by Ben Cheetham
Paul returned an exaggeratedly polite smile. Beth clearly would not be bluffed into cooperating. A constable approached. “Both houses are clear, sir. No sign of the suspects.”
“Why didn’t you open the door?” Paul asked Beth.
“Would you if murderers were trying to break into your house?” she replied loudly enough to be heard by the faces lining the doors and windows.
Paul’s gaze swept uneasily over those same faces. “Would you prefer to talk somewhere private?”
“Makes no difference where we are. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Don’t you want to know why we’re here?”
“I couldn’t give two fucks why you’re here.”
“You’ve got three children, haven’t you?” put in Jack.
Beth looked at him for the first time. “What if I have?” There was an edge to her voice, like the warning growl of a mother wolf.
“What are their names?”
Beth said nothing, but Jack could feel the hate behind her slanted eyes.
“Callum, Jade and Anya,” said Paul, perhaps sensing that Jack was mining a potentially productive seam.
“Anya,” said Jack. “That’s an unusual name. Why did you call your daughter Anya?”
Beth bit her upper lip and held her tongue.
“It’s funny,” went on Jack. “Before my daughter was born I never used to notice kids. But afterwards I couldn’t stop noticing them. Especially babies. They seemed to be everywhere. Crying their lungs out. Scrunched up little faces. Tiny fingers. And I’d say to myself, what kind of monster could hurt a baby? I think all new dads feel the same way... Well, nearly all. There are some that don’t care who they hurt just so long as they get what they want. You know the kind of people I’m talking about, Beth. The lowest of the low. Even in prison they have to be kept in isolation for their own safety.”
The sandpaper-rough laughter of a heavy smoker drowned out Jack’s voice. “Sorry,” said Beth, theatrically gripping her sides. “Go on, finish what you were saying. I could do with a good laugh.”
“Real piece of work, aren’t you, love?” said Steve. Now it was his turn to make sure his voice was loud enough to be heard. “Your husband sells babies to god only knows who. There’s a baby out there right now possibly being abused because of Ryan and Gavin. And you find that funny?”
Beth eyed him unflinchingly. “You put four bullets in my dad,” she hissed as if Steve had pulled the trigger. “You said Dad had a gun. That was a lie. Billy Hardy had the gun. And even that wasn’t a real gun.”
“An investigation ruled that the shooting was lawful,” pointed out Paul.
“Pigs investigating pigs,” Beth spat contemptuously. “State hired murderers. That’s all you are. Justice is whatever you decide it is. Well if we can’t get justice by the law, we’ll make our own.” She pumped a fist into the air. “Justice for Glenn Mahon!”
“Justice for Glenn Mahon!” parroted the BMX gang and a scattering of other onlookers.
“I hope that’s not a threat, Mrs Mahon. Because we won’t tolerate threats.”
Beth jutted her chin at Paul. “What are you gonna do? Take me down the station and beat me up?”
Paul sighed. “We don’t tolerate police brutality either.”
“I reckon she’s watched too many episodes of The Sweeny,” said Steve.
“Perhaps we should show her the footage from the woods,” Jack suggested.
“That sounds like a good idea,” agreed Paul.
Jack fetched a laptop from his car. “Shall we go inside?” said Paul. “I don’t think you want your neighbours seeing this, Mrs Mahon.”
Beth stared at him, her eyes narrow and calculating. With the same slow movements that let the onlookers know she would go at her own speed and no one else’s, she returned to her house. Paul, Jack and Steve followed her into a hallway that was done out like a mini palace complete with plush red carpets, fluted bannister and angelic murals. Officers were none-too-gently rooting through mahogany kitchen cupboards and piling bone-china on marble work-surfaces.
“Oi! Careful,” Beth yelled at them. “That stuff costs more than you pricks make in a year.” She shifted her attention to officers carrying hard-drives, laptops and iPads downstairs. “Hey, those belong to the kids.”
“We have the right to take anything that may aid us in our enquiry, Mrs Mahon,” said Paul. “They’ll be returned as soon as we’re finished with them.”
Scowling doubtfully, Beth stalked into a living-room that had been thoroughly turned over. Gold-framed family portraits had been taken down from the wood-panelled walls. A top-of-the-range flat-screen TV had received the same treatment. What looked like a whole antiques emporium’s worth of china vases, plates, ashtrays, tea sets and the like lay in a jumble on the carpet. The cushions had been removed from a red leather three-piece-suite and tossed aside. An officer was rifling through an ornate drinks cabinet.
“Give us a moment,” said Paul.
“Yes sir.” The officer handed Paul two bundles of fifty-pound notes sealed in bank wrappers marked ‘£2,500’. “These were in the cabinet.”
Paul looked at Beth. “Can you explain this?”
She stared back as if she would have liked to do the same to him as had been done to the room. “Pocket money.”
Paul cocked an eyebrow. “I’m afraid this will have to be booked into evidence.”
“And how am I supposed to feed my kids if you take my money?”
“You could try getting a job like everyone else,” Steve suggested.
“Think you’re fucking hilarious, don’t you?” Beth retorted. “Thieving bastards,” she muttered as Paul returned the money to the officer.
“Make sure Mrs Mahon gets a receipt for this,” Paul said pointedly.
Jack fast-forwarded through the night-vision footage to where Butterfly stumbled into the woodland clearing. “Have a look at this please, Mrs Mahon.”
Beth looked uninterestedly at the laptop. A hush descended over the room as on-screen Butterfly dropped to her knees, clutching her pregnant belly. Jack watched Beth watching the footage, partly to gauge her reaction, but also because he couldn’t stomach watching it again himself. As the video unfolded, her expression remained inscrutable. But shade by shade the colour leached from her sharp cheekbones. Her jaw muscles pulsed when one of the balaclava-wearing figures handed over his jacket for the baby to be swaddled in.
Jack paused the video. “You recognise that man, don’t you?”
“Which man?”
“You know who I mean. I would show you the rest of the footage, but I know it wouldn’t bother you seeing your husband shoot a woman. Killing people is just a job. But stealing babies? That’s something else entirely. Imagine how you’d feel if someone tore a baby out of your womb and sold it.”
Beth wasn’t laughing now. “Depends, doesn’t it?”
“On what?”
“On whether I was fit to be a mother.”
“Are you fit to be a mother?”
Beth’s eyes flashed fiercely. “A good mother wants her children to be safe. If she can’t keep them safe herself, they’re better off with someone else.”
Her words made Jack uneasy. Was she implying that Butterfly couldn’t be trusted to care for her baby? Dennis’s voice echoed in his ears again – You wouldn’t think the child was better off with her if you knew who she really is. “Is that why Ryan took the baby, because he thinks it will have a better life with someone else?”
“I don’t have the faintest fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
“Thing is, Beth,” Jack persisted, “people aren’t always what they seem. Sometimes someone might seem like they can’t be trusted, but the exact opposite turns out to be true. Others might seem like they can be trusted with your most precious possession, but...” He let his words hang meaningfully for a second, before adding, “I once worked on a case involving a retired headmaster. This guy did charity work in his spare
time. No one had a bad word to say about him. That is until one of his granddaughters told a friend that grandad kept touching her ‘down there’. The friend told their parents and the parents told us and... Well, then it all came out. For forty years this guy, this pillar of the community had abused his own kids, his grandkids, the kids he’d taught–”
“Shut your filthy gob and get out of my house,” scowled Beth.
“Where are Ryan and Gavin?” pressed Jack.
“Get out! Out!”
“I can tell you’re a good mum, Beth. Forget Ryan and Gavin. Just tell us where the baby is. You have the power to make sure that baby comes to no harm.”
“And if the baby’s real mother isn’t fit to take care of it, she won’t get it back,” put in Paul. “We’ll make certain it ends up in good hands. Trust us.”
Trust us. At those words a shutter seemed to slam down over Beth’s face. “I’ve got nothing to tell you,” she said in a voice like a full-stop.
“OK, Beth,” said Jack. “If that’s the way you want to play it. I just hope for the sake of your children that you don’t come to regret your decision.”
Very calmly, Beth turned to Jack and spat in his face.
“That’s assault,” said Steve, reaching for her.
Jack blocked his hand. “Forget it.” He held Beth’s gaze for a heartbeat before retrieving his laptop and leaving the room.
Paul followed him outside. “Sorry, Jack. I shouldn’t have stuck my oar in.”
Jack wiped saliva off his face. “She wouldn’t have given up any information regardless.”
“I’m not sure. I think you were getting somewhere. If you press charges we can take her in and sweat her.”
Jack shook his head. “I doubt she’s got the answers we need. Ryan would know better than to put her at risk of being charged. Besides, I deserved that. I was wrong to bring her kids into it.”
“So what do you think our next move should be?”
“I don’t know.” If we can’t get justice by the law, we’ll make our own. Jack turned Beth’s words over in his mind. “Maybe we should just wait and see what happens.”
Paul made no reply. Both men knew waiting wasn’t an option. As Jack headed for his car, Paul said, “You didn’t deserve it, Jack.”
Lines gathered between Jack’s eyebrows. It was surreal to hear Paul talking to him like a friend. Only a few days ago he would never have believed it possible. Could he return the gesture? Rebecca’s beautiful, brittle face flashed through his mind. No, he wasn’t ready to do that. But neither did he feel like listening to the part of his mind that urged him to retort, Who are you to tell me what I do or don’t deserve? Instead, he simply continued on his way.
Chapter 27
The air in the windowless box that served as an interview room was thick with the scent of perfume and cigarettes. Leah Mahon had been allowed several cigarette breaks during the course of the afternoon. The nicotine appeared to have done little to calm her nerves. Her long painted nails tapped out a ceaseless rhythm on the table-top. Her small eyes were constantly on the move too, flitting around like trapped bluebottles. She worked over a piece of gum, stretching it out of her mouth, balling it up and shoving it back in. Jack watched her silently. Neither of them had said a word in five or six minutes. He’d tried the same tack on her as on Beth and got the same result. She was a different beast to Beth – younger, less adept at controlling her emotions. During her viewing of Butterfly’s ordeal, she’d trembled uncontrollably. But she knew how to do one thing extremely well – keep silent. In two hours, she hadn’t spoken more than fifteen words and most of those had been ‘no’ or ‘fuck off’.
Jack skimmed over Leah’s personal details once again – ‘POB: Moss Side, Manchester, DOB: 10-04-1982.’ She’d gone to the same high-school as Gavin, although she was three years younger than him. They’d married in 2005. A year later she’d given birth to twin brothers – Tyler and Liam. She had no criminal record. She’d never had a job – at least not one that involved paying tax. There was one smudge on her record – she’d been flagged up to social services when the twins kept turning up to school covered in bruises. A ‘child in need’ case had been opened, but it was determined that neither parent posed a threat to the twins.
Jack sighed. He was reluctant to use her children as leverage, but it was all he had. “In 2015 social services interviewed you after concerns were raised about the welfare of your sons.”
Leah’s over-plucked eyebrows twitched as if she’d been waiting for Jack to play this card. “Yeah, so fucking what? Nothing came of it? The boys had been fighting. What’s wrong with that? It’s just normal boy stuff, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” asked Jack, encouraged that Leah had said more in the past few seconds than during the entire interview. “I don’t remember fighting with my brother like that.” Laura was Jack’s only sibling, but truth and lies were only tools to be used as required when there was a baby missing. “Did Gavin fight with Ryan when they were kids?”
Leah chewed her gum. This time her silence told Jack all he needed to know. “Ryan’s what, three or four years older than Gavin?” he continued. “Bigger too. I’ll bet he used to beat the shit out of Gavin, didn’t he?”
Leah’s fingers balled into fists. “No one beats the shit out of my Gav.”
“I believe that. When it comes to everyone except Ryan that is. It’s obvious which one of them is the boss. How old is Ryan’s son Callum?” Jack answered his own question. “Fifteen. So there’s about the same age difference between him and your boys as between Gavin and Ryan. Is that what happened to Tyler and Liam? Did Callum beat them up? He did, didn’t he? He’s doing the same thing to your boys as Ryan did to Gavin. And when your boys grow up, they’ll be under Callum’s thumb just like Gavin is under Ryan’s. Is that what you want?”
Leah let out a sharp laugh. “You must think I’m stupid or something. I know what you’re game is and it won’t work.” She pushed her chin out proudly. “I’m a Mahon. Do you understand what that means?” A sneer twisted her lips. “Nah, how could you? You don’t have a fucking clue what loyalty is.”
“Oh I know what loyalty means, Leah. And I know what it doesn’t mean too. It doesn’t mean letting your children get beaten up on a daily basis. And it certainly doesn’t mean allowing them to be forced into a life of crime. Because you know where that life leads, don’t you?” Jack motioned to the room. “Here.” Then he pointed downwards. “Or there.”
Leah resumed chewing her gum even more intensely than before.
Jack saw the opening and went for it. “It doesn’t have to be that way. You can decide here and now that you want something different for your boys. All you have to do is help us.”
Leah’s thick foundation cracked like a dry riverbed as she wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t know nothing.”
“I believe you, but Gavin will contact you at some point. You just have to let us know when and what he says. Simple.”
Thirty seconds passed. A minute. Jack let the silence continue. He knew when to twist the screws and when to back off. Two minutes. Leah was staring at her fingernails as if she hated them. Three... Four minutes. Give her a gentle nudge, Jack said to himself. “You don’t want social services sticking their nose into your business again, do you? Because all it would take is for Tyler and Liam to show up at school with more bruises and another case could be opened against you.”
Leah stopped chewing. The lines on her forehead disappeared. She lifted her eyes back to Jack’s. When he saw the look in them, he knew he’d overplayed his hand. “They’re not afraid of you.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Who isn’t?”
“You know who I’m talking about. You started this, but they’re gonna finish it.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact. They’ve been getting ready for this ever since you murdered Glenn.”
The certainty in Leah’s voice sent a cold tingle through Jack. “Glenn wa
s an armed robber. I’d say getting shot is a hazard of the job, wouldn’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. And it doesn’t matter what I know. You won’t have to find Gavin and Ryan. They’ll find you.”
Jack glanced towards a CCTV camera in a corner of the ceiling through which Paul was watching proceedings. “What are they going to do?”
Leah bared her too-white teeth. “What do you think they’re gonna do?”
“I think they’re going to get themselves killed. And you’re going to end up a widow. And your boys are going to grow up without a dad. You can stop that from happening, Leah.”
She gave out a laugh that told Jack his chance of cracking her had passed. “Are you afraid?” she asked with a taunting edge. “You should be.” She looked at the camera. “All of you.”
