The Dead

by Howard Linskey

  ‘Persuasive?’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Theresa, ‘we all went out a few times but she has to get really hammered and I don’t like that.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ I said, ‘particularly if you have lectures in the morning.’

  ‘Louise doesn’t do lectures.’

  ‘So Louise went out every night and persuaded Gemma to do the same thing.’

  Theresa started mimicking Louise’s voice, ‘You’re only young once Gemma, don’t be so boring, live a little, life’s too short,’ and for a second she looked like she might cry, ‘that’s a laugh isn’t it? Life’s too short.’

  ‘Did they always go to the same spot?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ she said, ‘some club where they could get free drinks because Louise knew all the footballers. By know I mean shagged, obviously. She met them when she worked up at the football ground, handing out drinks to stupid businessmen in suits in corporate hospitality.’

  I asked her if they went to parties at Golden Boots’ house and she confirmed they had done on several occasions.

  ‘They were bragging about it. “Trees”, she calls me Trees, I hate it. “Trees you should have been there, it was awesome, they drink champagne like it’s tap water,” but they all sounded like wankers to me.’

  ‘Did you tell the police that Louise was the one persuading Gemma to be out partying every night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They never asked me. They didn’t ask me anything.’

  ‘They didn’t speak to you about your flatmate’s murder?’ I found this pretty hard to believe.

  ‘The morning after the night Gemma was killed, I took a train home for the week to see mum and dad. I just assumed Gem had spent the night with her footballer. I didn’t even know she’d been killed because I wasn’t here. I read about it in the papers days later. If the police came round to speak to Louise while I was gone, she probably didn’t tell them about me. She wouldn’t want me talking to them.’

  The DC who’d questioned Louise was a numpty. He should have realised there was a third girl in the house and gone back to talk to her but Theresa was probably correct, Louise had thrown him a curveball to avoid any inconvenient facts from coming out.

  ‘But you saw Gemma and Louise before you went home? That weekend I mean? You saw them going out on the town?’

  ‘Yes. They both went clubbing together on the Friday night but Gem went out on her own on Saturday. She wanted to go to that footballer’s party again but she didn’t want to take Louise.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They had a row.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Some bloke, obviously. It’s always a bloke with Louise. Some famous guy was after Gem, the one who killed her I suppose. Louise got jealous so they had an argument. Gem wanted to see this guy again the next night but she didn’t want Louise to know about it. I caught her creeping out late at night.’

  ‘You saw her go?’

  ‘I was up late, planning an all-nighter. We’ve got exams,’ she sounded defensive, like she didn’t want me to think she’d been snooping on her flatmates. ‘I went down to the kitchen to make some tea and she was just going out.’

  ‘And she told you what she was up to?’

  ‘She told me not to make a noise in case Louise heard she was going out again. She was all dressed up.’

  ‘But she wasn’t going to the club? She was going straight to his house?’

  She nodded, ‘She was excited about it. She said he must really like her because he was sending a driver.’

  ‘Yeah, they do that.’

  ‘When they want a girl?’

  I nodded.

  ‘But it doesn’t mean anything, does it?’ she asked me, ‘not what Gemma thought anyway?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘He just wanted to use her and dump her, but she must have had a row with him and now she’s dead.’ She did start crying then, dabbing her eyes with a scrunched-up tissue.

  I didn’t want to get into a discussion about the guilt or innocence of Golden Boots so instead I asked, ‘Did you see him? The guy who came to pick her up?’

  ‘No, he was waiting around the corner in his car. She asked him to do that so Louise wouldn’t see.’

  That was bad news. If we knew who the guy was, if we had a description even, we could have found him and made him tell us what really happened when she got to the house. ‘So you didn’t see him at all?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted, ‘but I know who it was.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How could you know who he was, if you didn’t see him?’

  ‘Gem told me who was picking her up. She joked about him, because he was a bit weird looking. He was a regular at those parties, so he didn’t mind taking her.’

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted, ‘but Gemma used to call him “Jaws”.’

  ‘Jaws? Like the shark?’

  She shook her head, ‘Like those old James Bond films they put on the telly. There was a man in one with funny teeth.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I remember. He was a big guy.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘This fella was big too, I s’pose?’

  She nodded, ‘I saw him once through the window when he called to pick the girls up.’

  ‘You saw him.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘And he was a big guy?’

  She nodded. ‘Could you describe him a bit more, do you think?’ I was trying to sound like it wasn’t that big a deal, hoping I could coax it out of her.

  ‘He was really big and he had the funny teeth, like that Jaws guy?’

  ‘He had metal teeth?’

  ‘No,’ she scoffed, ‘just funny teeth.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘His front teeth were missing.’

  She brought her finger up till it was right in the middle of the top row of her front teeth and pressed it against them, ‘Just there. He had a gap where his teeth should have been and it was just there.’

  38

  I could tell Kevin Kinane was pleased I’d sent for him. He looked relaxed when he walked into the Cauldron with his father. He’d done a good job investigating the death of Gemma Carlton; I’d already told him that, and he was expecting the reward that was coming to him.

  ‘Did you ever do any history at school, Kevin?’ I asked him, when he was seated opposite me with a drink in his hand. His father was to one side of him, nursing a good whisky while we talked. I made sure Palmer was in the room with us.

  ‘I didn’t do much school at all, if I’m honest,’ and he smiled self-consciously at that.

  ‘He was always out on the rob or twocking cars with his mates,’ said Joe Kinane.

  ‘I’ve read a bit of history,’ I continued, ‘there was a king once who fell out with his archbishop, who happened to be an old friend of his but, in a rage, he demanded of his courtiers “Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?” Two knights got the wrong idea about that so they went round to see this archbishop and they cut him to pieces, thinking they were doing the king’s bidding. Of course when the king found out he was devastated. He couldn’t believe that a casual remark had led to a man’s death. Worse than that, everybody thought he’d ordered the killing, so his reputation was destroyed in an instant. It didn’t matter what he said or did, everybody just assumed he was a murdering bastard.’

  ‘Tough break,’ acknowledged Kevin Kinane and he sipped his whisky a little too casually.

  ‘It was,’ I said and I stayed silent for a while to see what he would do. When he said nothing in reply I asked, ‘Is that what you did Kevin, heard me say something about what a pain in the arse Carlton was, then went away and thought how can I really fuck up this copper’s mind and throw him off the scent, without actually killing him? I know, I’ll murder his daughter.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ d
emanded Joe Kinane.

  There hadn’t been a reaction from Kevin at all, not even a glimmer, so I continued, ‘A senior policeman once told me that he didn’t like my organisation but he couldn’t believe I was stupid enough or so far beyond redemption that I would arrange to have a young girl murdered to further my own ends. You are though Kevin, aren’t you?’

  ‘What did you just say?’ asked Joe Kinane sharply and he was leaning forwards in his seat now like he was about to launch himself at me. I could sense Palmer tensing in readiness.

  ‘It was him Joe, your son. He killed Gemma Carlton. Your eldest here heard me ranting about DI Carlton getting in our way. There I was, wishing this annoying copper would just pack up and fuck off out of it, because his obsession with bringing me down was getting to me, so he decided to solve the problem, though he had a funny way of doing it. I can understand your shock Joe, but Kevin has to account for it.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ Kinane told me, ‘you’ve got this all wrong…’

  ‘Kevin hangs out at Cachet all the time, meets loads of girls there, always chatting to them, so who’s gonna remember one more, eh? And the CCTV doesn’t cover the VIP bar, only the lift, so he could meet anyone he liked up there. One day he hears about Gemma Carlton. Maybe she’d mentioned to someone that her dad was a copper so Kevin took an interest, then he realised who she was. He figured getting rid of her would knock the stuffing out of her old man, and he was right about that. So he got to know her, just a little bit, enough to slip her a VIP pass on the QT and give her a lift home. He was seen doing that. Did you get her to introduce herself to Golden Boots too Kevin, or just encourage Louise to do that for you? I reckon so. She was his type wasn’t she; young, pretty and a bit naïve, the way he likes them. When he shagged her you had the perfect patsy; a suspect that surprised nobody.’

  ‘I’m warning you,’ Joe Kinane told me and he got to his feet. Palmer took a step towards him and they eyed each other.

  ‘Hear me out Joe, you’d be wise to. We’ve been looking for the driver, the one who took Gemma Carlton from that party out into the woods but I found him. I’ve had Kevin looking for the guy and it was him all along. That’s why he volunteered to work with Sharp to hunt for the killer. It was him and he didn’t even take her to the party. He didn’t have to. Kevin arranged to pick her up at her student house, drove her somewhere and killed her in the car. That’s why nobody really remembers her being there. Not because they were all off their tits on drugs but because she really wasn’t there. Kevin told everyone she’d been seen there that night but she couldn’t have been. She was already dead.’

  ‘You’re out of your fucking mind,’ Joe Kinane told me. He looked at his son, but Kevin was saying nowt. Instead he was listening intently so he could learn what I had against him before he tried to deny it.

  ‘Kevin stuck her body in the boot of a car he’d lifted from Golden Boots’ place, leaving traces of her hair and fibres from her clothes all over it. His too, probably, but then nobody was looking for him and he could just say he’d driven it before, loads of people had. The important thing was leaving traces of Gemma for the police to find, so they could build a case against Golden Boots.

  ‘Kevin drove her out to the woods and dumped her body. It looked like someone had panicked and ditched her there but Kevin wanted her to be found. The bit he thought was really clever was taking her phone and handbag and planting them at Golden Boots’ house later. That, and the DNA in the boot of the car, is doing the work of the Prosecution for them.

  ‘Gemma’s dad was out of the picture and we had a fall guy he knew the police would love to put away. Trouble was, DI Carlton immediately thought it was me who’d killed his daughter. You see he thought she was a blushing virgin, tucked up in bed at night with her school books and a hot-water bottle for company. He knew nowt about Golden Boots and his parties, so obviously he thought I was responsible for her death and he was right, wasn’t he Kevin? I was, indirectly.’

  ‘Why are you saying all this?’ Joe Kinane’s tone had changed to one of pleading. It was hard to tell what was upsetting him more, me talking or his son staying silent.

  ‘Because we have a witness, Joe. More than one, in fact. A girl in Gemma’s street, for one, who saw the man who took Gemma Carlton away in a car that night. He’s a distinctive-looking lad, your Kevin. Not a face you’d easily forget,’ then I looked Kevin right in the eye, ‘you should have had your teeth fixed Kevin. If you’d done that I might never have known.’

  Kevin Kinane looked sick. I’d deliberately worded the bit about the witness so he wouldn’t know who it was or how many people had seen him that night. I didn’t want him charging down to Theresa’s house and trying to shut her up. The way I’d told it, he was screwed.

  Eventually I said, ‘Your dad is waiting for you to deny it, Kevin, but I know that you won’t. I just want to know why. What the fuck got into your stupid, sick head that made you think killing a copper’s daughter was a good idea?’

  Kevin Kinane stared back at me, then he turned to his father. Joe Kinane looked as if he was finally really seeing his son for the first time.

  ‘It isn’t true,’ said Joe, ‘tell him it isn’t true Kevin, please. Tell me and him that he’s got it wrong. No son of mine could…’ and his words tailed away.

  ‘We killed a girl before, remember?’ Kevin told his dad. ‘She was innocent too, or have you forgotten about her?’

  ‘Jesus, that wasn’t… that was an accident,’ Joe Kinane protested, ‘and no, I have not forgotten about her. I think about her every day. Not a single night goes by when I don’t wish I could turn the clock back and find a way to see off Braddock that doesn’t involve killing that poor lass. All this time it’s been eating me up inside,’ and I believed him, ‘And you? What do you do? You don’t lie awake at night thinking about her. You go off and do something far worse. How the hell could you do this Kevin? How can you live with it?’

  Kevin Kinane wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer that one.

  ‘You once told me that when we finally found the lowlife who’d killed this young girl we should kill him,’ I reminded Joe, ‘you told me that was what he deserved. I said no, that we needed to hand him over to the police to clear my name and when he got a life sentence that would be justice of sorts. Well, now you know it’s Kevin, so what are you going to do, kill him or send him down for life? You tell me Joe, because I have run out of answers.’

  I had never seen Joe Kinane knocked down by anyone before but those words, and the knowledge that came with them, floored the big man. He took a step backwards and his legs seemed to give way, as he dropped back onto the couch, brought his huge hands up to his face and buried his head in them.

  39

  It took the jury eleven hours to reach its verdict. It was a big day for the Premier League. They finally had their first convicted murderer.

  Afterwards the Press had a field day, going into moral overdrive, reminding us that Golden Boots was a beast of our own making, while conveniently forgetting their role in the feeding of that monstrous ego. It was our misplaced adulation, our distorted sense of the importance of celebrity that had really killed Gemma Carlton, or so they told us. By indulging Golden Boots throughout the whole of his pampered life, by never saying no to him, always finding excuses for his behaviour, giving him more second, third and final chances, than any human being should reasonably be allowed, we were all of us complicit in her death. They told us it was only ever going to be a matter of time before a footballer had such an overblown sense of the importance of his own life that he thought nothing of robbing a young girl of hers.

  Of course, like much of what passes for journalism in this day and age, it was bollocks. Golden Boots didn’t kill Gemma Carlton at all. I knew that, but I wouldn’t have been able to save his worthless hide even if I’d wanted to.

  He wept in the dock when he heard the verdict. The next day he was sentenced and he sobbed again, as if getting life, the only permis
sible sentence for murder, was a surprise. Perhaps even now, at the very end, he still believed there was one rule for him and another for the rest of us mere mortals.

  The judge was particularly critical of his complete lack of remorse and failure to admit guilt, even when the evidence against him was overwhelming, further compounding the misery of Gemma’s family by putting them through the agony of a trial. His final words were reserved for the sickening manner in which he had blackened the good name of a policeman’s daughter by indicating she had been a promiscuous drug-user. The judge hinted that this alone might be enough to deny him his first shot at parole and, since Golden Boots would be at least forty by the time he was released, his football career was effectively over. The club wasted no time in cancelling his contract, so they could stop paying out any more of his eye-watering wages. A civil suit from Gemma’s parents was expected to wipe out the rest of what remained of his fortune

  After sentencing, Golden Boots was sent down and placed in a holding cell. He was told someone would be along soon to offer him a sedative, to alleviate some of the shock he was feeling. I’m reliably informed he sat there, intermittently weeping and staring off into space. When the sedative finally arrived it came with a message from the officer who delivered it.

  ‘A little tip when you are on the inside, Mister Billy Big Bollocks; there’s time and there’s hard time. You keep your mouth shut about some of the people you’ve been doing business with and you’ll find you’re less likely to be stabbed in the exercise yard or raped in the showers, you hear me?’ Golden Boots looked up into our tame guard’s eyes in disbelief. ‘If you’re sensible, there’ll be a little protection for you but if you’re not, if you get to thinking you can get a bit shaved off your sentence, by spinning the police a bunch of lies about gangsters you knew on the outside, well, that’s when the really hard time will start. You think you’re tough, but the proper hard men are queuing up to make you their bitch. You got that?’