It had been so long since the landline in his mother’s house had rung that at first Gary didn’t recognise the noise. He had forgotten where the thing was kept. Eventually he found it on the shelf behind the television. He wasn’t going to answer it. It could only be a sales call anyway. But the house was empty, the night was lonely, and it might be one of his mother’s friends who hadn’t yet heard about her death. They would be shocked and sympathetic and say kind things. He lifted the receiver.
At first there was nothing, a bit of white noise, some crackles. He was about to hang up when he heard the noise of a motor, the swish of tyres on the road. There was the mutter of passing voices, a distant burst of laughter.
“Hello, who is this? Stop arsing about.”
“Gaz. It’s me.”
“Eddie?”
“Yeah. Listen, are you on your own?”
“I am. Eddie, where have you been? Really shit stuff has been happening. Eddie, Mam’s dead.”
“I know. I know all of it. Look, I haven’t got much time. Is the back gate unlocked?”
“I don’t know – probably not. You know Dada screwed it closed years ago. Back when he went through that really paranoid phase. When those blokes were thrown in jail in Dublin.”
“I need you to get it open. Now. I need to come to the house. I’ll have to come the back way and I’ll need to be nippy. Can you do it? Do it now.”
“I suppose so.”
“Go on, la. I’ll be there soon.”
“Eddie, what’s going on?”
“Open the gate. We can talk after.”
“Okay. I’ll sort it. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah.”
“Don’t answer the door, Gaz.”
“What do you mean, Eddie, why not answer the door? What’s going on?”
He was gone. Gary stared at the plastic handset for a minute and then clicked the off button and laid it on the coffee table.
Dada had plenty of tools, he kept them in the cupboard under the stairs in tool kits and cardboard boxes and old shopping bags. He needed the biggest screwdriver to take the fixings out of the brackets they had used. Three of them and the screws were rusted. By the time he’d finished, he was sweating, and his hands were aching and bruised. But the three lumps of metal clattered to the paving stones. He heaved on the handle and it came off in his fingers and he realised the wood had rotted and all that had been necessary would have been a good kick and the whole thing would have collapsed. He’d need to get it fixed. Or maybe not, maybe it was time to call it a day with this place. Leave it and go somewhere with no memories and no reminders. Not yet, though. Not until Molly was back.
He heard the scrape of shoe soles in the alley. He turned the big torch in his hand, hefting it by the long handle. He pulled the rickety gate closed by what was left of the metal fixings and waited.
Chapter 41
The queue of trucks outside the port was astounding. David Griffiths had mentioned it in the pub the night before. The talk had been mostly about the case and nobody had been surprised, or inclined to try and change the subject. After the introductions, the ordering and the food arriving, Molly and Mary had become the main topic of conversation. Of course, the rest of it, weapons and smuggling, had figured large but the start of it all had taken centre stage. However, the murder of Mary McCardle had been sidelined by the disappearance of her daughter and grandson. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, but Molly was still alive. At least that’s what they were all banking on. But the talk was overlaid with the unspoken knowledge that the longer she was missing with no word from her then the more chance there was of an end for the young woman and her baby none of the people around the table wanted to think about. But they did, and they examined all the possibilities and, though it was good to get together, the night was tainted with the spectre of the missing girl.
Arriving at the port, Jordan wasn’t prepared for the scale of the problem. He had driven to Seaforth straight from home. Griffiths had suggested it at the pub. “Come and have a look, we are almost at the winding down stage, I reckon. Viv is hoping to finish processing the little office space, I think.” Sergeant Bailey had nodded and muttered her agreement through a mouthful of chicken korma.
“We should have moved all the pallets by the day after tomorrow and we need to give the place back to the port authorities as soon as we can. Any hold-up costs them a fortune and the truck drivers are livid. Understandable, really, because they are on such tight schedules, and I don’t think their bosses are very interested in reasons when the deliveries are late. Trouble is, if the tachograph says it’s time to stop, they have to stop, and if they haven’t made their delivery it’s a major problem for them.”
There were huge articulated lorries backed up along the dual carriageway and traffic officers were fighting to keep one lane free and ensure a flow for the other cars and vans. Jordan drove past and pulled onto the wrong side of the road to access the port. DCI Griffiths was waiting for him in the gatehouse.
“You can leave your car here. It’s a bit congested further in.”
“It’s mayhem out there. How are you managing it?” Jordan asked.
“Well, we can’t let them in if they are going anywhere near your warehouse. We’re trying to arrange parking but there’s going to be plenty of complaints. Costing people a fortune, this business. I expect there will be compensation claims flying around. Think yourself lucky it’s not coming out of your budget. We had to draft in some more help, or we’d have been here for weeks. We’ve made an impression now, though.”
“How much did you find?”
“Up to now, it seems as though the pallets down in the corner by the office were the only problem ones. They weren’t grain sacks, though they looked like them at first glance. They were stuffed with sawdust and hidden in the middle of the stacks. Then of course, they were wrapped with plastic. If Viv Bailey’s team hadn’t been so thorough, we could well have missed them. Of course, that was the whole idea. It’s good some people still do their jobs properly. Anyway, the sacks nearer to the doors had nothing unusual but unfortunately some of them still had to be opened. There’s going to be losses for innocent people, I’m afraid, but it can’t be helped. We’ve got some dogs in and that’s speeding things along and cutting down on the destruction. It’s someone else’s job to decide whether or not they’ll have to be destroyed because of the dead body in the office. I’m not worrying about things like that now.”
They had reached the storage facility beside the dock. A harsh wind was blowing up the river. The water was whipped into white-capped waves and the hawsers on the ships whistled and rattled in the angry air. Jordan zipped up his jacket before he dragged on the paper scene suit and the shoe covers.
DCI Griffiths led the way to the warehouse door. “So, the thinking is now that it’s been one truckload only. We have officers going through the logs and viewing CCTV and it’s only a question of time before we trace the truck, which will give us the company, and that’ll lead us to the driver. We’ll drag him in, and we’ll be able to find out where the shipment originated and who’s behind it. It’s pretty much just a question of going through the motions, to be honest. We’ve contacted our colleagues in France and alerted them to the situation. It’s all happening right now, and we need to move quickly before people cover their tracks. There’s still the question of the blue car and how come it was allowed in and that’s grim because it’s certain someone in the port police is involved. We are questioning officers and it’s a bit of a bitch. We’ll get to the bottom of it but it’s not making us any friends round here. Anyway, Viv Bailey is back in the warehouse office with a couple of her team and I thought you might want to have another look at your own crime scene.”
“I appreciate that. There has to be a connection between Mary McCardle’s murder and this mess, though, doesn’t there?”
“Undoubtedly. Any ideas?”
“Well, the obvious thing is that it’s quite simply the same people involved in bot
h and this was a convenient place to bring her. But why would she get herself mixed up in something like this, when you take into account the sacrifices she made to leave violence behind? I am convinced they always intended to set fire to the body. It doesn’t seem to me to be the sort of thing you would do on the spur of the moment, not if you intended to dump her back in Wavertree. But we don’t know yet who the warning was aimed at, if that’s what it was. Gary McCardle would seem to be the obvious one. But it doesn’t feel right. I mean he’s a bit of a scally, but I don’t see him mixed up with this sort of thing and it didn’t work, did it? If it had, he’d have been long gone before we’d even identified her. He hung around, he’s still hanging around, waiting for his sister.”
“What about the other girl. Sandra?”
“I’ve had some of my people checking into her as much as we can and there’s nothing. The partner is from The Wirral. Nothing in his background to be concerned about. He met her at college, and it seems they are just hard-working small business people. I’ve sent Rosalind Searle to have another chat with her. She’s got good instincts. I don’t think Molly can be there with them but it’s another thing we have to confirm just to show we’ve covered everything.”
“So…” Griffiths said.
“Yep, that leaves Eddie, doesn’t it? No contact from him as far as we know.” As he said the name, the light in the back of Jordan’s mind flickered. “The flowers.”
“Sorry?” Griffiths said.
“There was a memorial thing up at the building site. You know what I mean, flowers and candles and what have you.”
“Oh yes, a cellotaph?”
“Really? You knew that’s what people call them?”
“Yeah, makes sense in an odd and rather tacky way.”
“I suppose. Anyway, there was a bunch of roses left there. A bit nicer than most of the filling station ones and the card just had the one word, ‘sorry’. He’s here, isn’t he? He’s here in the UK. He’s been here all this time.”
Chapter 42
Vivienne Bailey glanced up at the change in light from the office door. “Hello, Jordie. Don’t come in if you don’t have to. We’re on a roll here. Got some interesting stuff for you.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Hair, of course, some of it almost certainly your lady. Grey, curly. But there’s more. Dark, short, from over by the desk and near the door. There’s some threads from fabric down here.” She pointed towards the place where the handkerchief had been. I think we’ll find most of it was from Mrs McCardle’s clothes and there’s more caught in there.” She pointed to a small wooden chair. “The back is split. I think she fought. Well, of course she did. I think she fought hard, but she was sitting on there when they killed her, I reckon. I’ll be writing it all out for you. Have you met the Crime Scene Manager? Dave Griffiths brought him in.”
“Oh, so not Doug?”
“No, new scene, new manager from St Anne Street. Nice guy. Hey, it was good to get together last night. Doesn’t get you off the hook, though, you and me have got a date at some stage. Actually, how do you feel about you and your wife coming round to ours for dinner sometime? I know you’ve got a sprog but you could bring him if you’re into that or get a wrangler for him and come on your own. Rebecca does a mean chili.”
“That’d be lovely. I know Penny would be chuffed.”
“Cool. Okay. Got to go, evidence to collect.”
“Cheers, Viv. No point in my hanging around, I don’t reckon, but thanks for the update.”
“No sign of your missing girl yet?”
Jordan shook his head. “The more we find out about all of this” – he swept an arm around – “the more worried I am about her. We’ll keep looking until we find her, but I worry about what exactly we’ll find, to be honest.”
Vivienne Bailey didn’t respond. There was no need.
Jordan left the warehouse. It was a controlled hubbub, but he could tell the initial flurry of excitement had ebbed away as the innocent sacks near the door were moved. The dogs were still snuffling around but the handlers were obviously pretty relaxed. He was on his way back to where he’d left the car when David Griffiths called him from the gatehouse.
“Hey, Jordan hang on a minute. I’ve got something for you.” The DCI sprinted to catch up. “Okay. Let me bring you up to date. They’ve found the truck. It originated in Spain, drove up through France, a couple of stops on the way and then unloaded here just the day before your murder. We’ve actioned the international warrant to arrest the driver. Looks like I’m off to Spain. Do you want me to bring you a straw donkey back?” Griffiths slapped Jordan on the back.
“That’s brilliant. So…”
“Come and look at this.” He turned and strode back towards the entrance to the port. There were truckers milling around the barriers, the mood was ill-tempered and there were angry shouts as they passed. David Griffiths ignored the drivers as he ushered Jordan through the narrow doorway.
“Okay, Mick – play it again.”
They huddled around the screens. “Now, this is the day the truck arrived. The CCTV has ANPR – I think you already knew that?”
Jordan nodded.
“So, here’s the truck with the pallets. This numpty” – he pointed to the port police officer on the corner of the screen – “is already down in the city waiting for me to go and have a chat with him. We’re unpopular with the guys here but I reckon he’s going to be even more of a pariah very shortly. Stupid bugger. Anyway, that’s my next action, but watch this.”
The barrier was raised, and the truck rumbled on through. Then, before the red and white metal arm descended, they saw the other vehicle, the blue hatchback tailgating the lorry, sliding in close behind it without stopping. “I reckon you might well want to be in on my little chat. What do you think?”
“Brilliant. No plate number visible?”
“Nah, he’s too close up behind the truck – deliberate of course.”
“Okay. This is excellent.”
“I still have some stuff to do here. Why don’t you meet me down in town this affie?”
Chapter 43
Gary stood in his mother’s kitchen, frying bacon. He had heard the shower start in the bathroom and knew Eddie would be down soon. He’d want breakfast.
He had been filthy when he’d arrived the night before, sliding in through the back gate and then insisting it be screwed closed again. He was unshaven, his clothes grubby and stinking of BO and his hair greasy and lank. “Bloody hell, Eddie. What’s happened?”
“Pull the curtains on. Is the door locked?”
“Calm down. What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain it all in a bit. Stick the kettle on. I’m spittin’ feathers. Have you got anything to eat?”
“I’ve got some bread – I could do you some toast.”
“No, I need more than toast. Tell you what, ring for a pizza. Meat feast and some garlic bread and some fries.”
“Okay, okay. But look, just take a breath – look at you, you’re in a right state.”
“Yeah, well. Just give me a minute. Ring for the pizza. Tell you what, run up to the offie, Gary. Grab some cans and some voddie. I need something to take the edge off. But be careful.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you know. Make sure nobody follows you. Keep your eyes peeled – see there’s nobody hanging around.”
“Oh, come on, man. You sound like Dada back in the day.”
“No. You need to take care. Think. Look at what happened to Mam.”
“Yeah ’course but... you know, I thought once Dada had died we’d be in the clear. I really thought we were – and now this. And what about Molly? She’s missing and little Jakey, I’m out of my head with worry. What’s going on, Eddie? Do you know?”
“We’ll talk about it all, but first you need to get me some food. Come on, I’ve had nothing but a couple of bags of crisps and some chocolate for days.”
“But why, la?
Honest to god you’re not making any sense.” Gary shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Okay. Go on and get a shower, you smell really ripe. I’ll order the pizza and get a bevvy in.” Gary had moved forward with his arms open for a hug but Eddie backed off. “You’re right, our kid, I stink.”
Unbelievably then, his eyes had softened, clouded with tears. He coughed and turned away stalking from the room and moments later his feet thundered on the stairs. As the noise of the shower started, Gary made the phone call to the pizza place. He opened the front door and looked around. It was late evening by then and the street was quiet. He jogged to the off licence in the main road, his back itching and prickling, convinced he was being watched. He came out of the shop with a carrier and sprinted home. He was wound up again, just the way he’d been when he’d heard about the body on the field and had begun to believe it was his mother. He couldn’t take much more of this. Molly wasn’t back yet. Sandy wasn’t answering his calls and the bizzies were about as much use as a chocolate teapot. He’d had enough. He was going home to his flat tomorrow. Eddie could wait for Molly. It was time he got involved in all this crap. Then when he’d grabbed his stuff, he was off. He’d go over to Germany. He had a mate over there and he could get him a job in a bar. Then after a while, when he’d got some money together, he’d go to Australia. That’s where he should be. There wouldn’t be any need for him to look over his shoulder in Oz. He could live normally. It’s what they all should have done. Got right away from the Troubles.
They’d tied one on when he got back. When the food arrived, Eddie had fallen on it as if he hadn’t eaten for days. He was calmer though, and had fished some old gear out of the wardrobe in the back room. It was funny to see him in old trakkies and a band T-shirt. But it was so good to have someone to talk to that Gary just went with the flow. They hadn’t talked about Molly. Eddie asked about their mother and when the funeral would be. He was annoyed when Gary told him the police weren’t releasing the remains. They couldn’t do anything about it and, in the end, he had to let it go. But every time Gary brought up their sister, Eddie changed the subject. He said they’d get onto the whole thing later, they’d get a private detective if they needed to. He had money and they’d pay to find her. He said she’d always been a bit dibby, that she’d probably just run away to worry them because she was used to being the centre of attention. “She’ll be with that gobshite of a boyfriend, the one who won’t let on that he’s Jakey’s dad.”
Body by the Docks: detectives investigate a baffling mystery Page 13
