Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  ‘Depends on how you help us with other things. Terry Lawler worked on a story about drugs on Treadwater. Did he ask you any questions, Danny? About your supplying schoolkids?’

  ‘I never told him I supplied kids.’ The face of Ross became flushed; he sat forward in his seat, squaring up to Tara. She was pleased to see him so animated. Now she was getting somewhere.

  ‘Then what did you and Lawler talk about?’

  ‘Asshole followed me all over the place. Wanted to see how I struck deals. He asked me to show him some of the dens on Treadwater.’

  ‘Did he take photographs? Like these?’ Tara set two enlarged prints on the table. Ross examined them for a few seconds showing little emotion. ‘This one,’ said Tara, lifting the one to her right. ‘Is a picture of you making a sale with an 11-year-old girl.’

  ‘That’s not me.’

  Tara set the picture back on the table and pointed firmly with her finger to the youth pictured in the second photo.

  ‘But that is definitely you, isn’t Danny?’ It would be difficult to deny, given that it was a clear frontal shot of a youth wearing a grey hoodie while staring directly at the camera. Ross didn’t respond. ‘Terry Lawler took that picture of you, Danny. On the same day he also took this one. Your back may be turned slightly, but that is you selling drugs to a child.’

  ‘Didn’t sell her drugs, just gave her some sweets.’ He sat back looking pleased with himself.

  ‘Is that why you killed Mr Lawler, because you thought he would use those pictures in his newspaper story?’

  ‘What you talking about? I didn’t kill him.’

  Tara paused for a few moments, allowing Ross to settle, and hopefully giving time for the seriousness of what he was facing to sink in.

  ‘Do you take drugs, Danny?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ he replied in a croaky voice.

  ‘What do you take?’

  ‘Whatever. Tabs, speed, blow when I can get some. Nothing much else to do round our way.’

  ‘How do you feel when you get high? Are you happy? Sad, depressed? Do you ever get angry? Want to do someone harm? You’d have to be off your head to do this to someone, wouldn’t you, Danny?’

  Tara revealed a photo of Terry Lawler after he’d been removed from the hole in the sand at Crosby Beach.

  ‘To bury a person head-first so that they suffocate, then to cut off their privates and let them bleed to death. Have to be someone on drugs, wouldn’t you think?’

  ‘Wasn’t me. Didn’t kill him.’

  ‘How about this one?’ She set down a picture of Macklin tied to a wire fence and slashed to death. Ross shook his head, no.

  ‘One final picture for you, Danny.’ Tara left the other photos on the table and produced a copy of the picture she’d discovered in Beth’s collection. ‘Apart from yourself, do you recognise anyone?’

  Ross did little more than glance at the picture, but he didn’t seem inclined to answer the question. Tara pointed to one of the people in the print.

  ‘Councillor Leitch, you know her surely?’

  Ross feigned another look and wiped his hand across his mouth.

  ‘She helped to set up the day centre on the estate.’

  ‘You ever meet with her?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Despite standing 3ft away from her in this picture, you never spoke to her?’

  ‘No. Not my type.’

  Tara smiled at his quip.

  ‘What about Lynsey? She’s right there beside you. Did she ever speak to the councillor?’

  ‘Don’t know. Might have done.’

  Tara searched the face of Danny Ross. She needed only one slip, but the scrawny teenager had sufficient confidence to stare back at his interrogator. She was already convinced of his guilt, but she had to unearth the proof.

  ‘One last question before I turn you over to my colleagues interested in your drugs activities; how many times did you meet Paul Macklin?’

  ‘Never met him,’ said Ross swiftly. Tara wasn’t prepared to go through a list of questions regarding Macklin only for Ross to scoff with his denials. Instead she pointed to the photo of the lacerated body of Macklin on the table.

  ‘Did you do this, Danny?’

  Chapter 52

  Guy

  ‘Hi, is that James?’

  ‘Aye, it is.’

  ‘It’s Tara. I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner, but things have been hectic round here. I just wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue the other day.’

  ‘No problem. How’s your back?’

  ‘I have an enormous bruise across my shoulders, and I’m a bit stiff. Apart from that I’m fine.’

  ‘Maybe when you’re fit we can repeat our night out?’

  She hesitated, but I thought it was worth the asking. I’m not a complete animal, you know. I’m just a bloke looking for real love.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said at last.

  ‘Did I do something wrong last time?’

  ‘No, no. It’s just me.’

  ‘I understand; you don’t want to get into anything heavy?’

  ‘That’s part of it. My job doesn’t do much for personal relationships.’

  ‘How about no strings, just dinner and a couple of drinks. You talk, I’ll listen. See where it takes us.’

  Another silence at her end.

  ‘How about tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Can’t this evening.’

  ‘Tomorrow then?’

  ‘Next week would be better.’

  ‘Monday or Tuesday?’

  ‘Tuesday at the same place as last time, seven o’clock?’

  ‘All right, see you then.’

  She hung up, and I danced around the corridor. Didn’t give a shit if Cranley saw me; I was dead chuffed. This copper was doing something to my head. I was coming over all tingly and romantic like. Couldn’t wait to see her again. Couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go out with me for a second time. Maybe my life was turning round and I wouldn’t have to take a girl ever again. Then, as I pushed an old doll in her wheelchair back to the ward I began to worry. What if I couldn’t stop? What if I ended up in a proper relationship with Tara and I still had to go out and snatch girls? I’d be rightly screwed up. And just as I was thinking these things my head was filling up with visions of the wee blonde I’d spotted near the police station. Funny how the mind works.

  To stay focused on Tara I decided that after work I should pay another visit to her apartment block at Wapping Dock. Maybe I could spot her driving home.

  Chapter 53

  Tara

  Murray, cheese roll in hand, caught up with her on the stairs as she was leaving.

  ‘What did you make of Ross? Didn’t give much away.’

  ‘Didn’t really expect him to, not yet anyway.’

  ‘I don’t get it. You still think he’s the killer, don’t you?’

  Tara stopped before the bottom step, looking up at Murray who’d paused several steps higher.

  ‘Who do you reckon has the strongest motive?’ She continued on her way, assuming that Murray would follow.

  ‘Could be any of them,’ he said coming after her.

  ‘Yes, all of them had a reason for wanting Lawler silenced.’

  ‘But this morning you were suggesting Gwen Blackley was at the centre of things.’ Murray held the door allowing Tara to pass through.

  ‘I know, but then I saw the photo that Beth had.’

  ‘So now you’re convinced it was Ross?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’m thinking more of Lynsey Yeats.’

  Murray took a bite of his roll as he and Tara wandered across the station yard.

  ‘What evidence do we have that Yeats is the killer?’ He said at last.

  ‘No more than we have for any of the suspects. Tell me, we agree that whoever killed Lawler and Macklin either had to be off their heads or they actually enjoy the killing process?’

  ‘True. And you think Yeats fits the bill?’

  Tara nodded.


  ‘Based on her attack on you?’

  ‘Her attack on me certainly supports the argument.’

  ‘But you don’t think she acted alone?’

  ‘She had help and my guess is that Danny Ross was the source of it. And then comes the question of motive. Lynsey kills Lawler because he pissed her off in some way; used her to get a story on drugs, treated her badly or whatever.’

  ‘Why kill Macklin?’

  ‘Exactly. Yeats and Ross, as far as we know, had no reason to butcher Macklin. It is likely that they didn’t even know him.’

  ‘But you still think they killed him?’

  ‘Yes, if they were acting on someone else’s behalf. Which brings me back to the picture I found belonging to Beth. Doreen Leitch in the same shot as Yeats and Ross. A woman with good reason to see Lawler and Macklin dead.’ Tara beeped her car open, climbed inside and with a wry smile drove off, leaving Murray to cogitate on her theory and to finish the remainder of his cheese roll.

  As soon as she reached home she immediately checked with St Anne Street for news on Lynsey Yeats. The girl who had seemed intent on killing her was proving difficult to find. She realised her theory was entirely founded on the picture she had taken from Beth. She couldn’t prove anything until Lynsey was in custody.

  Lingering in the shower for much longer than usual, her mind rolled from one thing to another, from Yeats to Murray, to Aisling, to a vision of Paul Macklin’s body ripped to shreds and hanging from a wire fence. Wrapped in a towel, she dropped into her sofa and stared vacantly at the folders she’d left on the coffee table for the past three days. Something about their contents haunted her. It felt like disappointment. If the conclusion of the Lawler case now lay with Lynsey Yeats then where could she go with the files on all of those young girls? Terry Lawler had been on to something. Every girl within those folders had disappeared without trace, and as far as she was aware not one police officer was searching for any of them. Surely the families of every girl deserved the truth, deserved closure. As sleep began to take hold she was telling herself that when Lawler’s case was complete she would look into this story, even if she had to do it in her own time.

  A brief glimpse of the car parked on the pavement outside her apartment building flashed through her mind. She blinked it away only to see those girls posted on the bedroom wall of Lawler’s flat. Recently, it seemed that all her nights were filled with the horrors of her days. In the bedroom, she dropped her towel to the floor and climbed into her bed, wrapping the duvet closely around her.

  Chapter 54

  Tara

  Doreen Leitch stared at the two pictures lying on the table. Eventually, in answer to Tara’s question she said: ‘No comment.’

  Her solicitor, a confident-looking woman in her mid-30s with ash-blonde hair and blue-grey eyes, smiled her and her client’s intention not to co-operate with Tara’s investigation.

  ‘Councillor Leitch, you are in the same photograph as Lynsey Yeats. Do you know this girl?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Can you please confirm that you are acquainted with Danny Ross and Lynsey Yeats?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘How many times are you going to rephrase the same question, Inspector?’ said the solicitor. ‘My client can be of no further help in this matter. If you have nothing else to ask, I suggest we bring this to a close.’

  Leitch sat impassively while Tara considered one final question.

  ‘I find it more than coincidence that a person with strong motive for killing Terry Lawler and Paul Macklin has had a recent association with another person who also had reason perhaps for wanting Mr Lawler dead.’

  ‘That’s all you have, Inspector? No evidence? This meeting is over.’

  Tara let the pair leave. She sat for a while at the table, gazing at the blank wall. Until they found Lynsey Yeats they had no case, except for what they might squeeze out of Danny Ross.

  Before lunch she and Murray drove out to Treadwater and parked outside the house that until recently was home to Lynsey Yeats. They’d come prepared, a search warrant and a jemmy to force the door if necessary. It didn’t sap much of Murray’s energy to slip the bar between the door and its lock. One sturdy thrust, the wood splintered and the lock eased from its catch. Murray took the upstairs, while Tara inspected the living room and kitchen. She had no real objective for things to find, just a look for something that might hint at where Lynsey was hiding, a clue to suggest that she was capable of two murders or that she did have an association with Doreen Leitch.

  The living room had a dank, closed-up smell of cigarettes and cooked food, a room cluttered with odd pieces of furniture, a worn multi-coloured carpet and a gas burner at the fireplace. A coffee table was littered with sweet wrappers, two empty cigarette packets, half of a chocolate biscuit and several letters, some of which remained unopened.

  Tara lifted the papers and leafed through them. Mostly junk mail: a charity circular, a credit-card application and a bank statement. Surprisingly, the envelope was addressed to Lynsey Yeats. She wouldn’t have thought Yeats to be in a position to have a bank account. A cursory glance down the list of transactions didn’t arouse any suspicions – no major lodgements or withdrawals to suggest that someone had paid her a hefty fee to commit a murder. A tidy account, really, in balance at £253.26. She would not have thought Lynsey capable of managing her finances well; she apparently made such a poor effort of looking after herself.

  There was little else of interest in the room: a bottle of gin, one third full; and a stack of DVDs on the same shelf to the right of the television. Maybe her suspicions of Lynsey were unfounded. An ordinary girl, maladjusted certainly, and having problems dealing with a drug habit.

  ‘Find anything?’ she called up to Murray on her way to the kitchen.

  ‘Not a lot.’

  The kitchen was tidy and clean, again not what she would have expected to see. Her first impression of Yeats was that she cared about little except her next fix. She didn’t think that keeping a clean house was a priority for the girl barely out of her teens.

  Everything was in its place: cooker, slightly battered, was clean; the fridge wasn’t full but held the essentials, milk, butter, some cheese, a pack of sausages and three eggs. No dishwasher but the washing machine was full of clothes. Cupboards were quite sparse: a variety of plates and dishes, not a single set; a few mugs and some glasses that looked as though they’d been nicked from the local pub.

  ‘Mam.’

  ‘Coming,’ she replied, and as she turned to leave the kitchen she glanced at a wooden knife-block holding only two of its four knives.

  When she reached the bedroom, Murray was standing over a chest of drawers gazing into one that was empty.

  ‘Very few clothes about,’ he said.

  ‘Do you think maybe she’s been home and gathered some things to take with her?’

  ‘Have a look for yourself. Very little in the drawers or the wardrobe.’

  Tara again wouldn’t have imagined that Lynsey possessed a vast array of fashionable clothes. Each time they’d met she’d been wearing only black jeans, a T-shirt and a biker jacket. A few pairs of trousers were hanging in the wardrobe, two pairs of trainers lay at the bottom. She found some underwear in a drawer, a few shirts and sweatshirts, but the room gave little impression that a young woman lived there. Lying at the bottom of a drawer was the driving licence belonging to Terry Lawler. Tara reckoned that either he had left it here by accident or it had been hidden after Lawler was killed.

  ‘Seems like she’s scarpered,’ said Murray.

  ‘What are we going to do, Alan? Until we find her, we’ve got nothing on this case.’

  ‘What if someone doesn’t want her found?’

  ‘Like Doreen Leitch?’

  ‘If you believe she’s behind the killings then maybe she’s had to silence young Lynsey.’ Tara shivered. Didn’t think she could bear another murder in this case. If Leitch wasn’t capable of killi
ng Lawler and Macklin, having got Danny Ross and Lynsey to do it, then surely she wouldn’t be up to dispensing with Lynsey? Best for now if she could hang on to that thought. Soon, though, it was clouded by the notion that Lynsey had joined the list of disappeared girls.

  She immediately ordered the re-arrest of Danny Ross. They stopped on the way back from Treadwater for a quick bite of lunch at a KFC. Ross was already waiting in an interview room when they arrived at St Anne Street. She told herself that this would not be a repeat of the first interview. She glared at the youth who sat with arms folded looking set once more not to co-operate.

  ‘Do you know where she is, Danny?’

  He grinned, smug and evidently enjoying pissing this copper off.

  ‘It would be better if you told us, you know. She could be in danger. Do you realise that?’

  Ross glanced from Tara to Murray. He looked confused. Tara spoke quietly and earnestly.

  ‘Danny, whatever she might have done, I believe that someone else is behind all this. If I’m right, then Lynsey could be next to die. Do you understand? If you know where she is hiding and you’re happy that she’s safe, fair enough. But if you aren’t sure that she’s completely safe then you must tell me.’

  ‘Did you kill her, Danny?’ Murray asked.

  ‘No I didn’t bloody kill her. Don’t know where she is.’

  ‘Do you care for her, Danny?’ said Tara. The youth dropped his head and pinched his nose between his eyes. ‘Tell us what happened, Danny. You don’t want Lynsey to get hurt. Is there anywhere she could have gone? A friend’s house? Has she left Liverpool?’

  Ross slammed his hands down hard on the table.

  ‘Don’t know nothin’,’ he shouted. ‘Leave me alone, will ya?’

  Tara felt her own anger rise. She wanted to slap this kid. To him life was cheap. She yelled back in his face.

  ‘You didn’t care when you killed Lawler and Macklin, but if you don’t help us the girl you love is going to die, you little shit.’

  Murray stood with Tara in the corridor outside the interview room. Tara looked close to tears.