Deadly Waters

by OMJ Ryan

  Entwistle scanned the page in his hand. ‘Maroon, silver and, er—’ He looked up, realising what she had been looking for. ‘—blue, Guv.’

  ‘We’ve got him!’ Phillips slammed her fist onto her desk, before leaping to her feet. Entwistle looked on, bemused. ‘Come with me. I need to be brief the team.’

  The meeting room was silent as Phillips spent the next five minutes walking the team through the evidence she believed was stacking up against Mountfield.

  Gibson appeared to be struggling.

  ‘Jesus, Guv,’ said Jones. ‘I don’t want to believe it, but you make a compelling argument.’

  Entwistle nodded his agreement. ‘Plus, from what we can see, the rest of the wider team is completely clean; not so much as a parking ticket.’

  Gibson finally spoke. ‘What about the young beat-copper who found the two dead girls?’

  ‘Clean as a whistle,’ said Entwistle.

  Gibson nodded slowly, almost sinking into her chair. It was no surprise the enormity of the accusation against Mountfield had hit her hard.

  Bovalino exhaled loudly. ‘It could be just a coincidence though, couldn’t it? You know, him being on leave when the girls died?’

  ‘Yes, it could,’ said Phillips. ‘But, you know I don’t believe in coincidence, Bov. Especially not when the guy we’re looking at has access to a blue Ford Mondeo, the one car that appears on ANPR cameras in Miles Platting and Ancoats each night the girls were killed.’

  Bovalino wasn’t ready to convict a fellow officer just yet. ‘I hear what you’re saying, but even though he had access to a blue Mondeo, it doesn’t mean it was the same car we’ve been looking for, does it? I mean, they’re pretty common, Guv.’

  ‘I know that, Bov, and none of us wants our killer to be a copper. But the fact that Mountfield is on the force means we can’t ignore the facts either.’ Phillips turned her attention to Gibson now. ‘I know this must be hard for you, Gibbo, but you know him better than anyone. What do you think? Could it be Mountfield?’

  Gibson ran both hands through her short hair and held them on top of her head as she spoke, her face strained. ‘There has been the odd rumour about him taking his work home sometimes, but nothing like this.’

  Phillips looked puzzled. ‘How do you mean “taking his work home”?’

  ‘You know, using the girls for free sex in exchange for not nicking them. But I never believed any of that shit myself. I’ve always found him to be a decent fella. He’s happily married and got two kids of his own.’

  ‘So, these rumours; who was spreading them?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘Just some of the girls on the street. But they’re always blaming SCT for something, and never stop talking shit about us. I don’t pay any attention to them, to be honest.’

  ‘Probably worth a follow-up conversation based on what we know now, though?’ said Phillips.

  Gibson nodded.

  ‘So how do you wanna play this one, Guv?’ asked Jones.

  Phillips held her fingers over her mouth for a moment as she considered her options. ‘Well, based on the evidence so far, it’s all circumstantial and we don’t have enough for a warrant. We could watch him and see where he goes, but if he spots us and thinks we’re onto him, he’ll destroy every shred of evidence before we can get to it. So for now I suggest we gather more intel on him and see if we can get enough evidence to search his house and the Mondeo issued to SCT. Let’s look for card transactions in the area around the time of the murders, go back over CCTV, recheck ANPR, see if you can make him out driving the Mondeo – we know the drill, guys.’

  Each of the men nodded in turn as Phillips stood and placed her hand on Gibson’s shoulder. ‘You got a minute?’

  Gibson nodded and followed her to her office, where Phillips closed the door. ‘I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room, Gibbo. If you feel you need to leave the team, I’ll understand. Mountfield as our prime suspect can’t be easy.’

  Gibson folded her arms defensively. ‘To be honest, Guv, I’d prefer to stay if you’re ok with it. I’m still struggling to believe it’s Don. It’s just not the man I know. So, if by investigating him it proves it wasn’t him, as I hope, then I’ll be doing him a favour by staying on.’

  Phillips eyed her for a moment. ‘Ok, I understand, but I must have your full cooperation and full disclosure.’

  ‘That goes without saying, Guv.’

  ‘And if you feel compromised at any point, you talk to me immediately. Are we clear?’

  ‘Crystal.’

  ‘Needless to say, no one outside of this team can know any of this. If word gets out we’re investigating one of our own, a whole world of shit will be coming our way.’

  ‘They won’t hear anything from me.’

  Phillips took a seat behind her desk. ‘Good. Well, whoever our guy is, he’s still out there and likely stalking his next victim. So let’s see what we can find and in double-quick time, shall we?’

  ‘On it,’ said Gibson as she turned and headed back to the meeting room.

  30

  Tonight’s target was never one of the original ones on my list, but I realise now she’s as bad as the rest. I feel compelled to deliver her to judgment in the next life. I drive around cautiously for twenty minutes, getting more frustrated as I struggle to locate her. Then my heart lifts as she steps under a street light just ahead of me. The rain is bouncing off the pavements, so she’s hiding under a small black umbrella, a cigarette glowing between her lips. I slow the car to a crawl and move along beside her. I let down my window and signal for her to join me. I’m wearing a baseball cap, so she doesn’t recognise me at first as she totters over on high heels and bends down to greet me with her best fake smile.

  ‘You looking for business, love?’

  ‘No, Chloe, I’m looking for you.’

  Her face contorts as she finally sees my face and recognises me. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  With each kill that passes, I’m finding it easier and easier to lie. It comes natural to me now. ‘I just want to talk, Chloe, nothing more.’

  ‘I’m busy. Piss off.’ She turns to walk away.

  I hold up five folded ten-pound notes. ‘Fifty quid, Chloe, just to talk, out of the rain.’ It’s an offer I know she can’t refuse.

  Her eyes lock onto the cash and I can almost hear her mind calculating how many hits she can get with it. She steps back towards the open window as the rain worsens. ‘Just to talk, nothing else?’

  I produce my warmest smile. ‘I promise, Chloe.’

  Nodding, she snatches the cash from my grip and closes the umbrella. She opens the car door and jumps in the passenger seat as the electric window whirs closed, shutting out the noise of the street and the rain outside, which continues to do battle with the car's windscreen wipers. I quickly scan my mirrors to ensure we’re not being watched. When I’m satisfied it’s all clear, I pull the car away. As usual, I loop around various roads in Cheetham Hill, to try and flush out anyone who might try and follow us, before making my way along the usual back roads towards Miles Platting.

  We drive in silence for a few minutes before Chloe thinks to ask where we’re going.

  ‘I know a quiet spot,’ I explain, but she doesn’t seem convinced.

  ‘If we’re just talking, why do we need to go anywhere? Why couldn’t we just sit in the car where you picked me up?’

  This makes me laugh out loud. ‘Do you really want the other girls to see you with me?’

  I’m guessing she must be in withdrawal and not thinking straight. The reality of what I’m saying seems to dawn on her. ‘Shit, no. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘And I certainly have no intention of being seen with you either. Sitting in a car in the red-light district is asking for unwanted attention. That’s why we need to go somewhere quiet.’

  The low volume police scanner crackles into life, but Chloe seems oblivious to its presence. Conversely, I listen intently to everything that’s being s
aid. I’m pleased to note there’s nothing coming through that need concern me.

  I leave the main road at the first opportunity and begin zig-zagging through the darkened streets of a derelict Ancoats.

  Before she moves to the next life, I need to know more about the child she will leave behind. ‘How old is Zoe now?’

  ‘Why do you want to know about her?’

  ‘I’m interested, that’s all.’

  ‘She’s two.’

  ‘And did you know her father, or was she a “consequence of the job"?’

  Chloe scowls at me. ‘None of your fucking business, mate.’

  I continue to press the point. ‘So, it was a punter then?’

  She shoots me another filthy look. ‘I thought you wanted to talk about the girls and the punters. Not my bloody daughter.’

  ‘It’s my money, Chloe, so I get to choose the questions.’

  She huffs, folds her arms sulkily and stares out of the passenger window into the darkness. Snow has begun to fall.

  ‘Where is Zoe tonight?’

  Chloe ignores me, so I repeat the question, slower and louder this time, which agitates her even more. ‘She’s at home.’

  ‘And who is she at home with?’

  She glares at me through bloodshot eyes. ‘Why the fuck do you care?’

  ‘Just answer the question. Who is she at home with tonight?’

  There’s silence once more as we hit the abandoned broken roads that lead to the canal. As the car begins to lurch over the rough terrain, I ask again, ‘Who is Zoe with tonight, Chloe? I’ll keep asking until you tell me.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! She’s with her grandma. Now drop it, will you?’

  I pull the car to a stop as we reach our destination, and switch off the engine. The snow is falling heavily now. I turn to face her. ‘I have to say, I really don’t believe you, Chloe.’

  ‘Believe what you like, I don’t care.’ She spits the words out before turning away from me.

  I reach into my pocket for what I need, and a moment later a loud click echoes around the car as I cock the Glock and point it at Chloe’s head. She instinctively turns to face me. Terror fills her eyes as she comes face to face with the barrel of a loaded gun. Her hands shoot up in surrender as her mouth opens, but she does not speak.

  ‘I’ll ask you one more time. Who is Zoe with tonight?’

  She stutters and mumbles for a moment, but no actual words make it from her mouth.

  ‘Tell me the truth or I will shoot you, right here, right now.’

  She nods frantically and tears, blackened by her cheap eyeliner, streak down her face, giving her the look of a gaunt panda. ‘Sh-sh-she’s alone…’

  Anger wells in the pit of my stomach. ‘You left a two-year-old girl at home alone in that shit-hole you call a flat?’

  She’s crying like a child now. ‘She was asleep when I left. What else was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Be a fucking mother to your daughter, you silly little bitch. Mothers are supposed to protect their children, not abandon them so they can fuck men for drug money. You make me sick.’

  I can hear her speaking and I know she’s making excuses, but I no longer have any interest in what’s she’s saying. ‘Get out of the car,’ I order.

  She looks shocked, but doesn’t move.

  I push the barrel of the gun against her forehead. ‘Out of the fucking car now!’

  She turns her head away and begins fumbling with the door handle. I’m tempted to pull the trigger and kill her now, but that would remove an essential part of the process. As she climbs out into the snow, I open my door and step out, my gun still trained on her. ‘Walk over towards the canal. It’s time to make your peace with God.’

  ‘What’s down there?’

  I chuckle at her naïvety. ‘Water, Chloe. Lots of water.’

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’

  ‘Me? I’m going to baptise you in the canal, just like I did your bestie Candice.’

  A look of recognition crosses her face. ‘Jesus! Billy was right. Candice was murdered, and you killed her.’

  I scoff at her simplistic view of the world. ‘I didn’t kill her. I sent her to God.’

  ‘You’re fucking crazy.’

  ‘No Chloe. I am the Baptist! Now get over by the canal.’

  ‘Please don’t do this—’

  ‘I said, now!’

  She complies, but struggles to walk on her heels towards the steps that lead down to the towpath and canal. The snow lies thick on the ground now, illuminating the area under the moonlight. I follow close behind, keeping the gun trained on her back. She stops at the top of the steps and turns to face me.

  ‘Keep going,’ I shout, waving the gun in my hand for effect, just as my foot drops into a large pothole, knocking me off balance. I tumble forwards. My instincts are to put my hands up to break my fall. As I hit the wet ground, I drop the gun and it skids across the ice and snow. Chloe wastes no time and, seeing me floundering on the ground, pulls off her heels and takes off running towards the canal.

  It takes a moment for me to get back to my feet. I grab the gun and head after her. I can’t see her, but she can’t have got far. As I move through the darkness, I step on something loose but solid, causing me to fall forwards again, landing hard on my elbow. I cry out in pain and fumble back to my knees. I can see what tripped me up: a pair of size five, thick-soled stiletto heels that once belonged to Chloe. I regain my feet and survey the area, comforting myself with the fact she won’t be hard to find; she’s leaving tiny footprints in the snow.

  A burst of traffic on the scanner filters out of the open car door, catching my attention. I’m sure I just heard the word ‘Ancoats’ mentioned. I walk back to the car and turn up the volume. It’s not good news. A uniform team has been despatched to a potential break-in at one of the local businesses, which means they’ll pass close by within the next five minutes. I have to get away from here.

  I jump back in the car and discover Chloe has left her mobile phone on the seat. At least she won’t be calling for help anytime soon. I reverse away from the canal before spinning the car around and gunning the engine. I head back towards the main road.

  I chastise myself for losing Chloe. How could I have been so sloppy? In truth, however, all it does is slow things down a little. It won’t stop me from sending her to God. After all, I have her phone, and I know where she lives.

  31

  When the Greater Manchester Police closed down its original headquarters located on Bootle Street in the heart of Manchester, they moved the bulk of their operations to the new Ashton House HQ in Failsworth. Since then, the city centre satellite station has been located on the ground floor of the historic Town Hall building in St Peter’s Square. In stark contrast to its city-centre predecessor, the new unit is small and manned with just a few officers per shift.

  Chloe limped into the city-centre station’s reception, soaking wet, frozen, with eyes puffy and blackened around the edges from crying. Her lips, hands and feet were purple from the cold. She shivered uncontrollably, partly due to the cold and partly because she was in desperate need of a hit.

  The reception area was empty aside from a row of plastic chairs, secured to the floor opposite a large blue counter beneath a heavy-duty glass security screen. She scanned the room, before spying an intercom attached to the wall with the words ‘PRESS FOR ASSISTANCE’ emblazoned across the top. She walked over and pushed the button, then waited. When she got no reply, she tried again.

  Eventually a male voice spoke. ‘Can I help you, miss?’

  Chloe was paranoid that she had been followed, and scanned the empty room again before answering, ‘I want to speak to the woman in charge.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘You know, that one who’s in charge out at Failsworth.’

  ‘Do you have a name, love?’ the voice asked.

  With every fibre of her body aching from the cold and withdrawal, her patience was thin,
‘No, I don’t know her bloody name. I just know she’s the boss at Failsworth.’

  There was a delay before the voice spoke again, sounding weary. ‘Wait there. I’m coming out.’

  Chloe did as instructed. All the time she kept her eyes locked on the door that led back to the street.

  A minute later, a door buzzed and a tall uniformed officer stepped out into the empty space behind the counter. He was an older man with salt and pepper hair and a matching beard. He smiled and pointed to his right ear. ‘Sorry, love, I can’t hear a thing through that intercom. Who is it you’re looking for?’ He stepped up to the glass and his expression turned grave when he saw her battered bare feet. ‘Are you all right, love? This is not the kind of weather to be walking around without shoes on.’

  The warmth in his voice took Chloe by surprise. She softened for a moment before remembering where she was and how much she hated the police. Her impatience returned. ‘I want to speak to the woman detective from Failsworth.’

  ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘None of your business. I just need to speak to that woman from Failsworth.’

  The officer looked confused. ‘It’s a big place over there, love. Can you be more specific?’

  Chloe exhaled in frustration. ‘She wears glasses and her hair is tied back.’

  The officer offered her a sympathetic smile. ‘I’ll need a little more than that I’m afraid. Do you know her rank, or maybe which team she works for?’

  Chloe was struggling to hold it together. ‘I dunno. She’s the cocky bitch in charge of a team of blokes. They all dance around her. One of them is a big Italian fella, goes by the name Bovalino.’ For some reason, his name, given during her recent interview, had stuck in her head.

  ‘Well, there can’t be too many Bovalinos in the staff directory. Let’s have a look, shall we?’ The officer began typing into a computer screen on the counter, humming ‘Jingle Bells’ under his breath as he did, His jolly demeanour was a stark contrast to the pain enveloping Chloe’s body – a mixture of the cold and lack of heroin. It was almost unbearable.