by Conrad Jones
“What?” Alec smiled. “He set his son up with a brothel?”
“No, Detective,” Geoff laughed. “The place had six bedrooms and a couple of cellars. The idea was to convert the bedrooms into bedsits and rent them out to generate a decent monthly income for eighteen months, before gutting the place using government grants and reselling it. It was supposed to be a step on the property ladder for him.”
“What went wrong?”
“Brendon,” Geoff scoffed. “The kid isn’t all there.”
“So it was Brendon who turned it onto a brothel?”
“Sort of,” Geoff shivered involuntarily. “He rented to rooms to some dodgy tenants. They were working girls and one thing sort of led to another. Brendon was like a kid in a sweet shop until he was bitten. After that he hardly went near the place. That’s when he sublet the building.”
“He was bitten?”
“I thought you would know,” Geoff grinned sourly. “Check his records. He was a bit rough with one of the girls and she damn near bit his cock off. It took surgeons four hours to stitch him together. He was lucky to keep it at all, although he was left with a very embarrassing kink. Some of his friends used to call him ‘right turn’ because it looks like a road sign. That was until he glassed one of them and it hasn’t been mentioned since.”
“He is violent then?”
“Very.”
“Did you know Mark Weston?”
“Jesus,” Geoff hissed. He walked to the windows and looked out into the night. “Mark Weston was Brendon’s idea of a parachute. He railroaded him into putting his name on the rent book. The man was an alcoholic. That’s when it all went out of control. John stepped in in the end and we were about to put the place back on the market. He’s locked up isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Alec said.
“You found Lacey Taylor’s dog in his garden, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“But you haven’t found her body yet?”
“No.”
Geoff turned and headed for the door. “Everything we have discussed is off the record, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
************
“That leaves us all alone,” Stirling smiled. He could see the hatred in Brendon’s eyes. They were like tiny cauldrons of boiling poison set in a piggy face. Stirling identified that he was a very angry man and angry men are dangerous, but they also make mistakes. “You can start by telling me where you were yesterday.”
“I was out all day.” He sneered.
“Where?”
“Drinking in town.”
“Who with?”
“Just some mates.”
“Where did you go?”
“Along Lime Street, then down to Wetherspoons. I didn’t get home until after midnight. You can check it out.”
“We will,” Stirling tilted his head. “You can count on that.”
“Is that it, Sherlock?”
“Did you know that your uncle was screwing Tina Peters?” Stirling jumped in with both feet. Brendon’s eyes widened and his moth twitched at the corners. “She was murdered and buried on Crosby Beach.”
“Who?” Brendon said sarcastically. His voice was almost a snarl. “He’s always screwing somebody half his age.” Brendon seemed to be thinking. “She was seeing my uncle? What was her name again?”
“Tina Peters. She was one of the victims from Crosby Beach?”
Brendon flushed red. He obviously recognised the name. “She was from Brighton.”
“Was she a whore?” He scoffed. “Most of the victims were whores weren’t they?”
It was Stirling who felt uncomfortable now. He shifted his bulk and took a deep breath. “Most of them were, yes.”
“Was Tara?”
“Her name was Tina.”
“Okay then, was Tina a whore?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t recall her name.”
“Do you think it’s a coincidence that she was found near where Tibbs said he saw you dumping the dog collar?”
Brendon shrugged. His eyes darted around the hallway as if looking for a way out. “Tibbs is a fucking liar. You found her dog didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Stirling answered.
“In his garden?”
“Yes.”
“I’m no detective, but that’s enough for me to think he probably killed Lacey Taylor?”
“Lucky for you that we did find the dog. Why do you think he was trying to stitch you up?”
“To take the focus off him, obviously.” Brendon tutted childishly.
“But the focus wasn’t on him.” Stirling shrugged. “It wasn’t on anyone at the time. So I don’t understand why he would draw attention to it in the first place.”
“Because he’s a horrible old pedophile and as mad as a box of frogs.”
“You know that we searched high and low for a white Mercedes Vito,” Stirling saw a flash of recognition in his eyes as he spoke. “If we had found that van, you could have been in big trouble. He could have framed you big time, because we wouldn’t have looked for the dog. We probably would have taken his word that you were there; especially when we found Keegan in the pond.” Brendon shuffled uncomfortably. “I mean there were business links to your family with him.”
“Well he’s a liar, so it doesn’t matter anyway. There was no van so how could you find one?”
“Good point,” Stirling conceded. “He had us chasing our tails though.”
“That’s because you’re stupid,” Brendon smirked.
“Seriously though, do you think he killed the girls that we found in the cellar at Breck Road too?” Stirling raised his eyebrows and asked the question as if he was really interested in his opinion. “I mean there is another connection to your family business.”
“Another connection to that pervert, nothing to do with us.”
“So you do think he killed them?”
“Probably,” Brendon looked up at the landing as he spoke. He couldn’t maintain eye contact and he folded his arms defensively. “Or it might have been someone who had the house before we bought it. Or someone else who lived in one of the rooms there.”
“Really?” Stirling asked seriously. “You can’t think it was someone else. I mean he killed Lacey Taylor and her dog and then tried to blame you. Horrible lying pedophile like that must be capable of anything?”
“He is. I’d shoot them in the back of the head.” Brendon made a gun with his fingers and pretended to shoot them. “Kiddie fiddlers are all the same. Scumbags.”
“Why do you think he killed her?”
“Who?”
“Lacey Taylor.”
“Because she’s a woman?” Brendon said sarcastically. “There were no men buried on the beach were there?”
“Apart from Keegan.”
“Different kettle of fish altogether.”
“But she didn’t fit the profile of the other victims, so why would he target her.?
“Fuck knows,” Brendon frowned. His frown turned to a sneer. “Who cares why he killed the stupid bitch.”
“Last time we met, you said you didn’t know her.” Stirling prodded.
“I don’t.”
“You said she was a stupid bitch, which sounds like you know her to me.”
“I know of her.” Brendon gulped; his Adam’s apple jumped up and down. “From the news and stuff. She was always ranting about saving this shithole and saving that shithole, but at the end of the day, that’s all they really were, shitholes.”
“You never met her?”
“No.”
“Do you think Tibbs knew her?”
Brendon shrugged and kicked the soles of his trainers against the door-frame. His hands were deep inside his tracksuit pockets. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for a long time.”
“Did you know him?”
“No. I think I saw him once or twice, but I never spoke to him. The guy gave me the creeps, to be honest.”
&
nbsp; “Where did you last see him?”
“At Breck Road.” The young man became animated as he spoke. “He was all over the brasses at that house. He’s a pervert. Most of the girls upped and left because of him, the weirdo. He’s the reason they went.” His eyes darted around the hallway. He was lying but he was excited by his lies. “My dad got rid of him in the end.”
“Did you know that some of the girls who worked there are victims of the Butcher?” Stirling watched his eyes. He wasn’t surprised at all.
“No way,” Brendon feigned shock. “Really?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No!” Brendon laughed cruelly. “Pedo Tibbs is the Butcher?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You fucking did,” Brendon pointed his finger and grinned. “You did, you fucking did!” he turned around and clamped his hands together gleefully. “Just wait until I tell the lads that. They’ll wet their pants laughing!”
“I didn’t say that he was the Butcher.”
“Oh, you fucking did,” he scoffed. “You didn’t mean to but you did. That is priceless. No wonder he was trying to point the finger at me, wanker!”
“Did Tibbs ever meet Tina Peters?” Stirling pressed.
Brendon stopped laughing and glared at the big detective. His eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re up to, pig. Who did you say?”
“Tina Peters,” Alec added walking into the hallway with Geoff Ryder. “Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard your conversation. Your uncle said that you all went clubbing in Liverpool together.”
His voice startled Brendon and so did the insinuation that he was lying. “What did he say?” He asked incredulously. “What have you said, you fucking worm?”
“You knew Tina,” Geoff pointed his index finger angrily. “And you said that you took her to the station the last time she came to Liverpool. You better hadn’t deny it either.” Something flashed between them. Brendon didn’t like his uncle, that was obvious, but he was wary of him. “Did you take her to the station?”
Alec and Stirling studied his every movement as his uncle put him under pressure. “No.”
“You told me that you did.”
“I didn’t,” Brendon whined. “I said that I made sure that she got there.”
“What does that mean in English”
“After the club we got into taxis and all crashed out at Breck Road,” he shrugged and kicked his trainers. “I pulled a woman and she stayed the night in my room. Tina made a fuss in the morning because she wanted to get the early train from Lime Street but that was because you fucked her off,” Brendon pointed at his uncle accusingly. “One of the lads must have taken her because she wasn’t there when I got up. It wasn’t my job to babysit your girlfriend, Uncle Geoff,” he sneered. “So if Tibbs the pedophile buried her on the beach, you can blame yourself not me!”
“Was Tibbs at the house at the time?” Alec asked.
“I don’t remember. I was wasted and it was a long time ago.”
“So you don’t know who took her to the station?” Stirling asked gruffly.
“Not a fucking Scooby-Doo.”
“I don’t suppose you can remember who was there that night?” Alec asked.
“Let me think,” Brendon put his index finger to his lips, “erm, nope!”
“I think you’ve got as much as you’re going to get from him, Detectives,” Geoff shut them down. Alec had the same feeling that he was letting them peek underneath the covers and then pulling them back down again. Geoff turned to Brendon. “Now, I would suggest that you shut your mouth, unless you’re asked a question about your mother being poisoned. Understand me?”
Brendon looked at the floor and nodded meekly.
“I said do you understand me?” Geoff repeated calmly.
“Yes, I understand you,” Brendon muttered.
“Alec,” Kathy Brooks appeared at the end of the hallway. “Have you got a minute please?” The four men exchanged glances and then headed towards the rear of the house. Alec walked alongside Kathy, while Stirling walked behind and used his size to slow the Ryders down. He wanted a few seconds distance between the home owners and the governor. “We have some interesting results,” she said chirpily. “You might want to keep the psycho family out of here for now,” she added quietly. Alec turned to Stirling and gestured to the living room. Stirling turned and blocked the hallway with his shoulders.
“You can wait in there if you don’t mind,” he smiled coldly. His granite jaw clenched signaling that arguing was futile.
“Actually, I do mind,” Brendon snapped.
“It wasn’t a request,” Stirling glared at the younger man. “Go in there and wait.”
“Do as the officer asked,” Geoff said assertively. Brendon looked at his uncle and followed his instruction without question. Stirling waited until they had gone in, before following Alec. He walked down the hallway into a huge open kitchen area. The ceiling was vaulted and made from glass, giving the impression of airiness and space unlimited.
“This kitchen is bigger than my house,” he commented sourly. Wine racks, full of bottles, lined one wall and light oak units covered the other three. The extensive flooring was made from Egyptian marble tiles. In the centre, a granite topped island formed the central focus of the kitchen. Kathy and Alec laughed at him as he looked around open-mouthed. “The cocaine business must be booming.”
“This place has been sanitized,” Kathy said quietly. “There are no prints, no hairs and no residue. Someone has cleansed the place from a forensic point of view.” She opened a Smeg fridge which was the size of a double wardrobe. “Apart from these.” She pointed to two sports bottles which contained a well known brand of isotonic drink, “I’ve swabbed them.”
“And?” Alec prompted.
She picked up one of the bottles, “most of this bottle has been drunk and it has antifreeze in it. If it was full when she drank from it, then she consumed enough to kill her.”
“What about the other one?”
“It’s sealed,” she said picking it up with a gloved hand. “But look here beneath the label.” The corner of the label was slightly darker than the rest. “A tiny pinprick through the plastic. Probably made by a syringe. I haven’t tested the contents yet, but I’m expecting to find antifreeze in this too.”
Alec sighed and shook his head. He looked at Stirling for a reaction. “A sealed bottle?” Stirling read his thoughts. “Whoever did this knows that we can’t prove that the bottles weren’t compromised prior to purchase.”
“Exactly,” Alec smiled thinly. “Unless we can find a syringe full of antifreeze in the house, then we’re stumped again.”
“Shall I call uniform, Guv?” Stirling asked.
“Yes,” he agreed. “We need more hands. Kathy, I need your team to complete an initial sweep of the house, starting upstairs in the bedrooms. Then move down back to here.”
“Two of my team are up there already,” she nodded. “Once we realised the kitchen has been cleansed, I sent them to start in the bedrooms.” She paused. “We’re looking for a syringe, so I’ll have Ken search through all the bins too although anyone who takes the care used to sterilise this kitchen, is hardly likely to leave a syringe in the bin.”
“Then why leave the bottles in the fridge?” Alec frowned. “They wanted us to find them.”
“That’s my guess,” Kathy agreed. “No doubt about it.”
“Guv,” a voice called from the far end of the kitchen. “Have you got a minute please?”
They walked over to where a CSI officer was kneeling in a doorway. Through the adjoining door, Alec could see the interior of a double garage. The walls were covered with bicycles and sports equipment and parked on the left, a bright red BMW Tourer gleamed. “I opened the door to see where it led to.” The white clad figure said. “These were next to the wall here.” He pointed to the left just inside the garage. “I thought it was odd.”
Alec stepped into the garage and the temperature d
ropped a few degrees. He looked around, absorbing the details. A powerful jet-ski, four canoes, skis and carbon fishing poles and camping equipment; the Ryders obviously enjoyed the outdoor life. He looked at the items which had attracted the attention of the CSI. A pair of green Hunter wellington boots stood next to a sharpened spade. “See here,” the officer pointed to the blade. “Sand and soil. There are both on the soles of the wellingtons too.”
“Good work,” Kathy said. “Bag them for analysis. What size are they?”
“Eleven, Guv.”
The tiny hairs on the back of Alec’s neck prickled. Brendon was about an eleven. Why would sand be on their spade; sand and soil? He walked around the BMW and studied the items on the walls. Shelving units held smaller sporting items and the accessories which matched the different pieces of equipment. The fishing tackle looked familiar. At least the twine did. It was the same brand as the Butcher used. The same brand which had been found at Tibbs’ home. “Bag this twine too,” Alec ordered.
“It’s the same brand, Guv,” Stirling said from behind him. His observation reassured him that he wasn’t thinking off on a tangent. “Shall we take Brendon in, Guv?”
“What have we got?” Alec shook his head. “Without forensic evidence to confirm what we’re thinking, we have nothing.”
“Whoever poisoned Laura was either part of the family, or it was a totally random act of corporate terrorism, which I’m not having. This place is like Fort Knox. No one broke in here and tried to assassinate her. Brendon Ryder did it and I’m betting that the sand on that spade is from Crosby Beach. He dumped Keegan in that pond.”
“I agree but what chance have we got of proving that?”
“What about the twine, Guv?”
“Could be a coincidence but I don’t like coincidences. Someone is playing games but I can’t work out who it is.”
“Me neither.”
“I want to see inside the BMW,” Kathy said. “Could you get the keys, please?” She said, looking through the rear window. Stirling gestured for the CSI to wait while he stepped into the kitchen to get the Ryders. “I’m guessing that this belongs to one of the males in the family. Estate car for towing jet-skis and the like. There’s a two seater Mercedes out front, which I’m assuming is Laura’s.”
