‘After being where?’
‘Having a lie in,’ he said.
‘Until midday?’
‘Till eleven.’
‘Weren’t you supposed to be working?’
‘Chloe said she would open up shop.’
‘Was this a regular thing? You are the employee and she was just a volunteer.’
‘Yes; I mean, no. She was a volunteer and it wasn’t regular at all. It was my birthday the day before.’
Hewitt tilted her head and honed her gaze at him.
Mike said, ‘I had a heavy night, is what I’m wanting to say. Chloe saw on Facebook that I was out for my dinner and she called me.’
‘Where was she?’ I asked.
‘At home maybe? I could hear people in the background.’
‘Male? Female?’
‘Both.’
We had already learnt that she was at Lizzie’s house.
‘Chloe phoned and said, “I didn’t realise it was your birthday”.’
‘Did she usually phone you socially?’
‘No, but she said, “Enjoy your night and I’ll open up tomorrow”.’
‘Then she had a key, a volunteer?’
‘She didn’t,’ said Mike. ‘She asked how would she get in and I told her that, before I went to bed, I would put a key in the driver’s door pocket of my car, and leave my car unlocked.’
‘Were you drinking, Mike?’
‘On my birthday? Yes, indeed I was.’
‘And driving?’ asked Hewitt.
‘No, no. I snared a cab. Value Cabs, if you want to check.’
‘What time?’
‘I don’t understand why this is important?’
‘Every little bit of it’s important. You can see the effort put into this reconstruction,’ Hewitt said.
The pretend Mike Birch ran out and into the toning beds, and back into the PACT office and out and into the bakery, but he said nothing there, then he ran back out into the street. The actors playing employees from both places came out and stood with him while actor-Mike pretended to call the police on his mobile phone. While a young actress in a pink wig lay on the floor in the office beside scattered sheets.
‘I was like a headless chicken, wasn’t I?’ Mike asked me.
‘Chloe knew where you live?’ I asked him.
The police, a pretend me and a pretend Higgins, came and I even heard our conversation on the way. I paused and watched, mildly amused but mostly horrified. They both went inside, out of view.
Quite the crowd had gathered, and TV cameras rolled. Hopefully this would jog some memory somewhere.
‘Chloe knew where you live?’ I asked Mike again.
‘Yes. I told her, but she knew.’
‘Had she ever been to your house before?’
‘Erm, no,’ he said, distracted and emotional now. Hewitt gave me a look that told me to ease off.
*
After the reconstruction, I bought Mike a coffee in the bakery and we sat down for a chat. ‘You live alone, Mike?’ I asked.
‘I live with my elderly mother,’ he said.
‘She can vouch for you being at home last Wednesday morning?’
‘She was at a Slimming World class that morning. She does that then goes out shopping with friends after.’
‘Who did you go out with for your birthday? A partner? Friends?’
‘My mother took me out. That sounds pathetic.’
‘No,’ said Hewitt. ‘It sounds bloody cute.’
‘You said it was a heavy night, though,’ I said.
‘Underestimate my mother at your peril,’ said Mike Birch. ‘She can drink me under the table.’
‘My kind of woman,’ said Hewitt.
Chapter 25
The sun was holding strong and I was in an awful mood. Chloe’s killer was no closer to us. She could end up being that one in four who never gets justice.
For a moment I wondered if I was cut out for this game anymore. Maybe it was also the missing cash. I was pissed off someone had taken it, and it wasn’t pittance.
I thought about Greg himself, and wondered if he’d watched me take the money out and hide it in plain sight, instead of being sneaky about it, which I’d thought would look more obvious. Had he seen me then gone and taken the money back, maybe to teach me a lesson?
I had to shake all of that from my shoulders and think about the case, but then all I could think of were the young women who were potentially drugged.
It was early afternoon, around two p.m. when I called Sarge Simon over. He only had a vague idea what I was talking about.
‘Higgins was telling me,’ I explained.
‘Call him,’ said Simon.
‘Give me Higgins’ mobile number.’
Simon called it out from his own phone.
‘Where are you?’ I asked Carl Higgins.
‘Home, why? Have you got news for me?’
‘Who were the young women who were possibly drugged?’
‘Oh,’ he said sounding disappointed. ‘Maisie Hockley was one. I called out to see her after she wound up in Dee Street.’
I took a note. ‘Yes, and?’
‘There are two more. Let me think and I’ll get back to you.’
He texted me with the names Kayley Molineux and Victoria Black.
I located their files and printed them off to draw on comparisons.
Maisie Hockley.
On Wednesday 4 April, Maisie was partying in Optimo at the Odyssey complex when she got separated from her friends. Maisie admitted that she was drunk already, drinking too much having just split from boyfriend.
Like what Martin said about Chloe.
Can’t a woman just have a good time? I thought. Instead there has to be an excuse: a man somewhere taking the blame, taking the credit.
Maisie ended up on Dee Street bridge with no idea how she got there. Her underwear had been removed. She was said to be wearing pink low-rise briefs before.
Kayley Molineux.
Then on Saturday 15 April, Kayley was at Rocky Place, a bar on the Woodstock Road. Kayley was initially alone, then she played a game of pool with a group of men she knew, then she was chatting to locals and drinking, but only a couple. Kayley had considered herself to be sober. Next thing she found herself in the centre of Holywood. She too had her underwear removed. Grey ‘boy’ shorts this time.
Victoria Black.
Then, on Wednesday 18 April, Victoria, a physically disabled woman, was waiting at The Bell in Ballyhackamore for a friend who ended up cancelling at the last minute. Victoria was drugged with phenobarbital, the results were just back from toxicology after all this time, and her underwear, white pants with a gold heart on the front, were missing when she was discovered by a passer-by in Dee Street.
The overwhelming similarity was that all had been picked up in bars and found later without underwear, but there was never any evidence of sexual assault. All three cases were either dropped or on hold as the details were thought too fuzzy, and there was not enough evidence to proceed.
I showed my findings to Simon. ‘Did nobody think to link these?’
‘I remember now,’ he said. ‘We put out a Facebook post to remind women to stick together and not get too drunk.’
‘Just women?’ I asked.
‘Didn’t go down well.’
‘I’m sure it did not.’
‘There were all those rallies in April, hashtag I Believe Her. You know, after the furore that followed the Belfast Rape Trial. The timing was poor.’
‘It was more than poor timing.’ I sniffed. ‘It’s called victim-blaming.’
‘Yeah, wasn’t good. Then the following Thursday morning, Erica McClelland is found dead on Ballyholme Beach.’
‘But they can’t be linked to Chloe, they are completely different,’ said Hewitt who I realised then was listening in.
‘Still, if anyone has drugged these girls, it is sexually motivated,’ I said, ‘even though they didn’t assault them, they
took their underwear as a token.’
‘Could be building themselves up to assault the next person,’ said Simon.
‘Two on Dee Street, can’t deny a link there,’ said Hewitt. ‘One a week. If Erica, and let’s say, alright, it is linked, then being drugged and transported away … then a kill …’
‘But Erica’s underwear was not removed,’ said Simon. ‘Not that I know.’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘But maybe that was the token in itself, the kill.’
‘Could Erica’s murder be sexually motived?’ he asked.
‘It could be any number of things,’ said Hewitt, on board. ‘Maybe that’s why the perp has taken a break now. It’s been a month since then, and after one a week.’
‘Unless there have been more that no one has reported,’ said Simon.
‘Well, the Facebook post wouldn’t have helped that … the reality of the rape trial too.’
‘But Chloe,’ said Hewitt, ‘no pants removed …’ She wrinkled her nose. Seemed to change her mind on the spot.
‘No, but it was daytime,’ I said, ‘in an office, on a busy road. And her coat wasn’t found. The one with the tiger face on the back.’
‘Not the same effect, is it?’ said Simon.
‘No,’ said Hewitt. ‘That’s not sexual.’
‘So why the break, if it isn’t the same perp who then killed Erica?’ I asked.
‘I get your point,’ Hewitt said. ‘So, if so, it’s only a matter of time before he strikes again.’
‘And apart from Kayley Molineux, the rest were out drinking on a Wednesday night,’ said Simon. ‘Erica was found on a Thursday, but …’
‘Chloe Taylor was killed on a Wednesday!’ Hewitt said, and I watched the two of them join the cause.
‘Exactly,’ I said.
Simon went back to his paperwork.
‘It’s Wednesday today,’ I said to Hewitt. ‘You want to go out tonight, Fleur? Do a little tour, have a look at barmen, bouncers. There might be one who works around a few places.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Are you that desperate for a night out?’
I felt like making an excuse, acting defensive, but the wall had to come down between us. So I simply said, ‘Yes, I am gagging to get out of the house.’ And she burst out laughing.
‘At least you’re honest, hen,’ Hewitt said.
I wanted to get into the case, there weren’t enough hours in the day, but I was not averse to an excuse to dress up and go to a few bars that the girls had been to.
‘I’m going to be looking fucken fabulous,’ Hewitt said. ‘You had better bring your A game.’
‘Don’t you worry about me,’ I replied. I suggested she could have a drink, and I’d drive. ‘Or would you get too car sick?’
‘Nah. Not if I’ve had a few.’
*
When I collected her that night, it was properly hot. Hewitt was wearing white trainers and a lightweight oversized leopard print jacket.
‘That’s your A game,’ I teased her, feeling overdressed in heels and a dress.
We went first to The Bell. The barmaid asked us if we were there to eat and walked off when we said no.
‘We should have given her a drinks order,’ said Hewitt.
We watched some couples eat for some time. ‘Are you always this busy midweek?’ I asked a barman with a thick groomed hipster beard who had no interest in serving me let alone answering a question, not when a crowd of younger women had just arrived, all dolled up. After they got their drinks they went upstairs.
He pretended he couldn’t see me and watched them climb the stairs. I watched him. I could imagine him lacing a drink with drugs. I kept my eye on him.
After I finally got served, I went to sit down beside Fleur and surveyed the place.
We sat in silence. We needed to look like friends, there for chat and a laugh. I had nothing to say, I wished I had a glass of red wine in my hand.
There was a man at the bar, he was wearing earphones, bobbing his head. Laughing to himself, and trying to ease an errant lick of hair back down onto his head.
‘He’s enjoying himself,’ I said to Fleur. ‘Oh, it’s Martin.’
‘Shit, so it is,’ she said.
After a while he noticed us and gave us a nod, removed the earphones.
‘In a wee world of your own, there,’ said Hewitt.
‘Listening to a podcast, a comedy,’ he said. ‘It’s my little come down at the end of a day, podcast and a pint.’
‘Good for you,’ said Hewitt.
Martin Walsh finished that pint pretty quickly and left.
‘It’s getting noisy in here,’ I said.
‘It can only get worse. Live music upstairs on a Wednesday.’ Hewitt pointed at the poster.
‘Carl Higgins was saying that his band plays here at times,’ I said. ‘Let’s speak to the bouncers.’
They were like twins, both hench and bad, one with a beard and the other without. They were both acting cool and standoffish as we picked up our drinks and approached.
‘What was up with Drew Taylor on Friday night?’ I asked them.
‘Who’s he now?’ asked the one with the beard.
‘Drew Taylor,’ I said, ‘he was beaten up in that alleyway.’ I pointed to my left.
‘What are you, a peeler?’
‘Is it that obvious, boys?’ said Hewitt.
‘We’re not at liberty to discuss it,’ said the clean shaven one.
‘Even with a detective inspector and a superintendent?’ asked Hewitt.
He looked her up and down. ‘Are you two on the clock?’
‘Never off it,’ she said.
‘And you’re only investigating this now?’ asked the bearded bouncer.
‘No,’ said the shaven one, ‘someone was out, asking.’
‘Sergeant Simon was out speaking with you,’ said Hewitt.
‘Yes, Simon,’ said the bearded bouncer.
‘I didn’t see anything,’ said the other one.
‘You know Drew?’ I asked them.
‘Him and Roxy come in for a drink and bite to eat most weeks,’ said the one with the beard; his colleague didn’t disagree.
‘But Roxanne wasn’t here that night?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said the beard. ‘He was with his uncle, the da of that girl who was killed. They were having a quiet drink.’
‘And Drew was dragged out of here …’ I said.
‘He wasn’t dragged out of here,’ said the beard. ‘They must have got him when he was going to his car.’
‘Who?’
They both laughed. ‘I’m sure Drew could tell you if he wanted,’ said Beardless.
‘Can’t you?’ asked Hewitt.
‘No. I could not. Sorry, girls, I’m not getting involved.’
‘What about the young woman who went missing from here and wound up on Dee Street?’ I asked.
‘A few weeks ago, another Wednesday,’ said Hewitt. ‘Have either of you remembered anything else about that day?’
‘Victoria,’ said the one with the beard, ‘that’s who you’re talking about, isn’t it? The girl with the limp?’
‘Yes, Victoria Black.’
‘She came in on her own. Then there was trouble in here, so I didn’t see her leave. But she wasn’t drunk when she was sat at the bar.’
‘What trouble was there?’ asked Hewitt.
‘Ah, this old alcie. He’s okay till he drinks his fill and then we have to boot him out. Sometimes he kicks off.’
‘And you don’t bar him?’
‘Occasionally,’ said Beardless. ‘He’s barred at the minute.’
‘Victoria Black was drugged,’ I said.
They looked shocked.
‘It was possibly a practice run for a killing. You heard of Erica McClelland; the girl killed on Ballyholme beach in Bangor.’ I was pushing it now, giving away too much but we needed something.
Maybe they had daughters or sisters. Sometimes that’s what it takes for cert
ain men to humanise women.
They both nodded quietly.
‘Fuck, that makes a difference,’ said Beardless. I knew it would. ‘I’ll tell you what I know about anything regarding that, but I’m not getting involved with any business involving Taylor.’
The bouncers looked at each other. The bearded one said, ‘It doesn’t change that I don’t know anything, personally. I wasn’t here that night Victoria was in, but we’ll jog our memories, sure.’
‘Good,’ said Hewitt, ‘that’s all we ask, lads.’
*
We moved on to Optimo nightclub at the SSE arena on the Laganside. Inside was all techno music and teenyboppers. All mostly girls. Mostly with fake tans and long silky dark hair. They could have all been the one person. They could have been me or my sisters at that age.
At Optimo the bouncers were even less of a help. We showed them a photo of Maisie Hockley, and reminded them of the date she had been there.
‘I don’t have a clue,’ said one.
‘Never seen her,’ said another. ‘Your daughter?’ he asked me.
I was livid. I’d have had to have been a school girl to have a child her age; an adult child. I suppose that happens, young girls become mothers. Half of them probably do a better job at it than I’m doing now.
‘She does look like you,’ said Fleur after.
‘Invisible,’ I said, to quote Beatrice from Feminist Complex, Belfast as more girls tottered into the nightclub only to not be seen. Any wonder they were trying so hard to be noticed.
Chapter 26
‘Do you want to go to Rocky Place?’ I asked Hewitt.
‘I want my bed. Aren’t your feet burning?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said. But they were. So we called it a night. When I got home Paul was up, sitting in the kitchen.
‘Boys go down to sleep, okay?’ I asked him.
‘Eventually, they were overtired. Jared especially.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, don’t be. You deserve a night out.’
‘It was work.’
‘It’s okay to just go out and have fun,’ he said.
‘Really?’ I said; I hadn’t liked it, I didn’t want nightclubs, my life was a fucken nightclub. Noisy with sensory overload. Who would be young and go out partying these days? Drinking, I definitely didn’t mind. But not with all the noise attached.
I sat down beside him and Paul got up.
Problems with Girls (DI Sloane Book 2) Page 15