Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  Chapter 18

  Tara

  ‘I would like you to sit in with me at the press conference, Tara,’ said Tweedy from across his desk. He nursed his Bible in his hand, looked pre-occupied and clearly had moved on from his request. Tara’s reply startled him.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ It wasn’t her first press conference but she hated doing them. She felt uneasy sitting in front of dozens of reporters, photographers and television news teams. Two years in Tweedy’s squad and she hadn’t yet come to terms with the surprised grins on the faces of people when they learned she was a detective inspector. It didn’t help being seated next to the lanky frame of Harold Tweedy. She could be his daughter on a ‘bring your daughter to work day’.

  At 10.15am they entered a ground floor meeting room at the station. Cameras flashed immediately, the huddles of conversations petering out with journalists ready to hang on Tweedy’s every word. Interest was all the more heightened among the pack because Terry Lawler had been one of them.

  ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am Detective Superintendent Harold Tweedy and this is my colleague Detective Inspector Tara Grogan. The purpose of our meeting this morning is to appeal to the public for information in connection with the death of Mr Terry Lawler.’ Cameras flashed again, several questions were shouted by reporters, all ignored at this point by Tweedy. He proceeded to outline the details of the case, explaining where and when Lawler’s body had been found, appealing for anyone who may have seen something unusual in the vicinity of Crosby Beach on the night Lawler was killed. He further asked for any information regarding Lawler’s activities on the days leading up to his murder, anyone who may have seen him or met with him.

  Tara stared impassively at the men and women holding out microphones and mobiles, wondering if she would get any leads from this exercise. Although she had her own ideas on who was responsible, so far she had no proof that Blackley, Danny Ross or his drug-dealing buddies were murderers. A minute later, Tweedy ceded to the floor for questions. The first one was tame enough.

  ‘Are you looking for anyone in particular?’ A journalist from The Echo called out.

  ‘Not at present,’ Tweedy replied. ‘We have several lines of inquiry running at the moment.’

  ‘Is it a revenge attack by someone who got burned by one of Terry’s stories?’

  ‘As I have said, we are following several lines of inquiry.’

  ‘And is that one of the lines?’ The reporter tried again.

  ‘We are considering it as a possibility.’

  ‘Is the murder connected to the disappearance of Terry’s sister, Ruth?’

  ‘We are also considering that avenue of inquiry.’

  Then came a question that Tara had not expected, never mind Tweedy.

  ‘Is there any truth in the rumour that Terry Lawler was connected to the disappearance of several women, including his sister, on Merseyside in the last few years?’

  Tara suddenly wished the room would swallow her whole. Tweedy glanced at her. She felt her face flush red. The pictures on the wall of Lawler’s flat. She’d done nothing more about them. Hadn’t followed it up. And just how did the press know of them? Somebody must have tipped them off. She glared at the young reporter who’d blurted the question. Another local. Maybe he knew Lawler, maybe he’d seen those pictures for himself. Is that what he was suggesting? That Lawler had murdered all of those women? But there were dozens of them. She became aware of Tweedy staring at her, waiting for her to answer the question.

  ‘At the moment we have no reason to believe that is so,’ she replied. Her face expressed an entirely different answer as the cameras whirred and volleys of questions continued. Finally, Tweedy cut them off by repeating his appeal for information and then calling a halt to the proceedings.

  Tara drew a sigh of relief as she reached the relative quiet of the corridor. Tweedy strode on by. She realised, of course, he’d want to discuss the matter that she had failed to act upon. She’d skipped over the subject at the second briefing. She’d set Wilson the task of collating the photographs of the women and trying to identify them. Macklin had told her that Lawler’s sister was missing. Aside from that she and Murray had chased after leads from ex-wives to ex-girlfriends to disgruntled business men. Why had she not thought that a collection of photographs of young women on the wall of the deceased’s flat could be central to his murder? Her first thoughts on the subject had been to wonder what Lawler was investigating. Surely he was trying to find out what had happened to his sister? She had not imagined that he may have been responsible for the disappearance of more than 20 girls. And who tipped off the press about the photographs in Lawler’s flat?

  Chapter 19

  Guy

  A duke’s daughter. Me and bloody royalty, who’d have thought it? In the end she was so easy. Picked her up on her own street. A firm grip of her soft neck, her eyes bulging in fright, I backed her inside the van and had the gaffer tape across her mouth before she could even whimper, dear love her. If I’d been into kidnapping instead of lovemaking I could have made a pretty penny out of Lady Victoria. The fentanyl hit her fast and within a minute she was out cold. I secured her hands and feet in the usual way and drove off, pleased as Punch. I was going to enjoy this expensive piece of totty. After driving for half an hour, I finally pulled onto some waste ground on the edge of an industrial estate in north London. I could see the arch of Wembley Stadium in the distance. It wasn’t exactly your romantic sea view, but needs must.

  Victoria writhed on the mattress on the floor of the van, her eyes still closed but she was slowly regaining some consciousness. I didn’t waste any time. I did what I liked doing most. I stripped her naked and made love to her immediately. I didn’t want it to end and yet as I lay on top of her warm body, peering into her sweet face, I couldn’t help thinking about Eve and Lucy. When I’d finished, I rolled off her and rested beside her, a blanket over both of us. After half an hour or so, Victoria woke up, groggy but awake. I’d removed the tape from her mouth, but when she began to moan and make attempts to call out I replaced it. I made love to her once more, stroking her hair, placing tender kisses on her eyes. Great! I felt great, and yet somehow I felt I needed more. I suppose I could have managed a third go with Victoria, but instead I gave her the lethal dose and watched as she fell into her final sleep. I realised then that I wanted Lucy, the wee soap star.

  I must have dozed off which was careless; I hadn’t yet put Victoria into her bag. Anyone could have come along, although if they’d seen us both they probably would have thought we were lovers sharing a secret session. Before it was daylight I checked Victoria was definitely gone, folded the body, head to feet in the usual way and placed her into the holdall. My clothes and the blanket usually would go with the deceased but this morning I had some more business to attend to.

  It took me a while to get my bearings, to find my way back to the gym where, hopefully, Lucy would spend yet another morning. On the way I pulled into a retail park that had one of those sports superstores and I bought another large kitbag on wheels. Cash only, can’t be leaving a trail of me using a credit card all over the country.

  The gym was one of those purpose-built things, basically a fancy shed with lots of smoked glass, sliding doors at the entrance and, thankfully, its own car park. As I pulled in I noticed the pink Mini parked 40 yards from the gym entrance. I rolled past and found a space for the van well away from the entrance and as far away from any other cars as I could manage. I sat for a while watching all who came and went, particularly the women. Some very tasty merchandise, I thought; information that I would store for future reference. I checked my watch and reckoned that Lucy, going by previous days, was about halfway through her session – enough time for me to set my plan in motion. I climbed from the van and walked purposefully across the car park toward the gym entrance. As I drew close to the steps I veered away to make it look more as if I were leaving rather than entering the building. Now I was walking toward Lucy’s car. I
slipped between the Mini and the grey 4x4 parked beside it and, crouching down, I rammed the blade of a screwdriver deep into the wall of the Mini’s rear tyre. Springing upwards in no time at all, I kept going into the next aisle of parked cars, eventually turning back on myself to head for the safety of my van. I just had to wait for young Lucy to emerge, all fit and healthy from her exercise session.

  When she finally appeared on the steps above the car park, I started up the van and stuck a baseball cap on my head. I watched as she made her way to the Mini, and then I saw her go behind the 4x4. I guessed she’d spotted the slashed tyre. I rolled forward slowly in the van and when I reached her car I stopped to see Lucy crouched down at the stricken wheel. I rolled down the window on the passenger side.

  ‘Need a hand, darling?’ I said in my best cockney accent.

  She glanced at me, looking a bit reluctant to even reply. She stood up straight, very pretty in pink sweatpants and grey hoodie. Her hair was still wet at the ends. I reckoned she must have been in a hurry.

  ‘Flat tyre,’ she said. ‘It was fine this morning.’

  I jumped from the van and came around to face her.

  ‘Got a spare?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘In your boot most likely.’

  As she turned to open her boot, I slid open the side door of the van. Young Victoria, all cosy in her kitbag, was in plain sight.

  ‘I should have a jack in here,’ I said. Her head was buried somewhere inside the boot of her car. She didn’t answer. Good a time as any, I thought.

  I came and stood behind her as she fumbled beneath the carpet of the boot.

  ‘Can I get that spare wheel for you? It’s heavier than you think.’

  When she straightened and turned I smiled as broadly as I could manage.

  ‘Don’t I know you?’

  She smiled weakly and shook her head. Modesty, eh?

  ‘You’re off the telly, aren’t you? You’re that girl plays the doctor’s daughter.’

  ‘That’s me,’ she said. I could tell she was relaxing, her eyes widened, her ego tickled slightly. ‘Are you sure I’m not giving you any trouble?’

  ‘No trouble, darling. My pleasure.’ I pulled a pair of latex gloves from my jacket pocket, slipped them on and got to work. I didn’t want to leave any prints on her nice pink motor.

  At first she was content to watch me work but as I slipped the spare wheel onto the hub I noticed her busily texting on her mobile. Didn’t like that much. No doubt she was telling somebody she was running late. I finished tightening the nuts in place and released my jack. Deliberately, I ignored her as I carried the jack to the side door of the van. This time as luck would have it she came up behind me. I pretended not to notice at first and set the jack into the van.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ she said friendly enough. I swung round, gloves off and rammed my hand tight against her neck, squeezing hard. Nothing but a gurgle from her throat and even that I squeezed away. With my other hand I pricked her side with my screwdriver. She nearly fell into the van all by herself. I slid the door closed behind us and quickly I did what I do brilliantly: had her trussed in seconds, tape on her mouth and a needle jabbed into her arm. Game over.

  Chapter 20

  Tara

  Murray wasn’t the type to do sympathy but he had at least managed a look of understanding on his face as Tara took her seat next to him in Tweedy’s office. She was still seething with herself.

  ‘Well, Tara,’ said Tweedy seated behind his desk. ‘It might be a good idea for us to consider some of the points raised by the press.’

  Tweedy was a master at removing the heat from a situation. She’d never witnessed his calm demeanour slip and yet she’d learned to read between his lines. She knew he was not happy to have been put on the spot by a journalist who apparently knew more about the Lawler case than Merseyside Police. Yet Tweedy was not given to loud reprimand. Tara recognised his tone when he was making his point, and after noting the failure he always swayed it toward moving on.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. We had considered the girls in the photographs at the outset but our time was more taken with interviewing the immediate suspects in the case.’

  Tweedy nodded acknowledgement, his hands pressed together as if in prayer.

  ‘From what you’ve learned so far,’ he said. ‘Do you believe that Mr Lawler was mixed up in the disappearances of these girls?’

  Tara glanced at Murray who didn’t look keen to contribute. At this stage she knew they couldn’t rule out the possibility.

  ‘I would be inclined to believe the girls were part of an investigation by Lawler. We need to identify some of the girls in the photographs, learn whether they’re living or dead, and it might tell us if Lawler was involved in their disappearance or murder.’

  Murray spoke up at last.

  ‘Do you think it’s possible that Lawler was killed by someone to avenge the deaths of the girls? A relative of one of them, maybe?’

  ‘We have yet to establish whether any of the girls from those photographs are actually dead,’ said Tweedy. ‘Perhaps that should be your starting point, Alan.’

  After a brief lunch – all too brief these days – Tara gathered a small team of four officers, including Wilson, to help her sift through the photographs taken from the wall of Lawler’s flat. The objective was to identify any of the girls and then to confirm whether they were listed as missing or already known to be deceased. As they worked she remained irked by the question of who tipped off the press about Lawler’s connection to these girls, and why.

  ‘Do you think it could have been any of those people we’ve already interviewed?’ she asked Murray as he scrolled through a screen of missing person details.

  ‘Yeats seems the most likely. She did tell us that she’d visited Lawler’s flat. Probably saw the pictures on the wall. Lawler may have even told her what they were doing there.’

  ‘Something we should ask her. I wondered too about the solicitor, Macklin. He was reasonably close to Lawler. Maybe he knows the reason behind all the pictures.’

  ‘Why don’t we get Wilson to go through Lawler’s published stories again? See if he had anything to say about missing girls.’

  ‘If that’s what they are. They might just be a photographic record of all Lawler’s conquests.’

  ‘Do you know something about him that I don’t?’

  Tara blushed. She recognised Murray’s attempt at innuendo.

  ‘Heard a few stories about him, that’s all.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, let’s just say I don’t think he was the most faithful of partners.’

  ‘Another motive for dumping him on Crosby Beach. And if you don’t mind me saying it, a plausible reason for a spurned lover to cut off his privates.’

  Murray was right. She’d tended to ignore the MO on the victim as if it bore no relation to why the killer did what they did. And if it were true, who could have filled the role of spurned lover? Gwen Blackley or Lynsey Yeats? For that matter, it might well have been any of the girls whose picture was stuck to Lawler’s bedroom wall.

  She left her team to continue their search and told Murray to drive them out to Lymm.

  They found Gwen Blackley at home, although she was not alone. When she guided Tara and Murray into her plush lounge she was about to introduce her visitor when Tara saved her the bother.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Blackley, we have already met Mr Macklin.’

  The crumpled looking solicitor in a grey suit and white shirt, minus tie, sat up straight in an armchair. He looked embarrassingly at Gwen Blackley. Tara saved him any further anguish.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Mr Macklin. And thank you for the information the other day; it was very helpful.’

  ‘No problem,’ he croaked. ‘I just called to see if Gwen was all right. You know, after Terry and that. I should get going.’

  ‘Don’t leave on our account,’ said Tara. ‘In fact you
may be able to help us a little further.’ Macklin’s bony face paled, and again he glanced at Gwen as if in need of protection. She didn’t take him under her notice.

  ‘Just one question for you, Mrs Blackley, before I move on to other matters.’

  Gwen Blackley, looking trim in tight-fit jeans and a stretch Lacoste T-shirt, slunk into her sofa and stared tentatively at Tara.

  ‘Can you explain why you failed to mention on our first meeting that Terry was here on the night before he died?’

  ‘Evan said you’d probably ask me that.’ Tara didn’t respond, remaining stern-faced. ‘He came to cause trouble for Evan. I pleaded with him to ditch the story. Evan was stressed out and I didn’t want Maisie to be reading anything unsavoury about her step-dad in the papers.’

  ‘You could have told me that, Mrs Blackley.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry, but I didn’t want Evan dragged into this mess. He has enough problems with his business.’ The woman glared at Macklin but he seemed unmoved.

  Tara decided to let the subject rest there. She’d achieved her objective of making Gwen Blackley aware that she did not trust her and did not entirely believe her version of events. Setting her hand bag on her lap, she removed a photograph and passed it to Gwen Blackley.

  ‘Do you know this girl?’

  Blackley took one glance at the small photo that Tara had kept from Lawler’s wallet.

  ‘It’s Ruth, Terry’s sister.’

  Tara glanced at Murray who was pursing his lips. She now had a good idea why this one had also appeared on the wall of Lawler’s flat.

  ‘This is his sister who went missing?’ Murray asked.

  Gwen nodded then dropped her gaze. She removed a tissue from a box on the coffee table and dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘It’s been more than five months, Inspector,’ said Macklin. ‘No one’s heard a thing from her.’

  ‘What do you think happened to her?’