Tara was relieved to hail a black cab right away. She was tired, weary of making conversation, especially one that for a time was so competitive. Standing next to him in the street, she only reached his shoulder.
‘Thanks again for this evening,’ she said, hoping to sound genuine.
Placing his hand on her arm, he smiled down at her and edged closer. She couldn’t help arching her neck to return his gaze, and then he lowered his head further and placed a heavy kiss on her lips. For a second she responded, then quickly told herself this should not be going anywhere. His hands gripped her waist and he pulled her tight against him. They kissed again, but she slipped her hands between them and pushed him away gently, the best she could manage after feeling him go hard against her.
‘I have to go, James.’ She freed herself from his grasp and opened the door of the cab.
‘But can I see you again, Tara? We can go for dinner, maybe go to a club?’
‘Thanks, James. You’re very sweet, but I don’t think so.’
She could see that he looked genuinely shocked by her rebuttal. He stood open-mouthed, his palms spread by his sides. She smiled briefly before the cab roared away.
Chapter 37
Guy
‘I will see you again, Tara. You can be sure of that, love,’ I said to myself as she drove away. I saw signs of victory on her cute little face as she peered out of the cab, pleased with herself that she’d managed to dump me without a fight. Clever, too, that she gave herself to me for a few seconds, long enough for me to get excited. And I did get excited. Here’s me thinking I’d charmed her, that I was attractive to her, that maybe she was the one; this was the girl that I could love, really love. And what did she do? Pissed on that notion, didn’t she? What had I done wrong? She seemed to enjoy our chat, our banter. We had a laugh. I wasn’t looking to sleep with her on the first date. I’m not impatient. I could get to know her properly. She could be my fresh start. No more taking girls that I couldn’t have. Loving Tara, I wouldn’t need anyone else.
As the taxi disappeared from view I wondered if she would give me a second chance. Maybe it was up to me to find her, give her a call or send her flowers. But as I wandered back to my car I thought of the things she’d said: her mates coaxing her into going out with me; her reluctance to tell me about her work; asking so little about me; looking down on me, a Paddy. That’s what she really thought. A fucking Paddy, slaving in a hospital, no prospects, and her a peeler. A big shot detective. She wouldn’t want to be seen with the likes of me. If her peeler colleague hadn’t seen me, hadn’t clocked me, I could have taken her the way I’ve taken all my girls – one good fuck and then a lethal dose. That’s what I did to stuck-up Gemma, and Tara, I reckon, was just like her. I’d be seeing her again, definitely.
My problem was what to do right now. I hadn’t done a girl since Lucy and Lady Victoria – or Tamsin to use her real name. I’d broken nearly all my own rules, acquired bad habits of trying to pick up women in bars, even those I’d been trailing for days. And look where it got me. One measly date with a peeler. I needed something. I needed a girl right now to restore my faith in my own abilities. I would do what I knew best. Little did Tara know but she had just got some wee darling killed, all because she’d turned me down. Funny how things turn out.
*
I had the morning off before my evening shift and I lay on the sofa with a cup of tea pondering my next step. There was a nice wee thing doing a consumer article on breakfast TV, talking about rip-off beauty products sold on the internet. She was cute, a Geordie accent but nice with it; long fair hair to her waist; a sticky-out bum in tight trousers and platform shoes – bloody lovely. I imagined a whole list of possibilities but vying for my attention, still, was the wee cop.
Sitting at the wheel of my car, I couldn’t decide where to go for my next snatch. All I could see before me was Tara. I couldn’t give up on her just yet. I just sat there tossing ideas in the air, for the first time ever trying to rid myself of a girl that I had already chosen. For my own peace of mind I decided to go for a dual approach: make plans to lift her; and at the same time give her another chance to go out with me. I drove off hoping to strike it lucky at St Anne Street Police Station.
After an hour of waiting close to the station entrance, reading my paper, I noticed a familiar figure crossing the yard and climbing into an unmarked car. It was that big bastard who’d been sitting with Tara in the pub when I arrived. The car swung toward the exit then braked to a halt by the door of the building. To my surprise, Tara hurried out and got into the passenger seat. Immediately, I prepared to follow; I’d try me best not to lose them but, more importantly, not to get noticed by them.
They headed out of the city and soon it seemed they were going in the direction of Crosby. I remembered that the body of that journalist creep had been found out there and I assumed they were going for another look. Maybe they’d missed something first time round. I needn’t have worried about losing them or arousing their suspicion. For a copper this guy was a slow and sloppy driver. At one point I drew up behind them at traffic lights and I swear he didn’t once look in his mirror. After that I dropped back a little, even let another car come between us. Soon I realised I’d been wrong about where they were going. The black Vauxhall pulled up outside a bungalow about a mile or so before the beach. I drove on by and found a place to turn around. When I passed by again both cops were stood by the front door of the house talking to some guy. I drove on for a mile or so, assuming that when they’d finished their little chat they would return along the same road.
As I sat waiting one thing began to irk me. The guy at the house, although I only got a brief look at him, did seem familiar. I’d never been out this way before but I recognised that face – a friendly, untroubled face, large nose, mousey hair, skinny build. It would come to me.
Chapter 38
Tara
Tara studied the face of Gary Hill, former boyfriend of Ruth Lawler. He seemed a jovial character, friendly, relaxed, the sort of man you wouldn’t mind spending time with. Slightly dishevelled, his wavy brown hair in need of combing, he bore an afternoon stubble and looked comfortable in a crumpled red sweatshirt and faded jeans. She and Murray were seated in the front sitting room of the bungalow, Gary Hill nursing a young baby girl of no more than a year on his lap. Her baby son would have been that age if he’d lived. The thought of him sliced through her head and she fought to stifle a tear and to remain focused on the discussion she had begun.
‘When did you last speak with Mr Lawler?’
Gary Hill tried his best to conjure interest for his daughter in the rattle he shook in front of her. His efforts forced a smile from Tara.
‘Couple of months ago. He came to speak to me about Ruth. I knew he was trying his best to find her. I’d asked him to keep me informed.’
‘You’re in another relationship now, I take it?’
‘Yes, married. Ruth and I had split a year before she disappeared.’
‘Do you think,’ said Murray, ‘that your break-up may have caused her to run away?’
‘My first thought when I heard she’d disappeared, to be honest.’
‘But now you don’t think so?’ Tara asked.
‘Terry came to see me. He said there was no way Ruth would just up and leave; she wouldn’t have left her sister Beth to fend for herself. He was certain she’d been taken. I reckon he was trying to suss me out, since Ruth and I had broken up, but I wasn’t about to take his accusations and let him off with it. You see, it didn’t end particularly well between Ruth and me. She found out that I’d been seeing Alice, who is now my wife. She was already pregnant with Amy when I finished with Ruth. Terry suggested that I might know where she’d gone since I was responsible for breaking her heart. I told him when I’d last seen her, when we’d last communicated, what was said, and he seemed to accept that I was telling the truth.’
‘Did he pass on anything that he’d discovered about Ruth’s disappearance?�
��
Hill shook his head.
‘He’d found nothing, Inspector. All he had was some way out theory that Ruth was one of dozens of girls who’d all disappeared in the same manner, but he had nothing to back it up. Since you’re here, I take it that you are still looking for Ruth?’
‘Not directly,’ Tara replied. ‘We’re investigating Mr Lawler’s murder and we came across his attempts at trying to find his sister.’
‘Of course. Do you think Terry’s death is linked to Ruth’s disappearance?’
Hill’s attention remained on his daughter, her tiny hand gripping his little finger.
‘We’re considering that possibility.’
*
Hardly a word was spoken on the journey back to St Anne Street, but Tara, deep in thought, was gradually coming to realise that they were wasting time in chasing a lead which so far had served only to drag them further from the central themes of the case.
‘I think we should put this idea of taking up Lawler’s search for missing women on the shelf for now,’ she said. ‘We’ve found nothing so far, and if what Gary Hill says is true then Lawler didn’t get anywhere with his investigation.’
‘Unless he was killed before he could pass on what he knew,’ said Murray.
‘Still doesn’t help us. If Lawler didn’t have a name then we aren’t going to find one easily.’
When she returned to her desk she found a post-it stuck to her screen. Written upon it was the name Blackley and a mobile number. Unsure whether it was the male or female of the couple, she dialled the number and waited for a voice to answer.
‘Evan Blackley,’ was stated abruptly.
‘Detective Inspector Grogan returning your call, Mr Blackley.’
‘Ah yes, Inspector,’ came a more jovial reply. ‘Something you can do for me, and may also be of interest to the police. That so-called mate of Terry’s, Paul Macklin, has taken over where Terry left off.’
‘You’ll have to explain, Mr Blackley.’
‘Threatening my business, just like his mate. Says he’ll take Lawler’s story to the press if I don’t pay up.’
‘Do you mean he’s blackmailing you?’
‘Damn right he’s blackmailing me. Didn’t have the balls to meet me face to face. Went crawling to our Gwen. The low-life. I want to know what the bizzies are going to do about it?’
‘Perhaps we should meet first, get some more details from you and then I can take it up with Mr Macklin.’
‘You need to get to him before I do, cos if I set eyes on him I’ll ring his bloody neck.’
‘Making threats of your own won’t help the situation, Mr Blackley.’
‘Then the police better get off their arses and do something.’
Chapter 39
Tara
He thought it strange. The location. But he came anyway. Couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to make a few more quid. These guys were easy pickings. Terry had been in the wrong business. Instead of writing a few harsh words in the papers, thinking he was cleaning up the world, ridding Liverpool of all the lowlife trash, Terry could have been milking it in. These people were only too willing to cough up just to keep their reputations.
Smoking a fag didn’t do much for his nerves. He hadn’t got used to the meetings yet. It would take a while. But he was in the right business to learn the secrets of others, and besides he had many secrets gathered by Terry to use for a long time to come.
Unable to bear his discomfort behind the wheel, he climbed out of the car and paced up and down on the lane overlooking the playing fields. He should be here any minute. If the bastard had thought he could palm him off with a few measly quid that he’d given him that last time, then he had better think again. If the money wasn’t right this time, he would send his information to the papers and they would just have to face the music.
His suit jacket did little to keep him warm, yet his shirt was soaked with sweat. The lights of a car moved along the perimeter of the park and he prepared himself for the arrival. But then he saw the lights swing in the opposite direction and soon they were lost amongst the houses. Why had the bugger chosen this place? Gave him the creeps. He didn’t know this part of the city. He’d grown up in Speke, for God’s sake. Terry, Ruth and him. He couldn’t believe it when she disappeared. Terry was a mess, and now he was gone. He felt the cold rip through him, his heart thumping in his chest, his head pulsing. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this underhand business. Maybe the sod knew what he was doing, choosing this spot. The bastard could tell that underneath all the smart talk he was just an amateur. They had him sussed. The bastard wasn’t scared; he wasn’t for turning up with more cash. Maybe he should go, clear off now. Then he heard a voice from behind.
‘Hiya, Paul, mate.’
He spun round, eyes darting as he peered into the darkness.
‘Who’s there?’
Chapter 40
Guy
Modesty I called this one. Don’t ask me why. Just seemed right. Appropriate. She was probably the plainest girl I’ve ever gone for, and that’s the best I can say about her. I was desperate, what do you want me to do? I couldn’t wait around for Tara. It was taking too bloody long. I needed to pop me cork or I would’ve cracked open. Modesty was there for the taking, didn’t need a lot of planning. A girl, and I use that term loosely, living alone, in her late 30s, early 40s I’d guess, not married, divorced possibly and didn’t seem to have a job. She wasn’t pretty, slim and curvy, and definitely not a looker. The only thing in her favour, or mine, depending on how you look at it, was that she dressed nice. Probably spent all her benefits on clothes, bright, colourful clothes.
The evening after I’d followed Tara out to Crosby, I spotted Modesty coming out of a pub on Anfield Road. I was wound up to the neck, and there she was just walking down the street. Sounds like a bloody pop song, but I was drawn to the high heel boots, her bright pink jeans and wee matching jacket. Only took me two days to suss her out.
Like I said, she was hardly a stunner but, as we used to say in Belfast, you don’t look at the clock on the mantelpiece when you’re poking the fire. I did my stuff with Modesty, using my tried and trusted method and felt the better for it. A day out to sea on Mother Freedom helped clear my head. I was back in my natural habitat, in control. I went through my routine: body in the holdall, bag of stones along with her; 40 minutes south-west of Anglesey and I tipped her in the drink. Sweet. I did everything the way I always had. The boat was hosed down, mattress from the van dumped at the civic amenity site in Llandudno, van power-hosed, and I was home by midnight and checking the local news for anything on a missing girl from Anfield. I hoped though that taking Modesty would tide me over until the time was right for Tara.
Chapter 41
Tara
The face of Gwen Blackley was strained and very pale. Tara had grown accustomed to seeing the woman immaculately dressed, full make-up and carefully tended hair. Not this morning. The collar of her long navy raincoat was up around her neck, hair unbrushed and floundering in the breeze, and her pumps giving the impression that she’d pulled on the first pair of shoes she’d found. She seemed cold, her body trembling as she stood next to her husband, he with hands in the pockets of his overcoat looking concerned as he listened to Murray speak. Tara had just arrived on the scene and was content for Murray to finish his conversation. But when Evan Blackley noticed her approach he wasn’t prepared to wait.
‘I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with this,’ he said, stepping toward her.
‘If you don’t mind, Mr Blackley, I’d like to find out exactly what’s happened before I speak to you.’ Gwen Blackley suddenly looked alarmed as Tara walked past them and made for the incident tent by the wire fence that enclosed the building site. DC Wilson stood outside, scribbling in his notebook.
‘Morning, mam.’
‘What have we got, John?’
‘Another gruesome one: male, late 30s. We think it’s Paul Macklin. Found a wallet in that
car.’ He nodded toward a black Volkswagen Golf sitting on the lane and now bracketed by two police cars. ‘Had a driving licence inside.’
‘I’ll know if it’s him.’
‘It’ll be hard to tell, mam. There’s not much left of the face.’
The compulsion to shiver at the thought wasn’t far away as she stepped into the tent. Brian Witney was busy with his examination of the victim. Tara’s hand shot immediately to her mouth at the sight before her. There was a body, sagging but upright, held in place against the mesh fence with cable ties, one at each out-stretched wrist. That was all she could tell. Everything beyond that observation was a bloodied mess.
‘Multiple slash wounds, Tara,’ said Witney, turning to face her. ‘Bled to death within a few minutes. Quite a sharp knife, not such a long blade, none of the cuts are really deep, just delivered to the right places. His neck in particular.’
Tara now had both hands held over her mouth and nose. She recognised nothing of Paul Macklin in the figure. There were gashes to the head, neck and ears. The flesh on either side of the mouth had been slit open causing the lower jaw to drop, and copious amounts of deep red blood had flowed from the lacerated tongue. The man’s clothes, jacket, shirt and trousers had been partially ripped away, hanging ribbons of deep red. The torso had a dozen or more cuts, several of which ran from the neck and shoulders to the lower abdomen. Intestines were visible in several places. Thighs were sliced open with vertical cuts and criss-crossed by smaller gashes all the way to the knees. Even the shins and ankles had been cut. Only the feet, still in shoes, had been spared.
‘Killer didn’t know where to stop, or else didn’t want to,’ said Witney.
‘Any idea of time?’
‘Ten hours, roughly.’
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 15
