by M J Lee
‘Mulkeen abused you?’
The man’s head rose for a second before dropping down onto his chest once again. Ridpath saw no defiance in the eyes, just sorrow and resignation.
‘He never touched me. I wasn’t one of his favourites. Not one of his special boys.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was supposed to be a celebration, we had just won the five-a-side cup. Best day of my life it was, until then. I scored the winning goal.’
He lifted his head. Ridpath could see he was no longer in the courtroom but back in that day in 1994, slotting the ball into the net past the goalkeeper and raising the cup above his head.
‘Mulkeen had arranged for us to go camping if we won, out near Dunham Massey. He’d bought beer and food and wine and vodka. We lit a fire in front of the tent and all sat around it, drinking and eating. It was a special treat for his special boys.’ He paused for a moment, remembering and reliving the past. ‘Sykes and Doyle were his favourites, the ones he called “his pretty boys”. He promised them trials with United, meetings with scouts, everything. All they had to do was let him touch them…’
He fell silent for a long time. Inside the court nobody moved. The reporters didn’t say a word. The stenographer had stopped typing again. Ridpath held his breath.
‘It all started when we drank the vodka. Somebody, I think it was Mulkeen, decided to play Truth or Dare. Sam Sykes went first and asked the coach who was his favourite footballer. He chose truth and answered Eric Cantona. When it was Mulkeen’s turn, he asked me to choose truth or dare. I chose truth and he asked me a question…’
‘What did he ask you?’
Dolan’s voice was quiet now, almost inaudible. ‘He asked me if I fancied any of the boys in the team. I didn’t know what to say. I went bright red and didn’t answer. Mulkeen pointed at me and shouted, “He does, he fancies Sam.” I still didn’t answer.’ He looked up for a second and Ridpath could see a film of tears in his eyes. ‘You see, Mulkeen had sussed me out. He knew what I thought every time I saw Sam.’
‘What happened next, Mr Dolan?’ asked the coroner.
‘Mulkeen started clapping and shouting and dancing around me. “PLAY THE GAME, PLAY THE GAME.” All the rest, except Sam, joined in. “PLAY THE GAME, PLAY THE GAME, PLAY THE GAME.” Then, Sam picked up a stick and began to prod me with it. Telling me I was useless, hopeless, each word followed by a poke with the sharp point of the stick. Mulkeen egged him on.’ He stopped for a second and swallowed. ‘I knew what Sam was doing. He was hoping Mulkeen would choose me that night instead of him. So I snatched the stick from his hands and began to hit him with it. I knew Sam was stronger than me but I had to protect myself, didn’t I? I had to fight back. We struggled for a few moments, the others formed a circle around us as we fought, encouraging Sam to hurt me. “Kill him, Sam. Show him who’s boss.”’
He swallowed again and stared down at his hands. ‘Sam forced me to the ground and used his weight to pin my shoulders down. Then he pulled a knife and held it to my throat. I couldn’t move. I could feel the cold of the hard steel against the soft skin of my neck. I closed my eyes and he leant in close, whispering into my ear. “Play the game, Brennan, play the game.” I felt his weight lift off my shoulders as he stood up. I lay on the ground unable to move. Then I felt a stream of liquid being poured over me. Sam had picked up the petrol can used to start the fire and poured it over me. I can still smell it now, the harsh, acrid aroma of petrol…’
‘What happened next?’
‘I tried to get up to run but Tommy Larkin came forward in his orange anorak. He was laughing. He picked up a burning stick from the fire… They were all shouting “PLAY THE GAME. PLAY THE GAME. PLAY THE GAME.” Mulkeen was the loudest.’
His head lifted and he continued speaking. ‘Tommy Larkin threw the lighted stick on me.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from the stenographer. The rest of the court stayed silent.
‘I spent two months in the burns unit. I never played football again. They killed me that day even though I didn’t die…’
‘You murdered all the boys from the football team?’ The coroner was encouraging him to say more, but by now, he didn’t need any more encouragement, the story was pouring out of him.
‘Not all of them, just those who deserved to die. The other two had already been taken.’
‘And Charles Whitworth, why did you kill him?’
His face reddened with anger. ‘He was the worst. He was police, he was supposed to protect me, but he didn’t. Visited me in hospital, told me to forget it, just a stupid accident, he said. Mulkeen and Sykes lied to him, but he knew what really happened, just didn’t want to admit it to himself. My body tells the truth…’ He ran his fingers over the puckered, malformed skin.
‘When did you decide to take revenge?’ Mrs Challinor’s voice was gentle, coaxing.
‘About a year ago. I’d been recommended by my doctor to Alistair Ransome, a psychotherapist. By then I’d buried the memory of what happened very deep. It was as if the fire had cauterised that area of my mind. Ransome brought it back, though. All the pain and the hurt and the anger. I decided then I had to kill him and they had to die for what they did to me.’
Caruso and Trent silently moved closer to the witness box, accompanied by Dave Greene.
‘But you survived, Mr Dolan… Or should I call you Mr Brennan?’
‘You can call me what you want. I’m dead anyway.’
‘Why did you fake your own death?’
‘Joseph Brennan had to die like all the others. It was the only way I was going to be free.’ He laughed. ‘It was easy to fool the police and the rest of them. I’d worked in forensics all my life. I knew they’d look for dental records for a burn victim. Planting the bridge from my own mouth was simple.’
‘But who was the body in the flat?’
‘An interfering postman. Kept asking why I was getting mail with two different names. He was the same size and shape as me, so the morning before the fire I finished him off. I’d already created my new identity when I joined Adelphi, shaving my head but wearing a wig when I went back to the flat.’ He paused again. ‘I suppose that was the real start, when there was two of me.’
Trent stepped forward. ‘Joseph Brennan, I am arresting you for the murder of Samuel Sykes, anything—’
Before she could finish, Brennan jumped out of the witness box and pulled a knife from his pocket.
Everybody in the court stood up, chairs fell over, a woman screamed.
Brennan backed towards Mrs Challinor’s desk, waving the knife in front of him.
Trent shouted, ‘Put it down, Brennan.’
She began to move towards him with Dave Greene on her left. Caruso stood where she was, her mouth covered by her hand.
Trent shouted again, ‘PUT IT DOWN.’
Brennan looked at her, then around at the rest of the court. He smiled and turned to face Mrs Challinor, bringing the knife up to his throat and driving the point into his neck beneath the ear. A spray of blood erupted over the desk.
Ridpath jumped towards the coroner.
Brennan brought his knife slowly across his throat, a thick red line appeared and blood poured over his scarred body. A strange vacancy appeared in his eyes and he sank to his knees, falling forward onto the wooden floor of the courtroom.
Friday, May 31, 2019
Chapter Eighty-Nine
‘Where are you taking me, Ridpath? I thought this was supposed to be your day off.’
‘It is, Mrs Challinor, but the train to London isn’t until twelve thirty so I still have time. And we don’t have to go far.’
They were in Ridpath’s car heading towards Stockport. He had picked her up early from the coroner’s court, asking her to come with him to meet somebody who was key to a case they were working on. She had grumbled but agreed to go.
‘I hear you’re off to see BTS in London.’
The two women, Polly and Mrs Challinor, had bee
n talking again. ‘True, Eve’s a fan. More than that, a BTS maniac. I can’t wait to be surrounded by ten thousand screaming twelve-year-olds… not.’
‘I can imagine. The Halle is more my scene.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Anything more on the Brennan case?’
‘The papers are with the CPS and he’s locked up in a secure mental health facility at Ashworth Hospital in Liverpool. He missed his carotid artery with the knife. Just a little bit deeper and he would have drowned in his own blood. The doctor saved his life.’
‘I never asked you how you worked out that Terry Dolan was Joseph Brennan?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘But you passed me a note in court and told me you were certain they were the same person.’
‘I know, sorry. It was an educated guess. You see, it was the only possibility that explained everything. It was when he said he’d been working for Adelphi for three years that it suddenly came together for me. When I discovered it was Dolan who found the dental bridge, I knew what he had done.’
‘But that still doesn’t explain how you knew he was also Joseph Brennan.’
‘As I said, it was the only explanation that fit the facts and the evidence.’
‘So when you wanted me to get him to remove his shirt, you weren’t absolutely sure what we would see?’
Ridpath ignored the question, turning into the driveway of a big Victorian house. ‘We’re here.’
‘Asure Rehab Services,’ Mrs Challinor read the sign over the door. ‘What is this place, Ridpath?’
‘It’s what it says it is. A drug and addiction rehabilitation centre.’
Then the penny dropped for the coroner. ‘My brother?’
Ridpath nodded. ‘He checked himself in three weeks ago. Ted Jones rang me late last night and told me he’d been found. I called them this morning and they said you could come and see him.’
Mrs Challinor sat in the car, staring out of the windscreen.
‘He’s waiting for you.’
‘I can’t go in, Ridpath.’
‘He wants to see you.’
Her fingers fluttered to her hair. ‘What do I say?’
‘You could start with hello and take it from there.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Come in with me?’
He nodded. ‘If you want, but wouldn’t you prefer to be alone with him?’
‘Not this time.’ She took another breath and opened the door, stepping out onto the gravelled driveway.
They walked to the front door and were let in by a member of staff. ‘He’s in the community room. He’s looking forward to meeting his sister.’
They walked into a large room on the left. A thin, unshaven man was sitting by himself at the table, staring out of the window. He stood up and turned to face his sister.
Mrs Challinor ran over to him, hugging him close to her as if she would never let him go.
After a long while, he pulled back. ‘I saw a man burning, Margaret. I knew then I’d have to change.’
Ridpath recognised her brother. He was the homeless man from the video, the one who had entered the building site. He would have to be questioned, but it could wait until after the weekend.
Mrs Challinor hugged her brother again, whispering words of comfort into his ear.
Ridpath walked out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.
For some reason, he was desperate for a cigarette, just one. He wanted to taste the past one last time.
He searched in his glove compartment and found an old half-empty packet sitting amongst Eve’s discarded chocolate wrappers and Polly’s sticks of chewing gum.
He lit it, took a long drag and watched the blue smoke drift hazily up towards the canopy of the trees. Above his head, a single magpie squawked, its call breaking the silence of the morning.
‘Bye, Charlie,’ said Ridpath softly, before stubbing the cigarette out with the heel of his shoe.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © M J Lee, 2019
The moral right of M J Lee to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788633185
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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