Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law

by Leona Turner

  “In two weeks? Fucking hell, you’re breaking me heart here. I thought you were one of us?”

  “Ah, sorry mate, but you know what I mean.”

  “No, but fuck it; what you drinking?”

  “Stella, but I was just going.”

  “Bollocks, you’re coming outside and having a beer and a toke, see some of your old mates.”

  Before Dean could object again, Mark had grabbed the pints and was heading for the door.

  On the other side of town, Lauren Matthews, Dean’s mother, was in the middle of a stand up shout down row.

  “For the last time, Alice, you’re only fifteen; you are not going to a sleepover at a boy’s house.”

  “But his older sister’s going to be there.”

  “Oh great, a seventeen-year-old girl’s holding the fort. Why didn’t you mention this before? What do you want to take, vodka or whiskey?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen—why won’t you trust me?”

  “You’re not the one I have the trust issue with, it’s the twenty or so other people who’ll be there.”

  “But you know Cathy, she’ll be there.”

  “Really? Her parents are ok with this, then?”

  Sensing she may have chanced an arm too far, Alice tried to change tack.

  “You let Dean stay out all night when he was fifteen.”

  “Yeah, and look what happened to him—he ended up hanging about with those losers and got kicked out of school. I’m sorry, Alice, but the answer’s still no.”

  “It’s because he’s a boy, isn’t it? This isn’t fair. I thought there was supposed to be equality now.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear you feel as if you’re a victim of sexual discrimination, but until boys can carry a baby to full term, the answer to every fifteen-year-old girl who wants to go to a boy’s sleepover is going to be no.”

  “Oh, so that’s why I can’t go. You think I’d be stupid enough to get pregnant. I’m not you.”

  “I know you’re upset about not going, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “Mum, please.”

  “No, and what’s more I’m going to give Cathy’s parents a call, see if they know what’s going on.”

  Alice turned on her heel and stormed out the kitchen. Dean, who was just getting in, was almost knocked sideways as his sister stomped past him and flew up the stairs. Dean sauntered through into the kitchen.

  “Bloody hell, Mum, what’s up with her? She almost knocked me off my feet just now.”

  “Oh, the usual. She wants to go to a sleepover and I’ve said no, so now I’m the tyrannical bitch sent to make her life miserable.”

  “Fair enough. What’s for tea?” Dean knew better than to get involved.

  “Well, Alice and I had shepherd’s pie; you could have had, too, if you’d been here three hours earlier. Where’ve you been, anyway?”

  “Just out with some mates.”

  “Pete from the garage again?”

  Thinking about her reaction if she knew who he’d really just spent the last couple of hours with; Dean decided to go along with her guess.

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s a nice guy, that Pete, a lot better than that other lot you used to hang around with.”

  “Yeah, he’s a nice guy, all right.”

  “I saw that Mark and his cronies outside Tesco the other day, hanging about by the cash point and hurling obscenities about. He looks like he hasn’t had a good scrub in weeks. Is he still dealing?”

  “How the hell should I know, Mum? I’m not his fucking keeper.”

  “Watch your tongue. If you’re going to start talking to me like that, you can just fuck off and find a new address. God knows I have enough to put up with from that moody little mare upstairs.”

  “Sorry. I’ve just been having a rough few weeks.”

  Lauren stopped and regarded her eldest.

  “You’ve had a hard few weeks? You wait ‘til you’re out in the real world, you’re gonna get the shock of your life.”

  “Oh Christ, am I due for a verse of ‘the rising costs of living,’ rounded off with a chorus of ‘you’ll never make it on your own.’”

  Lauren cracked a smile at this and cuffed him round the head.

  “All right, you cheeky sod, what do you want to eat?”

  Chapter 13

  It had been a week since Clare and Hannah’s fateful night, and both women had managed to avoid speaking of it. Clare had invited Hannah around and had brought in a bottle of vodka to help keep them numb. Hannah was bringing a film, and the two of them hoped to get back to a place where they could just enjoy each other’s company once more. Both women hated to admit it, but they were well aware of how much they reminded each other of that night.

  A knock at the door heralded the arrival of her friend, and Clare went to answer it. Prior to the assault she hadn’t kept her door locked, never fearing for her safety in her own town before. But after last weekend, she now never answered the door without the chain firmly on.

  Clare checked it was Hannah, and, satisfied, she released the chain and let her in.

  “How have you been?”

  Both women knew just how ridiculous the question was, but Clare played along regardless.

  “Oh, great, thanks. What film did you bring?”

  “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

  Clare laughed, releasing tension.

  “In the mood for a bit of mindless violence, are we?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “These days? Always. Thought you might have had enough of that from the local newspaper.”

  Clare walked through to the kitchen, got two glasses out, and started pouring the vodka before returning to the living room and setting up the DVD player. An hour into the film, both Clare and Hannah seemed a little more relaxed, the vodka having taking the edge off. Clare’s mobile suddenly sprang to life, making both of them jump. Clare grabbed it from the table and checked to see who it was.

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t recognise the number.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “It’s a text but all it contains is a web address. Hold on, I’ll find out.”

  Clare scrolled to the address and clicked on it. The phone became busy once more as it tried to locate the page. As the screen started to load, Clare’s mouth dropped open with a look of absolute shock. Hannah watched as her friends face drained of all colour.

  “What, Clare—what the hell’s wrong?”

  At that moment Hannah’s phone started to vibrate, informing her of an incoming message. Hannah retrieved her mobile from her bag and opened the message just as her friend had done not a minute before.

  Hannah took one look and knew why her friend seemed so horrified. On the screen in front of her, clearly illustrated, was herself in a very compromising position, with whom she knew instantly had to be Tom Webber. His face had been scrambled in a bid to protect his identity, something he hadn’t bothered doing for Hannah. Hannah grabbed her stomach and ran toward the bathroom, and in the background Clare could hear her throwing up. Within two minutes Hannah was back, her head in her hands.

  “Oh God, Clare. What are we going to do?” Hannah clasped her hands and turned to face her.

  All the colour in Clare’s face had drained

  “To be honest, I’ve absolutely no idea.”

  Adam Woodacre and Tom Webber were still riding high. They’d just sent the text messages to Hannah and Clare, and the lines of coke they taken a few minutes before were doing their job.

  “Can you imagine the look on their faces?”

  “I know they must be shitting bricks now, stupid bitches.”

  “Serves them fucking right, didn’t they listen to their mothers? Never go off with strange men.”

  Tom howled with laughter at this.

  “Well, they don’t get much stranger than you, me old mate.”

  Grabbing another can of beer from the table, Ad
am chucked it at Tom.

  “Cheers. Look, Ad, you sure they won’t go to the old bill?”

  “Course they won’t, would you? Besides, the rohypnols out of their systems by now, so we’re home and dry.”

  “Yeah, and I suppose the coppers have got enough to deal what with all the murders.”

  “Yeah, I’d love to have seen the last one; apparently he was killed with an electric drill. Get pictures of that on the web—can you imagine how many hits it’d get?”

  “Mind you, I reckon our photos should get a good few hits themselves. That was a stroke of genius, mate, setting up that website.”

  “Well, now we’ve got it set up, there’s no reason why we can’t make a bit of a business from it. I’ve made sure other people can post things, too.”

  “Nice one. I’ll drink to that.”

  Chapter 14

  Lauren Matthews was concerned. She’d thought she’d finally managed to get both her children on an even keel. For the last fifteen years it had felt like her life had been a continual balancing act, trying to divide her time equally between her job and her kids. But ever since they could walk, Dean and Alice had seemed to act as a tag team as far as trouble was concerned. Dean had come off the rails at school and Alice although less trouble, seemed to rally whole-heartedly against any decisions she made as a mother. She knew in her heart that they were good kids, and in a lot of ways they could have been a lot worse, but being a single mum had meant she had to deal with every tantrum and bump in the road on her own, and it was tiring. Now, just as Alice’s obsession with sleepovers was starting to wane, Dean had become unpredictable again. He was out until the early hours every night, he was argumentative, and had been late for work every day in the last week. He was on drugs again—Lauren knew that for a fact—and she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to go through it all with him again.

  As Lauren sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea, she heard the front door open and close. She regarded the clock: ten past three; it would be Dean. As if on cue, Dean stumbled into the kitchen, and when he saw his mum he gave a small smile.

  “Why are you still up?”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  Ignoring her, he went to the fridge and grabbed the milk, taking the lid off and swigging it back. Replacing the top, he put the milk back in the fridge. He turned to his mother.

  “Not going to bollock me for not using a glass?”

  “Didn’t think I’d bother.”

  “Good.” Dean turned to leave.

  “Dean, I think we need to talk.”

  “Really, about what?”

  “Your behaviour. What’ve you been taking?”

  “Tonight? Alcohol, good old legal alcohol.”

  “And what about last night, and the night before, and the one before that? You’re hanging around with Mark again, aren’t you?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Oh nothing, nothing. That’s fine, become a loser again, why not?”

  “Give it a rest, Mum.”

  “Don’t you take that tone with me. If you think I’m going through all that shit again, you’re mistaken. You’ve got a roof over your head, a family that loves you, a job with good prospects, and you just want to piss it all away.”

  “I’m not pissing anything away.”

  “Yes, you are, you’ve started using this place as a doss hole again, ducking in and out at all hours. And as for your job—well, I say ‘your job,’ that’s if you’ve still got one.”

  Dean became more alert at this.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’ve had Jon Hamilton on the phone today.”

  “Jon from the garage?”

  “Do you know any other Jon Hamilton’s? And he told me you’ve been late every day this week, apart from today, when you didn’t show up at all. He says when you are in, you’re surly and uncooperative, and that on Wednesday he had to send you home ‘cause you were drunk. Drunk while working in a garage—honestly, Dean, I didn’t realise I was capable of raising such an idiot. It’s an eye-opener, it really is.”

  Dean started moving toward the kitchen door.

  “And where do you think you’re going?”

  “To bed.”

  Lauren sat and watched her son leave. She stared forlornly into her teacup. Getting up, she put the cup into the sink and reached up to retrieve a tumbler from the top shelf of the cupboard. Then, squatting down, she started rattling around at the back of the condiments cupboard, stretching her arm right to the back of the cupboard and finally locating what she was after. Pulling the vodka bottle out of its hiding place, she regarded its contents. There was only enough for a couple in there; she’d have to grab another bottle tomorrow. Emptying the remaining contents of the bottle into the glass, she took a swig.

  Jesus, that’s harsh.

  Wincing, she took another mouthful. She didn’t enjoy the taste, but it was the only thing that could guarantee her sleep at the moment. Once she’d finished, she washed the glass up and returned it to its rightful place. Then, taking the empty vodka bottle, she quietly let herself out the back door and pushed it down into the wheelie bin, making sure it was out of sight. Content it wouldn’t be noticed, she went back inside and got ready for bed.

  Dean managed to get into work by half past eight; considering he was supposed to start at seven, he was greeted with a scowl by most of his work colleagues. Pete bowled up to him

  “For fuck’s sake, mate, I told you Jon was baying for your blood. What time do you call this?”

  “Give it a rest, Pete, where is the fat bastard, anyway?”

  “In his office. He’s on the phone at the moment, so give him a couple.”

  “You want a cup of tea?”

  “No, and I don’t think you should, either. That Astra needs a new set of spark plugs; if I were you, I’d get busy.” Pete handed Dean the spark plugs and returned to the inspection pit.

  Dean had just opened the car bonnet when Jon stuck his head out of the office.

  “Was that Dean I just saw stroll in?”

  “Yep, he’s sorting the Astra out.” Pete pointed over to the other side of the workshop.

  “Send him in, would you?” Jon closed the office door again.

  “Dean, Jon wants to see you,” Pete shouted across to Dean.

  Dean looked up and started toward the office.

  “Good luck,” Pete offered as Dean opened the office door.

  Jon was sat back in his chair.

  “Sit down.”

  Dean did as he was told.

  “I want to talk to you about your attitude over the last week.”

  “And I want to talk to you about ringing my house and worrying my mum.”

  “Well, what could I do? You’re hardly ever here; your mates have tried talking to you—”

  “Oh, you put them up to that, did you?”

  “And you’re getting worse. Now, I like to think I’m a patient man, but your attitude is taking the piss.”

  “Well here’s an idea: why don’t you, and all those pricks out there, take this job and stick it up your collective arses.”

  Dean got up and slammed out of the office, walking past Pete to retrieve his jacket. As he walked out, he gave Pete the finger.

  Dean wandered round to the pub and rang Mark. Within twenty minutes, Mark had arrived, and by the time they were on their third chaser, they’d come up with a plan.

  “I’m telling you, mate, it won’t be a problem. I’ve got the brake fluid back at mine, you know where he lives—it’s a piece of piss.”

  “All right, then, let’s do it tonight. Meet you back down here at eight.”

  After necking the remains of their drinks, they left.

  By the time Dean arrived back home, Lauren was furious. She’d had four vodkas since Jon had rung and told her what had happened, and she was fit to maim.

  “I’ve had Jon on the phone again. He told me you’ve walked out of your job.”

&
nbsp; “And?”

  “You had a really good opportunity at that place, Dean.”

  “We’ve done all this before, Mum.”

  “You little fucker, don’t you take that attitude with me. You can’t carry on living here if you don’t pull your weight; even your little sister’s got a Saturday job, and I can’t support you forever. You’re nineteen now, Dean. Grow some balls, for fuck’s sake.”

  Dean glanced over at the kitchen table and noticed the vodka bottle.

  “Isn’t it you who’s always saying intoxicants don’t solve anything?”

  “Don’t get smart with me—that’s cause of you, that is; it’s just easier than going to the doctor’s and getting sedatives.”

  “Guilt trip now, eh? That’s a new tactic.”

  “Guilt trip? That’d imply you’ve got a conscience, which you obviously haven’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be hanging around with that fucking Mark.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, don’t play the innocent with me; I know you’re hanging round with those losers again. Are you dealing drugs again? You’re not a minor anymore, so if you get nicked, you’ll be going to the big boys’ prison.”

  Ignoring her protests, Dean disappeared up to his room.

  Chapter 15

  “Hi Loretta, sorry it’s so late.”

  “No problem, come on in.” Loretta opened the door wider to let Holt in.

  “I’ll get the coffee on.”

  Loretta went through into the kitchen as Holt made his way through to the lounge.

  “I can’t sleep; I keep going over the crimes again and again.”

  Holt spilt the contents of his folder onto the table.

  Loretta came through from the kitchen holding two mugs, and placing coasters on the table, she slid one mug toward Holt. Holt was staring at each of the photos in turn, a look of incomprehension drawing across his face.

  “Jimmy? Are you ok?”

  “Yeah, it’s just seeing them—I mean, I must have spent most of the day poring over these photos, and they still shock me. Who could do these things to another human being? I thought I was a jaded old copper who couldn’t be shaken by anything, but here I am, wondering if the world has gone completely mad.”