‘We have reason to suspect that your son is involved in a gang who have been mugging people on the streets at knife point. Two victims have been fatally stabbed,’ Ian said.
‘That’s got nothing to do with Daryl! What are saying? You can’t pin this on him!’ The woman’s voice rose in a shriek. ‘You can’t take him away from me. What am I supposed to do on my own?’
‘We’re not accusing Daryl of being directly involved in the murders,’ Geraldine interrupted her gently. ‘But we do have reason to suspect he knows the gang who are doing this.’ She turned to speak to Daryl directly. ‘If you can tell us who these muggers are, then you can go home and that will be the end of it.’
The lawyer nodded at the terrified boy. ‘Go on, Daryl. If you know the boys they’re talking about, you need to speak up.’
‘My son wasn’t brought up to be a thief,’ Mrs Bowen burst out furiously, glaring at the lawyer. ‘You’re supposed to be on our side!’
‘Daryl, you know a girl called Alexa, don’t you?’ Geraldine asked.
Underneath his acne, Daryl’s face reddened. He shook his head.
‘Who is this girl?’ the lawyer asked. ‘What does she have to do with Daryl?’
Ignoring the interruption, Ian spoke to Daryl. ‘We know Alexa received a bag stolen during the course of a mugging.’
Geraldine was watching Daryl’s reactions very closely as Ian mentioned Alexa, and she now suspected the girl could be a way of putting pressure on him.
‘It’s a very expensive brown leather bag,’ Geraldine added. ‘A Burberry. Alexa could be in very serious trouble, if you don’t help her, and we’d have to tell her you refused to help her just to save yourself from being questioned.’
‘No!’ Daryl cried out. ‘You can’t say that. She hasn’t done anything. She wouldn’t. You leave her out of this.’
Ian threw Geraldine an appreciative glance.
‘You gave her that bag, didn’t you?’ Ian asked.
‘No. No.’
‘Oh dear,’ Ian said. ‘Now Alexa is in worse trouble than before, because she told us you gave it to her. So she’s not only been receiving stolen goods, but she’s lied to the police about it.’
‘Withholding information, and obstructing the police in a murder investigation.’ Geraldine shook her head. ‘Those are very serious charges.’
She turned to Daryl. ‘Well, that will be all.’
‘What?’
‘You can go now.’
Ian nodded. ‘We’ll just have to get to work on Alexa and get the truth out of her, whatever it takes.’
‘Yes, we’ll have to get back to her and tell her we know she’s lying about where she got that bag. She’s in a lot of trouble now for lying to us. Serious trouble.’
Mrs Bowen stood up. ‘Come on, Daryl, you heard them. We can go.’
All the colour had drained from the boy’s face making his acne show up more brightly. He stared at Ian, making no move to follow his mother.
‘Daryl, come on, we’re going home.’
‘No!’ It sounded like a cry of pain.
Mrs Bowen turned in surprise, her eyebrows raised. Once more she appeared about to remonstrate, but she hesitated and sat down again.
‘Don’t speak, Daryl,’ the lawyer warned him. ‘Don’t say a word.’
Like his mother, the boy took no notice of the lawyer’s advice. ‘It was me,’ he said.
It was his mother’s turn to cry out. ‘No! It can’t be true. It’s not true.’ She appealed to the lawyer. ‘He wouldn’t – he couldn’t… you have to do something.’
‘You gave that bag to Alexa, didn’t you?’ Geraldine responded.
Daryl’s mother let out a long shuddering breath as she realised what Daryl had admitted to.
The boy nodded, and answered in a whisper. ‘Yes, yes, I gave her the bag. I did. She wasn’t lying. It was me.’
Recovering her senses, Mrs Bowen snapped at him to be quiet.
‘Don’t say any more, Daryl. You heard what the lawyer said. Shut the fuck up. They’ll tie you up in knots.’
Geraldine leaned forward and spoke as gently as she could. Unattractive as they were, Daryl and his mother were both clearly frightened.
‘We just want to know where that bag came from, Daryl. Don’t be frightened, you’re not in any trouble.’
‘I’m not frightened of you. Nothing scares me…’ he began but his protest petered out.
‘You could end up in very serious trouble if you withhold information from the police,’ the lawyer said. ‘I suggest you tell them where the bag came from.’
Daryl shrugged and looked helplessly at his mother who advised him to keep his trap shut.
‘You just told us you gave a very expensive leather bag to your girlfriend,’ Geraldine said.
‘She’s not my girlfriend.’
At her side, Geraldine heard Ian sigh impatiently.
‘You told us you gave an expensive leather bag to your friend, Alexa,’ she amended her statement. ‘Where did you get that bag from?’
‘I found it,’ he replied.
‘Found it?’
‘Yes. In – on a rubbish dump. Someone had thrown it away. So it wasn’t even stealing.’ He smiled in an attempt to look friendly, as if to emphasise how accommodating he was.
‘Someone had thrown it on a rubbish dump?’ Ian repeated, his tone scathing. ‘Where is this rubbish dump?’
‘No, I mean it was dumped in the rubbish. In one of the bins outside Sainsbury’s.’
It was pathetically obvious he was making his story up as he went along, and making a very unconvincing job of it.
‘I wonder who would throw out a perfectly good brand-new very expensive bag,’ Geraldine said slowly.
‘People throw out all sorts,’ Daryl’s mother said. ‘Can we go now?’
‘Not until Daryl tells us the truth.’
‘Oh bloody hell, he told you, didn’t he?’
Geraldine and Ian exchanged a glance.
‘Let me help jog your memory, Daryl. That bag was stolen when its owner was mugged in the street,’ Geraldine said.
‘Do you have any evidence that links Daryl to the mugging?’ the lawyer asked. ‘You don’t have to say anything, Daryl –’
‘It wasn’t stolen by him,’ Mrs Bowen interrupted. ‘That must be why they threw it away,’ she went on with a crafty expression. ‘Whoever stole it didn’t want to be caught red-handed. They must have taken all the cash from inside it and dumped the bag. That’s what they do, isn’t it?’
‘You tell me,’ Ian replied drily. ‘You seem to know all about it.’
The woman scowled and muttered something about having read about it in the local paper.
‘If you keep on lying like this,’ Geraldine said, ‘we’ll have to believe you were lying about giving the bag to Alexa. Which means she lied to us as well.’
Ian nodded, catching her drift at once. ‘That girl’s going to be in a lot of trouble.’
‘You leave her out of it!’ Daryl shouted.
Ian’s expression didn’t alter, but Geraldine knew he must be as pleased as she was to have succeeded in finding a way to persuade Daryl to talk.
‘Tell us the truth then, Daryl. Where did you get hold of that bag? We know you didn’t find it in a rubbish bin.’
‘You need to answer the question,’ the lawyer said. ‘Tell the police what you know.’
‘He said –’ his mother began but Geraldine pressed on loudly, ignoring the interruption.
‘Did you mug someone for it? It was because you wanted to get a nice present for Alexa, wasn’t it? You wouldn’t be the first boy to do something like that.’ She smiled at him. ‘What you did is understandable, but wrong.’
‘No, no. I never mugged anyone. I was just the…’ He broke off.
His mother was hissing at him to shut up, but it was too late. Once he started talking, Daryl became surprisingly garrulous. His mother sat at his side, alternately swearing at him and growling at Geraldine and Ian, but even she was powerless to stop him talking. The one message that came across clearly was that he would refuse to share any names with the police unless they could offer him protection from the other gang members.
‘You don’t know what they’ll do to me,’ he kept repeating, his voice trembling with fear. ‘I can’t tell you, I just can’t.’
In the end he agreed to divulge the location of their hideout on the condition that he was present when the police arrived, and was treated in exactly the same way as the other members of the gang. It was a reasonable request, and Ian agreed. Geraldine was surprised to learn there were only three boys in the gang.
‘Is there anyone else? A leader who doesn’t meet you very often?’ Ian asked, evidently sharing Geraldine’s reaction.
Daryl shook his head, puzzled by the question. ‘No, I told you, it’s just the three of us. The other two and me.’
‘If there is anyone else, now’s the time to tell the police,’ the lawyer said.
‘Oh, shut up,’ Daryl’s mother said. ‘And I bet I know who one of the other toerags is. I bet it’s that boy who used to walk to school with you, when –’
‘That’s history,’ Daryl interrupted her. ‘No one cares about junior school anymore.’
‘What’s his name?’ Ian asked, but Mrs Bowen shook her head and claimed she couldn’t remember.
It didn’t matter. If Daryl’s information was correct, the whole gang – all three of them – would be interviewed at the police station before the day was over, and samples of their DNA would be taken and analysed. Geraldine doubted that a match with the murderer would be found, but at least they would have apprehended the muggers.
29
Carver leaned back in his seat and surveyed his domain. Walls once white were coated with a film of grey filth. Streaks of dirt merged with shadows cast by the solitary light bulb until the two were indistinguishable. He turned his attention to his stubby fingers, the pads engrained with grime, the knuckles on his right hand swollen and split from a recent brawl. As long as his opponent came off worse, Carver was never bothered by trivial injuries sustained in a fight. And there was no question that his opponent had come off worse this time. Carver had left him writhing in a gutter, eyes already swelling above his smashed nose, body bent double over injuries concealed beneath his clothes. Carver chuckled at the memory.
Flexing his fingers, he winced slightly when his right hand smarted at the movement. It had been a tough fight. Although he wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, for a moment he had been afraid he was going to be thrashed. The fleeting doubt had made his eventual victory all the sweeter, and he was still elated by his triumph. His humiliation at the hands of a girl earlier in the week had ceased to rankle once Nelson had explained how she had taken advantage of him.
‘How was anyone supposed to know she was some kind of martial arts expert?’ Nelson had demanded.
Nelson was right. It hadn’t been a fair fight. From now on, Carver would trust no one.
Nelson came in, shaking his head and grumbling about the rain.
‘Man, you’re always whining. You were born complaining,’ Carver said.
‘Where did you get that?’ Nelson asked, catching sight of Carver’s injured hand. ‘You look like you been in a fight.’
‘It was epic. You should’ve seen him.’ Carver threw his head back and laughed.
‘We’re supposed to be keeping out of trouble,’ Nelson said, scowling. ‘What if he’d called the cops?’
Carver grinned. ‘He’s not gonna be talking to anyone for a while. Bring me that chair.’
Carver put his feet up on the old yellow chair, leaving Nelson to sit on the wooden crate. Between Nelson and Daryl, the yellow chair was taken on a first come first served basis. This evening, Nelson had missed out on the chair even though he had arrived before Daryl. Still, the crate was better than nothing. Daryl would have to sit on the floor.
‘Where’s the boy?’ Carver asked.
Nelson shrugged one shoulder, one eyebrow raised in disdain.
‘How should I know?’
‘Where the hell’s he at? Don’t tell me he’s decided to stay home after I told him to be here. Shit, where is he?’
Nelson scowled. ‘That boy’s trouble. I been saying it all along. He’s got trouble written all over him. We ought never to have brought him here. We were doing just fine before he came along. Now everything’s fucked up.’
‘Fuck me, if he don’t show up, I’m gonna –’
As he was speaking, there was a knock on the door. The two boys froze, listening, their eyes fixed on the door. Since the recent stabbings reported in the news, they had all become jumpy. They heard another tap. And another. As the boys recognised the pattern, the tension in the air slipped away. Carver’s grip on the arm of his chair loosened.
‘I knew it was him,’ Nelson said, smiling with relief.
‘Like fuck you did. Well? You gonna let him in or what?’
Carver tossed him the key, and Nelson jumped up to open the door. Carver waited until the door was locked and the key returned to him, before addressing Daryl.
‘You’re late, boy.’
Daryl glanced at his phone to check the time. ‘It’s not even eight yet,’ he protested, his fear of Carver momentarily swept away by indignation.
‘I said you’re late,’ Carver repeated, raising his voice slightly.
The time was immaterial. If Carver said it was late, then it was late. Daryl ducked his head and muttered an apology. From his perch on the crate, Nelson watched, grinning. Daryl looked all around, and then sat on the floor close to the wall, hugging his knees to his chest.
‘So what we gonna do?’ Nelson asked.
‘We’d better stay here,’ Daryl replied, glancing anxiously towards the door. ‘We’re safe in here. No one knows about this place.’
Nelson sniggered. ‘You planning on spending the rest of your life hiding in here?’
‘What you laughing at, boy?’ Daryl demanded.
Fuming, he stood up and glared at Nelson who jumped to his feet. A tiny cloud of dust rose from the floor, scuffed up by his movement.
‘For fuck’s sake sit down and shut up,’ Carver said. ‘I got no time for your yapping. I got to think. Just as well someone around here does.’
When they were both sitting down, Carver stared from Daryl to Nelson and back again. Then he lit a cigarette and sprawled in his seat, his feet resting comfortably on the yellow chair. For a few moments no one spoke. The dust settled on the floor once more.
‘We gonna stay here all night?’ Nelson asked.
Daryl scowled at him but didn’t answer. Then he turned to watch Carver, who was blowing smoke rings at the ceiling. Some of them were quite neat.
‘That’s a good one,’ Daryl said with fake admiration.
‘We going out or what?’ Nelson said.
‘You can’t ever just sit still, can you?’ Daryl said.
‘What you complaining about? Anyway, we can’t just sit here all night doing nothing.’
‘What’s wrong with staying here?’ Daryl asked.
‘What we gonna do hanging in here all night, big mouth?’ Nelson persisted.
Carver was watching the other boys through lowered lids. Without a word he pulled out his knife and began flicking the blade in and out, in and out.
‘Nobody’s gonna bother us,’ he crooned, his eyes on his knife. ‘I’d like to see some fucker try.’
The blade slid in and out, in and out, with a faint clicking sound. The tension grew fierce as Nelson and Daryl glared at one another. And all the while the blade flicked in and out, in and out.
‘We can stay here and make plans,’ Daryl said at last. ‘Talk about what we’re gonna do when it’s safe to go out there again.’
‘And when is it gonna be safe enough for you?’ Nelson clucked and flapped his elbows.
‘How about when the killer’s been caught, and the streets aren’t crawling with pigs, looking for us?’
‘Ooh, I’m scared,’ Nelson said, slapping his hands to his cheeks and stretching his eyes open wide.
Absorbed in blowing smoke rings, Carver took no notice of them. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Nelson shook his fist at Daryl who scowled, but neither of them broke the silence.
At last Carver spoke. ‘So here’s what we’re gonna do.’
He spoke very slowly as though working out what he was going to say while he was speaking. But he got no further because, without any warning, there was a resounding thump and the garage walls trembled. Carver sat bolt upright. The trail of smoke rising from his cigarette drew a jagged line in the air.
‘Open up! Police! Come out with your hands in the air! The garage is surrounded!’
Carver leaped from his chair as though he had been stung. Nelson was already on his feet, and Daryl scrambled up from the floor.
‘What the fuck –’ Carver cried out.
Daryl had never seen him looking scared before. Carver’s eyes glared wildly around the room and Daryl trembled as they darted past him.
30
The three boys had attempted to escape but with several burly officers in uniform blocking the doorway, and no other way out, their efforts had been futile. Geraldine frowned as she read the report logged by the arresting officer. After the door had been kicked in, Daryl had fought as hard as the other boys, and had been dragged to the police van in handcuffs, still kicking and struggling. He was terrified of the boy he called Carver, so concealing his collusion had been a condition of Daryl’s co-operation with the police. Even the officers at the scene had been unaware that he was an informer. He must have done a good job of convincing his friends that his resistance was genuine.
Rogue Killer Page 14
