by Luca Veste
‘What is it, Tom? I’m busy here with the detective.’
Rossi moved into the line of sight of Tom Davies.
‘Oh, sorry. It’s just I was wondering if you’d seen Richard today?’
Dan sighed, Rossi biting back a smile. She guessed this posturing was for her benefit. ‘No. Sorry. Have you checked if he’s smoking outside. That’s usually where he’s to be found.’
‘Erm, no. I’ll do that now.’ A quick glance at Rossi, his gaze averted as soon as she met his, and Tom shuffled his way out the doorway. His quick footsteps echoed away down the quiet corridor.
‘They make a strange pair those two. Must be forty or fifty years between them, but they’re always discussing something.’ Dan stood up, handing over three weighty books to Rossi. ‘Here we are. This should give you a bit more to go on. Not sure it’ll help much though.’
‘Thanks,’ Rossi said, swiping dust off the top book’s cover. ‘We’ll take what we can at the moment.’
‘Glad to help.’ Dan moved behind his desk, sitting down and leaning back. ‘I think we should go out some time. Dinner maybe?’
Rossi looked up, taking a step forward from the wall. ‘What?’
‘I think we’re a good match. Young still, both professional, both attractive, although you’re far more attractive than myself of course. However, with the job you do, I’m assuming you’re single, yes?’
Rossi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Wondered what the hell to say. ‘I’m not sure this is appropriate. Where has this come from?’
‘Oh, it most certainly isn’t appropriate. But with what happened to Rob, it’s given me a fresh outlook on life. I’ve vowed to take more chances. Shouldn’t we all?’
Rossi met his gaze. It’d been a while since she’d been surprised by anything. ‘I guess we should. Still, this isn’t exactly the best time.’
‘Ah. You’re still suspicious of everyone at the uni. I understand. I’ll tell you what, when this is over, and you’ve caught your man, I’ll be in touch. Sound fair?’
Rossi didn’t reply, still standing with her mouth slightly open. ‘Well. We’ll see.’
‘I guess we will, detective.’
Rossi backed out the room without saying a word. Closed the door behind her, stunned into silence. It’d been a while since she’d been propositioned whilst working, and they usually had fewer teeth and more weight on them.
She turned and walked back into his office without knocking. Dan was still in the same position as before.
‘Listen, just so you know, I’m not that easy. You can’t just demand a date and expect one.’ She raised a hand to cut him off as he began to speak. ‘I’ll be in touch if I decide I want to find out what a bit of posh tastes like.’
She walked out, without waiting for a response. Shook off the encounter, putting her business head back on as she entered the stairwell.
‘Pazzo,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Bloody crazy.’
Murphy waited for Rossi and Dan to walk back towards the psychology building. He stood on the corner where the pub was situated, his thoughts mingling together in his head, like moths in the darkness, searching for light. He thought back to that day. His parents’ house, months earlier. Yet that day was still as fresh in his memory. His thoughts went from that moment to the days before. The phonecalls late at night, the visits to her work. All the signs he’d missed.
He took out his phone, scrolled through to her number. It was the wrong time, his attention shouldn’t be on this. Yet he couldn’t stop himself.
He’d put it off too long.
‘Hello, Sarah, it’s David.’
‘I know. Your number came up. You okay?’
Murphy sighed, the voice on the other end of the phone feeling so familiar, yet so distant. A hazy memory of something that had once been so vivid. ‘I guess. Working on a big case, should really be concentrating on that to be honest.’
‘I saw you on TV. Those reporters are like vultures.’
‘They’re just doing their job, Sarah.’
He heard a huff on the line. ‘I know that. But it doesn’t change anything. How have you been?’
‘You know. Getting on with it.’
‘I’d really like to see you, David.’
Murphy closed his eyes, rubbed at them with his free hand. ‘I know. I think I’m ready to see you too.’
‘Really?’ Sarah replied, her voice barely containing her surprise. ‘What’s changed your mind?’
Murphy walked down the short road, looking around as he spoke. ‘Nothing, Sarah. I’m still not there. But I’m willing to speak, if you are?’
‘Of course I am. I’ve been waiting ever since … ever since that day.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘So do you want to come around here, I could make us something to eat maybe?’
Murphy stopped at an alleyway, glanced down it. ‘That’d be good. Nothing big, don’t go to any trouble.’
‘I won’t. When do you want to do it?’
Murphy heard a noise down the alley and turned towards it.
Someone opening a door and getting into a car.
‘Soon, I’ll check …’
Not a car. A black hackney cab. His eyes immediately went to the licence plate.
‘Shit …’
‘What, David? What’s happening?’
Murphy was stood in the alleyway exit, the cab facing him. The engine came on, and the driver finally looked up at him.
‘I’ve got to go Sarah.’
He ended the call, shoving the phone in his pocket. Began walking towards the cab slowly.
The cab moved forwards, speeding up. Murphy shoved himself to the side of the a wall just as it was about to bear down on him.
He wasn’t going to stop.
Murphy started running.
The man behind the wheel, Murphy recognised him instantly. The office with its boxes of alcohol. The short spiky haired guy in it.
Tom Davies.
40
Wednesday 13th February
2013 – Day Eighteen
Murphy ran, going through his pocket for the car keys, thankful for the fact they’d parked closer to the pub that day than the other times they’d been to the university. He reached the car, just as the cab driven by Tom Davies drove around the corner onto the main road.
Murphy got in the car, switching the engine on as soon as he sat down in the driver’s seat. He reversed out, getting to the corner within seconds and seeing the cab in the distance. He took his phone out again, taking his eyes off the road to dial Rossi’s number.
‘Laura?’ Murphy turned onto the main road heading towards the city centre, the road thankfully quiet as he put his foot down on the accelerator to catch up. ‘I’ve got him.’
‘What do you mean? Who?’ Laura replied, her confusion apparent over the static.
‘The killer. It’s Tom.’
‘What? You’re not making any sense, sir.’
The phone buzzed in his ear, as he reached the bottom of the hill, turning right onto Renshaw Street. He went through a red light, horns blaring from his left as he cut into front of slow-moving traffic. ‘Tom Davies. He’s the killer. I’m in the car, he took off in a black cab, the cab, without me having the chance to do anything.’ Murphy made a sharp left turn into Ranelagh Street, the car ahead moving fast past Liverpool Central train station on the left-hand side.
‘Shit. Are you sure?’
‘Unless he has some other reason to run from us, I’m pretty damn sure.’
‘Okay …’
‘Think about it, Laura. It fits. He works at the uni, he’s intelligent, fit enough to do everything he’s done, single. And he’s currently doing sixty down Ranelagh Street in the fucking hackney that we’ve been trying to find for a week.’
Rossi said something Murphy couldn’t hear. His phone buzzed again, his battery giving up the ghost. ‘Fuck,’ Murphy shouted, his voice echoing around the car. He saw the car in front mo
ving into Paradise Street before turning right onto the A5036, Strand Street at the bottom. He followed, shifting down as he turned the corner. ‘You still there, Laura? He’s going home I think.’
‘Yeah, I’ll call it in, get some cars to take over from you.’
‘Okay. I’m on Strand, just going past the Albert Dock heading towards the Liver Buildings.’
‘Stay on the line, I’m getting security at the uni to phone through to the station.’
Murphy cut across two lanes of traffic, following the car up ahead which seemed to be pulling away. ‘Laura, my shitty battery is dying. He’s pulling off right going towards Bootle. I’ll stay on him. Find out where he lives …’ Three sharp noises in his ear signalled the end of the conversation. He looked quickly at the phone, seeing only a blank screen. He threw the phone down in the passenger seat hard. It bounced into the foot well. He increased his speed, trying to catch up with the increasingly blurred car a few hundred yards ahead.
The road they were on was a straight run up towards the north of the city, the River Mersey running alongside it on the left. Within minutes, they were passing Bootle on the right, Murphy gaining on Tom with every mile they passed. He looked down at the speedometer, pushing a hundred m.p.h, the right hand lane quickly clearing as they sped along.
Murphy began trying to work out where they were heading. The A road led up towards the leafier suburbs of the city, where money was more abundant than in the estates at the other end. Fifteen miles from the city centre lay the town of Formby, where houses regularly changed hands for more than seven figures.
Close proximity to the victims, psychology, experiments. He slammed the steering wheel in frustration. ‘How did we miss it?’
They were heading towards Crosby. The River Mersey still to their left, only yards away. He was only a few car lengths behind, the speed of the cab decreasing. Murphy frowned, what had began as a chase, now almost seemed as if it had turned into a procession. He was being led somewhere.
Murphy checked the clock. They’d been driving for almost ten minutes. He checked the mirrors again, no signs of any pursuing marked cars. He fingers turned white as he gripped the wheel, the thought of what possibly lay ahead making his heart thud against his chest.
Murphy stepped down on the accelerator again, more determined. Within a minute he was pulling alongside the cab, trying to get Tom’s attention, without avail. He was staring straight ahead, giving no notice to the frenetic arm waving Murphy was employing as a tactic.
Tom slowed the cab, the road turning to two lanes, Murphy suddenly on the wrong side of the road. He moved across the lane, finding himself now in front of Tom’s car.
He began to slow, hoping Tom would have to do the same. It was a police pursuit procedure he’d done a few times before, but usually another two cars would be involved, boxing the suspect’s car in. He shifted down into third gear as he slowed down to under forty. Tom was now matching his speed, just behind him. The road was getting busier and they passed a primary school as they headed towards Victoria Park. Murphy had one eye on the mirror, watching for any swift movements. There were numerous roads Tom could turn off into, yet he seemed to be content to follow Murphy. Again, Murphy’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, wondering what he was driving towards.
He was crossing a junction, looking for the road sign just in case. ‘Fir Road.’ A huge pharmacy on the corner.
Murphy looked back in the mirror for the car behind him. Tom Davies sat rigidly upright, his hands in the perfect position on the wheel. When he looked back in front, he had to brake sharply as a motorbike pulled out from the road he’d just passed, cutting across him. He came to a stop, banging the wheel in frustration, and looked up to see the motorbike ride off into the distance.
‘Bastard!’
Murphy looked in the mirror. Tom was gone.
‘What the …’
He turned the car around in the road, horns blaring from two cars in opposite directions which had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting him. He barely registered the noise, turning the car around in the road and pointing it back towards where he’d just driven.
He turned right into Fir Road, on instinct, thinking there wasn’t enough time for Tom to have gone any other way.
The road was thinner here, terraced houses replacing the fast moving A roads he’d been travelling on for the last ten minutes.
Murphy saw the cab in the distance, under a hundred yards away. He shifted gear and accelerated to catch up. The cab turned right, and Murphy followed closely behind. Cars were parked on either side of the street. The cab slowed and turned into a driveway.
By the time Murphy reached the cab, it was in an open garage, the driver’s door still ajar. He strained forward, attempting to see any sign of its missing occupant, but couldn’t see anything around. He put his key back in the ignition, clicked it forward, and lowered the window. Once it was halfway down, he stopped, listening for any sounds, removing his seatbelt softly.
He reached down into the foot well and retrieved his phone. He pressed the power button on the side. ‘Please, just a little more.’ He wanted just enough time to send one text message, the quickest way to communicate where he was to others. The screen loaded up slowly, and a couple of button clicks later he was typing out a message to Laura.
Fir Rd, Crsby.
Murphy clicked send, and hoped the battery would last long enough for it to go through. ‘Shit.’
The screen went blank before he knew if it had gone through or not.
He sat back in the seat, running his fingers through his hair and down his face. The image of the young woman, missing for almost a year, came to the forefront of his mind. Pain shot across his forehead, the cusp of something worse on the horizon.
‘Two choices,’ Murphy said aloud, his voice wavering in the quiet of his car. ‘Either you stay here and hope that message went through. You’ll be relatively safe, but he could be killing her now and escaping out the back.’
He breathed deeply.
‘Or, you try and stop whatever he’s doing in there.’
Murphy took in a deep lungful of air. Closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, then opened them, retrieving his baton from down the side of his seat.
Opened the car door and stepped out.
41
Wednesday 13th February
2013 – Day Eighteen
Murphy approached the house, waiting for the door to open, and for Tom to burst out and jump him.
He reached the door, noticing it was open a crack as he got there. He nudged it wider with his foot, before stepping back. He couldn’t see in properly; not enough light entering from the outside. He paused for a few moments, his back against the wall.
The only sound Murphy could hear was his own breathing. He tried to control it, holding his breath in, letting it out in one long silent exhale. His hand clasped the baton, extended to its full length. He willed himself to move, to think about the young woman who he was sure was in danger at the moment, but all six foot four inches and sixteen stone of him felt paralysed.
‘Come on … come on.’ His whisper broke the silence. His legs started to work and he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Within four steps he was at the threshold. He stopped for a second, before sidling around the doorframe into the house.
He held the baton upright to his side, ready to bring it down with force at the slightest movement. He shuffled forward, keeping each foot firmly planted. The house was deathly silent, dust motes hanging in the air as what little sunlight there was shone through the uncovered window to the side of the room.
There was a staircase in front of him. A door to his right. He nudged it open with his foot.
‘Police.’
His voice sounded different as it echoed back in the darkened room. He shuffled forwards, his back against the wall as the door remained open to his other side. He held the baton up, ready.
‘Tom?’
The air changed
to his left, the open doorway empty. Senses on fire, Murphy’s eyes flitted back and forth as he walked into the room, his footsteps soft on the carpet. He scanned the room, looking for anything out of place, where someone could be hiding. Flowery paper on the walls, sparsely furnished, a small two-seater couch pointed towards a flatscreen TV.
Movement behind him, Murphy turned quickly, just as Tom swung something towards his head.
Too busy looking at the wallpaper. Idiot.
Muphy tried to block with his left arm, already swinging the baton with his right, when pain exploded in his arm.
A crowbar smashed into his arm, all of Tom’s force behind it. His own baton missed by some margin. Murphy went to one knee, shifted to his right in anticipation of another strike, and tried to swing again. He aimed for the legs, but Tom side stepped and moved forward as Murphy went momentarily to the floor.
Tom was still standing, and as Murphy looked up, he saw him draw the crowbar up over his head, holding it with both hands. Murphy moved at the last second, getting up from the floor as he did so, the crowbar whistling past his right ear. Tom followed the crowbar, his torso exposed. Murphy didn’t pause, throwing a right hook he’d learned twenty years previously in a boxing gym into Tom’s side, hoping to bust a rib or three.
Tom buckled from the punch. Went to one knee, and stopped breathing. Murphy had done exactly as he’d intended, knocking the wind completely out of him. The crowbar dropped behind Murphy’s head, and he pressed home the advantage.
Murphy stood, moving towards the crowbar, placing a foot over it. Tom was clutching his stomach.
Tom wasn’t in range for a punch this time. Murphy settled for an old fashioned, face to the floor, arms up his back, kneeling with all his significant weight on Tom.
It all happened within a minute, Murphy surprised to find himself breathing at a normal enough rhythm. Wasn’t as out of shape as he’d believed.
‘You’re screwed Tom. We’ve got you.’
‘He’s under control.’ An officer in heavy uniform poked his head around the door to Murphy’s right, giving him the nod.
