Brotherhood

by David Beckler

  Rebecca glanced away before replying. “They’re in the basement.”

  “Take me to them.” Siobhan suppressed her unease and followed Rebecca back down the stairs.

  They walked through the kitchen and towards the basement stairs, her trepidation increasing with every step. As they descended, she smelt the distinctive aroma of detergent, fabric softener and damp clothing. Rebecca reached the bottom of the stairs, switched on a light and led Siobhan into a large chamber. Clothes hung from a drying rack and a washer with matching dryer stood along one wall. Rebecca pointed at the drying clothes.

  “You’ve washed these?” Siobhan said, glaring at Rebecca.

  “They were soaking wet: he’d been out in the rain.” Rebecca avoided her gaze.

  “What about his footwear?”

  “They’re still damp; they’re over there, drying.”

  “Show me.”

  Rebecca led the way and Siobhan picked up a large pair of top-of-the-range running shoes. “You’ve also washed these.”

  “Of course, they were muddy.”

  Siobhan’s hands trembled with anger and she struggled to control herself. She thrust the trainers into a large evidence bag, then gathered the clothes off the rack and bagged them.

  An hour later, they’d completed a thorough search of the premises. Siobhan returned to the kitchen where Rebecca sat, having a cup of tea. Still angry, she slapped a sheet of paper on the table in front of her.

  “This is a list of items we have removed,” Siobhan said. “When I came yesterday, I told you we wanted to examine your son’s clothes from Sunday night. I believe you washed them to destroy any evidence which may be on them—”

  “There wasn’t any evidence on them,” Rebecca protested. “My son has done nothing wrong.”

  “I haven’t decided yet what action to take but we may charge you with attempting to pervert the course of justice. Your son is wanted for questioning about the murder of Liam McLaughlin. If you know where he is and fail to tell us, I’ll make sure you’re charged. Do I make myself clear?”

  Rebecca nodded.

  Siobhan pointed to the list. “I’ll tell you when you can have these items back.”

  Rebecca nodded again and appeared to shrink. Siobhan stifled any compassion she felt towards her. Liam and his family deserved her sympathy, not whoever had killed him or shielded his killers.

  Philip woke with a start. He took a few seconds to get his bearings. Someone whispered in his ear. Had Mugisa come back already? But it couldn’t be, he wouldn’t whisper. Awareness of his surroundings returned, and he realised the source of the whispering. He screamed through his gag. With squeaks of alarm, the rats feasting on his spilled blood scattered.

  He jerked away from them but an unbearable pain almost made him pass out. He lay still until it faded. Bile rose into his throat but he fought to control it. If he allowed himself to be sick, he’d drown in vomit. A violent shudder seized his body as the cold hit him and his teeth chattered.

  When his headache subsided, he tested his bonds again, but they hadn’t loosened. The rats drew closer and he jerked his body, scaring them away. But they weren’t his main worry — he had to escape before Mugisa and the others returned. How long did he have?

  He had to get off the floor. He struggled to turn over, but with his arms and legs secured and with his torso taped to the back of the chair he couldn’t do it. Unable to right himself, he realised he was trapped, like a giant beetle. Despite the pain caused by any movement, he struggled until exhausted. The cold and fear the rats would return kept sleep away.

  The light intensified until Philip could see the walls of the basement. By spinning round, he got a good idea of the layout of the room. He lay in a large chamber. Metal pillars supported the floor above and the nearest walls were thirty feet from him.

  Further away he saw an old circuit board attached to the wall. Broken ceramic insulators hung from it. Could he use them to cut his bonds? His headache had faded and the improving light raised his spirits, reviving the belief he might escape. He spent a few minutes investigating the best way to cross the floor. He discovered if he used his legs to push himself along, the back of the chair acted like a sled.

  Weakened by the cold and inactivity, his leg muscles didn’t react well and each push covered a depressingly small distance. After a few trial lurches, he calculated it would take one hundred steps to reach his destination. He counted and, after thirty, he grew warm. He’d soon be at the wall.

  The euphoria lifting his spirits dissolved in an explosion of pain. Philip’s head smashed into a cast iron pillar. A shock wave travelled along his spine and he lay stunned. The pain faded and he tried to move, but the pillar stopped him. Inch by inch, he rotated his body until he cleared the obstacle. He looked around, realising he’d gone off target. He needed to aim to his right. At least forty feet of floor still separated him from the board. His recent optimism evaporated, replaced by a sense of despair.

  After a few minutes, he gathered himself and started again. With each step, pain infused his body. But he must get free before Mugisa returned.

  Adam’s borrowed car idled at the traffic lights on the northern edge of Manchester city centre. Next to him, Byron related Philip’s version of where they’d taken Liam.

  Adam tried to picture it. “That’s not a lot to go on, Byron. Do you know how many disused mills there are round here?”

  “Yeah, a lot.” Byron exhaled and ran a hand over his cropped hair.

  The absence of his friend’s normal confidence distressed Adam. “Don’t worry, I know this area like the back of my hand.”

  “Oh yeah, you’ve been living up here how long now? Three years?” Byron gave a strained smile.

  “Plenty of time to get familiar with it. Don’t forget I work round here.”

  The lights changed and they set off. The journey revived unwelcome memories for Adam. They drove along the road where he’d discovered Liam’s body and he didn’t need the distinctive police barrier tape to identify the house. Scorch marks disfigured the brickwork above each opening and Adam recalled the conditions they’d endured within those rooms.

  Adam drove past and headed towards nearby Ancoats where he expected to find the building they sought. They stopped outside a large mill and Adam parked near the corner. They got out and examined the red brick hulk. A few of the upper floors displayed signs in the windows, proclaiming the identity of the occupants.

  “I’m not sure, Adam, he described it as disused.”

  “There’s nobody down here.” Adam pointed to the lower floors where peeling plywood and rusty wire-mesh covered the windows. “You said he took the lad to a basement.” He peered in through a grimy window and beyond the cracked glass he could make out a large room, empty except for a broken workbench and piles of rubbish. Byron nodded and they split up to circle the building. An hour later they pulled up in front of yet another large building, occupying a whole block, and with a low gate across the entrance to the courtyard.

  “Shall I go in?” Adam dismissed the weariness which had descended on him. He always hit a wall after nights if he didn’t get to bed.

  Byron’s spirits hadn’t improved as they drove from one disappointment to another and he nodded. “I’ll check the other side.”

  Adam vaulted over the barrier and circled the courtyard. He checked all the doors but they either led to small rubbish-strewn alcoves stinking of urine or had rusty padlocks securing them. He approached the final door where a barrel held it closed. As he reached for it, a shout came from the gateway.

  “Oi, what you doing?”

  Adam at first assumed this was the owner, but then noticed the man’s uniform. “Good afternoon, Officer.”

  The policeman had a pockmarked face and straggly moustache. “I said, what are you doing?”

  Adam clenched his jaw but before he could answer Byron returned from his search of the outer perimeter. The policeman focussed his attention on him.

 
“Are you with this gentleman?” he asked.

  “Hello, Officer. Is there a problem?” Byron’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I asked you a question.”

  A second officer appeared from the opposite side of the building, burly but carrying a few too many kilos his demeanour made it clear he hadn’t come to exchange pleasantries. He stopped a few metres behind Byron, his hand resting on the hilt of his baton.

  “The owners have asked my company to provide security for this building.” Byron produced his business card. “We’re just looking around to find out what’s involved.”

  “Oh yeah, and what about the others you were looking at?” The policeman read the details on the card. “Do you have any proper ID?”

  “Are we in a police state now?” Adam demanded.

  “It’s fine, Adam.” Byron produced his driver’s licence.

  The officer examined it, taking it out of the plastic wallet.

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to do that.”

  The constable bristled but returned it to the wallet before noting the details in his notebook and giving it back to Byron. “And you, sir?” He held a hand out to Adam.

  Adam considered refusing but he didn’t want to waste any more time. He jumped over the gate, making the policeman take a step back. “Here.” He retrieved his Fire Service ID card from his wallet and thrust it at the policeman.

  “You moonlighting?”

  Adam snatched the card from the officer. He got on with most of the coppers he met but these two were going out of their way to be obnoxious.

  The officer scowled and asked Byron, “You got any proof the owners have approached you?”

  “Not with me, Officer. The letter’s in my office. Do you want me to get a copy faxed to you?”

  Adam tensed — what if he said yes?

  “Oi, which one of you owns this car?” The other policeman stood by Mal’s car, their own vehicle parked behind it.

  “What’s the problem?” Adam said.

  “This tyre’s below the legal tread depth.” He tapped the nearside wheel with his baton.

  Adam strode to the car. Mal fastidiously checked his car every week. “You tested it with a depth-gauge?”

  “So, is this your car, then?” The man squared off to Adam.

  “It belongs to one of my colleagues. I’ve borrowed it for a few days.”

  Triumph gleamed in the policeman’s eyes. “In that case you won’t mind if we check—”

  “Be my guest. His name’s Malcolm—”

  “Back at the station, I’m afraid, sir. Both you and Mr Mason.”

  “Is that necessary, Officer?” Byron said.

  “Are you refusing?” The policeman lifted the baton to the horizontal.

  “No, but I will make a complaint about you and your colleague.”

  The policeman shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Byron exhaled a frustrated breath. “Right, we’ll follow you to the station.”

  “Sorry, sir. The car’s not roadworthy.”

  Adam had had enough. “There’s no way I’m leaving that car around here. You either let us drive it to the station or you can arrest us.”

  Instead of arguing, the officer turned away. “Fine, we’ll follow you. You know the way to Longsight nick?” He walked to his car and his colleague joined him.

  “Fuck’s sake!” Byron muttered under his breath as he marched to the passenger seat and got in.

  Adam started the engine. “The bastard’s enjoying this — you see him grinning when he got into his car?”

  “How did he know we’d looked at other places?” Byron said, frowning.

  CHAPTER 12

  Twenty of the children seized made it to the invader’s camp, a large settlement hidden in acacia trees. Within three weeks, their number reduced to fifteen. The children, none older than twelve, stayed in enclosures with captives snatched from other villages. Their captors expected them to work to earn their meagre rations.

  In between work and sleep, they attended classes where they forgot their past and learned of a new future. The girls, even the youngest, were used as concubines and personal slaves for their guards. The slightest misdemeanours led to savage beatings and the weak or sick didn’t survive long.

  The numbness The Boy experienced lasted many weeks before his feelings returned. A protective shell formed at his centre, keeping a small part of him safe. In it, he stored memories of his mother and sister. He thought of his father and brothers, people who loved him and would welcome him back. He realised their grief must be greater, they had lost not only their mother and sister, but also the beloved youngest of the family. The Boy began to think of escape.

  Byron sat in the airless interview room at Longsight police station, waiting for the officers to question him. Every minute they wasted here meant they weren’t looking for Philip, but making a fuss would only lead to them taking even longer. The door opened and the officer with the pockmarked face came in, bringing with him the odour of stale tobacco. As he entered, he turned his head and Byron caught his distinctive profile. A certainty he knew this man struck him.

  “Sorry to keep you, sir.” A few crumbs, which hadn’t been there before, clung to the edge of his moustache.

  Byron took a few deep breaths. “Why are you keeping me here?”

  “I need to ask you a few questions.” He produced a notebook and placed it on the table. “According to your driving licence you live in London. Where are you staying while you’re up here?”

  “What business is that of yours?” Byron racked his brain — where had he met him?

  The policeman gave a lopsided smile. “You were trespassing and if you want to be difficult—”

  “I was on the public highway when you demanded my ID. We’re here to clear up a minor issue with the car my friend borrowed. Something you could have done with one phone call.”

  “How we choose to investigate a suspected car theft is our business.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Don’t antagonize him, remember you need to get out there looking for Philip. Then a memory flooded back. “How much does McLaughlin pay you?”

  The blood drained from the man’s face and his mouth fell open but he recovered. “Who’s McLaughlin?”

  “Does he still call you Beaky?”

  Colour flushed the policeman’s cheeks.

  “Well, Beaky, I’m going to walk out of this door and wait in reception. If Adam doesn’t join me in ten minutes, I’ll be having a word with your inspector and suggesting he looks into your finances.”

  The policeman’s expression of hatred could have struck Byron down but with an effort he controlled his emotions. “I think we’ve finished now, sir.” He snapped his notebook shut and, pushing the chair back, strode to the door and pulled it open.

  Byron took his time and sauntered out, the skin on his neck crinkling as he walked in front of the policeman. At the door to the reception area, Byron made a show of checking his watch. Ten to two — they’d been here over an hour. The door slammed behind him and he paced the entrance.

  Two uniformed officers came in and studied Byron warily as they passed through. Byron checked the time. The ten minutes were almost up. He glanced towards the reception desk where the constable on duty avoided looking at him. Byron started towards him and the officer picked up a phone and punched buttons.

  The door from the station opened and Adam strode out, followed by the other of the officers who’d brought them here.

  “Okay, mate?” Byron said.

  “Let’s go.” Adam continued past him, adding in an undertone, “Before I kill the bastard.”

  Byron followed, and they both got into the car. “What did he say?”

  “Not a lot. Left me stewing in an interview room while he got lunch. Didn’t even hide the fact. I expected to be there all afternoon, but the other guy came in and told him to let me go. He didn’t seem happy. Was that your doing?” Adam started the car.

  “I recognised
him from school. He was one of McLaughlin’s posse. A hanger-on who decided to be a gofer rather than keep getting picked on.”

  “You reckon McLaughlin put him up to this?”

  “They’d obviously followed us before picking us up. They must have been hanging about outside Samuel’s place when we went back.”

  “Sorry, mate, I haven’t been checking for tails.”

  “Don’t worry about it. At least we now know McLaughlin’s got at least one copper in his pocket.”

  Siobhan held the phone to her ear and listened to the account of Mrs Mason’s visit from the desk sergeant at Didsbury. Eddy appeared in her doorway holding a sheaf of papers and she gestured to him to come in and sit. He closed the door and sprawled in the nearest chair.

  “She said Ritchie McLaughlin ‘invaded’ their house?” Siobhan said and Eddy sat up, paying attention. “Did she say why they didn’t report it at the time?”

  “Apparently, once he left she didn’t see the urgency.” The sergeant’s tone of voice told Siobhan what she thought of this explanation.

  “But today she thinks he’s responsible for her son’s disappearance?”

  “Not exactly, Boss. She suggested he’s hiding from McLaughlin.”

  From what Siobhan heard it seemed a sensible course of action. “Did she say why McLaughlin left?”

  “Sorry. She wasn’t very forthcoming.”

  “Thanks Anne, keep me informed if you hear anything.”

  Eddy looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Whose toes has Ritchie stepped on?” he asked.

  “Mrs Mason claims he called round there last night.”

  “Brave man. I’d think twice before I tangled with her.”

  “She’s a bit less fierce today.” Siobhan’s anger had abated and she allowed herself some sympathy for the woman. She gave Eddy an edited account of the search of the Mason house and her conversation with the desk sergeant.

  “So, she didn’t say Ritchie took the boy?” Eddy asked.

  “No. Is he capable of kidnapping?”

  “Kidnapping is right up his street.”