Brick

by Conrad Jones

  “The wrong someone by the looks of things,” Braddick said gruffly under his breath.

  “The level of violence is way over the top,” she added. “It was systematic and sustained over several hours.”

  “Any defence wounds?” Braddick asked.

  “No,” she shook her head. “They didn’t fight back. They were restrained and beaten.”

  “I agree with you, Kathy.” Braddick said kneeling down to get a better view of the facial injuries. “The level of violence is excessive. They left their belongings in their pockets so that we would identify them quickly and their identity would leak out sooner rather than later. The level of violence and the dumpsite are done for effect, to shock the locals. They ripped off the wrong people...” He shook his head as he analysed the level of destruction inflicted on the bodies, bloated faces deep-purple in colour, congealed blood blocked every orifice; their suffering had been intense and prolonged. Their expressions were twisted in agony and frozen in time, just like Karin’s had been. Onlookers could be under no illusions as to the pain they had endured before death finally took them. It was etched into their faces, just like hers. Her death mask haunted him, drifted to him day and night, the same question on her lips. ‘Where were you?’ Braddick felt Kathy’s eyes on him, waiting for him to finish. He refocused his mind, banishing the memories but knowing they would return soon. He looked at her and rubbed the bristles on his chin, the rubber gloves snagged on them. “Over a dozen emergency calls were made last night about an image posted on Facebook. You’re aware of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you been shown the post?”

  “No, but I’ve seen the picture.”

  “And this is definitely the man in the photo?”

  “Yes. It’s him without a doubt,” she said confidently.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, please carry on.”

  “They’ve been badly beaten and suffered severe burns below the waist. The smell would indicate that an accelerant was poured over their legs and feet and then ignited. To top it all, David Johnson was shot twice, once in each knee.”

  “Before the picture was posted to Facebook,” Braddick said for his own benefit. Ade and Kathy nodded.

  “I would say so,” she agreed. “His injuries are significantly older than the ones inflicted on his brother. Some of his facial injuries have scabbed. I don’t have the cause of death yet but you can take your pick for now; exsanguination is my guess,” she finished with a sad smile. “Posting it online for the family to see was cruel. I believe his mother saw it.”

  “She left several comments before the post was removed. You can only imagine what she’s going through.”

  “They wanted a reaction from someone on his friends list,” Ade said.

  “What exactly did the caption say?” Braddick asked him.

  “One of you has stolen something you shouldn’t have. Give it back or I’m dead.” Ade read from his Blackberry. “There were hundreds of comments posted before Facebook removed the post. I’ve got Google and his team working on recovering whatever they can,” Ade said, referring to one of the team by his nickname. “They’re compiling a list of people who responded, starting with their relatives.”

  “I think he might be a likely candidate for someone who responded,” Kathy said pointing to Mathew Johnson’s body. “His injuries tell me that he arrived at the party late. He may have been prompted to help his brother by the photograph.”

  “He walked into an ambush.”

  “He had no choice. If he saw his brother on Facebook then he would have reacted, no doubt,” Ade agreed.

  “If we find out what the post was about, what exactly was stolen and by whom, we’ll know who to look at,” Braddick agreed. “This happened last night sometime?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Somewhere else obviously,” Braddick thought aloud. “This is the dump site.”

  “Yes. There are tyre tracks leading from the road but we’ll need to check them against any delivery vans from the last twenty-four hours.” Kathy reached for an evidence bag and handed it to the DI. Through the clear plastic he could see a badly burned leather wallet. The owner’s bank cards and driving license were relatively intact. “They live a mile away on the estate behind the shops.”

  “They brought them home to dump them,” Braddick said calmly, “it’s a message for anyone connected to them.” Kathy nodded her agreement. “I think we have enough to get things moving, thanks, Kathy.”

  “No problem.”

  “Here is my direct dial number,” he said handing her a business card. “Could you call me as soon as you have anything more?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks,” Braddick smiled before turning to leave. As he lifted the tent flap, he paused. “Are you working on the murder in the park too? It came in about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Kathy nodded, “It’s literally around the corner. I’ll be a while here yet though. We’ve sent a team to preserve the scene. Once we have finished here, we’ll be over.”

  “Another long day for you I’m sure. It’s not worth taking this off,” he said with a thin smile holding the lapel of his paper suit. Braddick couldn’t wait to get away from the nauseous stench of burnt flesh. “We’ll talk later, thanks again.”

  The detectives left the tent and looked around the alleyway. Braddick took a deep breath through his nose, trying to clear the stink from his nostrils. The CSI team and uniformed officers were running a fingertip search of the bins. Refuse was piled in the doorways, clinging to the bricks and mortar. Fish and chip wrappers, empty Coke tins and discarded betting slips mingled with cardboard boxes and used hypodermic needles.

  “There’re a lot of drugs on the Stockbridge estate, most of it purchased in or around the park,” Ade said as he kicked at a used needle. “I did a two year stint with Matrix. We ran a few ops on that estate. There are three or four main gangs in competition with each other but they’re mostly small time.”

  “Did you ever come across the Johnson family?”

  “Nope but looking at the state of those two, I’m not surprised that I haven’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is rare to see that type of attack on senior hierarchy isn’t it?”

  “I’ve seen a few in my time,” Braddick mused. “Mostly in London though.”

  “But it doesn’t usually happen to anyone high up,” Ade pushed his point. “This is disrespectful. The way they have been dumped, it’s undignified.” He pointed to the bins. “When the big boys come to blows, we never find their bodies. They’re never humiliated like this.”

  “I’m with you so far.” Braddick knew Ade had a good point.

  “This is a punishment beating. They’re low level members or rivals in my opinion.” Ade continued. Braddick suspected he was right and let him carry on. As the new DI, he needed to build a rapport with his new team, especially his DS. “And it’s a message to others. They’re stamping their authority on the estate. Whoever the Johnsons crossed is making it clear that they won’t tolerate any arsing about on their patch.”

  “Agreed,” Braddick said. His time with the NCA had given him an in-depth view of Britain’s organised crime families and their mechanics. Their businesses were worth billions, well managed, brutally disciplined and incredibly influential. The Johnsons were at the wrong end of the scale and suffered the ultimate punishment, minnows devoured by sharks. Braddick took another look around. “Let’s go to the other scene, take a look while we wait to see what Google comes up with.”

  “He’s about as thorough as it gets,” Ade grinned, “he’s a geek but a brilliant one. He’ll build a decent list of people to talk to.” His face was still tanned from a fortnight in the Canaries, his stubble a few days too old. He pointed towards his car. “I’m parked there.”

  “Okay, we’ll wait and see what he comes up with,” Braddick said, stopping next to Ade’s car. “Someone knows what that post was about and the Johnson�
�s friends and family should be queuing up to talk to us.”

  “No one queues up to talk to us, Guv.”

  “I’ll see you at the park,” Braddick waved a hand and headed towards his black Evoque. A gust of wind caught the door as he opened it, threatening to rip it from his hands. He climbed onto the beige leather interior and started the engine. Rubbing his hands together, he blew into them to stimulate his circulation. Slowly, the heater kicked in, chasing the chill away. He flicked on the radio and the group, Passenger was strumming Karin’s song; he hadn’t heard it for days, the haunting melody stayed with him hours after it had finished playing.

  ‘Only know you’ve been high when you’re feeling low. Only miss the road when you’re missing home. Only miss the sun when it starts to snow... Only know you love her when you let her go, and you let her go…’

  The words cut into him like an axe to the heart. He changed channels quickly and tried to put thoughts of her from his mind. It was too soon, too raw, too fucking painful to try to make sense of her death. The truth was that there was no sense to it. As far as the authorities were concerned it remained unexplained, no motive, no suspects. For him, there was no justice, no peace of mind and no grieving process. He turned up the volume as Adele was saying hello from the other side and tried desperately to focus on the now.

  The drive to the park was quick and uneventful. He could see marked police cars and crime scene tape at the northern edge of the park. The park was a green space surrounded by concrete and asphalt; a peaceful airy space with colourful borders and a lake at the centre. The crime scene was a carbuncle on the face of a beauty. It was an ugly scene in a natural oasis. Braddick knew only too well that murder was ugly and he was tiring of looking at it, each encounter sucked some of his soul from him, leaving only a dark vacuum in its place.

  He steered the Range Rover onto a grass verge and formed his first impressions. Four small groups of people were talking with uniformed officers, witnesses, each one worth their weight in gold. Mentally, he sighed with relief. Guessing what had happened to a victim was every detective’s nightmare. Eyewitnesses could help to wrap up a case before the suspect had been processed at the station. He hoped that this would be one of those cases. The public believed every murder was made a priority but in truth, some were more a priority than others. Some murders were brushed under the carpet, unsolved, unwanted, embarrassing crimes that no one wanted to investigate. From the details he had been given, this one would be put to bed quickly. Turning off the engine, he reluctantly opened the door and stepped out into the cold. A uniformed officer spotted him coming and broke away from a group of witnesses. Ade was approaching from the opposite direction, heading straight for the forensic tent.

  “This will be a messy one, Guv,” the sergeant said sternly. It wasn’t what Braddick wanted to hear. He lifted the yellow tape and ducked beneath it.

  “Walk me through what you have so far,” Braddick said with a frown. He always frowned when he was thinking. Karin used to chastise him for it. ‘You’ll end up being a wrinkly old man if you keep frowning...’ her voice echoed in his mind. He wanted to grow old and wrinkly with her. He had wanted the wedding, the kids, the grandkids, the company of his Karin long into their twilight years but someone stole that from him. They had stolen her. He walked to the tent and stepped inside.

  “This is the victim, Anthony Farrell, aged twenty-six from the Childwall area.” The sergeant handed Farrell’s driving license to Ade, who raised his eyebrows in response.

  “Anthony Farrell?” Ade asked thoughtfully. “That could spell trouble.”

  “That’s what I thought,” the uniformed officer shook his head and carried on. “Witnesses say that he chased a youth, Bryn Evans, across the park and attacked him. He leapt over the bench there and brought him down here. Witnesses say that he pinned his arms down with his knees and began punching him in the face and head. Evans is very badly bruised around the eyes, nose and mouth. Farrell pulled a knife, nasty looking weapon,” he pointed to the hunting knife which had been bagged, “at some point Evans’s dog attacked Farrell. Evans got an arm free and struck him with a house brick.”

  “A brick?”

  “Looks like someone built a campfire using bricks and rocks there,” the officer explained. “This park is as busy at night as it is through the daytime. The kids from the estate camp out, play music, smoke drugs, you know the score.” Braddick nodded. “The brick is covered in mud and moss. Evans cracked him across the head with it and killed him instantly. He’s in shock, just sat on that bench until we arrived, poor kid didn’t know what day it is.”

  “How old is Evans?”

  “Fourteen, Guv.”

  “Bloody hell, fourteen?”

  “Do we know him?”

  “No, Guv.”

  “Doesn’t make sense, grown man chasing a kid.”

  “It doesn’t. Any of the witnesses got any idea why Farrell was chasing him?”

  “No, Guv but a couple of witnesses have indicated that he was with a fat man who was on a red mobility scooter,” the sergeant checked his notes. “One said that she saw him leaving the park across the zebra crossing to the south of the park when the altercation turned nasty.”

  “Have we followed that up yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What has Evans said?”

  “He didn’t know who the man was or why he attacked him and that he didn’t mean to kill him. I daren’t press him any further because of his age, Guv. He’s been escorted to the Royal to have a doctor look at him. I think his nose was broken. He seemed like a nice kid, more worried about getting his dog home than being arrested.”

  “Have his parents been informed?”

  “I sent two officers to his home with his dog. They’ll inform them and take them to the hospital.”

  “Good. We need to find this fat man. If he was with Farrell, he’ll know what this was all about. Anything else?” Braddick asked

  “What about the Farrells, Guv?”

  “We’ll arrange for them to be brought in. They’ll need to identify him formally.”

  “That’s what I mean about it being messy. I don’t fancy delivering that message.”

  The lines on Braddick’s forehead deepened, “I don’t follow.”

  “The Farrells from Childwall are a tasty outfit, Guv,” Ade said handing him the driving licence. “Eddie Farrell has been on our radar for a long time, drugs, prostitution, extortion, you name it, he’s involved in it.”

  “Eddie Farrell... Farrell... Farrell...” Braddick nodded and rubbed the bristles on his chin. “Jesus, I know the family. The name didn’t register at first,” he said shaking his head. “They were implicated in the Karpov trial before it collapsed last year.”

  “That’s them,” Ade nodded. “I don’t know if this bloke is related or not but I know Farrell has a couple of sons about his age. I think we had better find out before we go knocking on his door.”

  “Were the sons involved with their father’s business?”

  “Both of them as far as I can remember, Guv. There could be more to this than meets the eye.”

  “Definitely, make some calls and find out.” The sergeant spoke into his radio to chase up the information. “What were you doing over here?” Braddick asked the corpse. “How far is it to Child wall from here?”

  “Twelve miles at least,” Ade shrugged. He twigged what the DI was thinking. “He didn’t come here on a bus did he?” Ade said as he took out his mobile and made a call.

  “No. My guess is his vehicle is parked nearby and if I had to make an educated guess, it will be at the fat man’s house on that estate.” Braddick nodded towards the Evoque. “Let’s have a drive around and see if we can’t find him.” He made towards the vehicle. “When your men have finished taking statements, have them canvass the estate. See if anyone knows who the fat man is and what Farrell was doing in this part of the city.”

  “Yes, Guv.”

  Ade ended his phone
call, “Farrell drives a new Range Rover, silver sports model.”

  “Can you circulate that please, sergeant, I want it found before we notify anyone of his death.”

  “Yes, Guv,” the uniformed officer said, “I’ll get on it immediately.”

  “We’ll take my car,” Braddick said to Ade. They climbed out of their forensic suits and dumped them in the boot. The Evoque rocked as Ade climbed into the passenger seat; his years of playing rugby and drinking lager had piled on slabs of muscle that were covered in an ample layer of fat. “How far does a mobility scooter go on one charge?”

  “How long does a smart phone work?” Ade scoffed. “My old Nokia would last a week but this Blackberry needs charging every day. The witnesses said the man was fat, very fat. That would sap the energy and limit the range. It’s nearby.”

  “That’s what I think,” Braddick nodded and steered the Evoque through the park towards the estate. He spotted the zebra crossing and slowed down. “You know the estate well,” he asked pointing through the window, “is that the only entrance into it?”

  “On this side, yes,” Ade nodded. “It’s essentially rectangular with an entrance on each side. The next entrance is about two miles around the park.” Braddick indicated and turned onto the estate. He had hardly straightened the steering wheel when Ade pointed across the road. “Look there, Guv. The corner house, a red mobility scooter and a silver Range Rover sport model.”

  “I’m guessing that our fat man lives there,” Braddick said, peering through the window. “Let’s go and see what he has to say.”

  3

  Big Paulie stared at the phone. He had punched in the number but couldn’t bring himself to press dial. He didn’t want to have the conversation, not now, not ever. The boss would go ballistic and that was never pretty. Paulie had wanted out for years but they wouldn’t let him go. He offered to sell them the house but they refused. They needed the house and they needed him in it. He glanced at the CCTV screens. The police were all over the park. That would ruin business for the rest of the day and night probably, but that was the least of his problems. He had to find some way of explaining what had just happened but words failed him. Lying had always come naturally to him but not today. He had eaten his way to thirty stones and no one could do that without lying, but his talent had deserted him momentarily. It dawned on him that the longer he waited, the more likely Farrell was to find out that his son was dead from another source. Plucking up the courage to call, he pressed dial.