by Luca Veste
‘Let’s not go too far,’ Murphy said, reaching out and laying a hand on her shoulder; he took it away after a few seconds, knowing that would be enough. ‘We have no real idea if he’s involved in anything yet. You’re jumping to conclusions.’
‘It’s the revenge theory,’ Rossi said, turning towards him and meeting his gaze. ‘He knows the girl. He’s been either working with, or is involved with, this Hazel. They’ve been working on getting them all back.’
‘Are you listening to what you’re suggesting here, Laura?’
‘It’s the only thing that makes sense,’ Rossi said, settling back into her seat. ‘Think about it. The girl is raped, years ago, but no one believes her. Except one person. My brother. He knows these men, and what they’re capable of. Over the years, her anger grows. She rents this house, next door to one of the men, probably because she wanted to see what he was like. Rather than just following him around and that, she wanted to be close to him.’
‘This is a huge leap . . .’
‘My brother gets involved, but maybe he’s trying to help her. He’s there at Sam Byrne’s house to help her, maybe. I don’t know.’
‘You think your brother killed these men? Or that he had something to do with their deaths?’
Rossi became smaller in the seat, Murphy watching as the words she was thinking turned over in her mind.
‘I don’t know,’ Rossi said, then threw her hand up to her mouth as if she was surprised by what she’d said. ‘I can’t believe I don’t know.’
‘I’m sure he hasn’t got anything to . . .’
‘How do you know that? The things we’ve seen over the years, how can we be sure of anything ever again? It’s entirely possible that my brother has got involved in something that he has no control over. It happens.’
Murphy couldn’t argue with her. It was true – the events of the past few years, his entire career, in fact, had shown him that anything was possible.
He hoped it wasn’t true. That it was just another coincidence in a complete series of them.
That Rossi’s brother wasn’t the man they were looking for. That he wasn’t a killer.
Thirty-two
It was almost ten p.m. by the time Murphy pulled his car to a stop outside his house. The drive was out of bounds, due to Sarah’s car being parked there. At first, he thought that one of the neighbours had taken his usual spot directly outside the house, but then he recognised the car as belonging to Jess.
‘I’m home,’ Murphy said, entering the house and throwing his keys on the side. The hook seemed too far away and too much effort to use. He slipped his coat off and then did the same with his shoes. His tie had been loosened as soon as he’d got in his car earlier on. It came off entirely now, joining his coat on the banister.
‘Do you have to park right outside?’ he said, moving into the living room. ‘It’s not like you’re staying overnight, and I’m not going to be arsed to move mine once you leave.’
‘You lazy git,’ Jess replied, moving to sit on the sofa next to Sarah. She had been sitting in his chair, but moved out of it as soon as he’d walked in the living room. That had been at least one battle he’d won. ‘It’s not like you have to walk that much further. You could do with the exercise anyway.’
Murphy patted his stomach, lowering himself into the chair. He started to relax, then sprang up and made his way over to Sarah. ‘Hello, wife,’ he said, bending over and planting a kiss on her forehead. He made his way back to his chair. ‘Almost forgot.’
‘What’s the latest?’ Sarah said, refilling her glass with the remnants of a bottle of white wine. ‘Needed something to take the edge off the first week of uni,’ she added, pointing to the empty bottle.
‘Don’t look at me,’ Jess said, countering Murphy’s raised eyebrow towards her. ‘I had half a glass, if that. Don’t be getting me into trouble for driving home.’
‘Didn’t say a word,’ Murphy said, grinning towards them both. ‘You’ll be fine, Sarah. I know you’ll smash it. Probably know more than the lecturers by the end of the first semester.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, but thank you. I’m going over to campus tomorrow afternoon. Have a proper look around, get my bearings and that. Visit the library and pick up my cards and stuff.’
‘Have a coffee in the Old Vic,’ Jess said, checking her phone and then placing it on the arm of the sofa. ‘There’s a great cafe, next to the art gallery bit. They do a fantastic carrot cake. At least, they did last time I was there.’
‘Sounds good,’ Sarah replied, nodding at Jess. She turned back to Murphy. ‘Spill the latest.’
‘The latest is shit,’ Murphy said, stretching his legs out in front of him. ‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Another body this morning, right?’ Sarah replied, sipping from her glass and then placing it down on the coffee table.
‘Yeah, it’s linked to the same case. Honestly, you don’t want to know.’
‘Try us,’ Jess said, leaning forwards with her elbows on her knees. ‘Could do with something intriguing to figure out.’
‘It’s difficult, Jess,’ Murphy started, then thought about what to add to that sentence. ‘That guy you defended recently – no body, but a murder charge?’
‘I’m still pissed off about losing that one. That didn’t go down well, I’ll tell you. Should have been much easier than it was. Not that I was that annoyed about him being sent down. He was a smarmy get. Just don’t like losing.’
‘His name was Tim Johnson, wasn’t it?’
Sarah looked towards Jess and then back at Murphy. ‘Why do I feel like we’re about to be given an aha moment.’
‘What, the band?’
‘No, like he’s about to sweep the table cloth off and leave the plates still standing on the table.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Sarah giggled to herself, then winked at Murphy. ‘He knows.’
He did. It was something she was always teasing him about. He never came out and just said something, it was always a production, according to her. No matter how small the discovery, it had to be done in a certain way.
He didn’t think he was that bad.
‘What then?’ Jess said. ‘Have they found the body or something?’
‘No, nothing like that. He’s mixed up in this case in some way.’
‘The dead politician?’ She waited for Murphy to nod before continuing. ‘Any closer to finding out what happened to him?’
‘No idea,’ Murphy replied, scratching at his beard. It would need trimming at some point, but he couldn’t be bothered doing it any time soon. ‘Feels like we’re getting close. He was in some sort of club at university.’
‘The Abercromby Boys Club,’ Sarah said, picking at bobbles on her slipper socks.
‘Yeah, how do you know that?’
‘Fellow mature student, who has been doing an access course at the university for the past year, told me about them. They have a terrible reputation and an excellent one all at the same time, apparently. Not our kind of people.’
‘You’re right there. That Tim Johnson was a founding member of it, along with a few others. That guy found this morning was in it as well. Along with a couple of others who are no longer with us. Could be something happening to them all.’
‘Really?’ Jess said, eyes widening in surprise. ‘So, if someone is knocking them all off, why is Tim still alive?’
‘Got me. Could be that he killed that girl before anyone had the chance to kill him. Bit more difficult to murder someone if they’re behind bars.’
‘Difficult, but not impossible. Have you got the others under protection orders? I think it’s only right that Tim is given some sort of heads-up and taken out of general, or something.’
‘All in hand,’ Murphy said, covering his mouth as he yawned. ‘He’ll be fine. What do you know about him? Do you think he really killed that girl?’
‘Evidence was pretty strong, even without the body. Fore
nsics really did us in on that one. Hard to argue against all that blood and the DNA in his home. Also the witness statements from neighbours about arguments and other things. Didn’t help that he had that whole story about a missing daughter who didn’t exist. Tried to get him to drop that one, but it was no use. He was absolutely convinced she was out there. How do you deal with that?’
‘Bizarre. We met with him and he’s still talking about her.’
‘You met him?’ Jess said, settling back into the sofa. ‘How’s he getting on?’
‘Not good from what I can tell. I assume he’s appealing?’
‘Yeah. I’m done with it, though. If I can’t win it first time around, there’s little chance I can do anything differently. I thought about it, because there’s money there for the firm, but I just can’t see the verdict changing. There’s too much against him. Although, I don’t think he did it.’
‘Why do you say that?’
Jess sighed, choosing her words carefully. ‘I have to imagine every one of my clients is not guilty of what they are accused of. That’s just the way I work. If I think they’re guilty, chances are the jury will as well. Sometimes, I know I’m kidding myself, but there you have it. In this case, it should have been like that, but I just got a feeling. I’ve sat across from murderers, rapists, child abusers . . . you name it. I know, deep down, when they’re guilty. Tim Johnson didn’t give me that feeling. I think he’d cracked a little – the whole thing with the little girl was just bizarre – but I didn’t think he was a killer. He just didn’t give me that feeling.’
‘What’s the explanation then?’
‘Well, I think you know,’ Jess replied, looking him straight in the eye. ‘If someone wants to get back at this club or whatever, what’s the best way of taking someone’s life without actually killing them?’
Murphy pursed his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth and grimaced. ‘Send them to prison for a crime they haven’t committed.’
‘Exactly. I can’t think of much worse than sitting in a cell for something I hadn’t done. Doesn’t get much more helpless than that.’
Murphy continued to think about that long after Jess had left later that night. He lay in the darkness, his eyes growing accustomed to the lack of light permeating the room. He stared at the ceiling, able to make out the patterns there, the swirls having more of an effect in the dark.
He glanced across at the alarm clock, mentally working out how long he would sleep for if he dropped off right that second. It wasn’t much, but at least it was enough to get him through the next day.
Instead, he kept staring at the ceiling. There was something keeping him awake, playing around his mind every time he closed his eyes.
Something Jess had said, just before she left that night.
‘There was one witness, who seemed too glad to see him in the dock. Happy for some reason. I didn’t really understand it, but there was almost glee in her eyes, every time she looked at him.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Some neighbour. Think the one who lived next door. She was the closest neighbour, as she shared a wall with him. She reckoned she’d heard all kinds of stuff. Managed to get most of it struck off, but the jury still took it in. Doesn’t matter if an objection is sustained – it still resonates. She was more than happy being there.’
He imagined Hazel sitting in the courtroom, watching Tim being sentenced for a murder he wasn’t guilty of. He could picture her, without knowing what she looked like in reality. Could imagine the feeling of justice she would have as she helped take his life away from him, as he had taken hers.
Not just that, he thought, but what if she was somehow involved in the events which led to him being there.
What if she was involved in everything.
It was a mess, Murphy thought. The whole thing. He thought about Rossi and how she had shuffled out of the office without saying anything to the rest of the team. The look she’d had on her face as she was quietly removed from the case. He had taken her into DCI Stephens’s office as soon as they had returned to the station. He’d explained the situation, put his neck on the line.
He hadn’t mentioned the fact she had kept the CCTV images to herself for days. Or that she had told him about the possible link earlier that day. He was protecting her, which he knew she’d be pissed off about. It wouldn’t be the first time they had done that for each other, and probably not the last. He was happy on one level that it was his turn this time.
Murphy turned over and closed his eyes again. Made a list in his head of things that needed to be done.
Fell asleep before he’d completed the list.
* * *
The incident room buzzed with tension as the early morning start caught up with Murphy. He was on his third cup of coffee, thinking about the multitude of trips to the bathroom he would have to take that day if he carried on. His bladder was similarly getting old.
‘Are we really doing this?’
Murphy turned towards DC Harris’s voice, rubbing a hand over his face as he did so. ‘Yeah, we are. We can’t find him, so do you have a better idea?’
‘Not really,’ DC Harris replied, making a face like he was sucking a lemon and couldn’t decide if he liked it. ‘Just feels wrong. What does Laura say about it?’
‘Laura has nothing to do with the case now,’ Murphy said, then held up a hand in apology. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you. Look, this is difficult, I know, but we have to cover our arses big time here. Everything has to be done as it normally would. What would we do usually in this position?’
‘Release his information,’ DC Harris said, after thinking about it for a few seconds. His tone was that of a teenager giving into a parent on a point. ‘Still seems wrong.’
‘Of course it does. That can’t have an effect on what we do, though. Once this is all over, she’ll be back working with us, and she will want to know we did everything we could.’
‘Unless her brother does have something to do with all this and we never see her again.’
Murphy didn’t even want to consider that outcome. It would colour everything about his work. He needed Rossi, more than he’d realised in the past. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when it’s built and in front of us.’
‘What about the girl?’
‘Hazel Jones,’ Murphy said, finding himself saying what Rossi would have done in response. ‘She has a name.’
‘Of course she does,’ DC Harris said, shaking his head a little. ‘What are we supposed to do about her?’
‘Finding out where she is would be a good start. There’s obviously some connection, once we start looking at everything logically.’
‘You know, we could only find one other man from that list so far.’
Murphy swallowed, aware of the overnight update. ‘Simon Jackson. What are we doing for him?’
‘We’ve got uniforms by his workplace, but he’s eager to carry on as normal.’
‘What about Neil Letherby and James Morley? Any idea if they have been found yet?’
DC Harris hesitated, which was never a good sign in Murphy’s experience. ‘James Morley – we’ve left messages with his work and at home. He lives on his own, which is a ball ache. Neil Letherby – we’ve got a little bit on. He has a partner, but she hasn’t seen him since he left for work yesterday morning.’
Murphy bit down on his lower lip. ‘Is that something that happens often?’
There didn’t need to be a response from DC Harris, Murphy knew the answer before it was given. The story was too similar to Matthew Williams’s one. And he was currently decomposing in the morgue.
‘There’s still a chance that he’s out there somewhere and just hasn’t let his partner know. But, no, it’s not normal behaviour, apparently. We’ve been trying to call his phone, but it just goes straight through to voicemail. Overnight team tried him a number of times. All logged.’
‘Put a trace on the last time it was on and pinged off a tower. He lives where?’
‘Somewhere north of here . . . Lancaster, apparently.’
‘And he had no reason to be anywhere near Liverpool yesterday? Tell me you’ve checked that?’
‘We have,’ DC Harris said, moving papers around his desk and finding his notes. ‘No, we checked with his work and he called in saying he would be late. Hasn’t been seen since.’
‘Right,’ Murphy replied, getting that familiar sinking feeling. ‘So, if his mobile is anywhere near this city, that’s when we start worrying. For now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
He was already ahead of himself, though. He was seeing where this was going.
It was going to end soon. He knew that. Mainly because there wouldn’t be any more names on that list to save.
Four dead. One in prison for life. Three left to keep safe.
Thirty-three
The woods were far enough away from the main road leading up towards the northern towns of Formby and Great Altcar to feel like a foreign land. Wide open spaces of farmland, surrounded by thick, dense woodland, with an A road winding its way through it.
Traffic noise was audible, but only if you were trying to hear it. Otherwise, it was peaceful – serene. The odd bird chirping, wind rippling through the trees, the crunch of branches underfoot, as they trampled through to the small clearing ahead. Murphy stopped and stared at the tree that stood in the centre.
‘It’s like an altar,’ DC Kirkham said from beside him. ‘Like it was meant to be here for this purpose.’
Murphy chose not to speak, taking in the scene in front of him.
The browned and blackened burnt wreck of a person took up much of his attention. It hung pitifully from the tree by a chain around its waist, as if it were in the middle of touching its toes before the fire which had destroyed it took hold. The smell of burning flesh still hung in the air, mixed with smoke and petrol. There was a scorched patch of ground a few feet from the tree.
