Siobhan’s anger at the Mason family faded as Eddy drove her to McLaughlin’s club and her thoughts drifted to the upcoming confrontation. They had discovered McLaughlin’s whereabouts and a squad from the Tactical Aid Unit would meet them at the club. A senior detective from the local station organised the search warrants for McLaughlin’s premises. He owned too many to search all of them simultaneously and although recognising the risk he might move the boy — or worse — if they didn’t find him straight away, she hoped they might get lucky. At least she would show McLaughlin how serious she was.
During the drive, a troubled-looking Eddy voiced his concerns. “Don’t you think we’re jumping the gun here, Boss?”
Part of her agreed with him but she couldn’t risk leaving Philip in McLaughlin’s hands. “I appreciate your concerns Eddy, but I don’t want to waste any time.”
“Yes, but we haven’t any hard evidence from the kidnapping yet, and the Masons haven’t even made statements about Monday night.”
“We already have Mrs Mason’s assertion he ‘invaded’ their home and I’m confident we’ll soon have the statements from the two men. There’s also the forensic evidence at the pavilion where they snatched Philip.”
“What did you think of Byron Mason?”
“What do you mean?”
“I wondered if you thought he had anything to do with what happened to Ritchie’s man? The one someone almost killed.”
“I thought you said we suspected members of another crime family?”
“He strikes me as the type who isn’t scared of getting his hands dirty. He visited Ritchie tonight and accused him of taking his nephew. I wouldn’t do that, not on my own and without the uniform behind me. And I wonder about Monday. His brother’s a big guy, but he’s in a wheelchair and Mrs Mason’s not big. I don’t see them giving Ritchie and his men a lot of trouble.”
“You could be right. We’ll bear it in mind, but for now let’s find Philip.”
An unmarked police minibus sat behind McLaughlin’s club. They parked behind it and a uniformed inspector got out of the front passenger seat.
“All right, Eddy?” he said in a gruff but friendly voice, then offered Siobhan his hand. “Mike Wilson, good to meet you, Chief Inspector.”
“Thank you, Mike. Call me Siobhan.”
The inspector’s giant paw enveloped her hand. Built on a similarly heroic scale to her sergeant, he presented a reassuring presence. “Here’s the warrant but I’ve not been inside.” He indicated the club. “They started chucking out just after we arrived and my lads are watching the entrances, just in case, but we’ve not seen anyone who fits the description of your lad.”
“Thanks, Mike.” She produced the photo Mrs Mason had given her. “Here’s the lad we’re looking for.”
The inspector studied the photograph and showed it to his men.
Siobhan checked the warrant. “The crowds should have dispersed now — let’s go in.” Despite the presence of several burly colleagues the memory of her last confrontation with McLaughlin made the skin on her neck crinkle.
“Sorry, love, we’re closed,” the lead bouncer said.
She showed him the warrant. “I want you to take me to McLaughlin.”
The man lifted a radio to his mouth. “I’ll see if he’s—”
“You’ll do what the Chief Inspector says.” Mike grabbed his wrist.
With bad grace he led them into the club. The smell of alcohol and tobacco hit Siobhan like a wall, reminding her why she hated nightclubs. Her hair and clothes would stink. The bouncer led them through the body of the club while Mike and his men spread through the premises. McLaughlin slouched in front of a booth in a back room, a phone clamped to his ear. He scowled as he noticed them and ended the call. Siobhan studied him as she approached.
By the time she reached him, he’d pasted a big grin on his face. “Chief Inspector, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He sounded drunk.
“Mr McLaughlin—”
“No need to be so formal, Siobhan. It’s not as if we’re strangers.” The bouncer leant towards his ear and spoke. McLaughlin’s grin died. “The fuck you doing searching my—”
Siobhan thrust the warrant at him and he snatched it from her. As he read it the colour drained from his cheeks. He was hiding something. Around them bouncers escorted a few stragglers to the door while bar staff collected glasses. Siobhan had learned the hard way the dangers of being overheard.
“Can we go somewhere quiet to discuss this?”
McLaughlin spun on his heel, stumbling before recovering and striding to a door in the far corner of the room. Siobhan and Eddy followed.
The occupant of the office he led them to, a balding man with a pencil moustache and dandruff on the shoulders of his jacket, scurried away as his boss barged in, leaving it to McLaughlin and the police officers. A smallish room, it contained a large dark-wood desk which cut the space in two. Behind this sat an office chair, covered in black leather. In front of it, stood two steel framed chairs, upholstered in stained and worn grey tweed. A calendar from a drinks company, featuring a scantily clad blonde in a suggestive pose, provided the only adornment on the walls. McLaughlin had recovered some of his composure and sat in the leather clad chair before leaning back and making an expansive gesture towards the two seats.
Siobhan ignored the invitation. “Mr McLaughlin, I’m here on a very serious matter. A group of men kidnapped a young man and we have evidence you’re involved in his disappearance.”
“I’ve been here all evening. Ask anybody.”
“Don’t worry, we will. In the meantime I’d like you to come to the station and answer a few questions—”
“I’d rather not.”
“You can either come willingly or my colleagues can drag you through the club in front of your staff.”
McLaughlin gave a half-hearted laugh. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Oh yes, Mr McLaughlin. I am very serious. It’s your choice.”
McLaughlin got to his feet. Despite his attempt to disguise it, she recognised that he was hiding something. She hoped they found Philip before it was too late.
Adam waited for Siobhan to leave before approaching the house. The officer guarding the house wouldn’t let him in until Rebecca identified him.
“Adam, did Byron ring you?”
“Where is he?”
“In Samuel’s study, giving a statement.”
“What happened?”
“Do you want to come through?” She led him into the kitchen, slumped into a chair and brought him up to date.
“All right, mate.” Byron returned from giving his statement. He looked shattered and Adam checked the time: ten to four.
Rebecca got up to make him coffee. “Do you want something to eat?” she asked.
“Yes please, Rebecca.” Byron gave her a tired smile. “Anything.”
“What about you, Adam?”
“Yes please.” He addressed Byron. “Everything okay?”
“I dropped you in it, mate. I told them Philip was staying with me at your place, but I said you knew nothing about him being on the run.”
Adam gave a short laugh. “We’ll see if they believe that.” A flutter passed through his insides as he considered Siobhan’s reaction when she found out. “Do you want to see if we can find him again?”
“Look, mate, I don’t want to get you in any more shit.”
Adam punched Byron on the shoulder and got a nod of thanks in return.
“Any ideas?” Adam asked.
“It won’t be anywhere in McLaughlin’s name. We have to assume the police will search those.”
“Somewhere like the mill where we found him last time?” Adam thought of the disused buildings in the city. “That will be a nightmare.”
“It will be somewhere McLaughlin owns, but not in his own name. Like the place we er…” He glanced at Rebecca.
“I’m guessing you have an idea how we’re going to find these places?”
>
“I know a man,” Byron replied.
“Is he the guy who sent you to see the psycho brothers?”
“Yup.”
“How do you want to play it?”
“I’d like to spread him and Lynton round the walls of his house, but I need his help so I’ll pretend he’d done me a favour. We got Kieran’s number out of it.”
Much good that did. “You’re the boss.”
Half an hour later Adam pulled up outside Cyrus’s house. The shrill ringing of the bell reverberated as Byron kept his thumb on the switch. Muttered curses reached them and someone clumped down the stairs. Byron eased the pressure on the white button and stepped back. An athletic man of about twenty-five wearing boxers snatched the door open and regarded them, his bare chest thrust forward. The faint stink of marijuana smoke accompanied him.
“What the fuck you want?”
The hairs on Adam’s neck rose and he prepared to defend himself. The man glanced at him before returning his attention to Byron.
“I need to speak to Cyrus again,” Byron said conversationally. Lynton didn’t move, so he added, “It’s urgent.”
Conflicting emotions played across Lynton’s face before he made a decision. “Sorry, he’s not available. Now fuck off and don’t come back.”
He pushed the door but Adam reacted quicker and kicked it. The force of the blow knocked Lynton into the wall and snatched the door out of his hands. He struggled upright and reached for something above the door but Byron grabbed his wrist and forced him backwards into the house.
“Like I said, this is urgent.”
Lynton fought to free himself, hate in his eyes. More angry voices came from upstairs and two men descended. Both carried wooden bats, but didn’t look in the mood for games. Adam studied them, his pulse racing but ready to deal with anything.
“Hi, Cyrus,” Byron said. “I apologise for bursting in but it’s a real emergency. McLaughlin’s got my nephew.”
Cyrus paused for a few seconds before nodding. Byron released Lynton’s wrist and offered an apology but Lynton stormed into the living room, leaving the four men by the front door. Adam remained tense and kept his attention on the two men.
“Thanks, Cyrus. This is Adam, a good friend of mine. He’s helping me.”
Adam stepped forward and offered his hand.
Cyrus frowned at him and ignored the gesture, but he relaxed and lowered his bat. “You’d better come in.”
He led Byron into the living room and Adam followed. The smell of ganja Adam noticed on the doorstep grew stronger. The other man brought up the rear, his bat held by his side. Adam’s scalp crawled and he slowed, making sure the man stayed too close to take a swing at him.
The small sitting room had been the scene of partying which looked to have just finished. Empty cans and bottles lay scattered everywhere. The stink of spilt alcohol and smoke mingled with the odour from several takeaway containers. A few of these had been used as ashtrays and smoke still rose from one. The thought of how they’d react if he gave them a fire safety talk made Adam smile.
Lynton wasn’t in the room, but a beaded curtain in front of a door at the far end of the room swung side to side. Cyrus pushed a fried chicken container onto the floor and picked empty cans off a sofa then sat on it. He offered the other sofa to his two guests.
“No thanks, mate,” Byron said. “We’re in a hurry. I need to find my nephew. McLaughlin grabbed him last night.”
“Did you get the number for Ritchie?”
“Great, thanks. Trev was very helpful, gave me Kieron’s number. Nice lads, we had a couple of drinks.”
Cyrus exchanged a surprised glance with his sidekick and thought for some time, all the while studying his two visitors. Coming to a decision, he nodded and addressed Adam.
“You the other one Byron talked about? You in the army with him?”
“Close enough.”
“You any good?”
Adam held his gaze.
Cyrus chuckled. “I bet you are. Lynton!” he shouted at the door. “Lynton, don’t be a pussy.”
The door opened and the young man stuck his head through the beaded curtain. He glared at the two visitors but didn’t speak.
“Our friends here are looking for somewhere McLaughlin might keep a prisoner.”
Lynton shrugged. “There’s a few places. I need to make some calls.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
The four men in the lounge waited in silence, not feeling much like making small talk. The murmur of Lynton’s voice reached them through the kitchen doorway and a shriek of girlish laughter came from above their heads. Lynton returned after a few minutes, clutching a stained envelope which he thrust at Cyrus, who took it and read it before handing it to Byron.
“Thanks, Cyrus. I owe you one,” Byron said. “Thanks, Lynton.”
Lynton sucked his teeth noisily and retreated into the kitchen.
“That’s two you owe me now,” Cyrus observed. “Get that bastard off the scene and we’ll call it quits.” His face broke into a big grin.
Byron nodded and, without another word, strode to the car. Adam recognised his expression and steeled himself for what lay over the horizon.
CHAPTER 24
As the remaining village men returned, the raiders escaped, leaving behind dead and injured villagers and a few of their colleagues. The Boy’s companions whooped and yelled, celebrating their survival. He looked across at the truck; it contained half a dozen miserable prisoners.
The sight of his father and brother awakened the desire to return home. But the memory of his former neighbour’s expression as he struck him down, told him this would be a forlorn dream. For many weeks afterwards, he mourned his lost life but, over time, the shell protecting the memories of his younger self grew thicker and harder. Its core shrank until it disappeared inside the growing body of a young fighting machine.
The Boy thrived and he grew bigger and stronger. Careless of his own safety and ruthless, he became a respected warrior. By eleven, he’d become a veteran of more than a dozen raids. His intelligence and ability to get people to do what he wanted marked him out for leadership. Success in this role led to him being given a new name, Mugisa, or ‘lucky’.
Eddy drove Siobhan back to the station and the idea Adam got close to her because of the investigation wouldn’t leave her. Since Adam had told her he knew the Masons she’d replayed the events of the evening, but couldn’t detect any hint of insincerity from the firefighter. Had lust blinded her? She’d seen it often enough. But no, he’d meant it, unless he’s a bloody good actor. She dismissed her concerns and concentrated on her forthcoming interview with McLaughlin. A young man’s life might depend on it.
McLaughlin had sobered up by the time they arrived at the station and he insisted on having his solicitor present. While they waited for him to arrive from the suburbs, Siobhan drank a second strong coffee at her desk while studying Rebecca Mason’s revised statement. Siobhan read the account of her cutting McLaughlin’s ear. No wonder he’d been embarrassed about the injury. She made a call to the local station to request they collect samples but forgot to ask if they’d faxed Byron Mason’s statement. She wanted to see where he’d hidden his nephew.
Before she could call them back, Eddy knocked on the doorframe. “They’ve just finished searching the club.”
“Nothing?” She hadn’t expected McLaughlin to take Philip anywhere near his club.
“Like you said, Boss. Although we found shedloads of contraband, especially fags.”
“Have we contacted customs?”
“Oh yes.” He smiled. “We’re now concentrating on the industrial and commercial stuff, but Ritchie has a lot of properties which aren’t in his name.”
“Those are the ones we should look at.”
“You’re right, but we can’t prove he owns them so can’t get warrants.”
Siobhan frowned. “Make a list of those you know of and get them checked. If they see anything suspicious, report b
ack. They can always break in to make sure it isn’t being burgled.” She winked at her sergeant.
Eddy grinned and left to compile the list, returning to tell her McLaughlin’s solicitor had arrived. Siobhan stilled her nerves on the walk to the interview suite and strode into the room. McLaughlin’s solicitor, Martin Farmer, resembled an overfed budgie with thinning hair swept over his skull and oiled so it glistened in the harsh light. She assumed he was also the source of the overpowering aftershave. He shared McLaughlin’s taste in tailoring; his suit looked to have cost more than most people spent on a family holiday.
After cautioning McLaughlin, Siobhan started. “Mr McLaughlin, I must remind you how serious kidnapping is. You deny knowing the men who attacked the young couple.”
“I told you, I was in my club and I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Siobhan questioned him for several minutes but he stuck to the same story. She changed tack. “So you don’t know the young man who disappeared — Philip Mason?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Do you know Ms Maria McLaughlin?”
“Of course, she’s my sister-in-law.”
“So why did she say you’d gone to have a word with Philip Mason?”
McLaughlin folded his arms. “No comment.”
“Three witnesses have identified you at his address on Monday evening.”
“No comment.”
“We’ve taken a butcher’s knife and forensic samples from the house. We believe we’ll find your blood. Can you explain how it got there?”
A flash of anger distorted McLaughlin’s features, and he stroked the grubby bandage covering his ear.
“Inspector, I need to speak to my client in private.”
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