by Jay Nadal
“Sir, I looked yesterday, but no one knew where you were. They only brought it to my attention this morning that you had called in sick yesterday. And had I known yesterday, I wouldn’t have disturbed you anyway.” Karen tried to sound as sincere as possible, knowing full well that it pissed him off. She had taken the limelight whilst he was away, and he didn’t like that.
“It doesn’t matter whether or not I’m off, you should have kept me in the loop.” The clipped words flew from his tight lips as he threw his pen across the desk. Skelton was in a bad mood. Only moments before Karen had entered, he had received a call from the Connell brothers chasing payment against his tab. He had tried to bluff his way through the conversation, desperate to buy himself some time. Payday was just three days away. If he could keep them at bay until then, he could throw a few hundred pounds their way in the hope it would buy him a slight reprieve.
“Yes, sir,” Karen replied, trying to move the conversation along. She updated the DCI with the salient points, leaving out the things she felt he didn’t need to know. She touched on the circumstances around Taylor’s death, his altercation with Macholl, and the lines of investigation she had followed.
Karen also briefed him about the armed robbery at the convenience store and what was now a case of attempted murder. She talked about it being a similar MO to a previous unsolved case, and how that victim was linked to the Connells.
Skelton held a firm stare, his mind bouncing from one possibility to another as his fingers tapped away on the desk. “I’d be surprised if this case, or the other unsolved case you’re referring to had anything to do with the Connells. I’ve heard nothing that might suggest they were involved recently in armed robberies. I think it’s possibly misguided on your part. I would suggest that you pay more attention to Taylor’s murder, than the bookies.”
“Well, that’s my intention anyway, sir. Taylor was a big name in the criminal underworld. He carried a lot of clout, and my concern is that this could be even bigger than just the murder of Jack Taylor.”
Skelton scratched up his nose. “Bigger? What’s bigger than Jack Taylor on our patch?” he questioned.
“Well, sir, Taylor headed up a large organisation. And we know that he was involved in the supply of drugs. We’ve not been able to find anything that suggests that he was importing the drugs. So, that means it’s highly likely that there had to be a bigger outfit higher up the chain bringing in the stuff. Who do we know on our patch who’s bigger than Taylor?”
Skelton raised a questioning brow.
“The Connells.”
Skelton shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ll support you in whatever you do, but I’d suggest looking lower down the fruit tree. The Connells wouldn’t waste their time with the likes of Taylor. Start on the streets. My guess is that Taylor pissed off a dealer and paid the price.”
“You think?”
Skelton nodded empathically. “Don’t waste our time and resources on the Connells. You’ll end up going around in circles. If they were involved, and I say if, they wouldn’t be so stupid as to have anything that ties back to them. Okay?”
“Understood, sir,” Karen replied as she stood to leave.
“Shut the door on your way out.”
Once the door had closed, Skelton cradled his head in his hands and blew out his cheeks. He stared at the closed door for the next few minutes as his mind raced and his nerves jangled. He grabbed his phone from his jacket and punched the redial button.
15
Molly stared at her mother as a mixture of despair and anger flashed through her. Her mum rarely seemed to move from the sofa. Empty mugs, beer and wine bottles, and silver foil wraps lay discarded around her. Molly recalled her mum being a happy soul many years ago. They never had much money, but they managed to get by. Their clothes were second-hand from the charity shop, food came via donations from the food bank, and her mum occasionally smiled when she was off her face. For as long as she could remember, it had been just her and her mum. She had never known her dad, and her mum had been reluctant to tell her much about him. Being a single parent was nothing new on their estate. At least half the families only had one parent.
It was a run-down estate with social and economic problems. A diverse population of residents only added to the lack of cohesion. Black, Chinese, Bengali, Eastern European, and even the odd scattering of Syrian refugees led to fragmentation rather than integration.
But Molly and her mum got by and had each other. That all changed when her mum met Finch. He ran the A10 gang and intimidated the estate. Finch had come up with the name because they lived close to the A10, and most gangs labelled themselves based on the area they lived in or their postcode. Molly thought the whole gang name thing was pathetic and immature just like Finch. But Finch had seen her mum as a soft touch, and had charmed her with cash, presents and, primarily, attention. Her mum hadn’t had sex in years, and now Molly had to put up with her mum moaning and groaning in the next bedroom, or worse, on the couch because that’s where Finch had decided to have her regardless of whether or not they were alone. He had wormed his way into their family.
And that had been her mum’s downfall.
He had introduced a lonely single mother to drugs. At first, he told her that it was just for fun. But the more she took, the more she relied on it, and the greater the control he had. It got to the point where she would do anything for him. And that turned into being a mule for him. He would send her on small errands with packets of drugs stuffed down the front of her knickers. In return he kept her hooked and compliant.
Molly hated to see her mum so helpless. Since Finch appeared on the scene, the woman was nothing more than skin and bones, with sunken eyes, cracked lips, and dishevelled hair. Molly couldn’t remember the last time her mum had taken a shower. Perhaps four or five days ago?
If Molly didn’t scrape enough coins together to go down to the launderette, none of their clothes got washed. Each week, she gathered essentials that needed washing. She would start with socks, tights and underwear, and if there was enough space, she would do the rest.
Under the thumb of drugs and abuse, her mum had become a feeble person, scared of her own shadow. But that hadn’t always been the case. Finch was to blame. He had manipulated and terrorised her to a point where most days she was a zombie. Molly recalled a time when Finch had grabbed her mum by the throat and pinned her to the wall. His eyes bulged, his breath was hard and furious, and spittle rained down on her mum’s face as Finch screamed at her. Her mum had done nothing wrong; it had been part of the conditioning process. He had threatened her mum saying he would cut off her hands if she grassed on him.
Molly had stood frozen to the spot. She had wanted to step in and pull him away, but that would have infuriated him further. And she was no match for him. She knew about the cash, drugs and guns he hid in her mum’s bedroom. But she would never dare say anything.
Whenever Molly was at home, she carried a deep ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She always worried during Finch’s visits. Recently, he had paid her more attention, and she hated the way he leered at her, his eyes undressing her. He would often shoot her a sinister smile tinged with inappropriate longing, and a desperation in his words when he reminded her, “You’ll be ready for me soon.”
The familiar double toot of a car horn jolted her from her thoughts. She went towards the front of the apartment and peered out through the window to see Harry waving at her through the car window of his red Saab 93. Just the sight of his face lifted her mood and allowed the edges of her mouth to turn up. She had been with Harry for thirteen months, and so far, they’d been the happiest of her short life. He had a way of chasing the bad things away, the misery, anxiety and sadness. He’d promised her that when the time was right, he’d take her away from the crappy Copthorne council estate, and the crime.
Harry knew her deepest, darkest secrets. She’d confided in him about her home life, her mum and Finch. He’d been incensed, threatening to ru
n Finch over, but Molly had begged him not to make her situation worse.
Molly grabbed her bag and made for the front door, not bothering to close it quietly. She doubted her mum would stir as the door slammed in its frame. Her shoulders dropped, and Molly let out a sigh as she stood in the walkway that ran across the front of all the apartments. Waves of relief flowed over her every time she left the apartment. It felt like she was leaving the dark shadows behind and starting afresh. Even though she was surrounded by dirty brown buildings, narrow passageways, and overflowing wheelie bins of rubbish, they melted into the background. Being outdoors represented freedom, and she would much rather be out here than indoors staring at her comatose mum or hiding from Finch and his roving hands.
She bounced down the steps, a sense of excitement growing the further she moved away from the apartment. The prospect of seeing Harry and feeling his warm protective arms around her filled her with joy.
As she reached the last step and turned the corner, a piece of shit shattered that moment of happiness. She collided with the bulky frame of a man, bouncing off his chest, which left her stunned and disorientated. She looked up ready to apologise for walking into him, when her eyes widened in fear, and her breath caught in her throat.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Finch asked, as he fanned his arms out by his sides to block her path.
Lost for words, Molly tried to sidestep him, fear driving her on to put as much distance between herself and Finch.
“I’m meeting Harry downstairs.”
Finch narrowed the gap between them. He took one step forward as Molly took one step back. She moved to her left, and then to her right, Finch matched her move for move. She backed away from him until her back hit a wall. Molly glanced around, desperate to move away, but Finch caged her in.
She could feel his warm, stale breath stroking her face. Molly scrunched her nose as her heart pounded in her chest. Her breathing came shallow and fast, every muscle in her body willing her to run.
“You don’t want Harry. He’s just a boy. He probably hasn’t started shaving. You need a real man,” he insisted as he pressed his body against hers.
Molly closed her eyes and turned her head away, desperate to blot out the image of Finch’s disgusting face.
“I know about the drugs and money!” she screamed. “I know you’ve stolen from Jack because I heard you tell Mum. I won’t say anything. Please just leave me alone.”
Finch grabbed her face, his thumb and fingers pressing into her cheeks as he turned her face towards him. “Do you think that bothers me? He’s dead. Lying somewhere in a fridge with a bullet in his head. I’m free. He’s gone and I’m top dog around here now. I ain’t got no one to be worried about now. Your mum can have all the shit she wants now. Bags of the stuff… for free.”
Molly pleaded and tried to squirm away from him.
He bent down and inhaled as he smelt her hair. His body responded, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He pressed his groin into her. With his other hand, he groped her small firm breasts. His breathing quickened, but for different reasons than Molly. Finch stepped back and looked her up and down, desperate to ruin her for any other man. “They’re getting a right decent size, a proper handful,” he growled as he fixed his stare on her chest.
Finch pulled a wad of notes out of his pocket and thumbed through them.
Molly had seen him do this before in front of her mum. Her mum’s eyes would light up, hoping Finch would spare her a few notes. Cruelly, he would stuff the cash back in his pocket and laugh in her face. Molly hated seeing the light fade from her mum’s face. She wondered if Finch could stoop any lower… probably.
Here he was, teasing her in much the same way.
Finch separated a few tenners from the rest and stepped in towards Molly. She pressed herself further into the wall, wishing it would swallow her whole.
He grabbed Molly by the waistband of her jeans and pulled her into him. She gasped, her eyes fixed in a terrified stare. He thrust the tenners down the front of her jeans.
“You better get used to this; your pussy will earn a lot more than that soon. I reckon we could get thirty quid a fuck. Don’t worry about it. The boys in the crew will break you in one go to start with. Then the punters can have sloppy seconds.”
Finch tipped his head back and roared with laughter.
The bile rose in Molly’s throat, and her stomach lurched before she spun around and vomited. She grabbed the stair rail as her knees buckled and sweat beaded her forehead.
“I’ll enjoy you soon. Don’t worry, all kids your age find it hard to begin with. I’ll be gentle… like fuck I will,” he roared as he walked past her towards the apartment. His guttural laugh echoed around the walkway.
Molly stood frozen to the spot. She willed her legs to move as she wiped away the puke that dripped from her chin. Her body trembled, and her eyelids were pinned back in a wide stare as her mind experienced an electrical storm of confusion and fear. Tears moistened her eyes, but she wiped them away with the back of her hands. She was desperate for Harry not to see her in this state. Molly tipped a few bits of spearmint chewing gum into her mouth and straightened her clothes.
She ran down the remaining flight of stairs and towards Harry’s car. Molly flung the door open and jumped in. She greeted him with a smile and a quick peck on the cheek. “Drive, please drive. Get me away from this shithole!”
“You okay? You look well red in the face?” he asked, a look of concern etched in his features.
Molly nodded, as she glanced out of the window on her side, scared to look at Harry in case she broke down. “Yeah, just drive, babes.”
“Anything for my princess.” He smiled as he turned the car around and sped off through the estate.
16
As Karen and Jade pulled into the curved driveway, Karen found the house just as impressive the second time. A lone police officer stood at the entrance, keeping unwanted visitors at a safe distance, including the press. SOCO had done their investigations and left Diane to herself. A FLO kept her company, being the conduit between the investigating team and Diane.
“Do you think you’ll get more from her, ma’am?”
“That’s the plan. It might come across as insensitive considering her loss, but we also need to keep the pressure on. It’s not your ordinary family, living in suburbia, with two point four kids. There’ll be plenty she’ll know… information we need to know, too.”
Diane answered the door after Karen had rung the bell twice. She offered nothing more than a nod as she stepped to one side to let the officers in. Diane led them to the lounge and deposited herself in an armchair, Karen and Jade trailing after her. Jade stood, casually walking around the room, inspecting prints on the walls and photos above the fireplace.
Diane kept her eyes on Karen, unaware of Jade’s movements in her peripheral vision. The older woman looked tired and stressed. She was dressed in a pair of tight black jeans and designer T-shirt. A lack of make-up, or slap, as Karen often called it, made Diane look older. With her pale and flat skin, the age lines became more prominent. And despite the blandness of her appearance, those excessively high eyebrows still stood out. Karen felt her stare drifting from Diane’s eyes to the woman’s eyebrows.
“Any reason you’re back so soon?” Diane asked, her voice monotone and drawn out. “I have a funeral to plan.”
“We won’t take too long, but I suspect this will be one of many visits we will pay you, considering Jack’s background.”
Diane stiffened, sternness tightening her features. “We’re the victims here. Jack’s been murdered. Is this how you treat all victims’ families?”
“There are a lot more motives for Jack’s murder than the average member of the public. And because of that, it means we have to dig deeper. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the night he was murdered.”
Diane shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t take too much time. I have lots to do.”
“We’ve
spoken to Dean Macholl. He showed us the message on the mobile phone given to him as he left prison. Do you have any idea who might have sent him that message?”
“I haven’t got a clue.”
Karen nodded. “How many people knew about the birthday party, other than those who attended?”
After a few seconds, the penny dropped, and Diane’s face took on an inquisitive look as her brow furrowed. “As far as I know, no one. Only the restaurant staff and the guests knew about it. We wanted to keep it a surprise. So, the fewer that knew, the better. I can’t speak for the others, but I didn’t say anything.”
“We are working through the list of attendees. But was there anyone around the table who had a vested interest in setting up a confrontation so that Macholl and Jack would come to blows?”
“No idea. You’re the detective. You figure it out. Are we done?” Diane asked, as she stood, her awareness now registering that Jade stood a few feet off to her right.
Karen had tried the diplomatic approach, but Diane’s abruptness pissed her off.
“No, we’re not done. Sit down,” Karen replied forcefully. “During the post-mortem, we identified long scratch marks across Jack’s face. From what we can gather, that didn’t happen at the restaurant.”
“Well, perhaps Jack put up a fight just before someone shot him dead.”
“Perhaps.” Karen played along. “When I left here last time, I saw a male figure in one of the upstairs windows. I assume that was your son unless anyone else stays here?” Karen asked, glancing towards the hallway.
Diane shook her head. “No, it was just the three of us.”
“From what I could see, your son had been in quite a violent altercation if his facial injuries are anything to go by. How did he come by those?”
Karen watched Diane’s movements. They were small and subtle, alternating between wrapping her arms around her chest and curling a hand into a ball in her lap. Anxiety. Fear. Upset. Or all three.
