by Anita Waller
DI Roberts looked at the covered body lying on the tarmac road surface and shook his head. The mother was understandably distraught, but they couldn’t move the little lass, not yet. Forensics hadn’t finished doing their jobs.
He moved across to the group of three women – Sally Brownlow, Cissie Johnston and Megan Clarkson – supporting each other by crying together. Cissie was softly moaning, unable to comprehend that she’d lost her only child.
‘Ms Johnston, I’m so sorry for your loss. We have officers going up and down this road checking for CCTV cameras on the houses. We’ll find this bloody car, I promise you.’
Cissie couldn’t speak. Half an hour earlier, she’d had a daughter. Now, she had nothing. No future, nothing.
Sally pulled her close and held her. ‘Cry all you want,’ she whispered. ‘All you want.’
There was a flurry of movement as the ambulance men were given permission to move the little girl, and Cissie found her voice. She screamed, and Megan and Sally pulled her close and held her tightly.
They loaded Ella into the vehicle, and the three women, horror etched on their faces, watched it go. Everyone stood, jobs forgotten for a moment as they paid their respects to the young victim of the hit and run murder.
‘Come home with me,’ Sally said.
‘I can’t.’ Cissie’s voice came out as a long, low moan. ‘My front door isn’t locked.’
Megan squeezed Cissie’s shoulder. ‘Go with Sally. I’ll make sure your house is secure. Is the key in the back of the door?’
Cissie nodded and allowed Sally to lead her away, both studiously avoiding the blood congealing on the tarmac.
Freya was waiting in the kitchen, wide-eyed and with bright red cheeks. Her brothers were by her side.
‘Mum?’ Mark said.
‘Let me get Cissie in,’ Sally said. ‘Mark, can you put the kettle on please?’
She led Cissie through to the lounge, and Freya followed.
‘Freya, you look dreadful. Please go back to bed.’ Her mum touched her forehead. ‘You’re burning up.’
‘No.’ Freya was at her stubborn best. ‘Is Ella okay?’
Cissie looked frantically at Sally, as if not wanting to say the words, not really believing them.
Sally hesitated and then knew she had no choice. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. She was hit by a car that didn’t stop.’
‘N-o-o-o…’ The exhaled word was full of grief. ‘Ella’s my best friend.’
Cissie sobbed. Sally, unable to decide who to help first, delegated. ‘Dom, Mark, take your sister back to bed, please, get her some water which she must drink, and stay with her. I’ll be up in a bit.’
‘Cissie, here.’ Sally handed her a box of tissues. ‘I’m going to make us a cup of tea. Or do you want something stronger?’
‘Tea will be fine, Sally,’ Cissie sobbed, clutching the tissue to her mouth. ‘Is this really happening?’
‘It is, my love,’ Sally said gently. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling, but you can be sure we’re all here for you. Will you stay here, tonight? We’ve a spare bedroom.’
Cissie looked horrified. ‘I… I can’t go home, I don’t want to be there alone.’
‘Then stay. It’s no trouble. I’ll make sure the kids give you some peace.’
She heard the kettle click off and headed for the kitchen. DI Roberts peered through the kitchen window, and she waved him in.
‘I understand Mrs Johnston is with you?’
‘She is. She’s staying here tonight. You want a cup of tea?’
‘Thank you, I will. It’s hard when…’
‘I know,’ Sally said, and touched his hand. ‘Go through to the lounge. Cissie’s in there. I’ll bring in the drinks.’
She could hear sobs from upstairs and felt torn. Sobs in the lounge, sobs upstairs; who needed her the most? She went through to the lounge and handed out the drinks before sitting in the armchair.
‘Do you know anything further, DI Roberts?’
‘We have two independent witnesses who both confirm Ella suddenly veered across the road and didn’t see the car until it was too late. However, both also seemed to think the car was tracking her. It kept up with her, travelling much slower than cars normally do going down this road. One of them got the registration.’
‘And?’
‘False number plates. Again.’
‘What do you mean, “again”?’ Sally stared at him.
‘It’s the second case of false number plates in a few days in this area. I’m not saying they’re connected, but it seems mighty strange to me.’
‘Both hit and runs?’
‘No, the first one was connected to the murder of Vinnie Walmsley.’
Sally held her hand to her mouth. Her eyes flitted between Cissie and Roberts. She was scared. ‘Pardon me for pointing out the obvious, but I can see the bloody connection.’
Roberts hung his head for a moment, then looked at the two women. ‘So can I, Mrs Brownlow, so can I. What we don’t have is a proven connection. I’m going to find one.’
Cissie’s hands were shaking as she picked up her cup. ‘If the connection is that our children found Vinnie’s body, you’d better prove it pretty damn quick, Detective Inspector, because there are still five children we have to protect.’
She looked haunted. Her pretty face was blank, and Roberts knew this was only the beginning for her. She would have many bad days in the next few weeks. He had to find these killers before anybody else came up against them.
His phone rang, and he quickly took it from his pocket. ‘Excuse me, ladies, I have to take this,’ he said, and moved towards the kitchen. They could hear his muttered tones, and then, he returned to the lounge.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to leave my tea. We’ve managed to find two CCTV systems that worked, so I’m heading in to see if they’re of any help. I promise I’ll keep you informed, Mrs Johnston, and I really am sorry for your loss.’
Cissie nodded in acknowledgement of his words, and he left. He stopped by the crime scene and had a brief word with the forensics team, telling them to keep the road closed for as long as they needed it like that and to ignore complaints from the locals. There had already been a few.
He arrived at the police station a couple of minutes later and headed for his office. They were setting up the CCTV taken from the two houses, and he stood by the window and allowed them to get on with it. He knew he was going to see the actual collision, and his stomach churned at the thought. That pretty little lass, the quiet one of the group of kids, dead. Hard to come to terms with, but he’d find her killer if it was the last thing he did.
Chapter 11
Grausohn was angry. The ineptitude of his two senior men was astounding. All they had to do was bring him a little girl. A little girl, for fuck’s sake. How difficult could that be? Clearly too difficult for these brain-dead planks.
He watched as they entered his room, the expressions on their faces telling him the whole story.
’Who was driving?’ he barked.
‘Me, boss,’ Tommy admitted. ‘But she drove into us.’
‘A little girl on a scooter drove into you two clowns, and you’re blaming her?’ The bark had turned into a growl.
‘We couldn’t stop the car quick enough,’ Tommy tried to explain.
‘Get out,’ Grausohn said. ‘Get out of my sight.’
Tommy turned and headed towards the door. Grausohn nodded at Kenny and silently drew his finger across his throat. Kenny nodded back and followed Tommy out of the door.
The lift arrived, and Kenny placed a finger across Tommy’s lips. They got out on the ground floor and left the building.
Heading for Kenny’s car, Tommy tried to speak.
‘Not yet, mate,’ Kenny said.
Silently, they climbed into the car, and Kenny drove away.
He drove for a couple of miles and then pulled into the car park of a McDonald’s.
Still without speaking, they le
ft the claustrophobia of the car behind them and hit the noise engendered by numerous children in the fast food outlet.
‘Big Mac?’ Kenny asked.
Tommy nodded and went to find a table.
When Kenny carried the tray to the table, Tommy finally spoke. ‘Is this my last supper, then?’
‘According to the boss, yeah.’
‘All these bleedin’ years I’ve done his dirty work…’
‘The difference is, this could finish him. He’s into this one with big money. Bigger than he’s ever been before. It seems that package that Vinnie had was the first of several, and that one was big enough.’
‘And did Vinnie have it all stashed away?’
‘Doubt it. I imagine they did a trial run with him, before letting him loose with the rest. I do know Grausohn paid up front, though. Now it seems whoever was supplying the stuff to Grausohn has shut up shop, doesn’t like publicity like this. They’ve dropped below the radar, with the money, whether temporarily or not. Somebody’s got to pay, and it’s you. You killed the kid.’
‘She killed herself.’ The stubbornness showed in Tommy’s voice.
‘I know. It’s why we’re here and not driving into some woods where I make you dig your own grave then slit your throat. I am going to have to hurt you, pour some blood on you, and you will have to dig the grave, but it’s for a photo shoot. Then, you’ll have to go, somewhere where he’ll never hear of, or see you, again.’
There was a long silence.
‘Sh…i…i…t…’ The expletive was long and drawn out, as Tommy sucked in his breath.
‘Go, after I’ve killed you. Send for the family a few weeks later. Give Grausohn enough time to go around and see them to say how sorry he is that some lowlife from another gang offed you, and he’ll hand over a hefty pay-packet and never think about you again. You’re well out of it, mate. But don’t go to Spain. Too many people know you and him. Try a little place in France, or somewhere. And go legit.’
Tommy dropped his head. ‘Will you look out for the family, ’til I can get them to me?’
‘I will. Don’t tell them the plan until you’re ready to get them to move. They’ve all got to believe you’re dead, so they don’t make mistakes with Grausohn. If the boss suspects you’re not dead, I will be.’
‘How you gonna explain not having a body to be buried? My Fran will want a proper send-off.’
‘I imagine he’ll come up with the usual – shot or stabbed on the ferry and dumped overboard. Whoever did it contacted him to tell him, and he’s now going after them. It’s his usual line when he gets rid of somebody. The photo I take of you in the grave will be for his eyes and personal files only.’
The Big Mac sat untouched on the table, and Kenny understood why Tommy had no appetite. Kenny picked up his own burger and bit into it. Speaking with his mouth full, he said, ‘Of course, I could always do it for real.’
Tommy looked shocked. ‘Bastard. That been the plan all along, then? Feed me bullshit so I go along quietly, then shoot me?’
Kenny laughed. ‘You’d be dead already if I intended killing you. I wouldn’t have wasted money buying you a Big Mac, would I? Eat up. We’ve some fake killing to do. You’ve been my mate for too long for me to be the one to kill you, so it’s not going to happen, whatever he thinks.’
Tommy reluctantly picked up the burger, and ten minutes later, they were back on the road.
Kenny pulled up at a butcher’s in Rotherham and returned a minute later with a carrier bag in his hand. He placed it in the boot, and they drove a couple more miles before turning off the main road and driving down a track leading deep into a large wooded area of mainly coniferous trees.
Kenny stopped the car, and they climbed out. He opened the boot and handed a spade to his friend. ‘Pick your last resting place and start digging,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’ll bring the blood.’
Tommy gave a salute in acknowledgment and walked a few yards deeper into the woods, looking for softer soil. He dug, and the two men chatted, mainly about football and the upcoming new season. It took some time to dig the grave, taking it in turns to wield the spade, until it was deep enough for the fake burial. They both knew it had to be convincing.
Finally, Tommy leaned on the spade. He was sweating and feeling a little disgruntled that Kenny hadn’t offered to help more with the strenuous backbreaking work of the final few inches where the soil was more compacted. He hadn’t said anything; he knew Kenny was putting his own life on the line if the plan back-fired, and he was grateful for his friend’s help in getting him away from Grausohn’s revenge.
‘Think that’ll do?’
Kenny inspected the pit. ‘Lie down and let’s make sure. It’s got to be convincing. Got to be deep enough. Pass me the spade and get comfy,’ he laughed. ‘Sorry I didn’t think to bring a pillow.’
Tommy shook his head and smiled before handing up the spade. ‘Always the clown,’ he said, and lowered himself into the grave. He wriggled his hips. ‘Comfy enough.’
‘Good,’ Kenny said, and fired one shot into Tommy’s chest. His eyes looked momentarily shocked, and then, the light faded.
Kenny pulled out his phone and took the obligatory picture, quickly covered the body with the excavated earth and dragged some twigs across it. He walked over the area to flatten the raised mound, then climbed back into the car.
He’d miss Tommy.
Kenny handed the phone across to Grausohn, who smirked.
‘Well done,’ he said, before passing it back. ‘We’ll wait a couple of days, then go see his woman. Tell her I sent him to France on business, and somebody in the Dover gang didn’t like him. Chucked him overboard. Send me the picture.’
‘Sounds like a plan, boss,’ Kenny agreed. He kept the smile from his face.
‘Right, back to business. I want the stuff back, and I need one of those kids. Get Clarkson in here. Let’s see what he knows. He must know who that girl’s mates are.’
He reached into the desk drawer, and Kenny stiffened. The man was unpredictable. Taking out an envelope, he threw it across the table. ‘A little bonus. You’ve done well. Now, get me a kid.’
‘Thanks, boss,’ Kenny said.
He left the room and went down to the ground floor in the lift, feeling relieved it had been an envelope and not a gun that came out of Grausohn’s desk drawer.
Sitting in the car gave Kenny thinking time. For the first time since meeting up and joining up with Grausohn, he felt at a loss. He’d killed before; killing Tommy had been the hardest. They’d been through some bad times together and had shared life almost as brothers. But killing kids was another matter altogether. Would he have been able to stop in time to save the Johnston kid? He doubted it. And on that simple fact alone, he was alive, and Tommy was dead. Also, he was several thousand pounds richer. It was time to take the kids out of the equation by removing the one person who had knowledge of their names.
Kenny took out his phone and rang Carl Clarkson. He heard the hesitant ‘Hello, pal’ and knew that Carl was in deep shit, in a place he wouldn’t want to be sharing.
‘If you can’t give me another kid’s name, I know Daryl’s your lad.’
There was a short bout of coughing, and then, the call was disconnected.
Kenny put himself inside Carl’s head and knew he was about to run. Possibly with his missus, and Daryl. He slipped the car into drive, reflecting that he wouldn’t really want his own manual car back. He could get used to lazy driving. He headed in the direction of Carl Clarkson’s house, hoping he would be in time.
He stopped a hundred yards away from his destination. He could see the rear end of the yellow car from where he was parked.
He waited patiently; it briefly occurred to him that the biggest part of his job involved patience – waiting for people to arrive who owed Grausohn money, waiting for information that could be passed on to the boss, waiting.
Quarter of an hour later, he saw the tail lights of the car glow red, then
switch off. He started up his own car and prepared to move. The Astra reversed off the hardstanding and paused briefly before swinging out onto the road.
He followed it, knowing that sooner or later he would have an opportunity to stop it.
The Astra left the estate behind and headed towards the M1; Kenny kept three cars behind it. He saw the indicator come on, so activated his own. The yellow car pulled onto the garage forecourt, to the petrol pumps. He drove through and pulled up, ten yards back from the exit.
He wasn’t surprised to see a woman get out. He could see a child in the front seat and guessed Carl was laid on the backseat, keeping out of sight. That was good – if he were lain on the backseat, he wouldn’t have a seatbelt on. Kenny smiled.
Petrol paid for, the woman returned to the car, clutching a bottle of water. She started the engine and drove towards the exit.
Kenny let her pull out, and then, he moved. The traffic was light, and he waited until there were three cars between them before moving again.
Megan drove carefully, aware that things had changed. She didn’t normally have her eleven-year-old son in the front, that had always been either her or Carl, and Daryl had been safely strapped in the rear seat.
Their decision to go get Daryl his new school shoes, ready for the next term starting, had been a spur of the minute thing; he was deeply upset by Ella’s death, and Megan thought it might take his mind off the horror of it.
Daryl was quiet. He knew their parents were worried; they didn’t want the remaining five children to move outside without them. This compounded the issue of the bag of cocaine, because now, they couldn’t even discuss its removal.
He glanced in the wing mirror and saw the dark grey car that had been with them since leaving home. Why hadn’t it disappeared when they pulled in for petrol? He was sure it was the same car.
