‘Shaun would have liked it here. It’s so quiet,’ Doreen said.
Curtis nodded and finally let his eyes fall on the grave itself. It still didn’t feel real. Like a bad dream that he would wake up from.
After ten minutes, they turned and began to make their way back to the car. Curtis reached for his mother’s hand. It was cold as he squeezed it gently in his. He felt the sharp edges of her engagement ring on his palm. He resolved to come and see his brother on a regular basis. Shaun would like that.
‘You’re gonna be all right, you know that, Curt?’ Doreen said.
‘I don’t want to do anything without him,’ Curtis said, feeling choked. He took a breath and tried not to cry. ‘Does that make sense, mum?’
‘Yeah. You were more than brothers,’ Doreen said. ‘He looked out for you when you were kids.’
‘Remember that time I rode my bike off that garage roof round the back?’ Curtis said, reminiscing.
‘Shaun went mad with you. He bloody frog marched you back home like he was your dad. Told you not to do it again,’ Doreen said.
‘Then I went and did it again the next morning and broke my arm,’ Curtis said with a smile.
‘You daft sod. Shaun was beside himself. He sat up with you all night at the Royal Liverpool,’ Doreen said.
As they got to the car, Curtis turned to his mother and gave her a hug.
July 2003
The inside of the Cross Foxes Pub in Dinas Padog was uncomfortably hot and the air felt thick. As Nick leaned against the bar in his shorts and t-shirt, he got that comforting smell of beer and warm wood that he associated with long summer days.
The barman came over, ‘What can I get you, Nick?’
Nick remembered that he used to go to school with the barman’s older brother Stu. ‘Pint of lager and a large Jack Daniel’s and ice, please mate,’ Nick said. He couldn’t remember the barman’s name.
A moment later, the Jack Daniel’s arrived on the red bar towel in front of him. Taking a furtive look around the inside of the pub, Nick knocked the whiskey back in one gulp. He didn’t want anyone seeing him drinking pints and whiskey chasers. Dinas Padog was a small town, and everyone knew everyone and their business.
Nick paid for the drinks, took the pint and headed outside into the sunshine of the pub garden. The whiskey was starting to blur the edges of the day nicely. He had arranged to meet Laura there and was feeling anxious. He didn’t know why. Laura had been living back home for a few months now and Nick had been to see her a few times. She looked like a different person. When Nick had suggested that they meet at the Cross Foxes, Laura had agreed immediately with a smile. Even though he and Laura hadn’t been going out now for over two years, Nick wondered if there was any hidden agenda. What was Laura thinking? Drinks with a bloke I used to go out with, or more?
As Nick gulped back his pint, it dawned on him that the beer garden at the Cross Foxes held fond memories from the time that he and Laura first got together in the late 90s. The summer of ’99 if he remembered correctly. The soundtrack of that summer had been albums by The Stereophonics and the Manic Street Preachers. Great songs by Welsh bands. That August, he and Laura had gone to V99 Festival to see the Manics play. Even now, Nick thought it was one of the best days of his life.
Looking out over the North Wales countryside, and the dark ridges of Snowdonia on the horizon, Nick finished his pint. Checking his watch, he saw that he still had fifteen minutes before he had arranged to meet Laura. There was definitely time for another pint and chaser. That would leave him nicely oiled. He also knew he was far more likely to tell Laura how he really felt if he’d had a few drinks. The thought of doing that sober seemed ridiculous.
Nick went to the bar, downed another large Jack Daniel’s and returned to the table with a fresh cold pint of lager.
Jesus, days don’t get any better than this, do they?
It wasn’t long before he saw Laura approaching. She was wearing 70s style Boho glasses and her hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail.
Bloody hell, she looks amazing! Nick thought, feeling his heart rate quicken.
Having got her a drink and zipped down another Jack Daniel’s at the bar just to steady the nerves, he and Laura chinked their drinks together.
‘Cheers,’ Laura said.
‘Iechyd da,’ Nick said with a grin. ‘We’re in Wales now. The land of our fathers.’
Laura looked at him and smiled. ‘How many have you had?’
Nick shrugged, ‘A couple of pints. I’m not wasting my day off.’
Laura’s phone buzzed. Nick watched as she looked to see who was calling. She cancelled the call and put the phone down sharply.
‘Not going to answer that?’ Nick said. He could see that the call had made her uncomfortable and agitated.
‘No. It’s not important,’ Laura said, but her face revealed that she was deep in thought.
‘Blast from the past?’ Nick asked, wondering if he was prying too much. He hated the thought of her old life in Liverpool and what it had done to her.
‘Something like that. Not important,’ Laura said as she took a long swig of white wine from her glass.
‘The guy with the black Cherokee Jeep?’ Nick asked. The image of Laura walking away, smiling and waving at the driver of that Jeep in Llancastell, and then driving away was etched in his memory. Jealousy was a dangerous emotion.
‘Just leave it, Nick,’ Laura snapped.
‘Sorry,’ Nick said and then looked at her. ‘You look amazing, Laura. You look so well.’
‘Thanks. I feel really good at the moment. Mums’ got me a job in the farm shop. It’s all starting to work out,’ Laura said.
Nick was feeling soft, warm and merry as the alcohol took hold. ‘I never stopped thinking about you, Laura. You know that?’
Laura looked awkward and nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry if I hurt you.’
Getting up from the garden table, Nick moved to the other side and sat next to her. He took her hand very gently in his and looked up at her. Her nose had a smattering of light freckles where she had caught the sun.
‘I’m only glad you’re okay. And I’m glad you’re back,’ Nick said.
Laura leant forward, lifted her sunglasses back onto her hair and looked directly at him. ‘I did miss you. I was just ... lost.’
In that moment, Nick leant forward and they kissed. Her lips were warm, soft and tasted of white wine. They kissed again and this time Laura put her hand on the side of his face. Their tongues touched and Nick felt his heart pounding.
As they moved apart, Nick smiled. ‘Why don’t you come and live with me?’
Laura raised her eyebrow. ‘What?’
Nick shrugged. ‘Seriously. I’ve got my own house now. Think about it.’
‘I have to hand it to you. You’re a fast mover, Nick Evans,’ Laura said with a broad smile.
‘Is that a yes?’ Nick asked.
‘I don’t know. I need some time,’ Laura said.
They kissed again, pulling each other closer and closer.
That night they made love at Nick’s house.
AUGUST 2003
Curtis turned up the air conditioning in the Range Rover and felt the cool breeze blow into his face. It had hit thirty degrees in Liverpool and the air was heavy with the heat. Fat Tony pulled the car up onto the pavement of a small side road in the heart of Toxteth, just around the corner from the Fit L8 gym.
Curtis was starting to feel tense. They had got a tip-off. He put his arm out of the window and rested it on the passenger door. He could feel the sun on his tanned forearm that bore a tattoo of a four leafed clover and a harp. His mum always said their black hair, blue eyes and dark skin came from their Irish gypsy ancestors. The TAG Heuer watch that Shaun had given him a couple of years ago glinted in the sunlight. Tipping his Ray Ban sunglasses, he looked out at the street. The white brickwork opposite carried a series of black graffiti tags – Zone Man, CHRIS4 and Legit53. It was Curtis’ old p
atch. He had grown up in Toxteth. Ten years earlier, he and Shaun had wandered these streets while wagging school and nicked cars. It seemed like a different life.
Just up on the corner was Keane & Sons Memorials, which as far as Curtis knew, had been there forever. Outside, the shop still had its range of headstones in various shades of black, white and grey. A gaudy red neon light advertised that ‘Cremation Stones’ were also available. Keane & Sons used to freak Curtis out with its array of goods for the dead. It was spooky.
As Curtis gazed up the road, he could see the familiar sight of Toxteth Park Municipal Cemetery where the Blake family had been buried for the past century. Curtis thought it was a dump and refused to allow Shaun to be buried there. He had several reasons why he didn’t want Shaun to be buried in Toxteth. There were too many ghosts. Too much bad blood. The Blake family had moved on and now Croxteth L12 was their home.
Fat Tony’s mobile buzzed and he read a text message. Curtis took off his sunglasses and looked at him.
‘We’re on,’ Fat Tony said in his flat monotone Scouse accent. He came from Birkenhead, across the Mersey, and to the well trained ear, the accent was different.
Curtis’ pulse quickened. He had found out the identity of the man who murdered Shaun. Trent Casey, a member of the Hill Street Posse, had been the gunman on the back of the scooter that night. Curtis had now tracked him down. They were waiting for him to come out of the gym and go down the side road to get into his red BMW that was parked opposite.
Curtis could feel his adrenaline surge as he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out two balaclavas and a Glock handgun. He couldn’t wait to look at the man who had murdered his brother and then kill him. He wanted to see him scared. He wanted Trent Casey’s family to suffer like his family had.
Fat Tony nodded to indicate that Casey had turned the corner and was heading their way. Curtis felt his heart thumping noisily in his chest. He didn’t want to fuck this up.
Right let’s fucking do this!
They pulled the black balaclavas over their heads and got out of the car. Curtis ran his forefinger over the metal of the Glock’s trigger.
He glanced left. Casey was wandering down the street with his black gym bag. He was oblivious to the fact that he was about to be ambushed and die. He had headphones on and seemed lost it the music.
Right you fucker, I’m having you!
Fat Tony and Curtis jogged across the road and up onto the pavement right beside Casey. For a split second, he didn’t see them.
Then Casey looked up. His eyes widened suddenly.
‘Fuck!’ Casey yelled, as he dropped his bag and backed away. His put his arms up, fingers spaced out wide. ‘What you want? I got money. You want money? My car?’
CRACK!
Curtis felt the powerful recoil of the Glock as he fired a shot into Casey’s thigh. It left a bloody hole the size of a fifty pence piece and Casey dropped to the pavement.
Curtis got the waft of cordite in the air.
‘Trent Casey?’ Curtis asked, trying to get his breath. His hand was shaking a little as the adrenaline pumped through his bloodstream.
‘Who’s you? Don’t kill me, man. Please,’ Casey pleaded as he crawled backwards away from them and put his hands up again.
Curtis pulled up his balaclava for a moment. He wanted Casey to see his face.
‘You know who I am?’ Curtis growled, feeling all the power that went with holding the gun in his hand.
Casey’s eyes widened. ‘Yeah, I know you. Please ...’
‘You know why I’m here?’ Curtis snarled. He was starting to lose it.
Casey nodded, ‘Please don’t kill me, man’.
Curtis pulled his balaclava back over his face and marched aggressively towards Casey. The feeling of wanting to hurt and destroy him was completely overwhelming.
I want to fucking obliterate you!
‘We need to go,’ Fat Tony said.
‘Look at me! Look at me!’ Curtis screamed as Casey cowered and whimpered. ‘Now, I am going shoot you in the face so no one in your family can identify you. And you’ll have a closed casket at your funeral.’
Curtis looked at Casey. He was getting off on the terror in his face. Casey’s eyes welled with tears as his whole body shook uncontrollably.
‘I’ll see you in hell, you cunt,’ Curtis said.
CRACK! CRACK!
Curtis shot him between the eyes and then in the mouth. Blood spattered on his trainers but Curtis didn’t want to stop shooting.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away. ‘We need to get out of here,’ Fat Tony yelled.
Running across the road, Curtis and Fat Tony jumped into the Range Rover and roared away down the side road. It would be a good while before the bizzies got there and by then they would be long gone.
Curtis looked at the specks of blood on his hand. It felt good to see Casey’s blood on him. It felt amazing to know that Casey had cried and shook as he died. He was high on the overwhelming feeling of revenge.
Curtis reached into the door, pulled out a half bottle of vodka and swigged a few inches. His hands were still shaking uncontrollably.
Ten minutes later, they entered Croxteth and the vodka had calmed Curtis’ nerves.
His phone buzzed. The caller ID said ‘Laura’. Curtis hadn’t heard from Laura in months. As far as he knew, she had moved back to North Wales.
Curtis knew there were only two reasons why Laura would be ringing him. Drugs or sex. He smiled to himself. Laura was fit, great in bed and shagging her this afternoon in exchange for some free drugs was exactly what he wanted to do. He would ring her back after he had showered and changed at his apartment.
‘Breathe’ by Blu Cantrell came onto the radio, which was playing quietly.
‘I love this song,’ Curtis said as he turned the volume up, the bass reverberating around the car. He was high on vodka and adrenaline.
As they turned into the middle of Croxteth, Curtis saw a display of brightly coloured flowers outside a small supermarket.
They look nice.
‘Pull over Tone, will you?’ Curtis said.
‘What for?’ Tone asked, his brow furrowed.
Curtis gestured to the flowers, ‘Wanna get me ma some flowers. You know. I’ll get two bunches and take some to Shaun’s grave. I can tell him that I’ve sorted it.’
‘What about your hands?’ Fat Tony said, pointing to the specks of blood.
‘Who’s gonna say anything against me around here? I’m the King of Croxteth,’ Curtis said with a smile. The surge of power that fizzed in his body was overwhelming.
Fat Tony nodded, pulled the car over, parked outside the shop and Curtis got out.
No one could touch him. He had avenged his brother’s death and now he was in charge.
CHAPTER 5
August 2003
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON and Nick had nearly finished his shift. He and Jonesy were driving through the middle of Llancastell in their police patrol car. Dispatch had directed them to a reported shop lifting at a charity shop in the middle of town. Even though the sun had started to set, it was sweltering. There was a heatwave and temperature records were being broken across the UK on a daily basis.
As they got out of their patrol car, Nick looked down at his mobile phone, hoping to see a missed call or a text from Laura. She had gone off the radar for the last three days. Nick wasn’t sure if his offer of living with him had completely freaked her out. He was frightened that he had scared her away.
‘Face it, mate. She’s binned you!’ Jonesy chortled as they wandered along the pavement towards the shop. Nick regretted telling him that he hadn’t heard from her.
‘You’re such a twat,’ Nick muttered as they went into the charity shop.
They spotted the elderly woman behind the counter. She smiled as she saw them approach.
‘Leave this to me,’ Jonesy said, looking at Nick.
‘Good with older women, are you?’ Nick quipped.<
br />
‘Mrs Ellroy?’ Jonesy asked with a smile as they went over.
‘That’s right,’ Mrs Ellroy said, nodding.
‘Are you sure you’re old enough to be working in here, Mrs Ellroy?’ Jonesy asked with a broad grin.
Mrs Ellroy giggled. ‘Oh you are silly.’
Nick thought he would join in. ‘Does your mum know you’re out working in a shop?’
Mrs Ellroy frowned and looked at Jonesy. ‘My mother? I don’t understand. She’s dead.’
Oh shit! That didn’t work very well, Nick thought as Jonesy pulled a face to tell him to shut up.
At that moment, Nick’s phone rang. It was Laura – at last!
‘Excuse me, I’m just going to take this,’ Nick said pointing to his phone and wandering outside the shop.
‘Bloody hell, Laura. I wondered where you’d got to. Are you okay?’ Nick said, feeling a huge sense of relief.
‘Nick? Is ... that you? I’m sorry ...’ Laura’s voice was a virtual whisper. She sounded terrible. Nick began to panic.
‘Are you okay? Where are you?’ Nick said, his anxiety growing.
‘I’m ... in Toxteth, Nick. I’m ... so ... sorry. It’s happened again ...’ Laura said, and then the phone sounded like it had been dropped.
Jesus! This doesn’t sound good. Nick knew Laura had taken drugs.
‘Hello? Hello?’ said a male voice with a Scouse accent.
‘Who is this?’ Nick demanded.
‘Craig. Are you this Nick?’ Craig said, sounding out of it too.
‘What’s wrong with Laura, Craig?’ Nick asked.
‘We’ve been doing a bit of gear, mate. She keeps dropping off, you know. Think she’s had too much,’ Craig said.
‘What has she been taking?’ Nick asked.
‘We’ve been smoking smack. She got a load this afternoon off some fella she knows. Dealer, I think,’ Craig murmured.
Nick was now terrified. ‘Call an ambulance, Craig. Can you hear me?’
‘Yes, mate. I’ll ring 999, shall I?’ Craig asked.
‘What’s the address there?’ Nick said. He didn’t trust Craig to ring for an ambulance in his state and if they were taking drugs, he might worry about the police getting involved.
The Curtis Blake Killings Page 5
