a world away from where Philip lived. “Any boarded-up houses?”

  “Not that I could see. They all overlook each other, so it would be a big risk to take a prisoner there.”

  “Okay.” Byron tried not to let his frustration show; Adam would help him regardless, but he didn’t need to make it any more unpleasant. “Mugisa’s next, you know the address?”

  Adam nodded and started the car. Byron realised he couldn’t do the next call. Much as he wanted to speak to Mugisa’s parents, it would be a stupid risk for him to see them.

  “Can you go in on this one?”

  “Yeah … sure…”

  “The father will recognise me from last night so if he’s in…”

  “Of course, I’d make a great welfare officer.” Adam gave a goofy grin. He didn’t fancy doing it but he could see how stressed Philip’s disappearance made Byron and could imagine how he’d feel if it one of his sister’s kids went missing. He parked a few doors from their target and waited for Byron to vanish down the alley leading behind the houses before he got out.

  As he waited at the door, he ignored the uneasy sensation in his gut and rehearsed his patter, determined not to let Byron down. The middle-aged woman who answered studied him with a frown.

  “Hello, Mrs Walcott.” He gave her his best smile. “I’m Steve, the welfare officer from the college. We’re concerned about the effect recent events might have had on our pupils. Could I come in and have a chat about Matthew?”

  “Call me Miriam.” Reassured she gave his Fire Service ID a cursory examination before leading him into a comfortable kitchen smelling of fresh baking and insisted he sample the brownies cooling on a wire tray.

  “So, the death of his friend hasn’t affected Matthew?” Adam asked, reaching for another piece of cake.

  “I don’t think he knew the boy well. He only heard about it this morning — on the radio.”

  “Didn’t the police come round last night?”

  “Oh yes, they did, but he was at Philip Mason’s house.” She frowned. “He might have found out there, I suppose.”

  “Didn’t he mention it when he came home?”

  “We were asleep. We’re early-to-bed kind of people.” She gave a conspiratorial grin. “And once we go to sleep, it’s the devil’s own job to wake us.”

  Adam’s pulse quickened, but he tried to keep his voice casual. “So you didn’t see him when he got home last night?”

  Miriam opened her mouth before closing it and narrowing her eyes.

  Bugger! He complimented her on her baking, and she relaxed, pushing the laden tray across the table. He took another piece and chewed as he considered his next question. He wanted to ask if Matthew had a den, somewhere he went to be alone, but already suspicious, she’d probably throw him out, or worse.

  “Do you have any pictures of him?” he asked then realising his mistake added, “One of him as a youngster.” Come on Adam, why would the welfare officer need a photo.

  She considered the request before answering. “We haven’t many. We only got him at fourteen.”

  “He’s adopted?” Adam couldn’t hide his surprise.

  “The principal knows all about it.” Her suspicion returned.

  “That’s not information he shares with all the staff.” She appeared to accept this and Adam exhaled, relieved he’d guessed the gender of the principal.

  “I’ll get them,” she said, leaving the room.

  Perspiration soaked Adam’s torso and he told himself to get a grip before he blew it. She returned with a leather-bound album. The first page displayed three creased and faded prints.

  “These are from before we rescued him.”

  The images showed a skinny black youth squinting in the bright African sunshine. He wore tattered fatigues, two sizes too big for him and stared fiercely at the camera. In one image he carried a Kalashnikov. Adam looked at the prints with growing unease. He’d seen pictures like this.

  “These are from after we found him.” Miriam turned the page.

  These photos showed the same youth in some sort of transit camp. He looked better fed and clothed but his eyes still held the same fierce anger.

  “You went to Africa to get him?”

  “Oh no. When I say we, I mean our church. We rescue lots of young people from that terrible place.”

  The later images showed the youth growing taller and filling out. He wore a smile in most of them but behind it Adam sensed a hidden sadness. Miriam and a small middle-aged man appeared in many of the pictures.

  She pointed at the man. “That’s my husband, Joseph.”

  “Very distinguished looking.”

  She smiled and preened. “Yes he’s a very good man.”

  Adam memorised the most recent images of the youth, making sure he’d know him if they ever met and refusing offers of more refreshments, he thanked Miriam and left.

  Byron waited in the car. “You took your time.”

  Adam offered a smile of apology. “Did you find anything round the back?”

  “Nah.” Byron sounded despondent. “There’s space where you could keep someone but you’d need a car to get them in and out unseen and I doubt these boys have one. So, how did you get on?”

  “He’s our man. The parents were in bed when he came in last night. He could have come in at any time.”

  Byron studied him. “There’s more isn’t there?”

  Adam nodded. “Our friend Mugisa is adopted. He was a child soldier. I saw photos, twelve and carrying a Kalashnikov. Do you remember Sammy Lee?”

  “The ex-Ghurkha you served with in Kuwait?”

  “Yeah. He’d fought in Sierra Leone and said they were the meanest soldiers he ever fought. No fear, no compassion; didn’t know when they were beaten.”

  “Yes, but whoever placed him for adoption must have made sure they rehabilitated him.”

  “He might have slipped through the net.”

  Adam started the car and pulled away from the kerb. They remained silent. If Mugisa had him, Philip was in more peril than they had thought.

  CHAPTER 11

  A shout from the driver guarding their vehicles alerted the attackers. The men and older boys from the village, away tending their animals, saw the smoke and returned.

  With shouts and blows, the invaders drove their young captives towards the waiting vehicles. Crammed into the rear of a small truck like animals on the way to market, the prisoners stood. They set off in convoy, back to their camp. The men from the village appeared in the distance. Most carried hand weapons or sticks. A few bore ancient Lee Enfield rifles, over half a century old.

  In anger and desperation the men from the village fired these, releasing puffs of smoke from the barrels. The invaders were now almost out of range and most of the bullets missed. By a savage irony, one bullet found a target, passing through the head of one of The Boy’s footballing companions. Blood and brain matter splashed The Boy. Constricted by the crush of bodies, he couldn’t raise his arms to wipe it away.

  Pressed against his friends’ bodies, the victim remained upright as the convoy made slow progress along rough roads, every bump making the body lurch into The Boy. Unable to comprehend any more horror, he stared out at something visible to nobody else. In the months that followed, The Boy thought of his dead friend as ‘the lucky one’.

  Siobhan waited outside the Mason house for a response to the doorbell. She should have sent two of her men round the back in case the lad tried to do a runner but she’d not got the impression he would from yesterday’s meeting. Anyway, too late now, a fig
ure approached the door.

  “Mrs Mason, I’m—”

  “That was quick, Detective Chief Inspector.” She greeted Siobhan with a look of surprise. “And call me Rebecca, please.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rebecca gave a puzzled frown. “Aren’t you here to investigate Philip’s disappearance? I’ve reported it at the local station.”

  Siobhan cursed. Someone should have told her. “I’m sorry Mrs Mason, we weren’t aware of this. We’re here investigating the murder of Liam McLaughlin.” She produced a document. “This is a search warrant for your address and my team are here to carry it out.”

  The boy’s mother scrutinised the piece of paper, not seeming to take in the words.

  “Mrs Mason, I will have to insist you let us in.”

  Rebecca noticed the officers behind Siobhan for the first time. “I suppose you’d better come in.” She pulled the door open.

  Siobhan led her team into the house and they filled the hallway. “I’d like to make a start on the search. The sooner we begin…” Siobhan studied Philip’s mother, who seemed to age before her. “Are any of the rooms locked?” she continued in a gentler voice.

  “No,” Rebecca whispered.

  “We’ll need access to the whole house. If we have to take anything away, we’ll give you a receipt. Please show me to your son’s room. I’ll start there.” She addressed the rest of her team. “Youssef, start at the top and Debbie, search this floor.”

  The two detectives each led off a small group of uniformed officers to carry out Siobhan’s orders. As she followed the still silent Rebecca up the stairs, Siobhan told herself to forget her disappointment at not finding Philip at home and concentrate on locating evidence. She wondered if he was really missing.

  Rebecca showed Siobhan into her son’s room and waited in the doorway. “Can you tell me what you’re looking for?” she asked, rediscovering her voice.

  Siobhan studied the room. A smell of deodorant and trainers reminded her of her brother’s room, although his had been nowhere this size and the posters on his wall showed Man United players, not motorbikes and what look like African tribal art. “I’ll need the clothes he wore on Sunday night for a start.”