Brotherhood

by David Beckler

  Siobhan massaged her temples. “That’s all we need — a vicious vigilante. Do we have anyone inside his gang?”

  The gesture from her sergeant told her they didn’t. “A few figures on the periphery, but most of them are too scared of the bastard.”

  Siobhan wasn’t sure what this development meant to her case and put it to one side for the moment, asking, “How did the interviews go?”

  “They’re getting typed up, but nobody saw Liam after Sunday afternoon. Two girls met him for a drink and they watched the football. After that nobody apart from Philip Mason admits to having seen him. Although one lad said he thought Liam intended to meet up with Philip on Sunday evening.”

  “One of the lads Philip claims to have been with?”

  “No. They each claimed Philip was with them until eight but none of them mentioned seeing Liam.”

  “That’s interesting. Do you think they might have rehearsed their story?”

  “I didn’t speak to all three but I’ll check the exact wording.”

  “I still can’t shake off my unease about Matthew Walcott. There’s something about him that doesn’t feel right.”

  “The accent you mean? I noticed that.”

  “Of course. His mother spoke with a local accent didn’t she?” She chided herself for not making the connection earlier.

  “Quite a few lads adopt an accent, often West Indian or American, but why not African? His dad might come from Africa.”

  “Something else about him bothered me, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Do you want to speak to him again?”

  “Keep him on the back burner for now, I want to get hold of Philip Mason first, especially if McLaughlin’s looking for him. In the meantime, let’s have a word with Mr McLaughlin.”

  “Good idea. Shall I get him to come to the station?”

  “No, we’ll visit him in his lair.” She looked at her watch. “I’d hoped the PM report would have arrived by now.”

  Eddy held up the printed sheets in his hands. “Sorry, Boss,” he said, looking sheepish. “It just arrived by fax.”

  Siobhan took the sheets and scanned them. The report detailed the violence visited on Liam’s body, but she read on until a sentence checked her.

  “It says here he’d consumed chips and cola about an hour before he died.”

  “There aren’t too many chippies round there,” Eddy said. “I’ll get the team to check the nearest ones and work outwards.”

  The door opened and Debbie Matthews stuck her head in the room. Siobhan frowned at her.

  “Sorry, Boss, it’s important, I’ve found footage of Liam on the CCTV.”

  A surge of excitement energised Siobhan and she followed Debbie and Eddy to the comms suite where a technician finished rewinding a section of film.

  He looked up, brows furrowed. “The lighting’s crap,” he apologised. “But I’ve done my best to improve it.”

  Debbie thanked him and took the proffered remote-control. She pressed play and a washed-out image flickered on the screen. The scene showed the corner of a wall, overlooking a yard full of building materials. A road junction lay beyond the wall surrounding the yard. A lone figure ran from the right, glancing behind him every few steps. By slowing the footage and zooming in, they could see the distinctive jacket Liam wore.

  Adrenaline rushed through Siobhan. “Well done Debbie,” she said.

  Eddy’s grin reflected hers. Debbie ran the film on and seconds later a blur of movement shot across the corner of the screen.

  “What the hell’s that?” Eddy asked.

  “A car. I’ll check the closest traffic cameras to see if they’ve picked it up,” Debbie said.

  “As a matter of urgency, please,” Siobhan said.

  “Will do.”

  The technician restarted the film until another object flashed past the screen.

  “Another car?” Siobhan asked.

  “Someone on a bike. Probably more than one of them.”

  “Can we clean it up and identify them?” Her excitement grew.

  “Unlikely. The resolution’s too poor.” He looked at her and smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Her exhilaration ebbed but, despite her and Eddy’s obvious disappointment, Debbie’s manner didn’t change.

  “There’s more,” she announced with a smile and ran the film on again.

  Another figure appeared on foot, two minutes behind Liam. The figure got to the corner, stopped and looked around before staring at the camera.

  A fuzzy image of Philip Mason looked out of the screen at them.

  Mugisa waited for the others at the main entrance to the college. Had he done enough to deflect suspicion onto Philip? The woman and her ugly sidekick couldn’t hide their excitement when he told them he’d not seen Philip after eight on the Sunday. He needed to find out what the others had said. Although he’d coached them, he wasn’t confident they would hold things together. As they came out of the building, his stomach clenched. They still looked like three antelopes caught in the headlights of a truck.

  “Hi, boys,” he said. “Do you fancy a pizza? I’m buying.”

  The lacklustre response irritated and concerned him but he led them, not towards their usual diner, but to the pizza restaurant sitting amongst the Asian eateries that proliferated in this area. The pizzas from here were several notches up from those the diner served and the other boys brightened. After ordering, Mugisa studied each of them. Anthony appeared the most subdued. Usually the most enthusiastic, he often chided the others for their timidity.

  “What did they ask you?” Mugisa asked in a low voice.

  “Just about Sunday night. If we saw Liam or Philip,” Ryan said.

  “What did you say?”

  “What you said.” Anthony shrugged. “We saw Philip until eight, but not Liam.”

  Mugisa hoped they’d sounded more convincing than they did now. The food arrived and by the end of the meal, helped in part by Mugisa’s encouraging banter, they became less despondent.

  Mugisa paid and left them outside the restaurant. He found the act of cajoling them a strain. He’d never had to do this in his last life; his people knew to obey orders. The weakness of his followers worried him — they’d need careful handling.

  Ignoring the heaviness in his limbs, he yawned and made his way to his den: a disused lockup he’d commandeered. He stored everything important to him here, including his weapons and the few mementoes of his past life. He also kept the car he’d borrowed there and, after checking he wasn’t observed, he undid the large padlock he’d fitted to the door.

  After collecting the items he needed, he considered his position. The police weren’t much of a threat unless one of the others cracked. The fact they were concentrating on Philip made it less likely they would look at them, but he needed to get rid of him quickly. If Philip committed suicide, the police would take it as confirmation of his guilt and they would be safe. He decided not to wait for the others. If he used the car, he’d be there in less than twenty minutes and he could finish this.

  Byron switched on the courtesy light above the passenger seat and finished marking the road map. Outside, dusk fell and streetlamps flickered. His fear they wouldn’t find Philip grew stronger with every unsuccessful search. “Are you sure there aren’t any more?”

  “Not within walking distance of where we found the body.”

  “What about this area?” Byron pointed to a section of the city on the other side of the burnt-out house. “We haven’t looked around there.”

  Adam checked the map. “That area’s all yuppie flats and boutiques — there aren’t any disused mills left. He must be in here.” He indicated the neighbourhood they’d just searched with his index finger.

  “You’re the one who’s supposed to know the area.” Byron immediately regretted his tone.

  “And you’re the one who’s supposed to know what the building looks like. I’ve taken you to all the ones matching the descrip
tion you gave me.”

  The uncomfortable silence stretched for several long seconds until Byron said, “Yeah, I know you have. Sorry.” He ran his hands over his head.

  “Could he have come from further out?” Adam pointed to an area on the edge of the page. “There’s a few here.”

  Byron placed his forefinger on the road containing the burnt-out house. “It has to be between here and the place where they got off the bus, further south.” He moved his hand down the page.

  “We’ve done the lot then,” Adam said, looking as frustrated as Byron felt.

  Byron checked the time. Mugisa would have finished college by now and might be on his way to wherever he’d hidden Philip. If it hadn’t been for that bloody crooked policeman they might have found him by now. He tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in his guts. “Is it worth following Mugisa? See if he leads us there?”

  “We don’t know where he is, and he could be there already.”

  Byron punched the dashboard in frustration. “Let’s retrace our steps in case we’ve missed anything.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Adam didn’t protest this time and started the car. “We could go back to the one where the coppers picked us up.”

  “We had a good look at that one, but a couple of the others might be worth revisiting.”

  “I didn’t check the last door. They arrived before I finished.”

  Byron didn’t need to speak and spent the drive to the mill willing the car to go faster.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Boy and his new companions received barely enough food to keep hunger at bay. This made him weak and listless, but he realised the recruits receiving military training got better food. He also noticed they had more freedom. Before he could join them, he needed to show he’d completed his indoctrination.

  Intelligent and quick to learn, he took a more prominent part in the re-education classes and soon came to the notice of the instructors, always volunteering to recite the propaganda they learned. He rarely saw the giant who had captured him; the man only came to the camp with new recruits. On these occasions he made a point of seeking out The Boy and seemed pleased at his progress.

  His interest and The Boy’s own efforts led to him being fast-tracked into military training. Here, they taught him the rudiments of fighting as part of a disciplined force. They used basic weapons but learned to use them to good effect. Firearms, rare and expensive, were reserved for those with combat experience. The trainee soldiers still received indoctrination training, but this took a small part of each day. Once he started on the improved diet, The Boy grew stronger.

  Philip reached the wall and paused. The sense of panic that accompanied his crossing of the last few feet left him out of breath and he sucked air in through his nostrils. He manoeuvred himself beside the wall and pressed his right shoulder against the bottom bricks. Taking a deep breath, he gritted his teeth and rocked away from the wall. As he lifted off the floor, he pushed off with his left leg. The chair slid towards the wall and, as he fell back, his muscles tensed. The pain was worse than he’d feared and he lay panting, tears leaking from under his eyelids.

  Philip realised the right side of his body now rested against the brickwork and he gave a snort of laughter: his plan was working. The second step would be harder. He must make sure he didn’t slide down and end up where he’d started. The next attempt finished with him in the same position, but then he got his shoulder higher. Boosted by his success, he contemplated escape for the first time.

  The right side of his body remained six inches off the floor but would it be enough? Not knowing if he had the strength to get higher he decided to go for it. By coordinating his exhausted muscles he put in an enormous effort and rotated his torso. At the apex of his movement he knew he’d make it. Visions of escape and re-joining his family flashed through his mind.

  After teetering for an age, he fell backwards but refused accept his failure until he landed with a crash. A red-hot needle of agony almost made him black out. He lay gasping, waiting for it to go. The pain receded and he opened his eyes, confirming what he’d feared: he lay flat on the floor again.

  Tears of frustration flowed as he lay on his back. Outside, darkness closed in and he realised he would run out of time. He couldn’t tell how long he lay on the floor, trying to gather his strength for another attempt. Shivering as the cold reasserted itself, he thought of his family and decided to try again, determined not to give up.

  He adjusted his position, pushing himself close to the wall but when he moved, he realised something had changed. What had happened to his bonds? He tensed his arm and it pulled free. Unwilling to believe it, he moved his other arm, with the same result. The tape binding him must have worn through as he pushed it across the rough floor. He lay back; his muscles jelly and more tears came.

  He tore away at the strips securing him and they unravelled. In under a minute he’d freed his limbs and he rested, letting the circulation return to his arms. He rolled over onto the filthy floor and rose to his knees. He stayed there, swaying, until his body got used to being upright. Then, with a final effort, he got to his feet and ripped the tape from his mouth, before gulping down lungful’s of cold air.

  After a minute or two, he took tentative steps. He staggered but stayed upright. There wasn’t much time, so he started for the doors, but as he moved towards them he heard a new sound.

  He paused and held his breath. The right-hand door creaked open and a pair of legs appeared at the top of the stairs. The newcomer continued into the room. Even in the gloom he recognised the figure at the bottom of the steps.

  Unable to find a parking space near McLaughlin’s flat, Siobhan left her car in a loading bay.

  “Put this on the dashboard.” Eddy produced a laminated card with POLICE BUSINESS printed under the GMP crest. “Unofficial but effective — I’ll get you one, Boss.”

  “Thanks, Eddy.” Siobhan got out and stretched her back.

  “How do you want to play it?” he asked.

  “I’m here to pay my condolences,” she said, pausing for a moment. “I’ll also tell Mr McLaughlin to leave the detecting and punishing to us.” She smiled. “Especially the punishing.”

  Their warrant cards got them past the concierge and they found themselves outside the door to the penthouse flat which opened after she rang the bell for the third time.

  “What?” the man in the doorway demanded. He was smaller than she’d expected.

  “Hello, Kieran,” Eddy said.

  “What do you want?” Kieran studied them, arms crossed.

  “Chief Inspector Quinn.” Siobhan showed him her warrant card. “I’m here to see Mr Ritchie McLaughlin.”

  Kieran scowled at her. “I’m not sure if he’s available.” He stepped away.

  “I suggest he makes himself available.”

  Kieran stared at her but he blinked first and retreated, slamming the door behind him.

  She winked at Eddy and he smiled in response. The door opened again to reveal a bigger and better dressed man in a suit, gleaming white shirt and silk tie.

  “I understand you’ve been throwing your weight about,” he said, looking her up and down. “Not that there’s much of you.”

  “Don’t concern yourself, Mr McLaughlin. There’s plenty for what I need.” She studied the bandage on his ear. It looked like a new injury. Could it be from his visit to the Mason household? She couldn’t imagine anyone she’d met there doing that to him. Maybe the missing Philip did it and it would explain his disappearance.

  “I cut myself shaving. Now, what do you want?” Any semblance of civility vanished.

  “We’re investigating the death of your nephew. Please accept our condolences.”

  His expression softened.

  “Can we come in and ask you a few questions?”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “Can we come in please?” Siobhan regretted her decision not to make him come to the station.

  He hesitated before
stepping away. “Come in,” he said, pointing at the doorframe. “You’re the first of your kind to cross this threshold.”

  The large corner room he led them into offered panoramic views over the city and distant hills. Two large white leather sofas made an ‘L’ shape at the outer corner and they followed him to these.

  “Coffee, Chief Inspector?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about you Sergeant?”

  Eddy declined and McLaughlin shouted over to the far corner where Kieran sat at a counter, sulking. “Kieran, bring me a Turkish will you?” He pointed to the sofa overlooking the city centre. “Please sit.”

  McLaughlin took a seat on the other sofa, draping an arm over the back. Siobhan saw he had no intention of breaking the silence and exchanged a look with Eddy before speaking.

  “Can you tell me what you know about your nephew’s death?”

  McLaughlin bared his teeth. “I know some fucking toe-rag butchered him and you’re not doing anything about it.”

  “I can assure you we’re conducting a thorough investigation into Liam’s death.” Siobhan’s cheeks grew hot.

  “Oh yeah? So how come you’ve not arrested him yet?”

  “Arrested who? Do you have any evidence against anyone?”

  “No, but you…” His gaze dropped. “No I haven’t.”

  “We’re speaking to Liam’s friends but do you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against him?”

  “Liam? You’re joking.”

  “He’s not involved in your ‘business’ dealings?” Eddy drew quote marks in the air.

  McLaughlin glared at Eddy. “Behave. He was a kid, still at school.”

  “What about someone who knows he’s your nephew? I imagine you’ve got enemies,” Siobhan said.

  McLaughlin hesitated for a few seconds, seeming distracted by an idea but then dismissed it. “We both know who he was with Sunday evening.”

  “You might believe you know, but I don’t want you to take the law into your own hands.”

  McLaughlin stared out of the window at the fading light, looking annoyed. Siobhan tried to hide her unease and studied his damaged ear until he became uncomfortable, using his hand to hide the bandage.