“So, McLaughlin killed him for talking to me.”
The latest forensic evidence arrived and Siobhan wanted to use it straight away. To her relief the doctor certified Anthony fit to continue and his solicitor didn’t object. Anthony looked haggard when they resumed and the sight weakened his mother’s already tenuous hold on her composure. Siobhan experienced a pang of sorrow for the poor woman. By the time this was over, it would rip her family apart and Siobhan hoped the woman had a good support network.
Eddy reminded Anthony he was still under caution and she began: “Anthony, I want you to show me your wrists.”
The youth checked with his solicitor, seeming to have abdicated his decision-making. Siobhan wasn’t a psychologist, but she suspected his personality led him to look for people to follow. Anthony held out his hands and turned them over. A small, fresh scar ran just below the ball of his right thumb.
“Can you tell me when you received this injury?” Siobhan asked.
He shrugged. “No idea,” he whispered.
Eddy produced a machete in a sealed bag and placed it on the desk between them.
“Do you recognise this, Anthony?” Eddy asked before describing the item.
“I suppose so.” Anthony checked with the solicitor again. “It looks like the machete you showed me before.”
“Can you explain why your blood’s on the handle?”
He stared and opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. His eyes glazed over but he recovered and said, “No.”
“Could it have been when you cut yourself?” She pointed at the nick on his wrist.
“Yea—” he shook his head. “I mean no.”
“We also found traces of Liam’s blood on the handle and we’re certain this was the weapon used to attack him. So, I ask again, can you explain how your blood ended up on it?”
She wasn’t sure he’d heard her but eventually he said, “No.”
“Anthony Lees,” she said, “I’m charging you with being an accessory to the murder of Liam McLaughlin.”
Anthony’s mother cried out and buried her face in her hands. Tears ran down Anthony’s cheeks and the solicitor leant over him, whispering into his ear.
The solicitor addressed Siobhan. “Can I have a few minutes with my client?”
Siobhan signalled to Eddy who made the announcement and switched off the recorder. He led the boy’s distraught mother from the room, leaving Anthony with his solicitor. Instead of the usual euphoria she experienced at charging a murderer, Siobhan felt a profound sadness.
The information Adam overheard confirmed what Byron suspected but the fact McLaughlin had beaten one of his own men to death for meeting him, made him pause for thought. He needed to make contact and force him to back off.
Cyrus didn’t have his phone number, but Lynton suggested the names of people who might. Leaving Philip with Adam, he got a cab to a pub in in the east of the city. The afternoon light was fading when it drew up in the potholed car park.
The driver studied Byron in the mirror. “You sure you want to go in there.”
Byron’s already tight nerves stretched further. “I’m meeting someone.”
“You want me to wait?”
“Cheers. I shouldn’t be long.” Byron paid him, adding an extra ten, and walked towards the scruffy building. Built in the sixties to replace an even more decrepit predecessor, it needed more than a coat of paint. He pushed open the scarred outer door and stepped inside.
The smell of stale beer and cigarettes enveloped him. In the dim light he made out the dark swirls on the patterned carpet which must have been there since the pub opened. Two bulky figures sat at the bar. From Lynton’s description, these must be Tom and Trev Harris. Drinkers sitting round the edge of the room fell quiet as he approached the bar, every one of them seemed to have missing teeth, prison tattoos and skin the colour of lard. The hair on his forearms stood up.
Alerted by the barman, the two men turned. Both wore long leather jackets and grease-stained jeans tucked into steel toe-capped boots. If they hadn’t been clean-shaven and crop-haired, he’d have taken them for bikers. Although obviously brothers, Trev, who had his name tattooed across both fists, looked like he gave the orders.
“Mr Harris?” Byron said.
Trev’s foreboding demeanour grew more menacing. “The old man’s not here. Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” The background conversation, which had resumed, stopped again.
“My name’s Mason and I wanted to ask you—” Byron looked about him. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
Tom held up his empty glass. “Get us a drink and we’ll think about it.” He summoned the barman who scurried to him. “Our friend here is getting the drinks in. What you having?”
Byron eyed the fingerprint-stained glasses on the shelf above the bar. “What you got in bottles?” If the worst happened, he’d have some sort of weapon.
“We ain’t got any of that Red Stripe shit,” the barman said.
“Becks will be fine.” He nodded at the chiller cabinet.
The drinks arrived, and Byron gripped the warm bottle. The two brothers drained half their pints, staring at him the whole time. He saluted them and sipped a mouthful of lukewarm lager.
“About that private word…”
The two brothers exchanged a look and Tom beckoned the barman. “Toilets out of order again?”
“No, Tom they’re fine — oh, yeah sure. I forgot to put the sign out.” He produced a handwritten sign on a piece of card, attached to an old wire coat-hanger.
“Don’t worry, we’ll put it out for you.” Tom got up, handed the sign to his brother and gestured to Byron to follow him.
Trev fell in behind him making Byron’s neck itch and they processed to the toilets. The stench of stale urine and bleach made his eyes water. Tom checked both cubicles while his brother wedged the outer door shut. Byron gripped his bottle tighter and edged to a corner so he could see both brothers.
“In case someone out there can’t read. We don’t want anyone interrupting us, do we?” Tom showed his teeth. “Right, what do you want to know?”
This felt like a misjudgement, but now Byron was here, he might as well ask the question. “I need to get hold of McLaughlin and I was told—”
“You taking the piss?” A red-faced Trev stepped towards him, breathing beery fumes into his face.
“I heard you’d be able to put me in touch, but there’s obviously been a mistake. Sorry to have wasted your time.”
“You come here, to our pub, and taunt us.” Tom produced an automatic and pointed it at Byron’s head. “Well you’ve made a big mistake, boy.”
CHAPTER 20
His captors slung The Boy on a pole like an animal and carried him to the vehicle where he rode to camp under the feet of his captors. Back at the camp they dragged him out and threw him into an enclosure. Miserable and defeated, he lay shivering in the night air, awaiting the dawn and his punishment. The pain of his injuries fused with the despair accompanying his failure. He sought solace in the fact he’d not brought the girl to suffer the same fate.
Morning brought great excitement to the camp; the other recruits gathered to witness his punishment. Despite his injuries, The Boy stood straight and stared back, but none would meet his gaze. Soldiers arrived and dragged him to the large open field they used for a parade ground. The recruits stood in a semi-circle around the edge, facing a long table. His custodians hauled him in front of it and made him stand, flanked by two armed guards.
He faced the empty table, and the officer appeared, followed by four colleagues. They took their seats and regarded him. One of them read the charge and, determined not to falter, The Boy came to attention. The girl arrived and limped towards them.
The Boy saw her injuries and for the first time, his resolve weakened. He received a further blow when, in a low voice, she denounced him. He realised then how they had discovered his escape. Devastated by this betrayal, he didn’t even hear the se
ntence.
Siobhan greeted the college welfare officer and led her into the main office. She’d arranged for her to come in as Anthony’s mother was in no state to offer him support. She remembered something from her visit to the Walcott home.
“Can you tell me if you have another welfare officer working with you?”
The woman’s puzzled frown gave her the answer. Siobhan thanked her and returned to her desk. Unsure of the significance of this development, she put it to the back of her mind and reviewed the paperwork she’d prepared while they waited. She was sure Anthony would implicate the others and wanted to arrest them and search their homes once he did.
The solicitor told them his client was ready to make a statement. Siobhan and Eddy followed the welfare officer into the interview room, eager to finish. Anthony had become almost cheerful. Siobhan recognised it as a sign he’d be making a full confession.
“Anthony, you are aware you’re still under caution?” Eddy asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Anthony said in a strong voice.
Siobhan took over. “I want you to tell me what happened on Sunday night.”
Anthony licked his lips before he started. “Liam was ripping us off, so we decided to punish him. Mugisa told Philip to get Liam to the old mill.”
“The old mill?”
“Yeah, the place we met up sometimes.” He gave them the address. “Mugisa said it was a good place for a trial.”
“So it was Mugisa’s idea?” Siobhan asked.
“Yeah.” He looked at her as if she was stupid. “Like I said, Philip and Liam were close, so he had to get him there. The rest of us waited in the dark. The place gave me the creeps. When Liam got there, we grabbed him and Asif and Philip held him down. We wanted to tie him up but Asif forgot the ropes.” He took a sip of water. “I read out the charge.”
“The charge?”
“Yeah, like they do in court. You know, ‘You, Liam McLaughlin are…’” he intoned in a sonorous voice before he seemed to choke and fell silent. He squeezed his eyes shut and took another sip of water. “Anyway, Liam wasn’t playing. He was swearing and threatening to tell his uncle.”
“Ritchie McLaughlin?” Eddy said.
Anthony nodded. “Yeah. So Mugisa and us three—”
“Who else was there, Anthony?”
“Ryan.”
Siobhan controlled her urge to rush out and initiate searches of the Asif and Ryan’s homes.
“Anyway we pretended to think about it,” Anthony continued. “But we’d already decided the verdict and then Mugisa told it to Liam.”
“Which was?”
“Death.”
“So what happened then?” The other three kept their attention on Anthony, rapt.
“Mugisa got his machete out and went to Liam, but the idiots let him escape. It was Philip’s fault.”
“So Liam escaped when Mugisa tried to kill him.”
Anthony snorted. “He wasn’t going to kill him. Just scare him. Liam got cut on the head because Philip let him go.”
“So you’re saying it was an accident?” Eddy sounded incredulous.
“Yeah.” Anthony shook his head as if amazed at the stupidity of the question.
“So you accidentally killed him in the mill?”
Anthony glared at Eddy. “No, that happened later. He ran off, threatening to tell Ritchie. We were all scared; we couldn’t let it happen.”
“So what did you do then?” Siobhan took over again.
“We chased him on our bikes.”
“What did Philip do?”
“He came with us.” Anthony’s gaze slid away.
“On his bike?”
“Yes. No. He didn’t have one, but he followed us.”
“What happened next?”
“Mugisa caught Liam. He lay on the floor, blood all over his head…”
“Are you saying he was already dead when you caught up with him?”
“I don’t know.” Anthony’s voice reverted to a whisper.
“What happened then?”
“We each hit him with the machete.” Anthony stared at the table for a few seconds.
“So you’re saying all of you cut him?”
“Yeah, we had to stick together. That’s what makes us strong.”
“So, all of you — you, Matthew, Philip, Asif and Ryan — hit him with the machete.”
“Yeah.”
“Who kicked him?”
Anthony gave her another scornful look. “Nobody kicked him!”
“Really? Liam died from a severe kicking. The cut on his neck might have eventually killed him, but it didn’t.”
“But we all cut him.”
“He was already dead.”
Anthony closed his eyes, taking in the new information.
“Do you remember what shoes Mugisa was wearing?” They hadn’t found any footwear at Mugisa’s house which could have been used to kill Liam.
“No.”
“And it was Mugisa’s idea to set the fire?”
“My glove fell off when I helped to carry the bin and I thought I’d left fingerprints. I couldn’t sleep, so I came back later…”
“Did you know there were two people in the neighbouring house?”
“No there wasn’t. The whole street’s derelict.”
“A young couple, squatters. They both died of smoke inhalation.”
Anthony shook his head and swallowed. Tears filled his eyes and he whispered, “I didn’t know.”
Siobhan spent an hour clarifying his story before she and Eddy were satisfied. Anthony’s demeanour became more subdued as the interview progressed and the enormity of what he’d done sank in. He stuck to the line that none of them had kicked Liam. If the others stuck to the same story, it looked like Mugisa had killed him on his own. She was sure he was capable of it. The least they’d charge Anthony with was Manslaughter and as an Accessory to Murder. Siobhan’s job now was to make sure she caught the others.
Siobhan’s teams collected Asif Malik and Ryan Collins and brought them to the station. They kept them in separate interview rooms while officers searched their homes. Labelled bags of clothing and footwear arrived before going for forensic analysis. Both sets of parents, initially indignant at the boys’ treatment, grew distressed as they learned of their sons’ involvement in Liam’s death.
Both youths stuck to their original version of events until confronted with Anthony’s confession. Then they changed their stories and gave confessions corroborating his.
After charging them, Siobhan noticed the three sets of parents in the reception. Although together, each group formed a separate island, isolated from each other by a bubble of misery. She should say something to ease their pain but for the life of her she couldn’t think what. She caught sight of Eddy with Mrs Lees and steeled herself to join him, but the chief superintendent’s secretary appeared.
“The Chief Super wants you. Now,” she announced to Siobhan before striding away without waiting for a reply.
The chief superintendent greeted Siobhan enthusiastically. “Chief Inspector,” he said. “Well done. Great result.” He shook her hand and ushered her into a chair.
“Thank you, sir. But we still need to find the other two lads, including the ringleader we suspect did the actual killing.”
“Don’t worry. That will just be a matter of time. You’ve arranged an appeal? You know we have a superb relationship with the local press.”
Siobhan hesitated before telling him of her concerns.
“Chief Inspector, we don’t let gangsters like McLaughlin dictate how we run our investigations. I’ll get our press officer to come and see you.”
She returned to her desk bracing herself for her next task when Eddy trudged into the outer office. Unlike his smiling colleagues, he looked like a man shouldering a heavy burden. She reached for the phone and made her call.
“Ritchie? Where the fuck…?”
“Mrs McLaughlin?” Siobhan said.
“Yes. Who
’s that?” Maria McLaughlin sounded drunk.
“It’s Detective Chief Inspector Quinn. I’ve got good news for you.”
“What? You’ve bought Liam back to life?”
Siobhan felt like she’d been slapped. “I’m sorry, Mrs McLaughlin, but I can’t do that.”
Maria paused, sniffed and mumbled, “No, I’m sorry.”
“We’ve charged three youths with involvement in Liam’s murder. They’ve all confessed.”
Liam’s mother didn’t reply at once and Siobhan pictured her trying to come to terms with the news.
“Does that include the black lad?” she finally asked.
“No—”
“I thought not.”
“We haven’t located him yet.” The line echoed in Siobhan’s ear. “Mrs McLaughlin?” She rang back but got the engaged tone.
Siobhan exhaled and slumped into her seat. It had been a long day and the adrenaline, which had coursed through her system since the DNA results came back, evaporated, leaving her drained.
“Boss, a few of us are going for a drink — to celebrate.” Debbie stood in the doorway.
Siobhan wanted to refuse but realised she should go. It presented a good opportunity to bond with her new colleagues. Debbie noted her hesitation.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a quickie. We’re all knackered. I’ve not had ten hours sleep since Sunday.”
“Yeah, why not?” Siobhan got up and collected her coat. Nothing else would happen tonight.
Adam measured out the rice and poured it into the boiling water. The strong smell of chilli and garlic filled his kitchen. The front door opened and Byron called out, “Sorry I’m late.”
“Through here, mate.” The lump of anxiety in Adam’s gut loosened.
Byron walked into the kitchen and inhaled. “I thought your lot were Chinese not Mexican.”
“Don’t show your ignorance, Byron. My grandfather was a famous Hunan chef. So how did you get on?”
He snorted. “I owe that bloody Lynton a good kicking. The guys he put me onto hate McLaughlin with a passion. Thought I’d come to gloat about something he did.”
“So, what happened?” Adam placed the wooden spoon on a saucer.
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