by Jay Nadal
Karen pushed for an answer. “Well? Did your son and Jack have a fight?”
Diane let out a nervous laugh. “Are you kidding? Why would my Ben and Jack fight? Besides, Ben is no match for Jack.”
“Was there a disagreement or argument when you all returned from the restaurant?”
Diane shook her head. She wrung her hands faster.
Karen didn’t let up.
“Because, when our forensic officers were examining the house, they found dozens of glass fragments in the other room.”
Diane shrugged. “Maybe Jack dropped a glass at some point, and the shards were missed when cleaning up.”
“Right…” Karen replied, not satisfied, her patience wearing thinner by the second.
Karen let the silence simmer for a few moments, knowing it would ratchet up Diane’s anxiety. Karen wanted to stretch the boundaries of plausibility further.
“I’m wondering whether you and Jack were having a barney, Jack threw a glass, and Ben stepped in to protect you. Jack, in turn, attacked Ben. And then Ben later took revenge…?” Karen shrugged a shoulder and pulled her lips down in a mock frown.
“No. No. No. It’s not like that!” Diane screamed.
“What was it like then?” Karen pushed.
Diane bit her bottom lip and curled one fist into the palm of her other hand.
“Jack was angry when Dean turned up. Yes, it got heated. But Dean left before anything happened. And when we got home, Jack headed straight for the bar. I tried to calm him down, but he was going ballistic. He threw his whiskey glass across the room. I didn’t know it at the time, but Ben was standing outside in the hallway listening,” Diane added, nodding towards the hallway.
Karen let her continue without interrupting. She glanced across at Jade, who scratched down some notes.
“Ben came in. He asked Jack to leave me alone. And Jack went mental. After he pushed me out of the way, I stumbled and fell to my knees. And when I looked up, Jack already had Ben pinned to the ground, beating the living daylights out of him. I thought he would kill him. So, I jumped on to Jack’s back and tried to pull him off. He was too strong for me. I scratched his face with my nails. It’s all I could think of doing. Then he turned on me.”
Karen’s mind switched back to the post-mortem and Taylor’s face, before she tapped her own lip, regarding Diane’s fat and swollen lip.
Diane nodded. “After that, Jack stormed out, and I helped take Ben upstairs and put him to bed. That was the last I saw of Jack until the following morning.” She shuddered as the image of Jack’s dead body resurfaced in her mind.
“What’s the history between Dean and Jack?”
Diane lowered her head and stared at the ground.
Karen hissed out an exasperated sigh. “Diane, I will find out one way or another. You can make it easy for me or hard. But either way I will find out. So, stop pissing about.”
“I don’t know.”
“Diane, I need you to understand that withholding any information that impedes our investigation is a criminal offence. Not wishing to add further difficulties to what you are already going through, if there’s anything you know, then it would be in your best interests to tell me…”
Jade and Karen stared at Diane.
She could feel the heat from their stares, but Diane continued to hold her silence.
“We visited Dean Macholl.” Karen waited a few seconds and noticed a flicker in Diane’s eyelids. “Macholl holds a torch for you, doesn’t he? He said you two had a history, and that you chose Jack over him when Dean asked you to make a choice.”
The woman shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. We were knocking around together. I think he was more serious about us than I was.”
“Have you spoken to Dean Macholl since his release?”
“No.”
“In the days before he was killed, were there any incidents, or threats to Jack’s life?”
“No… not that I was aware of or saw.”
“Okay, Diane. That’s it for the moment. Thank you for your time.”
“This is getting thicker than a pea and potato soup.”
Karen looked across as Jade drove off and smiled. “You come out with the weirdest shit sometimes.”
Jade continued to stare at traffic, her mouth wide in a pretend shock. “What…? Look at what we’ve got. We’ve got an ex-lover back on the scene, and a girlfriend and her son on the end of domestic violence. That’s two powerful motives.”
Karen agreed as she looked out of her side window. But something troubled her. Neither Macholl nor Diane behaved like murderers, but then how did murderers behave?
17
Skelton tipped his head back into the pillow and drew in a large lungful from his cigarette. He stared at the ceiling, and locked his jaw several times, whilst breathing out, and watched the round circles of cigarette smoke rise above him. Each ring broke up the higher it rose, disappearing into emptiness. There was something trance-inducing and mesmerising about them. It reminded him of the old cowboy and Indian films, where the Red Indians would use a blanket above the campfire to send smoke signals up into the sky. He smiled as he recollected the movies from his childhood.
The soft down pillows cushioned his head, and the cool silk sheets swathed his body as he relaxed after spending the last hour in bed. He had sneaked away from the office, needing to see her as much as she needed to see him. His body was warm and sticky, but it felt good to have been in Sally’s company. Sex was always good with her. She was a passionate, domineering, demanding and strong woman in bed. She knew what she liked, and he loved that about her. He hated having to initiate sex. There was never that concern when it came to Sally, because she liked to lead. She was vocal and rough. In a way, they used each other. Neither wanted commitment, but both had their needs, urges and desires.
Sally lay beside him, scanning through messages on her two phones, oblivious to Skelton’s presence.
“Sal, I need more credit. I’m due to be paid soon, so I can pay some of it back.”
Sally tutted. “I hope you’re not annoying the boys. Don’t tell me… Steve and Terry knocked you back.”
Skelton took another drag. “Yeah. But I thought you could have a word with them.”
Sally didn’t bother turning to look at him, choosing instead to continue browsing through her phone. “Well, there’s your answer then. If they said no, then there’s nothing I can do about it. They control the dens. Their rules.”
“Yes,” he spat. “But I thought you could put in a good word for me. Besides, we’re…”
“We are what exactly? Lovers? In your dreams. This suits both of us. How much do you owe them?”
“Too much.”
“That’s not my problem, Pat. You’ve got yourself into this shit; you’re big enough to get yourself out. You have a purpose, both in the bedroom and out of the bedroom. Don’t ruin it. My brothers might work for me, but if you cross them, I won’t be able to save you. This is a business, not a charity.”
Sally threw back her sheet and stepped out of the bed. Her feet sunk into the thick, deep pile cream carpet in the spare bedroom. Even though Skelton visited her once or twice a week, she never took him to her own bed. He wasn’t good enough to grace that. Instead, he was relegated to one of the spare bedrooms.
Skelton watched her pad across the floor. He lusted over her naked body as his eyes travelled up and down her form, before they settled on her firm breasts. A perfect 32C of silicone gel. She looked great for fifty-four. Sally was tall, around five foot eight, with a slim figure. She kept herself in shape, never overindulging in anything, and had never seen the inside of a gym even though a fully equipped one was downstairs at her disposal.
Despite having just had her, he wanted her again, and his groin twitched in response. She had short, blonde hair cut just beneath her ears, and unique, dark green eyes that were as enchanting as sparkling emeralds. Her severe features matched her equally severe personality. A sharp nose
and high cheekbones, and a strong bold voice that exuded authority, command and aggression. God, he admired her, and desired her more than any other woman. Whether it was her looks, or her presence and power, he wasn’t sure, but suspected it was a powerful cocktail of both. She appeared untouchable and in control, traits he didn’t possess.
She lit her own cigarette, and stood at the end of the bed with one hand on her hip, staring down her nose at Skelton. Her silk gown lay on the floor, and she appeared in no hurry to put it on.
“I’ve got a small shipment coming in. I need you to make sure that the coast is clear. It will be somewhere near the Wilson Industrial Estate. Do what you need to do. There’s a package for you downstairs.”
“Does it give me more credit?” he asked.
Sally blew out a long plume of smoke and stared at Skelton’s naked top half. “No. It just stops you ending up in the Regent’s Canal with a few breeze blocks tied to your ankles. You don’t want to join a few others who’ve pissed us off in the past, do you?”
Skelton smiled, desperate to display an air of confidence. But inside, his stomach twisted in knots, and fear spread through him like an icy chill on a winter’s day. He was on borrowed time, and he knew it.
Sally stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray beside her. She leaned into him and kissed him hungrily, whilst one hand travelled down to his cock. She stroked his member, getting him firm, before she tightened her hand around his balls, and squeezed hard.
Skelton flinched and gasped.
“See yourself out. You’ve got five minutes,” she stated, coldness lacing her tone. Sally rolled off the bed and headed towards the bedroom door. She left the room without glancing backwards, heading towards her own bedroom.
Skelton heard her door close. He stared at the ceiling and blew out his cheeks. He pulled his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, before looking around the bedroom. The room held an opulent feel. A tall bed, with a deep mattress, expensive sheets, and tasteful prints that caught the light from the small chandelier that took centre stage of the ceiling. He wondered how he had ended up like this at fifty-eight years old. He should have been retired by now, but he’d left a trail of destruction in his wake. Crimes had gone unsolved or overlooked, official stats had been manipulated, evidence had mysteriously disappeared, and he had turned a blind eye to criminal activity.
And for what?
After dressing, he made his way on to the landing, pausing for a moment to look at Sally’s bedroom door. He pictured her inside, only a few steps away. But it could have been a mile. An eerie silence hovered over the house, as if it were uninhabited. As he descended the stairs, he noted that the ground floor was equally as impressive as the first. Expensive marble flooring and ornate fireplaces sourced in Italy, and shipped over, adorned every room. Sally’s kitchen was larger than the ground floor of most semi-detached houses. More expensive prints lined the hallway and the rooms downstairs. Chandeliers hung in every room, and with tall ceilings, every room had a sense of airiness and space.
Walking over to the kitchen table, he found the package. He picked it up and tossed it between his hands. A decent amount, he thought.
He exited through the back door, another condition Sally placed upon him. He had to make his way through the gardens, towards a small concealed exit in the far wall. It took him through a small copse of woods before bringing him out on to the main road. As he stood in the emptiness of a country lane, he wondered if he would ever see an end to this. They had him tied up by the short and curlies. He wanted out, but they wouldn’t let him. The only conceivable way he thought he could be free of the Connells was in a body bag, and that was a distinct possibility. He took one last look over his shoulder and considered that brief moment of pleasure he’d enjoyed, before walking back to his car parked more than half a mile away. Again, another condition Sally imposed upon him.
18
Karen tore bits from her sandwich and nibbled them as she stared at the incident board which took a prominent position at the far end of the floor. She was a visual person and often spent hours staring at the data scribbled on the whiteboard. She wasn’t a big one for holding mass team briefings unless there was something important to share, preferring instead for her officers to add to the board as the investigation proceeded, so news was visible for all to see.
Others on her team had added black-and-white stills of the various people present at the celebration dinner. Since their backgrounds had been checked and their alibis confirmed, a few had been crossed through with a red marker.
She had drawn a red circle around Macholl’s picture and stared at the man’s casual smile. There was something about him that was both mysterious and menacing. She had examined his file and despite his violent background, Macholl appeared to have turned a corner based on prison records requested from the Belgian authorities. Prison officials said he was a quiet, passive prisoner who served his time, and didn’t get involved in any confrontations. Belgian prisons were notorious for violence. They made British prisons seem like a Butlins holiday camp in comparison. Corruption, torture, inadequate healthcare and frequent breaches of human rights were just the tip of the iceberg.
Nothing but circumstantial conjecture linked Macholl to the armed robbery in the UK where a cashier had been shot and injured. Both Macholl and Taylor had been pulled in for questioning following a detailed investigation, but without concrete evidence linking them to the crime, they had been released. There was no DNA evidence, and detailed video analysis which mapped out the key characteristics of the three hooded men, did not tie either man to the crime.
Karen was certain there was something there. From what she had gathered, the two were intrinsically linked up until that robbery. And then something happened which led to Macholl disappearing and resurfacing in Belgium. Karen tapped the tip of the marker on her chin as her eyes darted around the board. She had added images of Diane Murphy, and her son Ben, both before and after the altercation with Taylor.
She now had three suspects.
“Ma’am.”
Karen jumped when she heard Brad come up behind her. She had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t heard him address her until he was inches away from her.
“Jesus, Brad, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Brad dipped his head and glanced at Karen as he rubbed his neck. “Sorry, ma’am,” he replied through a grimace.
“Neck giving you grief?”
He nodded as he massaged the muscles. The injury he carried had led to a C5/C6 vertebrae compression, which often left him with a tension-type neck ache, followed by a migraine.
Karen glanced over her shoulder at his workstation and noticed the absence of an elevated stand for his PC monitor, and a chair with a higher back, both recommended by the occupational therapist.
Brad followed Karen’s eyes and sighed. “I know. I’ve not chased her up yet, I will do. I promise. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
Karen knew outside of work Brad faced his own emotional battles. He was a father of two young boys, but since splitting with his girlfriend, she hadn’t given him an opportunity to see the boys, and always denied him access. Every time he asked to see them, she made excuses like the boys were busy, or they had homework to do, or were not well. If Brad turned up on her doorstep, she refused to answer the door, even though he could see her outline through the glass pane.
Karen took him to one side frequently, because though she had sympathy for his situation, his personal life was affecting his ability to do the job. He would make excuses, or come in late, or leave early so he could track his ex-girlfriend’s whereabouts and accidentally bump into her with the boys. Karen stressed it was bordering on an unhealthy obsession and that his best chance of seeing the kids was by going through the proper legal channels.
Seeing the anguish etched on Brad’s face only confirmed why she didn’t want to take the risk of becoming a mother. She doubted she’d be a good wife, and the prospect of being a single p
arent horrified her. Those beliefs and her own childhood solidified her determination to remain single.
“Forensics have come back on Macholl’s clothing and nail scrapings. I’m afraid it’s a negative. There is no GS residue to suggest that he was in contact with a firearm.”
“Bollocks.”
It was news she didn’t want to hear but it was a long shot. A man of Macholl’s reputation would have destroyed the clothes if he had shot Taylor. And of course, there was the question of the missing firearm. Macholl had been happy for Karen and McQueen to search his small apartment on their visit. He had been more than accommodating and had offered them a cup of tea whilst they searched. Either he was innocent or a bloody good actor.
Karen walked with Brad back to his desk, deep in thought. “Have you got anything else on Diane and her son Ben?”
Jade overheard the question from her workstation and popped her head above her monitor. “I’ve been looking into that, ma’am. I’ve got two officers doing the legwork for us. Uniform had attended on three separate occasions during the last two years. Ben called once, and Diane called twice. Each time, because Jack was kicking off. No formal charges were made on our part, and Diane didn’t want to press charges. Jack had attacked Ben on two of those occasions, and on the third, he had attacked Diane.”
“And love is blind…” Karen muttered.
“Exactly, ma’am. On one occasion, the officers had to caution Ben for using threatening behaviour and language, which extended to Ben threatening to kill Jack if he laid another finger on his mum.”
The need to have another chat with Diane and Ben loomed on the horizon. But this time, a search warrant was added so they could turn the place over.
Whilst the team busied themselves with the investigation, it afforded Karen an opportunity to process other things that were never far from her mind. She found herself back in the place where nine months ago her whole career had turned upside down. The evening rush hour traffic was dying down as she stood in Agar Grove in Camden. She walked up and down the road a few times before coming to a standstill at the exact spot where the ambush occurred. Her eyes scanned her surroundings before focusing on the ground in front of her. Her mind replayed the images of the growing pool of blood from the critically wounded police officer who lay near her feet. The viscous, red blood had rooted her to the spot.
