by Mark Roberts
Her car rocked in the wind as she clicked to reply.
Oh my God Geoff what can I say? I am so sorry to hear of the tragic news of your mother’s sudden and awful death. If there is anything at all I can do to help you in this dark hour please do not hesitate to let me know immediately and I will be there for you. I am currently still on the waterfront. That is not so far from the mortuary where you are behind the Royal Hospital. I can come and see you within the next fifteen minutes if you think that would be of any help to you.
Clay looked in her wing mirror, saw Riley get into her car, five metres behind hers, and her cocktail of relief and disappointment escalated.
‘If you’d showed up, you bastard, we’d have had you in custody right now in this very moment,’ she said, speaking her thoughts out loud, comforting herself with the sound of her own voice.
Clay recognised a marksman she didn’t know by name, emerging from the darkness and heading towards her car as she returned to composing her message.
If you don’t want me to come to the mortuary, please say so. Otherwise when and only when you are ready please contact me and we can arrange to meet. Love and condolences Sally xxx ps can you pls let me know your mother’s name so that I can mention her directly as I pray very long and hard for both you and her. pps do you have family and friends around you who you can lean on for support?
Clay pressed send as the marksman walked by the passenger door, giving a single reassuring tap to the roof of her car. She guessed at his meaning.
You’re safe…
And her deepest instinct responded, but don’t bank on it.
Clay called Stone on her iPhone.
‘Karl, call off the red alert.’
‘Are you sure, Eve?’
‘Certain. Tell the arms sergeant I’ll give him the Glock back in the morning.’
‘Any reason?’
‘The general red alert’s off. Mine’s still on. Pass on a message for me. Thank everyone involved in the operation and tell them to go back to their stations.’
She opened Messenger and typed:
Thomas, I’m in my car and safe. He didn’t show. Talk later. Ly xxx
Clay drove in the direction of Sefton Street and watched Riley’s car overtaking her, headlights dazzling as she drove away at speed, putting more distance between them with each passing second.
Clay shifted gears in her head and prepared her next moves – a visit to Moscow Drive and then to return to Trinity Road to question Robin Wren.
As Clay passed the Coburg pub, another message came on to her iPhone. She pulled up to the pavement and opened it.
Dearest Sally your kind words have come as a great comfort to me. Thank you for offering to come to the mortuary to help me but I really don’t want you to see me in the state I’m in. I am quite alone in this world with no family and the friends I do have are scattered far and wide in Australia, Canada and Hong Kong. Thank you for praying for me and my mother. I will be in touch with you as soon as I am able but for now have to go as I am about to formally identify my mother’s body in the viewing suite. I have dreaded this moment of my mother’s death for years but never imagined that she would be stolen in an instant.
Clay felt as if something toxic had penetrated her scalp and was eroding the surface of her skull. Stolen in an instant?
God bless you Sally. Love to you, Geoff xxxxx ps For the sake of your prayers my mother’s name is Catriona West.
Clay skipped back in time to the day before and she found herself standing in the rain in Springwood Cemetery, Plot 66. She recalled looking at the finest headstone in the group of sixteen graves and the words carved into the marble.
CATRIONA WEST
WIFE AND MOTHER
STOLEN IN AN INSTANT
1940–2001
She called Riley on her iPhone.
‘Gina, track down anything you can about Catriona West on the NPC and HOLMES. Where’s Robin Wren?’
‘He’s in the interview suite with Barney Cole.’
‘If he’s being awkward and refusing to co-operate, he needs to know what McKee’s been up to. If he’s not talking now, he will do when I get back to Trinity Road. I’ll show him pictures of McKee’s handiwork on his victims.’
As she closed down the call, a message came on to her iPhone.
My dearest Sally, I have now identified my mother’s body. I was wrong. I need your support desperately. Can we meet ASAP?
She typed back.
Of course. Where?
She waited, staring ahead into the darkness.
Clay watched unmarked police cars heading away from the Albert Dock and it sparked a feeling of isolation combined with personal power deep at the root of who she was.
She heard the next incoming message ping.
Sally my love, I’m on the fourth floor of the multi-storey car park at the back of the Royal, overlooking the mortuary.
Jesus, she thought, tactical nightmare. Like trying to storm a castle on top of a mountain.
Geoff. I’ll be there in ten minutes. xxxxx
Clay worked it out as she turned her car around and headed back in the direction of the mortuary. From the fourth floor of the multi-storey car park, he had a powerful overview of any approaching vehicles.
Pictures flooded her mind. Women, dead, skinned and scalped.
For a moment, she wanted to stop, to turn back.
The tactics deployed at the Albert Dock hadn’t worked and her deepest hunch was that he had been there and had been spooked by something he’d seen but was still on the hunt.
Sandra. Annie. Amanda.
The Ghoul knew it was a sting.
If I call in help, the words passed through her mind, he’ll see us coming for miles, flooding into the area around the mortuary and multi-storey car park. The best shot of catching him would be blown.
She pulled up at a red light, took the Glock from her bag and placed it in her coat pocket.
The red light seemed frozen in time.
A message came in.
No pressure Sally but my mood is swinging. Please be there ASAP. Please.
She messaged back.
Please wait for me, Geoff. You need me. I need you.
The red light turned green and she switched to contacts on her phone.
She called Riley but her line was busy.
Clay called Stone and she guessed he was on to Riley.
A message came in.
How far away are you, Sally my love.
She looked out of the window, saw the illuminated tower of the Anglican cathedral. She pulled up to the pavement.
Geoff, I’m three minutes away. Stay.
She called Hendricks and felt another incoming message.
Sally, I feel like throwing myself off the fourth floor.
‘Eve, what’s up?’ asked Hendricks.
She drove down Hope Street towards the Metropolitan Cathedral.
‘Eve, are you there?’
Her thoughts raced and clashed. Alone, she had control. If the truth came out, she lost control of decision-making, and risked losing The Ghoul.
‘I’m checking out a lead at the mortuary. Making sure that the shit about his mother dying in an RTA was a total lie. That’s where I’ll be if anyone needs me. There or thereabouts.’
Her pulse quickened and her mouth turned stone dry.
‘Francesca. Are you still alive?’ she asked herself.
I am your best and only hope, thought Clay.
She headed towards the multi-storey car park.
Clay could smell and taste blood, realised she had bitten her lower lip.
The Ghoul was waiting.
86
8.40 pm
Sitting between his father and the duty solicitor, Mr Robson, Robin Wren was less than a metre away from Detective Sergeant Barney Cole but looked as if he may as well have been on Mars.
‘Robin?’ Cole tried.
‘He really can’t stand his first name,’ explained his father. �
�He likes to be addressed as Wren.’
In Interview Suite 1, Wren looked at the space above Cole’s head and chewed the heel of his hand. Wren’s father settled a hand on his son’s shoulder and Cole observed that the tender, well-intentioned gesture drove the young man deeper into himself.
‘Wren, just tell the truth, son…’
‘Do you know what, Wren,’ said Cole, leaning forward to get into his eyeline. ‘I told my boss, DCI Clay, about our first chat and how you weren’t answering my questions. So, this is the second time of trying to sort out this horrible mess and I’ll tell you what I told you first time round. I don’t think for one minute that you’re involved in any wrongdoing. When you were at the desk with Sergeant Harris and he was explaining why you were here and what had been going on, I thought maybe you were involved in disposing of a body. But I just don’t buy it. The end.’ Cole sat down. ‘Look at me and let’s sort this whole thing out for good.’
Slowly, Wren lowered his gaze.
‘Thank you,’ said Cole. ‘Thank you for looking at me. Stay with me. OK?’
‘K.’
‘Wren, when was the first time you ever met Edgar?’
‘Wednesday just gone. First day of December. On my first day in the abattoir.’
‘So until two days ago, you’d never met, seen or spoken to Edgar?’
‘Correct.’
‘Wren, did you tell Edgar about Captain Cyclone on the first day you met him?’
Wren made a noise deep inside his throat, a sound that was impossible to interpret.
‘Was that a yes or a no or an I don’t know, Wren?’
Cole looked at Wren’s father and back at Wren, and pictured himself in the same position with one of his sons. Sorrow sliced through him and then pure relief at the normality he had taken for granted for years on end.
‘That was a yes,’ said Wren.
Light appeared on the darkest horizon.
‘Your dad told me quite a bit about Captain Cyclone. You made him up, right?’
‘Right.’
‘He showed me pictures you painted on your bedroom wall. You’re quite an artist. I’m impressed. Dad even sent the pictures to me. He’s as proud of you as would I be if you were my son.’
Cole turned his laptop round on the desk so that Wren could see the image of Captain Cyclone on his bedroom wall.
‘So, Captain Cyclone’s face changed on the day you met Edgar. Now Captain Cyclone looks like Edgar, right?’
Wren nodded as if his brain was made of concrete. ‘Yeah.’
‘Thank you for telling me the truth, Wren. I think the greatest thing I learned from your dad when he told me about Captain Cyclone is the importance of telling the truth and being a good witness. You created Captain Cyclone out of your own brain and your own imagination. I believe that Captain Cyclone’s core values are your core values. I read what you wrote on your bedroom wall and I need you to step up to that. I want you to be a good witness, not a bad witness. You got me, Wren?’
Wren nodded and, as Cole picked up his chair and sat to the young man’s side, he noticed how he looked years younger and much more vulnerable than he had appeared at the desk as Sergeant Harris booked him in.
‘I’m going to show you some CCTV footage. I’ll stop it at various points and ask you some questions. I’ll talk you through the footage as you watch it so that you’re absolutely clear about what’s going on. Are you OK with that?’
‘K.’
‘Keep your eyes on the screen the whole time, Wren.’
Cole pressed play.
‘The white van you can see coming from the footpath between Allerton Manor Golf Course and Allerton Towers belongs to Edgar.’ Cole paused the footage. ‘Do you recognise the van?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you accept that it belongs to Edgar?’
Wren shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Let’s put that another way. Could it possibly belong to Edgar?’
‘It could do. It could belong to you. How many white vans are there in existence?’
Cole pressed play.
‘The driver of the white van’s turning his vehicle left to get into the lane of Heath Road leading away from the golf course and in the direction of Mather Avenue. It’s coming up to a house on the corner of that road. It’s now directly aligned with…’ He paused. ‘…that house. This is what the CCTV camera picked up. Don’t look away, Wren.’
Mr Robson touched Wren’s sleeve and said, ‘Listen to DC Cole. Look, Wren!’
Wren’s eyes shifted like dead weights back to the screen of Cole’s laptop.
‘Who’s that?’ Cole pointed at the screen. ‘Who’s that sitting on the passenger seat?’
Wren stared intensely at the screen, as if he was trying to wipe it clean by the power of his mind.
‘That’s you, Wren, isn’t it?’ Cole prompted. ‘Remember what we said about being a good witness?’
The only sound in the room was the hum of the clock on the wall.
‘If Captain Cyclone was sitting in the room in your place, what would he say?’ asked Cole.
‘He’d say it was me,’ replied Wren.
‘What do you say, Wren?’
‘I’d say it was me.’
‘That’s a great answer, Wren.’ Cole touched the screen. ‘See my finger. Whose hands are those, just above my finger? Whose hands are on the steering wheel?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘They’re Edgar’s hands, aren’t they?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ve just driven away from the public footpath between the golf course and the park. That’s nowhere near your house in Gateacre, or the abattoir in Old Swan. Why did Edgar drive you to the footpath?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you ask him why he’d driven you there?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How far up the footpath did you travel?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What did you see?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘Silence. Birdsong. The rain.’
Cole watched Wren shrinking inside himself, the front of his mind closing down. He threw him a line.
‘What are you thinking, Wren?’
‘I don’t know.’
Wren closed his eyes, stuck his thumbs in his ears and double-sealed his lips with his index fingers.
‘I’m sorry, Wren, but Edgar McKee is not your friend.’ Cole looked at Wren’s dad and Mr Robson. ‘I don’t think there’s much more that I can do to help Wren at this point. I’m closing this interview. I’m sorry, Wren. You’re going to have to go back to your cell.’
87
8.53 pm
As Clay drove up the ramp and onto the fourth floor of the multi-storey car park, she turned her headlights off and parked at a space overlooking the Royal.
She waited.
Clay looked into the shadows to her left but couldn’t make out anything other than darkness.
She turned on her reverse lights and looked over her shoulder where the red glow oozed into the gloom.
Clay gripped the Glock in her hand as she stepped out of the car, moving sideways and at a defensive angle towards the wall near the front of her car.
Below, at the edge of her vision, traffic flowed in either direction at the ground level of the multi-storey car park.
She turned to face the darkness and sensed that hers was the only car on the fourth floor.
‘Geoff? Are you there, Geoff?’
Silence.
Does this sound crazy? Words from the telephone conversation he’d had with Riley echoed from her memory and breathed through the cold spaces of the car park. I feel like we’ve made a connection already. A real connection.
Silence.
She took the first step into the shadows, heard her footstep echo from the low concrete ceiling.
Listening hard, Clay heard breathing, tried to locate its source and
realised it was her own.
‘Geoff?’
This time a little louder as the gun in her hand became coated with a film of sweat from her palm.
She took three or four cautious steps closer to the red light that leaked from the back of her car.
Beyond the doors leading up to the level, footsteps rose up the concrete staircase.
Taking the Glock from her coat pocket, she moved at speed to the doorway leading onto the fourth level concealing herself at the side of the entrance.
The footsteps came closer and closer and arrived at the fourth floor.
They stopped and she pointed the gun at the doors.
The footsteps carried on towards the fifth level.
‘Geoff? I’ve come to support you. If you don’t reply to me, I’ll have to get back into my car and drive away. Please, Geoff, talk to me. I want to help you.’
I’ve got this gut feeling... the memory of his words to Riley crawled from the darkness... especially now I’ve heard your voice...
Light from the concrete staircase filtered onto the level through the glass panels in the double doors.
She peered into the darkness ahead of her and tried, ‘Geoff? Please, Geoff, if you can’t speak and God knows I understand having just lost your lovely mother, please make a noise to let me know you haven’t thrown yourself over the side of the car park.’
Her voice and slowly advancing footsteps were now flattened as she imagined the space closing down on itself, condensing into a cube of crushed concrete, metal and flesh.
She looked to the left and saw sodium streetlight pouring past a concrete column supporting the weight of the floor above her head.
‘Geoff?’ A plea from the heart of a forlorn tease.
She turned again at the descending footsteps beyond the doors leading from the level. The footfall was followed by a bizarre and eerie whistling that sounded like it was pouring though a broken and tattered heart hung up to dry.
Clay looked through the glass in the doors and saw a blonde woman pass by the fourth floor. The blonde carried on and, although her hair looked vibrant and natural, she had the freakish air of an individual who had undergone too much poorly delivered plastic surgery.
And as quickly as she’d come into sight, she was out of sight.
