Laura looked over and then at Nick. ‘I’ve got to go. Have a good Christmas, Nick.’
‘You too,’ Nick said, but Laura had already turned to go.
Nick watched as she hurried across the road and waved at the driver of the Jeep. The snow was falling and swirling in the air. She opened the passenger door, got in and the Jeep pulled away.
Liverpool Crown Court
March 2001
It was mid-afternoon and Curtis and Shaun had been sitting in Court No 1 all day. Curtis looked down at his handmade Italian loafers and grey Armani suit trousers that had been neatly pressed. He and Shaun copied their look from their favourite film, ‘Goodfellas’. Some of the Italian mafia slang had even slipped into their own Scouse vernacular. If Shaun referred to someone as ‘a friend of ours’ it meant he was to be trusted. Curtis now referred to having someone murdered as ‘clipped’.
You think I’m funny? You think I’m here to amuse you?
The Blake brothers were facing charges of conspiracy to supply Class A drugs into Liverpool, mainly heroin, crack cocaine and ecstasy. They had been on remand for nearly two months. According to their brief and counsel, they were both looking at a hefty jail sentence. Curtis didn’t care. It was never going to happen. He knew that they were on their way to the big league, so going to court was part of the territory. He and Shaun had started to cut out the middlemen and were buying directly from the sources of supply. At the beginning of the year they had been over to Amsterdam where they had negotiated with a Turkish gang to import a variety of drugs hidden on container ships into Liverpool. The trip to Holland had widened Curtis’ horizons and he loved it. They had drunk and snorted coke with ‘faces’ from across the drug dealing top table. Moroccans, Spanish, Turks and Joey Rodriquez, a Columbian who claimed to have worked for Medellin. The Snow King. Curtis knew Rodriguez was worth a fortune, but he dressed like an unmade bed and had bad breath. It was a lifestyle that Curtis and his brother could have only dreamed of when they used to steal car stereos in Toxteth. They were only a step away from the yachts, the private planes, $1000-a-night hookers and champagne on tap. And those from Croxteth and further afield who called him and Shaun ‘scallies’ or ‘scum’ could go and fuck themselves for all he cared. They were just jealous that they hadn’t the balls or the nouse to go and get what they wanted. So they could carry on working twelve hours a day in some shitty factory trying to get enough money to put food on the table. They were fucking mugs.
Curtis wasn’t worried about how the trial was going to go. They’d been here before. He had good reason to believe that he and Shaun would be celebrating that evening. It had been six months since Peter Costa, a known associate of theirs, had walked into a central Liverpool police station and offered to turn evidence against the Blake brothers. Costa had effectively turned ‘supergrass’ and was taken into the Witness Protection Scheme. However hard they tried, no amount of bribes, threats or string-pulling could reveal Costa’s whereabouts. And Shaun failed in his promise that he would make Costa ‘disappear’.
The two brothers had used their time on reprimand to study and learn every detail of the surveillance operation that the North West Regional Organised Crime Unit had undertaken against them. They spent their spare time in the evenings at Frankland Prison reading over the depositions. The police hated the fact that the details of their operations had been made available. Basically, it gave the Blake brothers a crash course in police procedure and surveillance techniques.
Curtis sat back, crossed his legs and looked up to the public gallery. Fat Tony was looking down with a grin. He gave Curtis the finger. Curtis chuckled audibly which seemed to annoy the prosecution and the QC.
I’m going home today, Curtis thought to himself, aware that he was smirking.
That morning it had become clear that Costa had his own side-line in dealing cocaine and the case for the Crown started to quickly unravel. The bombshell came when the defence produced evidence that Costa had bribed customs workers at the Liverpool docks. His status as a reliable witness had been shot to pieces. His testimony had been central to the CPS’s case. All the other evidence was circumstantial.
An hour later, Curtis looked over at Shaun as the QC said that he needed to address the courtroom. Shaun gave him a wink back. They knew what was coming next.
‘Having considered the new evidence against their lead witness, the crown have considered their position very carefully. They have decided that as far as the defendants are concerned there is no realistic prospect of conviction and have decided to offer no evidence. The defendants are now free to go,’ the QC said.
Curtis and Shaun shot up, yelled and then hugged. There were shouts and cheers from the public gallery.
‘Nice one, lad,’ Curtis said, looking Shaun in the eye. ‘Let’s go and get steaming.’
Shaun nodded and looked over at the counsel for the prosecution.
‘Oi,’ Shaun said loudly. ‘You do know that you can’t touch us. You’re never going to touch us. We’re off to spend all that money, la.’
BY ELEVEN O’CLOCK, Shaun and Curtis were nicely drunk, high on coke and sitting at their usual VIP table in The Sugar Cane Club. ‘Touch Me’ by Cassandra was playing. Curtis could feel the bass thudding through his whole body. A dark-haired girl with smoky eyes sat next to him. Shaun had introduced her, but he had forgotten her name now. It didn’t really matter. Another bottle of Moet arrived and the girl gave him a flirty smile as he poured her a glass. Then she squeezed his crotch under the table.
Jesus! How does this get any better? Top of the fucking world!
At that moment, he saw Laura wandering over.
Bollocks. I don’t need any grief tonight.
Curtis and Laura had gone out for a while but he had soon got bored. He had more than enough female attention. And Laura had become needy and clingy.
Laura now worked at the club, and even though he still fancied her, she drank like a fish and took too much coke for his liking. He was more than happy to shag her in the offices upstairs, but that was it.
Laura leant in to talk to him. She smelt of alcohol and was hammered.
‘Having a nice time?’ she said gesturing the girl next to him.
‘Yeah, thanks,’ Curtis said.
‘Got any beak, Curt?’ she asked, her words slurring.
Curtis looked at her for a moment. Her pupils were like saucers. ‘Fuckin’ hell, Laura. You’re fucked.’
‘Have you got any or not?’ Laura snapped, then stumbled and knocked over a glass. She was becoming a liability.
‘Have you had a pill?’ Curtis asked, wondering why her jaw was moving rhythmically.
‘I do love you, Curt. You know that,’ Laura said, coming close to his face, but he could see she was so high she was having trouble focussing.
Curtis looked over to a nearby bouncer and signalled for him to come over. He handed the bouncer sixty quid in notes,
‘Can you get her out of here, Phil? Put her in a cab and send her home,’ Curtis said.
‘Curt? What are you doing?’ Laura said as the bouncer tried to escort her out. ‘Get your fucking hands off me you wanker!’
Curtis wasn’t watching. He just needed Laura gone so he could get on and enjoy the evening.
Two hours later, Shaun decided that they should leave and go to a massive dockside apartment that they owned.
Everyone back to ours! After party!
As Curtis got up, he could see that there were about ten of them in the group. Laughing, dancing and hugging. It had been a brilliant day.
Wandering towards the exit, Curtis took the girl’s hand and squeezed it. She squeezed it back. He was going to be in for a good night.
Outside The Sugar Cane Club, there were still punters queuing to get in. The doormen, who worked for the Blake’s own bouncer company, had already ordered them two executive cabs that were now waiting to whisk them away south towards the Mersey.
‘Cars are waiting for you, Mr Blake,’ the boun
cer said.
Curtis looked up, watching as the drivers opened the doors to let everyone in.
We’re like bloody movie stars!
Suddenly, from behind, Curtis heard the sound of a small engine getting closer.
What the bloody hell is that?
He spun around to see that a scooter had mounted the pavement and was heading straight for them. Both the drivers were wearing blacked out helmets.
Shit! This is not good.
‘Shaun!’ Curtis yelled, panicking.
Curtis gestured wildly to Shaun who was ushering everyone into the second car. Shaun was laughing, oblivious to what was about to unfold.
‘Shaun! The bike!’ Curtis bellowed at his brother as he started to run to intercept the bike.
I don’t fucking care if they’ve got a gun. I will fucking bury them before they get it out!
The bike stopped about twenty yards from them.
‘Everyone get down!’ Curtis screamed.
The passenger pulled out a handgun from his leather jacket and pointed it at Shaun. It seemed to be happening in slow motion and there was nothing Curtis could do.
‘The Hill Street Posse say hello!’ the passenger said in a thick Jamaican accent.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
He shot Shaun three times – twice in the body and then once in the head.
Curtis watched in horror as his brother’s body fell to the pavement like a rag doll.
There were screams as everyone scattered.
Curtis didn’t move. He just watched the bike speed away into the traffic.
He knew what had happened. It was revenge for Duane Miller on the night of the millennium.
‘Get an ambulance!’ a woman screamed.
Curtis knew there was no point. His brother was dead.
CHAPTER 3
February 2003
It was mid-morning, and Nick was sitting in a lecture hall at the North Wales Police Training Centre. He was now well into his second year as a probationer and most of his time was spent learning on the job at Llancastell Police Station. He could feel a film of sweat on his forehead and a nagging pain in his temples. He was hungover to fuck. He and the other probationers had been out on the piss the night before and he had at least two hours of memory loss. It had been a right laugh and he had managed a cheeky snog with Maggie Hutton, a very attractive twenty two year old probationer from Prestatyn.
The weight of the formal North Wales jacket was making him feel even sweatier and more unwell. And he was supposed to be taking notes on how to deal with a sexual assault or rape case. There were about a hundred probationers in the room who made up Beta group.
Jonesy, an old friend from near Dinas Padog, sat next to him and had been taking the piss for the last twenty minutes.
‘Here, have one of these,’ Jonesy said quietly, passing him a packet of strong mints. ‘Your breath is flammable.’
‘Ta. A couple of us are going for a pint at The Peel if you’re up for it?’ Nick said. The Peel was the onsite bar at the training centre and named after Sir Robert Peel, the Home Secretary who founded the British police force in 1829. Nick couldn’t wait to sink a couple of pints and feel a million times better.
‘Christ, Nick. You’re bloody hardcore, aren’t you?’ Jonesy said elbowing him in the ribs.
Nick smiled. He loved his reputation as a big drinking, rugby playing, party animal.
‘Looks like we’re done,’ Nick said, spotting everyone getting up and packing away.
As he and Jonesy made their way out of the lecture hall, they walked down the long corridor that had wooden-panelled walls and smelt like a dusty library. On the wall were old photographs of the Chief Constables of North Wales Police going back to the 1970’s. There were also photographs of those police officers who had lost their lives in the line of duty.
As they turned into the corridor that led down to The Peel, Nick’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it as they walked. It was a text message from Gwen Foley. She was the mother of his ex-girlfriend Laura Foley. It was completely out of the blue, which made him worry. He hadn’t seen Laura for nearly two years but there had been rumours that she had gone off the rails in Liverpool. A few people in the local pub told him she was now a druggie but they didn’t really know much more than that.
Hello Nick. I wonder if you could give me call. Thanks Gwen.
Nick stopped and looked at Jonesy, ‘I’ll be in in a minute, mate.’
‘Pint of lager?’ Jonesy asked, miming drinking.
‘Silly question, mate,’ Nick said, but his mind was starting to race. Why had Gwen sent him a text? It had to be serious, didn’t it?
Nick moved over to the quieter area of the corridor and rang Gwen.
‘Gwen, it’s Nick. I got your text. Is everything all right?’ Nick said.
‘Oh, thank you for ringing, Nick,’ Gwen said. Her voice was croaky and he could tell she was upset. When he and Laura were going out, he and Gwen used to have a laugh together. ‘It’s Laura. She’s in a hell of a state. She really needs some help and I didn’t know who to call. Sorry. I don’t know any of her new friends,’ Gwen said, sounding teary.
‘That’s fine, Gwen. No problem. Where are you?’ Nick asked.
‘At the Royal Liverpool. Laura’s been moved up to the Beatrice Ward,’ Gwen explained.
‘I’m on my way,’ Nick said. ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’
WHEN NICK FIRST SAW Laura hooked up to drips on the far end of the Beatrice Ward, he barely recognised her. Her face was skeletal with too much make up, her hair dyed black, and she looked like she’d had collagen put in her lips.
As Laura looked up, Nick tried to hide how uncomfortable her appearance made him feel.
‘Hello, stranger. What have you been up to?’ Nick said with a kind smile.
Laura smiled but she looked a little out of it.
Gwen came round the bed and gave Nick a hug. ‘Thank you, Nick. I’m so glad you’re here.’
Laura pushed herself up on her pillow but winced with the effort. ‘Bloody hell, look at you. PC bloody Plod,’ she said very quietly.
Gwen gestured to his uniform. ‘You look so grown up, Nick.’
Sitting down on a plastic chair beside the bed, Nick looked at them both. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Do you want to tell him?’ Gwen said to Laura in a stern tone.
Laura couldn’t meet Nick’s eyes for a moment. ‘I OD’d.’
‘OD’d on what?’ Nick said calmly, but it was still a bit of a shock.
‘Smack ... Heroin,’ Laura mumbled.
‘Jesus, Laura. Heroin?’ Nick said, pulling a face. ‘I’m not naïve. I thought you might do the odd pill or a line of coke. But heroin is a different league.’
‘I just smoke it,’ Laura said.
‘Don’t be so bloody stupid, Laura. None of it is okay, is it Nick?’ Gwen said with simmering anger.
‘If you need help, there are plenty of places you can go. I can look into that for you,’ Nick said, looking at them both. His time as a police officer had already brought him into contact with lots of addicts.
‘The first thing we’re doing is getting you home and away from this bloody city,’ Gwen said.
Laura nodded and looked at Nick. ‘I’m going to move back in with Mum for a while. Get back on my feet.’
‘Maybe you can come and visit, Nick?’ Gwen said with a smile. ‘She needs a good influence on her.’
‘A good influence? Nick? You must be kidding, Mum!’ Laura joked.
They all laughed.
‘Of course. Let me know when you get home. And let me know if you need any help,’ Nick said.
‘Thanks, Nick,’ Laura said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. He could see the light return to her eyes for a second and a glimpse of the girl she had once been.
CHAPTER 4
March 2003
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL Spring day as Curtis and his mother, Doreen, made their way along the gravel path that surround
ed St Mark’s Roman Catholic Church in Croxteth. Holding a fresh bunch of red tulips in her right hand, Doreen had her left hand entwined into Curtis’ right arm.
The Church had been built at the beginning of the 19th century and was where Shaun had been buried. Curtis had only been to his brother’s grave once since he was killed two years earlier. It was too painful for him. Curtis still expected his older brother to walk through the door of their house with some tinnies. He couldn’t get his head around the fact that it was never going to happen ever again. He would never see his brother again. The thought of that made him feel physically sick.
Curtis had spent the first few weeks after Shaun’s murder in a numb, hedonistic blur of coke, booze and meaningless sex. This was punctuated by fits of uncontrollable rage. A man in his thirties had given Curtis ‘a funny look’ in The Sugar Cane Club one night and Curtis had put the man in hospital, nearly killing him. The man had to be paid off and ‘persuaded’ not to press charges.
As they got to the graveyard at the rear of the church, Curtis could feel the warm air brush against his face. He looked at the sky - a baby blue that seemed so gentle in-between the clouds that seemed too stationary. The trees that stretched up into that sky were now dotted green with new buds. Having shed their winter covers, they had appeared, ready to seek out the sunshine.
Curtis looked over at his mother. The sunlight seemed to highlight that she was wearing too much make-up. He didn’t care. Even though she had been devastated by Shaun’s death, she had remained sober and clean. And that was a miracle. He loved her so much and didn’t know what he would do if anything ever happened to her.
As they approached the grave, Curtis could feel himself getting nervous. He didn’t want to see where Shaun was lying. It had been his mum that had persuaded him to come with her.
The new grey headstone came into view but Curtis couldn’t bring himself to look at the inscription. He watched as his mum leant down, placed the tulips gently on the grave alongside the other flowers and then place a kiss with her fingers on the headstone.
The Curtis Blake Killings Page 4
