The next morning, Siobhan sat at her desk and read the report comparing the fingerprints taken from the grille at the house fire with those of the suspects. Disappointment and elation vied for supremacy and she pushed it across to Eddy.
“Bad news?” he asked, picking it up.
“Yes and no.”
Eddy finished reading. “Good news on the smaller print. Were you hoping the other belonged to Matthew Walcott?”
“Hoping, but not expecting.” Siobhan dialled an internal number. “Youssef, take Debbie and pick up Anthony Lees. He should be in college.” She hesitated for a second. “Fetch the other two, Asif Malik and Ryan Collins.” She’d have to send someone to collect their parents.
“Shall we arrest them, Boss?” Youssef asked.
“Not unless they refuse to come.”
Eddy smiled at her. “The fingerprints are a good breakthrough and I reckon Lees will fold like a rusty bucket once we put pressure on him.”
“Nice picture, Eddy, but after seeing them with the Walcott boy, I’m not so sure.”
“You might be right. I’ve never seen anyone change so completely.”
An hour later Siobhan led Eddy into the interview room. Anthony Lees, a long-limbed youth with a coffee-cream complexion and short, tightly-curled hair, studied her across the table. Alongside him sat an angry woman Siobhan assumed to be his mother, and next to her a court-appointed solicitor.
Eddy switched on the recorder, made the introductions then read Anthony his rights. The young man folded his arms and leant back in the chair, but his sullen expression couldn’t disguise his fear. His mother, wearing too much perfume and what looked like her Sunday best outfit, glared at him but he kept his attention from her.
“Anthony, do you understand why you’re here?” Siobhan asked.
“Something to do with Liam?”
“We’re trying to clarify a few minor points on your statement. When we spoke to you yesterday, you said you didn’t see Liam on Sunday. Are you sure?”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
“I want to make sure you haven’t made a mistake. Do you want to reconsider any of your statement?”
He shook his head. “Why should I?”
“Okay, can you tell me if you’ve ever visited Argyle Street?”
“Never — been — there. I’ve never even heard of the place.”
“Really? That’s where we found Liam’s body. Haven’t you seen the reports on the news?”
Anthony reddened. “Oh, yeah, I meant I don’t know it.”
“Do you want to reconsider your answer? You’ve never been there? I don’t mean just on Sunday night.” Siobhan kept her voice even, concealing the importance of this question.
“No, I told you.”
The solicitor leant forward but Anthony dismissed him with a gesture. Siobhan didn’t allow herself a sigh of relief but let Eddy take over.
“Can you explain how we found your fingerprints in number 32?” Eddy produced photos from a folder in front of him and slid them across the table.
Anthony stared for a few seconds. “You can’t have.”
“Why not, Anthony?”
“Because we wer—” He closed his mouth.
“Because you were what, Anthony?”
“Because I weren’t there.” He seemed to have trouble controlling his breathing.
“Maybe your friends weren’t, but you were. Your fingerprints confirm it and they don’t lie.”
Siobhan could almost see Anthony’s mind working and guessed he was replaying the events of the evening. His breathing grew faster and sweat leaked from his forehead.
“The story you told us was a pack of lies, wasn’t it?” Siobhan said.
Anthony shook his head.
“Your friends are next door,” she continued, “speaking to my colleagues, and they’ve told us the same lies. I’m sure they’ve only done it to help you out because we didn’t find their prints. Just yours.”
Anthony’s eyes darted and his mouth moved but no words emerged.
His mother stared at him, open-mouthed, then the solicitor coughed. “Chief Inspector,” he said. “Can I have a word with my client?”
Siobhan knew she had him and checked the time. “Interview suspended at ten twenty-three.”
After switching the cassette recorder off, she led Eddy out into the corridor. She wanted to punch the air but Anthony’s mother had joined them. A pang of sympathy for the bewildered woman made her ask, “Would you like a drink?”
The woman nodded.
“Come on, love,” Eddy said, “I’ll take you to the canteen where you can grab a brew and a sit down.”
Siobhan returned to her desk but her blood fizzed with anticipation and, unable to concentrate, she flitted between jobs until a constable arrived to informer her that the solicitor had finished. Siobhan arrived in the interview room before Eddy and Anthony’s mother, and studied the youth. The veneer of cockiness he’d exhibited had disappeared. Eddy returned and gestured Anthony’s mother into the room. The woman appeared to have aged ten years in the last half hour. The anger she’d displayed earlier had gone, leaving her with a haunted air.
Siobhan wondered what effect the change in his mother’s demeanour would have on the youth. Anthony stared at his hands, motionless on the table in front of him. Siobhan switched the tape recorder on and reminded Anthony he was still under caution.
The solicitor picked up a sheet of paper. “Chief Inspector, my client wishes to make a statement. He has no idea how his fingerprints ended up on the door of 32 Argyle Street. He has never been to Argyle Street and he stands by his account of what he did that evening.”
Although Siobhan wanted a confession, this presented the second-best outcome. The solicitor must know the risk of adopting this strategy and she saw he wasn’t happy. “Are you sure that’s what you want to say, Anthony?” Siobhan thought he nodded. “You’ll have to speak up for the tape.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
They had enough to charge him but she decided to have one more attempt. “Anthony, you know we’ve got Ryan and Asif here. According to your statement, you spent Sunday evening with them. We know you were at the house where we found Liam’s body but it doesn’t mean you killed him. I know he was a good friend of yours. If the others made you help them get rid of the body, it doesn’t make you guilty of murder.”
The youth didn’t respond but his mother brightened.
“If you’re scared of them, don’t worry, we can help protect you.”
Anthony snorted but didn’t speak.
Siobhan decided to take a break. They would have another try with him later, once they’d questioned the other two and he’d spent a few hours in the cells. She signalled to Eddy.
“Anthony Lees,” he said, “you are under arrest, in connection with the killing of Liam McLaughlin.”
Anthony looked on vacantly as Eddy continued, whispering, “Yes,” when Eddy asked him if he understood.
Weariness tempered Siobhan’s satisfaction. At least she could give the Chief Super something.
Mugisa arrived at the cul-de-sac lined with small scruffy houses and drove to the end of it before parking half on the pavement. He recognised Lynton’s flash BMW and tried to remember which of the houses he lived in. The door to the house at the end opened and a young man left, calling his goodbyes. Mugisa recognised him as a low-level drug dealer who often attended student parties and he waited a few seconds before going up to the door.
An aggressive black man answered the door. “What you want, man?”
Mugisa studied him. He was one of the men who hung around with Lynton, so he had the right house.
“I’m here to see Lynton.”
The man relaxed. “Lynton! Someone to see you!” he shouted through to the back of the house.
Lynton arrived wearing a sour expression but brightened on seeing Mugisa. “Hey, man. Come in.” He showed Mugisa into the lounge. The other man slunk off upstairs
.
Mugisa closed the door. “I need a handgun.”
“Just like that?” Lynton couldn’t hide his amusement.
“Can’t you get one?” Disappointment made Mugisa’s limbs heavy.
“Yeah man, no problem,” Lynton reassured him. “But it’ll cost you.”
Mugisa hid his relief. “How much?” He’d brought a thousand and had more, but knew he’d need it to start a new life.
Lynton thought for a moment before replying, “For you, a monkey.”
Was Lynton mocking him? He scowled.
Lynton licked his lips and sighed. “Okay, four hundred.”
Much less than he feared, but he should haggle. “Three.”
“Three fifty.”
“What can you get?” Mugisa doubted if Lynton could get him a Glock. He’d taken one off an officer he’d killed and preferred it to the Type 77 his own officers had carried.
“Makarov, nine mill.”
Mugisa had never fired one, but he’d heard they were okay. “I’ll need bullets. A full magazine and a spare.”
Lynton sighed again. “Okay, man. You drive a hard bargain.”
Mugisa smiled and they bumped fists.
“When you need it?”
“Now.”
Lynton checked the time. “Give me an hour and ring me on this number.” He handed Mugisa a creased piece of card with a mobile number printed across the centre.
Mugisa wondered if Lynton was leading him on, but he didn’t have many other options. Once he’d got the gun, Mugisa would finish Philip, then leave this city behind.
CHAPTER 19
The Boy listened to the vehicles, wondering why they were out, then he realised they’d come looking for him. Gripped by fear he moved further into the bush, but in his haste he stumbled into a burrow — home to a warthog and her litter. The enraged female shot out, tail upright, and rounded on him. He let out a cry and ran. The mother, satisfied she’d seen off the danger, trotted back to her den and took up her former position.
The Boy’s pursuers heard his cry and the experienced trackers amongst them found signs of his passage. Fear gave The Boy strength and he pushed his way further into the bush and, at first, he stayed ahead of them. But the weeks of ill treatment and poor diet soon told and he tired until his hunters, bigger and stronger, cornered him.
He waited for them to attack, determined to take as many as possible before they overpowered him. His legs trembled with exhaustion and his lungs struggled to fill. The first man to reach him received a wound in his arm as The Boy stabbed out with the small spear he carried. The remaining men overwhelmed him and, after giving him a beating, trussed him up.
Despite the exhilaration at having charged Anthony, the lack of progress in locating the ringleader frustrated Siobhan. “How’s the search for the two lads going, Eddy?”
“Not great. Matthew seems to have few friends and no family. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him.”
“And Philip?”
“He’s a local lad.” Eddy held out his palms. “With lots of friends and an extensive family network.”
“So, plenty of people who could protect him?”
Eddy nodded. “Do you want to try an appeal?”
Siobhan wasn’t sure. “We could consider it.”
“Are you worried about McLaughlin?”
“I don’t want him to go sniffing around the Walcotts. We haven’t the resources to protect them and the Masons.”
“Why don’t we do a missing person’s appeal? We don’t have to say why we’re looking for them.”
“I don’t think so. Can you imagine the message? ‘These lads are missing and their families are worried about them. By the way, don’t approach them as they might take a machete to you.’”
“I see what you mean, Boss.” Eddy frowned. “You could do one for Philip, or do you think he’s dangerous?”
“I’m not sure, Eddy.” The mention of machetes nudged her memory. “I wonder if they’ve found anything on the weapon recovered from Mrs King’s house.”
She picked up the phone and called the forensics lab. She listened with growing excitement.
“Thanks, I’d really appreciate it,” she said, ending the call.
Eddy looked at her with raised eyebrows. “They’ve got something?”
“Matthew’s fingerprints, hardly a surprise. They’ve analysed the blood. Most of it’s from a cat but they’ve found traces of human blood between the blade and the handle. They’re checking it against the DNA samples we took.” She smiled at an idea. “Can you get hold of one like it?”
Eddy’s brow furrowed. “I think there’s one in the evidence room we can borrow.”
“Great — can you get it?” Siobhan checked the time. “I think it’s time we spoke to Anthony again.”
A few minutes later, Siobhan followed Eddy into the interview room. Anthony’s determined expression surprised her. His mother’s red-rimmed eyes and haunted air suggested she’d suffered more. Eddy placed a plastic-wrapped machete on the table in front of him, started the recorder and repeated the caution. The jerking of Anthony’s right knee gave him away.
Let’s see how tough you really are, young man. Siobhan smiled at him. “Anthony, do you know Matthew Walcott? You might know him as Mugisa?”
Looking wary, Anthony didn’t answer.
“It’s a simple enough question.”
After checking with his solicitor he nodded. “Yeah, I know him.”
“What would you say if I told you we know he attacked Liam?”
Anthony took a sip from the plastic cup of water in front of him. “I’d say you’re bullshitting.” His mother tutted, but he ignored her.
Siobhan didn’t let her smile falter as Anthony’s gaze flicked again to the parcel on the table. “Anthony, you seem very interested in this.” She picked up the bag and smoothed out the plastic so he could see the object. “Have you seen it before?”
Panic froze on his features. “No.”
“So it’s not the weapon used to attack Liam?”
“No, it isn’t.” His knee jigged faster.
“How do you know?” she asked.
He closed his eyes and muttered inaudibly then said, “I don’t. I don’t know what happened to him…” He reached for the cup, spilling water on the table.
“Don’t you want me to tell you how we got hold of this?”
He shrugged, but his chin trembled.
“Matthew used a machete to threaten Cecily and Lucy Mason.”
Anthony blinked and his breathing grew louder. His knee knocked the underside of the table, then his eyes rolled up into his head.
“Anthony!” his mother screamed.
The youth slumped sideways, his head rebounding off the solicitor’s shoulder and bouncing onto the table.
Siobhan caught the cup before the water soaked her.
“Please step back, Mrs Lees. Give him room.” Eddy took charge and laid Anthony out on the floor. His mother, upset even before he’d collapsed, stood wringing the life out of a handkerchief.
“Interview suspended at 14.42,” Siobhan announced and switched off the tape. This wasn’t the dramatic breakthrough she’d hoped for.
Adam made his way to the gym, glad to get away from the house, and if he was honest, Byron. Although in the past, they’d spent weeks cooped up on operations, his friend had changed. His only interest now was his family, specifically his ‘little angel’ Lilly. Adam loved being her godfather but hearing her every achievement lauded as if she’d won an Olympic medal soon palled.
As usual on a Thursday afternoon, the changing room was almost empty. The lunchtime crowd had gone, leaving behind damp patches on the floor and the fruity odour of shampoo and shower gel, and the early evening mob hadn’t arrived. The few occupants comprised a few shift-workers and dedicated trainers who seemed to live on the premises.
He changed into his kit and after a quick warm up, hit the rowing machine, covering a steady five K in eighteen minut
es. The exercise cleared his mind, and he threw himself into a series of power circuits before a twenty-minute session on the heavy bag.
He finished and after changing went to the café attached to the gym. He leant back in his chair, enjoying the exhaustion following a good workout. A name which had haunted his last hours caught his attention.
“…Ritchie’s offering good money, it’s short term, but I’d take it.”
“Why’s he need extra bodies?” a Brummie asked.
“His own lads are busy sorting out the shine who ambushed him.”
“I heard he lost a couple of his lads — did the same guy take them out?”
The other one laughed. “Ritchie offed one of them himself. He shoved his head down the toilet after they caught him talking to the shine.”
“That’s a bit drastic, but that’s Ritchie for you.” The Brummie laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be the black lad. Was it one of the Gooch Close mob?”
“Nah, someone said he’s from London, but he’ll be going back in a box, from what I’ve heard.”
“Good, it’s been quiet and we don’t need a turf war.”
Adam’s good mood evaporated. He hurried out of the café but stopped at the newsagent and bought the early edition of the Evening News. He let himself into the house. The low rumble of Byron’s voice carried through the open door of the living room.
Adam carried the paper through to the kitchen. He found the report on page five and read it. While he waited for Byron, he scanned the rest of the paper but didn’t see a report of their escapade last night. McLaughlin’s men had obviously not reported it.
Byron walked into the kitchen but his grin faded on seeing Adam. “What’s up?”
Adam slid the paper towards him. “Is this the guy you saw yesterday?”
A photo of a balding man with a bushy moustache and prominent eyebrows sat beneath a headline, ‘American computer hacker killed by intruders’. The article mentioned his links to organised crime and detailed his gruesome death.
“Looks like him.”
“You were right then, he wasn’t setting you up.”
Brotherhood Page 18