by John R McKay
‘No,’ Lea replied. ‘Not found anything useful as yet, so I’m told. They’ll be lucky to find any prints or DNA. Total burn out and the fire brigade sprayed that much water on it I can’t see them getting anything.’
‘OK. But you never know eh? We may get lucky.’
‘Always the optimist you are,’ Lea said, smiling at her. ‘Oh bloody hell!’ he exclaimed suddenly.
‘What is it?’
‘I told Danny Cooke I would pop round with the statement tonight for him to look at and sign. I’ve just remembered that I have to meet Jo to discuss the house at eight o’clock.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Julie smiling at him. ‘His house is only a bit off my way home. I’ll pop round on my way and do it.’
‘You’ll go far you will,’ said Lea, smiling back. ‘Thanks loads. Saves me a job.’
He stood up to go. ‘He’s very upset, you know. Be careful what you say to him, ‘cos he may fly off the handle a little. It’s very raw for him at the moment.’
‘It would be,’ said Julie. ‘Can’t be a good thing to have to go through.’
‘See you tomorrow,’ said Lea, swallowing the rest of his tea. He picked up his
coat and walked away.
‘Yeah, bye,’ said Julie turning back to her computer screen.
She could not get the thought out of her head that there was more to the presence of the BMW than mere coincidence. She had seen the footage many times now, the CCTV taken from a camera above a shop about fifty yards from the George and Dragon pub. Ten minutes before the couple leave the pub it appeared to be driving slowly down the road. The light reflecting back off the registration plate obscuring part of the number slightly, enough to cause a problem with identification. It carried on down the road and out of sight only to appear again a couple of minutes later from the same direction, as if it had merely circled the block in search of something. This time it pulled over opposite the pub and parked up with the hazard lights flashing.
Four people could then be seen leaving the pub and chatting for a minute or two before heading off in separate directions. These Julie now knew to be Danny Cooke, Lucy Taylor and Mark and Jane Wright. Danny and Lucy then appeared to pause for a moment before the BMW pulled out onto the roadway and drove away. The film then showed, approximately three minutes later, a speeding silver Ford Focus flash by the camera in the direction that Danny and Lucy had headed. Julie was thankful that she had not found footage of what happened next.
It was this pausing by Danny and Lucy that had given Julie an awkward feeling. She had asked Jim Lea to make sure he asked Danny if it had any significance and despite Danny not being too helpful, it did not stop her feeling very uneasy. She decided she would ask him about it again when she took the statement to his house later.
She played it through one more time, pausing it again at the point where the black BMW appears for the first time, straining her eyes to try to make out the full registration number. Although DI Raymond had told Jim to concentrate on the driver of the silver Focus, she would still attempt to find further footage of the BMW just to eliminate it from any wrongdoing, if nothing else.
‘Your eyes will go square young lady,’ came a voice from behind her.
Julie jumped and let out a yelp. ‘Jesus, you scared the living daylights out of me!’
‘Oh I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,’ said DI Raymond apologetically.
‘That’s alright,’ said Julie. ‘I was away with the fairies then to be honest.’
‘I was wondering if you wanted to join us across the road for a drink,’ said Raymond. ‘A few of us who were on the course on Saturday are popping over for one before we go home. I saw you all alone over here and wondered if you wanted to come.’
‘Sorry boss, I can’t,’ she replied. ‘I have to take a statement over to Danny Cooke’s house to be signed.’
‘Danny Cooke?’
‘The boyfriend of the hit and run victim from last week.’
‘Oh right,’ said Raymond. ‘OK. Just thought I’d ask.’ He paused. ‘Maybe we could go another time then.’
‘Yes boss. Maybe another time.’
Raymond walked away and Julie looked back at her screen. She stared at it for another minute and then gave up. She couldn’t make it out. She would have to find more footage if she was going to pursue it.
She logged off and took her coat from the back of her chair and put it on. She picked up the file with Danny’s statement and switched off the computer screen. Then she had a thought. Had her boss just tried hitting on her? ‘Maybe we could go another time,’ he had said, the emphasis on the word ‘we’. Did he mean ‘we’ as in everyone or ‘we’ as in ‘you and me’?
Oh Sweet Jesus, she thought.
#
Kieran Pearson was owed money and he did not like being owed money. He had collected from two of his debtors that evening but his big pay-out, the one he was really waiting for, was still to be delivered. He had contacted Lange and had been told that it would be tonight. Tonight he would come round to his flat and give him the five grand that he had bloody well earned last week. Kieran would give him a piece of his mind and that was for certain. A week was way too long to have to wait to be paid. However, he did not want to kill the goose that laid the golden egg, as further work of this nature would be most welcome.
The two junkies he had collected from earlier had not put up much resistance. They had given him the money but they had not wanted to part with it. A couple of punches to the stomach had soon seen them hand it over. He had taken a little extra as interest and for wasting his time, them having made him have to go in search of them. They would not be so reluctant to hand it over next time.
Kieran had not been back to his flat for a couple of days preferring to stay at Stacey’s place. He had been told to lie low for a week or so and keep himself out of mischief, which he had pretty much succeeded in doing but he hated being told what to do. However, for the sake of five big ones he was prepared to put up with it. For the time being anyway.
He went to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the kettle to make a cup of tea. He checked the fridge for milk and was pleased to see that he still had some that was in date. He took the cap off and put it to his nose. It was fine.
As he stood waiting for the kettle to boil his mobile phone rang. It was Lange.
‘Yo,’ he said into the phone.
‘Yo?’ said Lange. ‘Yo! This ain’t the fuckin’ Bronx you moron. And you ain’t fuckin’ black neither.’
‘Whatever man,’ said Kieran. ‘Are you coming round with my money or what?’
‘I’m on my way now,’ said Lange. ‘I’ll be about five minutes. Get your kettle on.’
‘Way ahead of you bro’,’ replied Kieran.
‘Fuckin’ bro’,’ said Lange. The line went dead.
‘Cockney wanker,’ said Kieran, when he was sure that Lange was no longer on the line.
Kieran turned his attention back to making the tea and took an extra cup from the cupboard above the microwave. He was now smiling. Five grand was winging its way to him. Five grand. He could do a lot with that. He would start with a big night out. Maybe he would give Anna, the Dutch girl from across the landing, a knock and see if she wanted to join him. Beer, maybe a club, cocaine for sure. Then he might even let her sleep with him again too. Tonight couldn’t get any better.
The kettle finished boiling but he didn’t pour the tea. Better to wait until Lange was here first, he thought. Wouldn’t go cold in the meantime.
After a few minutes there was a knock at the door.
Let him wait, thought Kieran, and did not move from the kitchen. He waited for Lange to knock again before moving.
He opened the door and let him in.
Sean Lange was a strange one, thought Kieran. He had only met the man twice before and both times he had been wearing all black. Black boots, jeans, sweater, leather gloves and a woollen hat. Tonight he even had a pair of dark sunglasses on, despi
te it being almost dark outside. He stood little more than five feet five inches tall but the man had a presence about him that generated fear and respect. Despite being four inches taller than him and considerably stronger, Kieran felt intimidated in the man's presence.
‘Alright Sean,’ said Kieran, closing the door behind him as he walked past him and into the lounge.
‘Jesus,’ said Lange. ‘You don’t half live in a shithole. Look at the state of this bleedin’ place.’
‘It’s not so bad.’
‘Not so bad!’ exclaimed Lange. ‘You’ve got shite all over the place. And when did you last clean up? Or dust.’
‘I’m not here that often,’ said Kieran. ‘Work commitments.’
Lange laughed. ‘Work commitments. Brilliant,’ he said. ‘You’ve never done a day’s work in your whole miserable little shitty life.’
‘I did a job for you last week,’ said Kieran defiantly.
‘Yeah I know,’ replied Lange. ‘And what a total fuck up you made of that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘How hard is it?’ Lange asked. ‘How hard is it to drive a car at a couple of pedestrians? Out in the open? Not hard, that’s how hard it is. Not hard.’
Kieran began to get annoyed. How dare this little shit turn up at his flat and speak to him like this. ‘Show some respect Lange,’ he said.
Lange burst into a fit of laughter. ‘Respect!’ he exclaimed, doubling over to emphasise how hilarious he thought the comment was. ‘What is this? The fuckin’ Sopranos?’
‘Stop laughing.’
‘Or what?’ said Lange, stopping the laughter suddenly. ‘You useless little shit. I have had a right earful off my boss because of your incompetence. You killed an innocent young woman apparently. It’s going to take me ages to get on side with him again.’
‘What about my money?’ asked Kieran, nervously. ‘I still want paying.’
‘Oh you’ll get paid alright,’ said Lange, menacingly. ‘Anyway, where’s that brew?’
Kieran turned and walked into the kitchen, Lange following behind.
‘Black coffee,’ said Lange.
Kieran poured the boiling water into a cup and handed it to Lange. ‘Have you got the money with you or not?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got it. Stop worrying. You know, I didn’t want to come up here again. I wasn’t supposed to even be up here at all and because of you I’ve had to make two unnecessary trips.’
‘You know the reasons for that,’ replied Kieran.
‘The whole point in involving you was so I could stay in London. I’m a very busy man. I’ve had to put an important trip to Holland on hold because of this and my friends over there are not very pleased about it.’
‘That’s not my problem.’
Suddenly Lange lurched forward, throwing the boiling hot coffee into Kieran’s face, causing him to scream in shock and agony, raising his hands in an effort to protect himself. Lange dropped the cup to the floor and reached to the knife rack on the kitchen work top. With one move he drove a steel carving knife, to the hilt into Kieran’s chest, piercing his left lung. Kieran dropped to the floor, falling onto his back. He was in total shock at what was happening to him.
‘Ouch, eh?’ said Lange furiously. ‘Sting a bit does it? You total waste of fuckin’ space.’
As Kieran lay on the floor, his hands moving to the knife sticking out of his chest, Lange took another from the rack and calmly sat on the floor, positioning himself so he could cradle Kieran’s head in his arms. ‘Sshh,’ he whispered calmly as Kieran struggled for breath, his mouth making a rattling sound as he tried to speak. ’You seriously didn’t expect this to end well did you? Don’t worry, it will soon be over.’
Lange used the second knife to cut across Kieran’s carotid artery. However, the blade was not as sharp as he had expected and he merely cut into the muscle of his neck, the blade not going deep enough. Kieran looked at him in shock. He began to struggle, his legs kicking out in an attempt to get away but he could not prevent what was happening. Is this really it, he thought? Is this really the way it all ends?
Lange began to use the knife like a saw, cutting through muscle and tissue until he hit the artery, causing blood to suddenly spray in a fountain above his head, hitting the wall, kitchen tops and cupboards, some of it reaching to the ceiling. Lange turned Kieran’s head away in an attempt to keep as much blood away from himself as possible, but his hands and arms were already soaked red. He would have to clean himself up here first, he thought, before he could leave the flat and go home. He would wait until it was dark before leaving, when there was no-one about to see him. He had enough fuel in his car to get back to London without stopping and would go straight home to change and get rid of the contaminated clothes. He sat still on the kitchen floor watching Kieran take his last breaths, his legs jerking spasmodically as all life left him.
‘There you go,’ Lange whispered. ‘There you go.’
Lange picked himself up off the floor and checked to see how bad the contamination was. Using a very grubby tea-towel he wiped his fingerprints off the handle of the smaller knife and dropped it onto the floor, before leaning over and cleaning the handle of the knife that was still protruding from Kieran’s chest. He wiped his hands with the tea towel and placed it in his jacket pocket. He was careful to step away from the flow of blood that was now filling the kitchen floor around him. He did not want to leave any footprints or DNA evidence. However, he knew he was not on the national database and presumed he never would be. The man he worked for, ‘Roger Moore’ as he had privately nicknamed him due to his extremely posh accent, would probably see to that.
He took off his jacket and examined it. The right sleeve was soaked with Kieran Pearson’s blood and so he folded it, tucking the contaminated sleeve on the inside. He walked through to the lounge and switched on the television set. Finding the remote control on the couch he sat down, flicking through the channels until he found a repeat of ‘Only Fools and Horses’. He would shower after the show was finished. He loved this show and this particular episode was a classic.
And so with Kieran’s corpse going cold in the room behind him, Lange roared with laughter as Derek and Rodney Trotter, with the assistance of their hapless granddad, attempted to take down and clean a chandelier on the television screen in front of him.
CHAPTER SIX
The doorbell rang and Danny got up from the couch where he was watching the BBC news. He thought that if he was to go back to work tomorrow then he had better start to take an interest in what else was happening in the world, even if he did not feel like it in the slightest. His mother had again come round and cooked for him leaving only twenty minutes ago, after much fussing over his welfare. Once he had convinced her he would be fine she had begrudgingly left him alone.
He had spent the previous day visiting Mark and Julie and then going on to see Bill and Margaret. The atmosphere had been awkward. He had always found it difficult to speak to them as they had very little in common and now that Lucy was gone, particularly in the way it had happened, had made it even more so. He had not stayed long, making an excuse to leave, and had immediately felt guilty about doing so.
He opened the door hoping it was not a well-wisher and stood in front of him was a woman, around the same age as himself, who he slightly recognised but could not quite place. She was petite, had blonde hair and carried a folder under her arm. She was extremely attractive, Danny thought and instantly reproached himself for having such thoughts.
‘Hello Mr Cooke,’ said DC Julie Green, showing him her warrant card. ‘DC Green from CID.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Danny suddenly remembering her. ‘You were at the hospital last week with the other policeman.’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘May I come in? I’ve brought your statement for you to look at and sign.’
‘Yes. Of course,’ said Danny, standing aside.
Julie walked into the house and through to the l
iving room. She looked around. It really was a very nice property, she thought. Tastefully decorated with big open areas. Photographs of Danny with a young woman, presumably Lucy, adorned one of the walls. Pictures of them both in various parts of the world obviously on holidays. Quite a lot of them were taken in Paris.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Danny asked. ‘I was just about to put the kettle on.’
‘No thanks,’ Julie replied. ‘I was on my way home and as you’re on the way I thought I’d pop over and finish off this paperwork. I’m sure you don’t want me to bother you for too long.’
‘To be quite honest,’ said Danny, ‘It’s quite nice to have a visitor who isn’t going to fuss over me, even if it’s not in the nicest circumstances. Please. Sit down.’
Julie sat on the edge of one of the chairs and retrieved the statement from the folder. Putting the folder on the floor she quickly scanned through the statement. ‘If you’d like to cast your eye over this for me Mr Cooke.’
‘Please. Call me Danny.’
Julie looked up and smiled. ‘OK. Danny. Detective Sergeant Lea has typed this up. So if you could read through it and if you’re happy with it could you please sign it at the bottom?’ She handed it to him.
She took out a pen from the inside pocket of her jacket and clicked it.
Danny glanced through the statement and after a minute he replied: ‘Yes, it all looks OK to me.’
‘Just something that I need to get straight in my head, Mr Cooke….Danny,’ she corrected.
Danny looked up. ‘Yes?’ he asked.
‘The guy in the dark coloured BMW. Can you tell me what happened there?’
‘Not a lot to it really,’ said Danny. ‘As we came out of the pub someone in a car parked opposite shouted my name. When I called over to ask who was it, he just drove away. I didn’t give it any thought until your colleague brought it up the other day. Is there anything in it? Should I be worried?’
‘Not at all Danny,’ said Julie. ‘He may be a witness that’s all. So you have no idea who it was?’
