Danger by Association: The Riverhill Trilogy: Book 3

by Heather Burnside

  “Get him on the bed and tie him up!” the leader ordered.

  Maurice shuddered, his face a manifestation of fear. They tied him to the bedposts while he squirmed and wriggled around, trying to break free from his ties. Meanwhile the leader watched, a satisfied smirk on his face.

  “That’s right, spread his legs,” he said. “And his arms.”

  Maurice was spread-eagled, one limb secured to each bedpost. Exposed and vulnerable. The leader laughed; a deep, throaty chuckle. “He looks like Jesus on the fuckin’ cross.”

  Then, becoming more serious, he added, “It’s a pity he’s more like the fuckin’ devil. And we don’t want a fuckin’ devil living among us, do we lads? We need to know our kids are safe when they go out to play.”

  “Gag him,” he instructed before withdrawing a large carving knife from inside his coat. “We don’t want anyone to hear his screams.”

  Maurice writhed around on the bed, emitting muffled sounds of distress through the gag.

  “You didn’t think we were gonna let you off easily, did you?” asked the leader. “Not after what you’ve been fuckin’ doing to little kiddies.”

  The man paused, his knife-wielding hand hovering over Maurice’s body. Prolonging the expectation. Relishing his terror.

  “Remind you of anything?” he asked.

  He ran his finger along the blunt edge of the knife, then touched the tip of the blade. The knife immediately drew blood, displaying its capabilities. It was sharpened to precision.

  “My mam and dad had one of these,” he said. “They used it to carve the Sunday roast. I used to love watching the juices spurt out when my dad stuck the knife in … That’s what we’re gonna do to you. Carve you up like a fuckin’ stuffed chicken. Piece by fuckin’ piece.”

  Then he ran the sharp blade down the entire length of Maurice’s leg, to show he meant what he said.

  Chapter 29

  Sunday 23rd June 1996 – Early Morning

  The atmosphere on the way back to the station was sombre. John travelled in a police van with Tony, knowing he’d need his support. Despite Tony’s earlier displays of bravado, John knew what he was going through. No one on the force liked a death. It was a last resort, to be avoided if possible.

  He looked across at Tony, noting his pained expression and slumped shoulders. His body language couldn’t disguise how he was feeling. John sympathised; he’d been through it too. His mind drifted back to the young man in Iraq. The memory faded with time but it was always there.

  It would be the same for Tony. Weeks or months, maybe even years of replaying the scene over in his head. Wondering if there was something different he could have done. Some way in which he could have handled it better. Some way to avoid having a death on his conscience.

  All attempts at detachment would vanish. He would think of the family, of their pain and sorrow. Of how he had let them down. Because he had shot someone precious to them. And nothing could change that.

  When the van reached its destination, the officers got out. They trudged back into the station. None of them wanted to deliver the bad news even though it was a good night in terms of arrests. John slung his arm around Tony’s shoulders,

  “Come on mate, it wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to do. Anyone would have done the same in your position. It was you or him, wasn’t it?”

  Tony managed a weak smile but John knew that no matter how many people reassured him, he would still feel the guilt. They trickled into the station ready to face their colleagues inside.

  As John and Tony weren’t holding any of the people arrested, they bypassed the custody sergeant’s desk. They went through to the interior where they would wait to find out if they were required to attend interviews of the suspects that morning. Meanwhile they would prepare their statements about the night’s events.

  When they got inside, John picked up on the atmosphere within the office. At first he thought it was connected to what had happened during the raid. It was as sombre here as it had been inside the police van. He guessed that the officers were already aware of the shooting. But he soon realised there was another reason for the atmosphere.

  “Bad night,” said one of his colleagues. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yeah, it’s never good when you lose one, but we had no choice,” John replied. Tony was sitting at the desk next to him and had remained silent since they arrived.

  “I suppose you won’t know about that other business if you’ve been on a shout, will you?” asked his colleague.

  “What’s that?”

  “We found a body on the Riverhill Estate. One of his neighbours called it in when she saw a gang of masked men fleeing the property. From what I’ve been told, she was more worried about break-ins than what they might have done to that poor sod … Vigilantes, it seems. He was the local paedophile.

  “The officers found him in his own bedroom and, by all accounts, they’ve done a right bloody job on him. Tied to his bed he was, spread-eagled, and slashed to buggery. It was a mess, blood everywhere. Bed was saturated with it. One of the officers that found him, only a young lad, spewed his bloody guts up, it was that bad.”

  John was stunned. A rush of fear zipped through him. He stared back at the officer, unaware that his jaw had dropped. Unable to speak for several seconds. His colleague returned a confused look, as though he didn’t expect such an extreme reaction.

  Recovering his composure, John commented, “Bloody hell, sounds bad.”

  “Too right. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not got much time for paedophiles, but there’s ways and means of dealing with ’em. What they did makes ’em just as bad in my book.”

  “Let’s hope we catch up with them then,” said John. “The sooner we get that bunch of vicious bastards off the streets, the better.”

  He’d kept up the charade, reacting as would be expected. But inside, his stomach was churning. He felt sick. He had to get away. Needed to be alone. Tony knew him too well. Despite his own troubles, he would know there was something wrong. And it would be difficult for John to hide it from him.

  As soon as the conversation drew to a close, John made an excuse and left the room. He dashed to the men’s toilets, and locked himself in a cubicle. After emptying his bowels, he stood up and took some deep, calming breaths. But his body was still trembling as he grasped his mobile and keyed in the numbers.

  ***

  Sunday 23rd June 1996 – Early Morning

  The sound of the phone ringing woke Rita and Yansis, and a feeling of dread gripped them. Rita pushed the bedclothes aside and searched for her mobile in the half-light. Rubbing sleep from her eyes with one hand, she grabbed the phone with the other and pressed the call receive button.

  Relief swept over her on hearing the caller’s voice. It wasn’t DI Collins with bad news about Daniel; it was John. He’d be giving her an update about the meeting with his boss.

  “It’s John,” she mouthed to Yansis. Then she spoke into the phone, “Jesus, you frightened the bleedin’ life out of us! We thought it was about Daniel … How did you go on?”

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t think. I just wanted to give you an update before my shift ends.”

  He sounded out of breath, as though anxious. “You alright, John?” she asked.

  “Yeah, well, y’know. It’s been a shit night. I didn’t get a chance to talk to Smithson. We’ve been on a raid.”

  “Oh, right,” said Rita, disheartened. She had hoped that perhaps his report to his senior officer would prompt the police to follow the lead. Now it looked as if that wasn’t going to happen.

  “There’s more,” said John, and the rest of his words tumbled out in a rush. “We raided the house where Jamal was. He got shot in the raid. Tony did it. He had no choice; Jamal pulled a gun on him.”

  “Oh my God!” said Rita, trying to take it all in. “You didn’t blow your cover, did you? What about Daniel? Did you find him?”

  “No, I didn’t blow my cover. I told you
that daft disguise would come in useful.” He then paused before answering Rita’s next question. “Daniel wasn’t there, Rita. We searched the whole house. I checked the cellar myself. He wasn’t there,” he repeated.

  “Did Jamal say anything before he died?”

  “He didn’t get a chance. I wasn’t in the same room as him. By the time I got there he was already dead, and his girlfriend was hysterical.”

  “Does she know anything about Daniel?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t ask without giving the game away, and she’s in custody now so I won’t get a chance. But I’m pretty sure Daniel wasn’t being kept there.”

  “How can you be so sure, John?”

  “I’m as sure as I can be. He wasn’t in the house and, as far as I could see, there was no sign that he’d been there. So there’s no point in me asking any further because it won’t get us anywhere … Look, Rita, nobody’s made the connection yet about Jamal and Daniel. But they’ll carry out a formal ID, and once they know who he is, they’ll probably be all over the place. They’ll be looking for traces in case he did have Daniel there.”

  Rita knew that part of the reason John wasn’t keen to look further into things was because it would put his career in jeopardy. If he told his senior officers about his suspicions regarding Jamal then questions would be asked as to how he came by the information, and when. He would also risk discovery of his unorthodox activities of the previous night. She couldn’t blame him though. He had already put his job on the line to help her and Yansis.

  “How’s Tony taken things?” she asked.

  “Not good, but he didn’t have a choice. It was him or Jamal. It’s one of the worst positions a copper can find himself in, but it’s something we all have to be prepared to do in those circumstances. I would have done the same in his shoes, to be honest.”

  She didn’t respond. This was a side of her brother she didn’t like to think about, and she was contemplating how to round up the call when John spoke again.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  The feeling of dread returned. Thoughts rushed through her brain. Perhaps he’d heard news of Daniel, and was pre-empting a visit from the DI.

  “Maurice James is dead. A gang of masked men broke into his home last night, and gave him a good seeing to.”

  Rita raised her hand to her mouth, the shock making her breathe in sharply. She then dropped her hand so she could speak. “Jesus, John. What the fuckin’ hell have you done, tipping off the neighbours?”

  “I know! You don’t have to remind me. Don’t you think I feel bad enough as it is?”

  She knew he was upset, and was reluctant to push things any further. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel worse. I know you were only trying to help.”

  “Christ, Rita! Do you think I would have told his neighbours if I’d have known this was going to happen? I didn’t think … I was just consumed with rage. I thought he knew where Daniel was, and my temper got the better of me. I’m so sorry this has happened.”

  She could hear the distress in his voice, and did her best to reassure him. “Don’t take it on yourself. The neighbours might have found out eventually anyway. You can’t be held responsible for the people who killed him. They’re fuckin’ animals!”

  “I know. I’ll get my head round it in time. It’s just been a really shit night one way and another. But promise me you won’t tell anyone about what I did. It’s to go no further than you and Yansis. My head could be on the fuckin’ block for this.”

  “Course I won’t. What d’you take me for?”

  For a moment there was an awkward silence between them until Rita spoke again. “Thanks for letting me know, anyway,” she said.

  It was a standard response to finish the conversation, but she didn’t feel thankful. She felt despair. Rita had been almost certain that Daniel was being kept in that house, and now she wasn’t sure what to think.

  “I’ll speak to you soon,” she said, then she terminated the call, her hands shaking.

  Yansis was by her side, his face concerned as he registered her reaction. She quickly recounted last night’s events, then added, “Daniel wasn’t there, Yansis. He wasn’t in that house. Where the hell can he be?”

  He stared at her in shock, and they took a few moments to absorb the news.

  “Right, Yansis. We’ll have to compose ourselves,” she said. “Julie and Vinny will want to know who was ringing at this time on a Sunday morning. We need to come up with a story. Whatever you do, you mustn’t let anyone know about our involvement in all this. Otherwise, we’ll all be in the shit; you, me and John.”

  “I understand. Nobody will find out about us going to find Jamal or about what John did to the paedophile.”

  “Good,” she said, giving him a tentative smile. “The police will probably call to tell us about the paedophile because he was a suspect. We’ll have to make sure we don’t give anything away.”

  Chapter 30

  Sunday 23rd June 1996 – Early Morning

  When John returned home he trudged into the house, his eyes downcast. Paula was already up out of bed, and eager to greet him on his return from work. Her face took on an expression of concern as she read his body language. “Are you alright love?” she asked.

  “Not really, it’s been a bad night.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “The worst since …”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. They both knew what he was referring to: the young man in Iraq. The incident that still troubled him from time to time.

  “Oh no!” she said. “Not again.”

  John corrected her before she jumped to the wrong conclusion. “It wasn’t me this time, it was Tony. Tony did it. He’s gutted.”

  He noticed her visibly relax on hearing this news. He couldn’t blame her in a way. She knew what he’d been through after Iraq and, at times, it hadn’t been easy for her either.

  John relayed the night’s events for a second time. On this occasion, however, he was careful how much he disclosed. Paula didn’t know about the situation with Jamal. So, as far as she was concerned, Tony had killed a gangster, and that was as much as she knew. Neither did she know about his visit to the paedophile although she was aware that he had been a suspect. He could tell her that as it would be common knowledge anyway.

  He knew that he should be able to trust her with this information. Usually, he told her most things. But he was edgy at the moment. Rita and Yansis already knew what he had been up to, and that was two people too many as it was. The fewer that knew, the better.

  Besides, how could he trust Paula with any information anymore? She was the one who had told Rita all about him in the first place. If Rita hadn’t known about his job then maybe she wouldn’t have asked for his help. Then perhaps he wouldn’t have got involved with Jamal and the paedophile.

  John was done with talking. After such a hard night, he just wanted to have a lie down. But once he was there, troubling thoughts whirled around in his mind. He was dreading the moment when the force discovered the connection with Jamal. Questions were bound to be asked.

  He was prepared. When his superior officers asked to speak to him about Jamal, he would feign ignorance about the connection. Hopefully they would treat the family tie as no more than a coincidence. As long as they never found out about his involvement, there was nothing more they could do.

  In the meantime, he would have to carry on as normal. He couldn’t let Paula know how troubled he really was by the whole episode. She must be led to assume that his reactions were because of his missing nephew, and a death while on duty; nothing more. As if that wasn’t enough, anyway.

  John tried to reassure himself that he could carry it off. He was used to disguising his feelings; years of practice had taught him how.

  ***

  Sunday 23rd June 1996

  It was later that day when DI Collins and DS Fletcher paid Rita and Yansis a visit. Although they were expecting
the police to call in connection with the paedophile, they still wondered if there could be some information about Daniel. They couldn’t help it; every time the officers called round, they prepared themselves for news.

  Noting the eager expressions on Rita and Yansis’s faces, DS Fletcher quelled their anticipation straightaway.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have any news regarding your son,” he said.

  Rita lowered her head, crestfallen.

  “We’re here about a related matter,” added the inspector.

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” said Julie, disappearing to the kitchen so they could talk in private.

  They went through to the living room.

  “If we could sit down,” said the DI.

  “Oh, of course,” Yansis replied, holding his hand out towards a settee.

  “After you,” said the inspector, and Rita noted that the two detectives positioned themselves so they could examine her and Yansis’s reactions to the news they had come to deliver.

  Once they were seated, Inspector Collins began, “It’s about the man we had in for questioning, a Mr Maurice James.”

  “Oh, the paedo, you mean,” said Rita.

  He ignored her derogatory term and continued to speak. “We received a report from one of his neighbours this morning. I’m afraid he’s been found dead in his home.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  As soon as she spoke, she knew she had been too hasty. The two detectives sat up straighter in their chairs, leaning slightly forward, indicating that she had caught their keen attention. She had no alternative but to explain how she came by the information.

  “My brother told me; he’s a police officer.”

  “Aah. Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” asked DI Collins.

  Rita could feel his eyes watching her, noting every movement and facial expression. She tried to retain her composure, but couldn’t help waffling. “I didn’t think it was relevant. I’ve been keeping him up to date. Obviously, he’s Daniel’s uncle so he’s been concerned, well worried really. I told him about the paedophile. I didn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t. So that’s why he rang to tell me when he was found dead.”