by Conrad Jones
“Brendon Ryder?” Stirling said gruffly. Drinkers and diners at nearby tables stopped whatever they were doing to look at the big man as he approached a table where three suited males were sitting. The table was positioned next to a panoramic window with a view of the giant Liverpool Ferris wheel and the Albert Docks beyond. It was the best table in the house used only by regulars who spent a lot of money and tipped well. His appearance was met with scowling faces.
“Who’s asking?” John Ryder asked casually although he knew the answer already. He could spot a police officer a mile away.
“DS Stirling, Major Investigation Team. It’s your stepson that I need to speak to, about the disappearance of Lacey Taylor.” Stirling ignored John and stared at Ryder junior. The smell of steak, bacon and burgers filled his nostrils and reminded him that he hadn’t eaten for hours. “Might be easier if we go outside. We need him to answer some questions.”
“We?” John asked sarcastically. “You appear to be on your own, which is unusual.”
“Not at all,” Stirling replied calmly. “There are four detectives outside covering the fire exits in case he runs; nothing unusual about that when we’re dealing with scumbags.”
John Ryder made to stand up, his face reddened with anger, but a reassuring hand on the shoulder made him think again. “Are you arresting Brendon?” The third man asked calmly. Stirling didn’t recognise his face but it looked lived in. “Asking him to step outside would indicate to me that you aren’t in a position to make an arrest?”
“Not yet.” he turned to face the greying male. Time had etched deep lines at the corner of his eyes. “And you are?”
“Geoff Ryder,” he smiled thinly. “I’m John’s cousin and I’m also the family solicitor. You’re interrupting our lunch, Sergeant.”
“It won’t take long and we can do it here now, or when we attain a warrant, we can do it later at the station.” Stirling shrugged his huge shoulders. The Ryders shared furtive glances. Stirling raised his voice, aggression in his tone. “It’s up to you, Bren. Are you coming for a chat or do I have to come back and drag you out?” Three well built men seated at the table behind them stood up and glared at Stirling, awaiting the order to attack. The big detective frowned and felt anger rising in his gut. He didn’t take kindly to being intimidated. It seldom happened because of his sheer mass, but when it did, it pissed him off. “You had better have a word with the three stooges here before I throw them through the window and lock them up.”
“We don’t need a scene here, do we?” Geoff said quietly. “You don’t have anything or you would have arrested my nephew already.” He smiled and looked at the table of enforcers. “We’re not going to allow Brendon to be bullied by you or anybody else. Is it worth smashing the establishment up and losing your job?”
“It really depends on your guard dogs here,” Stirling shrugged. “Tell them to sit and we’re all good.”
The diner went silent. The aggression in the air was palpable. A table of six diners, seated near the door made for the till quickly. The restaurant manager nervously thanked them for their custom and asked them to return again soon, although he doubted that they would. It was a small intimate venue and all eyes were now focused on the big detective.
“Let’s not make a scene here. You’re out of line, Sergeant.” Geoff wagged his finger. “Sit down, boys and enjoy your dinner. The detective just wants a chat.” He pointed to an empty seat opposite him. Stirling grinned at the bodyguards and made a note of their faces for future reference. “You’ve got two minutes. Make the most of it.” Geoff took a drink and waited for Stirling to fire an opening volley.
“We want to know what you know about the disappearance of Lacey Taylor.” Stirling studied Brendon’s reaction. His expression was nondescript. He didn’t look in the slightest bit bothered by the question. There was no guilt in his eyes but the older men looked worried. “You do know Lacey Taylor?”
“Who?” He smiled unbothered by the question. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“What about you?” Stirling turned to look at John. He did look bothered. In fact, he looked almost flustered. “Surely you’ve heard of her.”
“Of course I have.” John glanced out of the window as if looking for a good answer. “She’s been all over the television, but we don’t know her personally.”
“She’s been busy building opposition to the sale of government owned facilities in the city,” Stirling tried to press the right buttons. “Before she disappeared, that is. I bet she’s been a real pain in the arse for some people, don’t you?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.” John shrugged but his eyes said something different. “Do you actually have a question, or are you going to piss about some more?”
“Questions?” Stirling rubbed his huge chin. “Oh yes, did you know that Lacey went missing with her dog?”
“Obviously wasn’t a guide dog or she’d have found her way home, eh?” Brendon scoffed.
“Do you know what type of dog it was?” Stirling jumped on the comment.
“No.” Brendon stopped smiling and glared at him. “Why would I?”
“We have a witness who saw you hiding her dog’s collar in a litter-bin at Crosby Beach.” Stirling knew that the existence of a witness would send ripples of fear through them. The tension in their eyes told him all that he needed to know. Their reaction was as damning as a confession unfortunately it couldn’t be used in court. “That’s why I’m asking you about her dog, you see?”
“Brendon says no comment,” Geoff prompted. The vein at his temple throbbed and his left fist clenched and relaxed. He was stressed.
“No comment,” Brendon echoed sarcastically. He smiled at Stirling and held his stare, challenging him. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“This is all bollocks,” John snapped. “What exactly are you doing here, Sergeant?”
“I’m investigating a murder.”
“Is she actually dead?” Geoff asked. His eyebrows were raised and his forehead furrowed. Stirling thought that the question was disingenuous. “Call me old fashioned, but in the old days, to be charged with murder, there had to be a dead person somewhere.” Geoff Ryder knew the answer to his own question. “Have you discovered a body?”
“Not yet.” Stirling sat back and watched their faces. Brendon wasn’t uncomfortable but his stepfather and his uncle were. He changed tack. “Do you know Charles Keegan?”
“I know him vaguely,” John Ryder answered before Bren could. “We did a bit of business a few years back. The guy is a wanker.”
“He’s a dead wanker.” Stirling searched for a reaction again.
“He’s actually dead?” Geoff asked sourly. “As in, you have a dead body to verify it?”
“Yes.” Sterling bit his bottom lip to stay calm. “We have a dead person with no head. He was tortured and decapitated.”
“Ah.” Bren put his thumbs in the air. “A proper murder. That’s the type of murder where there’s not many questions that need to be answered. It’s basically a whodunit? Find whoever cut off his head and the chances are, he’s your murderer. Job done. I could be a detective, eh Dad?”
“Shut up, Brendon,” his stepfather growled. “Look, I can’t say that I’m sorry to hear that Keegan is dead,” John shrugged. “But what has it got to do with Bren?”
“His body was found in the vicinity of Crosby Beach, where your stepson was seen dumping the dog collar.” Stirling didn’t take his eyes from Brendon. The young gangster didn’t flinch. He was a cool one. “He was found in a pond just a hundred yards from the collar. It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think”
“We have no comment to make, Sergeant,” Geoff sighed. “You’ve come on a fishing expedition. Your witness is mistaken. Now if you don’t mind, our starters are here.” He nodded to a waiter, who stood nervously holding a tray of food. “If you want to speak to Brendon again, make an appointment.” Stirling held his gaze. He could see that he was rattled. “He doesn’t know anything abo
ut a dog collar.”
“Just one more thing and then I’ll be off,” Stirling stood aside to allow the waiter to distribute the hors d’ouevres. He put the food down and left quickly but nobody was keen to eat immediately. “A Jeep Cherokee registered to you was involved in an RTA about forty-minutes ago.” The three men looked distinctly uncomfortable with the news. “Someone drove into the front of the vehicle and made a complaint to the attending officers. He says that the driver of the Jeep and his passenger were following him. He alleges that they were going to kill him. Funny that isn’t it?”
“We don’t know anything about any RTA, Sergeant,” Geoff snapped. “In fact, we don’t have anything to say about anything. Understand?”
“Perfectly,” Stirling smiled. Their discomfort was amusing. “I don’t have all the details yet but I have a sneaking suspicion that it might be linked to what happened to Lacey Taylor and Charlie Keegan.” The three men looked at him blankly. Stirling could feel the animosity oozing from them. “It’s all to do with property deals. Do you know Boris Kolorov?”
“I think we’re done here.”
Stirling ignored him and continued, “You see, I know that you’re connected to the Russian mob and they’re a nasty bunch. Everyone knows, don’t they?”
“We’re just businessmen.”
“Of course you are,” Stirling grinned. “But let me tell you what I think. Go on, humour me.”
“If you must,” Geoff sat back and sighed. John Ryder was almost purple with anger.
“I think you were tipped off that we had a witness placing young Brendon here, at the beach.” Stirling paused for effect. Keeping Tibbs’ name a secret seemed to be irrelevant at this point. They had sent a vehicle to tail him. He hadn’t mentioned his name so far and they hadn’t asked who the witness was. Stirling got the impression that they already knew. “You asked around about who the witness was and maybe someone fed you a lead. After all, you’re connected aren’t you?”
Silence. The three men stared at him.
“What’s up?” Stirling stood over the table and grinned like an idiot. “I reckon you asked around didn’t you?”
Silence.
“Oh come on?” Stirling turned his palms skyward. “You asked around about who had been at the beach with the detectives and someone pointed you in the right direction.”
Silence.
“Am I right?”
Silence.
“You heard that we had a witness, you panicked and now you’re trying to cover your tracks. Our witness puts young Brendon here at the scene.”
“At the scene of what?” Geoff scoffed. “You don’t have a body therefore you don’t have a crime scene to put him at!” he finished his drink and wiped his mouth. “If your witness could put Brendon anywhere near a crime, he would be in a cell already.”
“It’s a matter of time.” Stirling countered.
“Our food is going cold.” John Ryder picked up his fork and stabbed it into a garlic mushroom. “Fuck off, Stirling,” he said through a mouthful of fungi.
“I am right,” Stirling laughed dryly. “I can tell by your face.”
“I’ll be speaking to your DI,” Geoff threatened. “You can’t go around making wild accusations, Detective. I’ll have your badge for this.”
“I think I’ve pissed you off.” Stirling mocked. “I can tell that you’re annoyed now, but I get carried away when I have an idea I just can’t let it go.” He shrugged but the gangsters were silent. None of them made eye contact. “Okay, you’re mad. I’ll get off. You enjoy your meal now.” Stirling leaned over the table. “I’ll see you soon.” He whispered to Brendon. His left hand knocked a pint of larger into the young gangster’s lap. “Oops, sorry!” Stirling faked an apology. “I’m so clumsy!”
Brendon stood up and wiped away the liquid. “You stupid bastard,” he snarled. John Ryder glared at Stirling and grabbed his stepson’s wrist. The three bodyguards sprang to their feet.
“Sit down!” John Ryder shouted. “Sit down now!” Brendon glowered at Stirling and his lips twitched at the corners. “He is trying to provoke a reaction so that he can pull you in, you idiot!”
“Just an accident.” Stirling shrugged.
“Sit down now,” Geoff repeated the instruction. “All of you sit down.” The bodyguards slumped into their seats angrily. Brendon slapped the table and then followed suit.
“I’ll ask the manager to get you a mop,” Stirling turned to walk out and felt six sets of eyes burning into his back. He had gone to speak to Brendon Ryder on the strength of a weak identification, but he had left knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Ryders were involved in at least one murder.
Chapter 22
Alec Ramsay paced behind his desk. The raid at Breck Road had turned up trumps, but they had to make sure that they didn’t make any costly procedural mistakes now that they had a suspect in custody. “Annie Jones is a good detective, Chief and from what I’m hearing so far, she could have the killer in custody,” he explained. “You know the score, making an arrest is the easy part. As soon as we’ve pressed charges, I’ll come back to you.” Annie shuffled awkwardly in the chair opposite the desk and listened to the one way conversation about her, which was awkward at best. Alec always backed her but, the same couldn’t be said for the top brass. They were generally obsessed with budgets, targets and compensation claims. “Yes, Sir, I’ll pass on your comments. Okay, Chief, goodbye,” he ended the call with a grin. “Sorry about that, but this is a pivotal moment,” Alec frowned. “The Chief has got a squeaky arse on this one.”
“He’s not the only one, Guv,” Annie nodded.
“He’s impressed at how quickly you’ve made progress.”
“Might be premature, Guv.”
“Let’s make sure he’s not.”
“I feel like someone is going to pull the rug from underneath me.” She entwined her fingers and wiggled them. “All those poor girls buried and then Keegan in the pond, not to mention Lacey Taylor. It must look like shambles from above.”
“It would if you weren’t on top of it, but you are, so don’t worry.”
“If it wasn’t for the tip on the van and Tasha Jenkins being taken, we’d have nothing, Guv.”
“That’s the way the wind blows, Annie. They all make mistakes eventually.”
“We need to nail Weston for Crosby Beach. I can’t settle until we’ve charged him.”
“Is Weston talking yet?” Alec came around the desk and leaned against the window ledge. The world outside was oblivious to the severity of their dilemma. No one really appreciated what the officers inside the station faced on a daily basis to keep the civilians safe. He watched shoppers, office workers on their lunch breaks and a myriad of tourists from all corners of the globe wandering around the city below. Their most important decision would be where to eat for lunch and whether to have a dessert.
“No,” Annie shook her head. “He says his name is not Mark Weston and he’s refusing to give us his name and address or have prints and DNA taken. The only thing he has said is that he’s not Mark Weston. He’s talking to a lawyer,” she sighed. “I didn’t expect him to roll over to the murders, but we don’t even know who he is yet.”
“Tasha Jenkins identified him?”
“Informally, yes. We haven’t completed a formal line-up yet but she described him to the letter,” Annie smiled thinly. “We have her evidence and Francis Grant’s statement so at least we can charge him with kidnapping and assault, threats to kill and false imprisonment.”
“Good,” Alec said thoughtfully. “That gives us plenty of time to cement the evidence against him for Crosby Beach.”
“We don’t have anything solid to connect him yet, Guv.”
“I know,” Alec said. “How long on forensics?”
“Kathy Brooks is working flat out. On top of Crosby Beach, she’s got the house to examine now, too.”
“Well we know that our killer didn’t start out by sewing up his victims and b
urying them at Crosby Beach.” Alec shivered as he thought about what he was saying. “He evolved to that. His MO has developed over time, becoming more intricate with each victim. Dennis Nilsen had murdered three men at Melrose Avenue before he moved to Cranley Gardens and killed fifteen more. The Butcher is up there in the sicko league.”
“And then there’s the Wests, both Midland Road and Cromwell Street were like boneyards,” Annie nodded. “God knows what we’ll find in the cellar and the garden at Breck Road. It’s a big house.”
“What did Kathy find on the initial sweep inside?”
“The luminol search in the cellar showed blood splatter on the floor and the walls, but it was localized.” Annie checked the initial report on her phone. “There was more trace found in three of the bedrooms, the kitchen and the bathroom. She has blood and semen on a mattress, which she has made the priority. They’ll be in there for a week before they start on the garden.”
“A house of horrors, eh?”
“We can only imagine what happened there, Guv.”
“How are they coping with the workload?”
“She’s drafted in technicians from Cheshire, Manchester and Cumbria to speed things up. Uniform have given us everyone that they can spare. They’ve got two shifts working overtime. We’ve got masses to catch up on. The DNA results are starting to land. In the last hour she’s identified four of the women found at the beach.”
“Have their families been informed?”
“Not yet, Guv,” Annie shook her head. “I’m waiting for Stirling to get back and then we’re going to debrief the team and get up to date on the forensics. Once we’ve done that, we’ll inform the families and you can bring the press up to speed.”
“Great,” Alec smiled weakly. “The less we tell them the better, for now. I’ll need to sit in on your briefing,” Alec frowned. “One wrong word to the press and my neck is in a sling.” A knock on the door interrupted him. “Come in?”
“Guv.” Stirling’s oversized head appeared around the door. “Have you got ten minutes?”
