by Luca Veste
No handcuffs, not like on TV.
‘We’ll be outside,’ one of the constables said, leaving the room.
Murphy waited until the door was closed before eyeing up Cooper. ‘Paul, is it?’
Cooper didn’t meet his gaze. ‘Only me ma calls me that.’
‘What would you rather we call you then?’
‘Whatever. Not bothered.’
‘Okay then, Paul,’ Murphy said, noticing the beginning of a smile appear on Cooper’s face before it swiftly disappeared. ‘Just want to ask a few questions, nothing major.’
‘Haven’t done nothing.’
‘I haven’t said you have yet. Can you at least wait until I do before you start denying everything?’
Cooper leant back in the chair, arms folded and expression vacant. ‘What do youse want then?’
‘Dean Hughes.’
The reply was instant. ‘Don’t know him.’
Murphy held back a chuckle, nudged Rossi with his elbow. ‘You owe me a fiver.’
Cooper raised his eyebrows, but caught himself and went back to studying the ceiling tiles. ‘Prove it.’
‘You know how the Internet works, Paul?’ Rossi said, Murphy leaning on an elbow and watching. ‘It leaves a trace. Everything you do on there is recorded. It’s not even that hard to do, you know. Find a list of people who have something in common with someone, interactions between them, conversations, that sort of thing. Especially as all you divs seem to do it out in the open.’
‘And what?’
‘And that means we know you know Dean Hughes, that’s what. So let’s stop messing about here and you can just answer the questions we ask, that sound all right with you?’
Murphy was surprised to see Cooper tear his eyes away from the ceiling and finally look towards them. ‘I’m not a grass,’ Cooper said.
‘Never said you were.’
Cooper looked upwards once more before dropping his head to his chest. ‘Go ’ead then.’
‘How do you know Dean?’
Cooper shrugged. ‘Just from around and that.’
‘How long have you known him?’
‘’Bout a year. It’s not like we’re best mates or anything. He’s just always around with the same people I’m with.’
Rossi shifted some paper from inside her folder as Murphy paused.
‘He owes you some money?’ Rossi said, reading from her notes.
‘Yeah, but no one’s seen him for ages.’
‘How much does he owe you?’
Cooper shrugged, bit on his lower lip and shrugged again. ‘A few ton.’
‘A few hundred quid?’ Murphy said, affecting a little surprise into his speech. ‘Do you lend all your “not really mates” that kind of money?’
Cooper was struggling under Murphy’s gaze a little. ‘Nah …’
Murphy guessed at what was holding him back. ‘You didn’t exactly lend him the money, did you? He was supposed to pay for something, am I right?’
‘Something like that.’
‘So you were just trying to get that money back?’
‘Yeah. I sent him some messages on Facebook and that. Knocked at his house but his mum said he’d done one. To be honest, I’d forgotten about it.’
‘Lose face a bit?’ Rossi said, still not lifting her gaze up from her notes.
‘What do you mean?’ Cooper said, bridling at that.
‘With the lads. Maybe even the girls as well. Paul Cooper getting ripped off by some lad he barely knows? Can’t have been good.’
Murphy watched Cooper carefully for a reaction, something which they could possibly use.
‘Well, I didn’t do anything. Couldn’t find him,’ Cooper replied, shifting his gaze back to Murphy. ‘Why are you asking me all this now anyway? He’s been gone for fuckin’ ages and no one has said anything before.’
Murphy shared a look with Rossi. Gave her a nod.
‘Dean Hughes is dead, Paul. Severely beaten and then strangled.’
This time Cooper’s reaction was easier to read.
‘Fuck …’
Murphy took over. ‘So you understand now why we’re a bit more interested in him. Why we might be interested in people who might have a reason to be angry with him?’
‘No …’
‘People with violent records, perhaps? People with a history of losing their temper easily and getting themselves into trouble.’
Cooper sat back, running both hands over his shaved dome. ‘No way. I’m not getting done for this. I haven’t even seen him in months. And anyway, I know when to stop.’
‘Do you, Paul?’ Rossi asked, flipping over a page. ‘Would Stephen Fowler agree with that, do you think?’
Cooper looked between them both, an incredulous look plastered across his face. ‘That was … nah, I’m not having this. That was years ago and the fuckin’ prick deserved it.’
‘Really?’ Murphy said, tone lowered and controlled.
‘Yeah, he tried to hurt my sister. The knobhead was lucky.’
‘And was Dean Hughes deserving of your particular brand of justice?’
Cooper was sweating, the globules of moisture springing forward on his forehead. Murphy wasn’t surprised. He’d dealt with so many of this type before. Cocky little wankers – until something serious landed on their doorstep. Then it’s shitting bricks time.
‘No, no. That’s not me. I wouldn’t go that far, honest.’
‘Right,’ Murphy said. ‘Good to know. We’ll take your word for it, obviously.’
‘Really,’ Cooper said, relief washing over his face.
‘Of course not, you dopey git. We’ll need to know where you were Thursday night. All night, of course.’
A smile. Just a flash, and the tension visibly lifting from his shoulders. ‘Thank fuck. I was at me bird’s all night. Her ma is away, so we had the house to ourselves, like. We didn’t exactly go to bed early, if you know what I mean.’
‘And her name is?’
‘Rachel. Rachel Thompson.’
‘Her address?’
Cooper rattled off an address, which Rossi wrote down.
‘Right well, we’ll have a word with her. Lucky boy, Paul. Usually people don’t have ready-made alibis just like that.’
‘It’s proper D. She’s a good girl. She’ll be well pissed off that I’ve been locked up again, anyway.’
‘So is there anything you can tell us about Dean? You must have tried looking for him.’ Murphy kept his tone low, but with a bit more relaxation in there now. Friendly.
‘I did, but no one had seen him. I mean, he wasn’t hanging with us all that much anyway, once the youthy opened.’
‘The youthy?’
‘Yeah, that youth club that opened on Lower House Lane. Last year. He was going there all the time.’
Murphy looked towards Rossi, who was chewing on the end of her pen. They knew the youth club in question. Opened in a burst of fanfare the previous year, funded by two local charities. Meant to get kids off the streets and doing something, but so far hadn’t seemed to be working.
‘Did he ever talk about it?’
‘Not much. Tried asking us to go once, but none of us were into any of that crap.’
Murphy weighed it up. As a lead, it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
‘Is that it then … can I get off now?’
Murphy snorted. ‘Haven’t you forgot, lad? You’re up in court this morning.’
Realisation hit Cooper’s face as he remembered why he was there in the first place.
‘Shit. Bet I get remanded for this one.’
11
Murphy drove them out of the station car park, joining the busy A road back towards town. Goodison Park loomed over them, in dire need of being renovated but in keeping with the rest of the area. All terraced housing and main roads. Housing estates, with traffic included these days.
‘Why do you think Dean’s mum didn’t mention the youth club?’ Rossi asked, elbow propped up on t
he edge of the passenger window, chewing on a nail.
‘Maybe she didn’t know,’ Murphy replied, following the road around Everton Valley, onto Kirkdale Road. Scotland Road was ahead, but he indicated off to run parallel to it. Quicker route back to the station.
‘Seems like our mate back there thought he was right into it. The youthy, that is. Would have thought that’d be something you’d let your mum know you were doing.’
Murphy mused as they passed the big gym on the tree-lined Great Homer Street. The traffic was much quieter this side, away from the main roads which ran into the city centre. ‘Maybe he didn’t want her to know.’
‘Why would that be, do you reckon?’
‘Could be something going on he knew she wouldn’t approve of. Could have been using it to do anything. Lot of kids going there aren’t looking to play games and be enrolled onto courses.’
‘Suppose. Only one way to find out.’
‘Of course.’
They were making a quick stop at the station to update the team and formulate plans. Tomorrow was Sunday, so things would slow down, inevitably, but they couldn’t be seen to be doing so. Especially with the local media now getting involved. A Monday morning press conference, Murphy assumed.
‘It’ll be open this afternoon, I bet. I’ll give them a ring when we get back.’
‘Sound,’ Murphy replied, passing the big light shop as the roads changed from Great Homer to St Anne. Liverpool’s Largest Light Store, the sign outside proclaimed, and Murphy had to admit that even when Rapid was still open, the shop was probably still the biggest. Not that he’d ever been in there. Sarah was much more of an Ikea type.
He slowed as they reached the station, took in the drab brown block which looked more like an office building from the seventies than the home of the busiest division in Merseyside Police.
Rossi lagged behind as he walked through to the CID offices, stopping as she reached the vending machine. Murphy kept walking, keen to get on. He should have been at home, getting on with the decorating, which was already causing friction between Sarah and him.
Murphy thought back to the previous night – the moment when he knew that as soon as Jess left there’d be interminable silence before he asked the one question that always led to trouble.
‘What’s wrong?’
Jess had been discussing her son Peter, the problems he’d been having and how she was dealing with them. A throwaway comment he’d made had earned a look from Sarah, one she made sure he’d notice.
‘I don’t know how you do it … I don’t think I have the patience to deal with that sort of thing. Don’t think I’d want it.’
They’d been talking about having kids for a few months now. Always the same conversation. At first Murphy placated her with now not being the right time, before changing tack and going for what he really felt. The ‘I’m not sure I could do it at all’ talk.
The previous night, after Jess had left, Sarah had asked outright if he ever wanted kids. He thought of Dean Hughes instantly – imagined himself being his father, having to study his parenting and decide if he could have done things differently. Dean was eighteen, old enough to make his own choices, but it wouldn’t stop Murphy questioning himself. He was sure every parent would be the same.
He thought of all the young people he’d come into contact with in his previous years – all the wannabe gang members, the scallies, the thugs. Thought of the respectable homes he’d visited, containing parents who just didn’t know what they’d done wrong, their faces drawn and old before their time. The homes where the parents had long since given up on caring. Then there were the young victims. Trying to make sense of what they’d done to end up on the wrong side of those others.
They’d flashed before his eyes in an instant. That’s all it was. Sarah had taken the hesitation for what it said on the surface.
This case wasn’t helping, Murphy thought. Maybe if Dean Hughes had been in his eighties, he wouldn’t have hesitated at all. Would have had a better response than the one he’d given.
‘I don’t know.’
The office was busier now, the various detectives working on different cases. The boards from that morning looked untouched as he stood before them.
He added the name of the youth club and Paul Cooper’s name on a side list which was headed Persons of Interest. They had no suspects as yet, but Murphy wasn’t put off.
‘How are you getting on?’
Murphy turned to find DS Brannon standing just behind him, looking towards the board, squinting even though he was only a few feet away. ‘Not bad. Slow, but a few things have come up already. We’ll get there.’
‘Saw the mum yesterday,’ Brannon replied. ‘I know a couple of her lads. Doesn’t surprise me one of them’s turned up dead. His older brother is the worst. Dale. He’s got a trial coming up in Crown. GBH, wounding with intent. Should have been attempted murder.’
‘Yeah, well … that’s only interesting if it has something to do with my case. You got anything on that, Tony?’
Brannon scratched at his head, bits of dandruff landing on his shoulders. ‘That youth club. I know the guy who runs it, Kevin Thornhill. Used to go to school with him.’
Murphy brightened. ‘Good stuff. Still in contact with him?’
Brannon smiled. ‘Yeah, he’s married to my brother’s wife’s sister’s mate. See him at family dos and that.’
Murphy tried working out the familial connection in his head, but got lost. ‘Good. Our vic was a regular at the youth club before he disappeared. Would be good to speak to Kevin about that, see if he remembers anything.’
‘No worries, I’ll set it up. He works weekends, I think. I’ll give him a bell now.’
Murphy watched Brannon waddle off. Sniffed and went back to looking at the board. Rossi joined him, eating a Boost and flicking the cap off another bottle of energy drink at the same time.
‘How late was it last night exactly? And why don’t you drink coffee like a normal copper would?’
‘Gone off coffee. And late.’
Murphy raised his eyebrows, earning a frown from Rossi.
‘What?’ Rossi said.
‘No judgement here, Laura. What you do on your own time is none of my business.’
‘No. It’s not, so let’s drop it.’
‘Right,’ Murphy said, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. ‘I give in.’
‘Yeah, cheers. Anyway, what did Brannon want?’
Murphy led them away from the board towards the office. ‘He knows our youth club manager. Married to his sister’s wife or something.’
‘What?’
‘I didn’t really follow,’ Murphy replied, pushing into their office, noticing it was empty before dropping into his seat. ‘Not the point anyway. He’s sorting out a meeting for us. In the meantime, we need to find out where Dean’s been the last seven months. Anything from those looking into his associates?’
Murphy waited as Rossi checked her in-tray and email. The door opened and DC Harris entered while in the process of removing his suit jacket, a folder being held in his teeth.
‘All right bosses,’ Harris said, once he’d extricated the folder. ‘Want an update?’
‘Of course,’ Murphy said.
‘None of Dean’s close friends have seen him since the night the mum reported him missing. One of them thought he’d buggered off to Spain to work in a bar – her words, not mine – two thought he’d joined a cult, and one reckoned he’d got some girl pregnant and done one because her auld fella was going to kill him.’
‘Names on the last one?’
‘Just a rumour. He didn’t know what the girl’s name was or approximate times or anything like that.’
Murphy sighed. ‘Right, well do follow-ups with the others. See if anyone can remember anything about that.’ He removed his phone from his pocket as it buzzed and bleeped in rapid succession. He read the text message and added, ‘Me and Rossi have a young girl to see.’
�
��Who?’ Rossi said, perking up.
‘Last person we know of who saw Dean Hughes.’
‘No problem.’
This wasn’t going to be an easy one, but they were used to that by now. Merseyside in general had gained a reputation of taking its time with high-profile cases. If it took a year to get the right people, it took a year.
Murphy hoped it wouldn’t take that long.
The house belied its area. Expensive furnishings, down to the solid coffee table which was surrounded by a deep leather settee and armchairs. The smell of furniture polish mixing with jasmine told Murphy that Amanda Williams’s parents – and his money was on the mother, given the general air around the father – had readied the house for their arrival.
‘We dealt with Amanda at the time, Inspector,’ the father said, who’d introduced himself at the door only as Mr Williams. ‘I’m not sure what the point of all this is.’
‘We just need to make sure all avenues are explored, given the seriousness of the crime,’ Murphy said, eyeing the chocolate digestives on the plate sitting on the coffee table. At least the mother had offered her first name. Faye. Murphy liked the name. Filed it away. He peeled his eyes away from the biscuits, gave a small thanks to Faye, who smiled thinly and perched herself on the arm of her husband’s armchair.
‘They’re just here to cover every angle, Jim,’ Faye said to her husband, her accent buried in a veneer of clipped pronunciation. ‘Let them do their job.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s good enough. Tell them what you know, Amanda.’
Murphy hadn’t looked towards Amanda since they’d arrived. Dark eye make-up and drawn-on eyebrows. Legs clad in skinny jeans, tucked underneath herself, straining the fabric against her knees. She was wearing a large jumper which she sucked on the sleeve of, pulled against a thumb. Amanda brushed hair off her face, causing the bouffant to expand on top. Extensions, Murphy thought. Sarah had mentioned them once, but he’d baulked at the price and she hadn’t brought it up again.
