by Sally Rigby
They went back to the incident room, got Jimmy O’Brien’s address, and then left the station. He lived in a rough part of the city, in a block of flats well known to the police, as they were forever being called there to deal with fights, domestics, and gang trouble. Whitney parked her car in one of the free spaces outside the block. Hers was the newest one there, and that was saying something.
Walking into the building, they were immediately assaulted by the disgusting smell of stale urine. There was litter strewn across the concrete floor.
‘What the fuck?’ Whitney said as she narrowly missed treading in some dog shit.
‘Don’t they have cleaners?’ George asked, pulling a face and skirting around a pile of old food wrappers.
‘Yeah, every day someone comes around with a duster and polish.’ Whitney rolled her eyes. ‘But they obviously missed a bit.’
‘So, no then?’
‘You’ve never been in a place like this before, I take it.’
‘No.’
‘Welcome to the seedier side of the city. The common areas might get a wash down every few weeks, if they’re lucky.’
‘What floor’s he on?’ George asked.
‘Right at the top. Fifteen.’
‘I hope the lift’s working.’
‘There’s one way to find out.’
They walked past the open staircase of the old 1960s building until they came to the lift. Whitney pressed the button and grimaced as her finger stuck to it. The metal door opened, and they stepped in.
‘Thank goodness. I didn’t fancy walking. I’m not that fit,’ George said.
‘Me neither.’
The lift groaned as it came to a halt on their floor. They walked along the open walkway until they arrived outside Jimmy O’Brien’s flat. Whitney knocked on the door and waited a minute before knocking again, only louder. A woman from the next door flat opened her door and poked her head out.
‘If you’re looking for Jimmy, you’ll need to make more noise. He didn’t get in until late last night and was pissed out of his skull.’ She closed the door behind her without waiting for an answer.
Whitney banged again, so hard the glass in the window frames shook. After a while they could hear someone walking towards them. The door opened and Jimmy O’Brien stood there wearing only a pair of blue and red striped boxers, the elastic around the top frayed. His hair stuck out in all directions. He’d clearly just woken up.
She held out her warrant card. ‘DCI Whitney Walker and Dr George Cavendish. We’d like to speak to you.’
‘What’s this about?’ he growled.
‘We’d rather speak inside,’ she said.
He shrugged and held open the door for them to walk in. The whole flat smelt stale. He showed them into the lounge and drew the curtains.
‘Would you mind opening a window as well?’ George asked.
He turned to face her. ‘You’ll be asking me to dust and hoover the place next.’
‘Just the window will be fine.’
‘It must have been quite a night, if you’ve only just got up.’ Whitney shifted the pile of magazines on the couch to one side and sat down with George next to her. O’Brien was on an easy chair opposite. He pulled on a dark green T-shirt which had been resting on the arm.
‘Certainly was. Can I get you both a coffee?’
‘No thanks. I’ve recently had one.’ As much as she was desperate for a caffeine fix, looking at the state of the place she didn’t want to risk it.
‘Okay. What do you want?’
‘We’d like to ask you about your role in Justice Hunters,’ Whitney said.
He smacked his forehead with his hand. ‘That’s where I recognise you from. You were at the meeting last night.’
‘Yes, we were. We’re investigating two recent murders which I’m sure you’ve heard about in the media. The victims were grooming young girls.’
‘And you think a Justice Hunter member is responsible?’
‘We’re investigating all avenues and it’s one of them. What do you think about these murders?’ she asked, knowing it was a strange question to start with, but she wanted to see where it led them.
‘They got what they had coming to them. Anyone who thinks it’s okay to groom young girls for sex doesn’t deserve to live on this planet.’ O’Brien wagged his finger in their direction.
‘Do you know anything about these murders?’ she asked.
‘Only what I’ve heard on the radio and seen on the telly.’
‘I understand you’ve got quite a string of convictions against you,’ she said.
‘So what? It doesn’t mean I’m going to go out and murder two perverts. Why do cops always think anyone with a record is guilty of other crimes?’ He glared at her.
‘You’re part of a vigilante group whose sole purpose is to expose and eradicate paedophiles and sexual grooming. You have a record for violent behaviour. Of course we’re going to talk to you.’
‘Justice Hunters doesn’t break the law,’ he snapped.
‘Debatable. Many vigilante groups are very close to being illegal in their activities,’ she said.
‘I didn’t murder anyone, whatever you think.’
She glanced at George, who was staring at O’Brien intently. Had he given anything away?
‘We’d like to know where you were between the hours of six and ten on the evening of Thursday the tenth, and between ten at night Monday the fourteenth and two in the morning, Tuesday the fifteenth.’
He was silent for a while. ‘On the first date I was at work, doing the night shift.’
‘Where do you work?’ Whitney took out her notebook and pen from her pocket and began writing.
‘In a warehouse on Thorplands. Hamilton’s,’ he said.
‘Where Len White works. Did he get you the job?’
‘No. The Job Centre did.’
‘How long have you been working there?’
‘I’m casual. Just go in when they need me. What’s it got to do with anything?’ He reached over and pulled out a cigarette from the pack on the table. ‘Want one?’ he asked, looking at Whitney and George in turn as he lit up. They both shook their heads.
‘Will Hamilton’s be able to provide you with an alibi?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ He blew smoke in her direction, and she made sure not to act like it bothered her. He was doing it for effect. She knew that.
‘What about the second date?’ she asked.
‘I wasn’t working then. Maybe I was at the pub? I don’t remember,’ he said, shrugging.
‘Until two in the morning?’
‘I know the landlord.’
‘Which pub?’ she pushed.
‘Look. I don’t know if I was there on the night you said. I’m just saying I could’ve been. I don’t remember. Okay?’ His fist was clenched by his side.
Whitney instinctively moved her hand so her Taser was in easy reach.
‘You were a butcher’s assistant when you were younger,’ she said.
‘Years ago. Why?’ He frowned.
‘You’re familiar with cutting flesh and using knives?’
‘Oh, I get it. The bodies were chopped, so you think it’s me because I know how to use a knife. Well, I’ve got news for you, lady. Hundreds and thousands of people can use a knife. It’s not hard.’
‘True, but not all of them are ex-cons who’ve been convicted for violent crimes and are also part of a paedophile hunting group. So you can see why we’re interested in you.’
Whitney leaned forward in her seat, resting her arms on her knees. She fixed him with a stare, and he shifted agitatedly.
‘Well, I didn’t do it.’ His voice rose. ‘Even if I don’t have an alibi for the second murder, I do for the first, so that should count me out.’
Whitney exchanged a glance with George. The interview was pointless until they had some concrete evidence. They should probably leave before he got himself so riled he’d do something they’d all regret.
&
nbsp; She stood, and George followed.
‘I’d like the name of your supervisor at Hamilton’s so I can check with them. I understand you’re very friendly with Vera Smith?’
‘I wouldn’t say very friendly. Why?’
‘Do you see each other away from the group?’ she asked.
‘We have met up sometimes.’
‘What for?’
‘When we’ve been trying to nab men online, she’s helped. She’s much better on computers than me. She understands them. I don’t use them much.’
‘So you leave the technical stuff to Vera, and once you’ve arranged to meet these men, to expose them, you get involved. With the physical threats?’
‘Has anyone complained about me? We speak to these men when we meet them, that’s all. We put the meeting up on social media, which is what Vera does. She’s not the only person in the group who can do it, but I like working with her.’
‘A funny combination,’ Whitney said.
‘Because she’s clever and I’m thick. Is that what you mean?’
‘I didn’t say that. If you can let me have those details, we’ll be going.’
‘I can’t remember his name. I’ve got it written down in the kitchen.’
He got up and left the room.
‘There’s got to be more to it than he’s letting on,’ Whitney said.
‘Agreed,’ George said.
He came back in and handed Whitney a piece of paper with the name of his supervisor and a phone number.
‘Before we go, do you ever work with Beryl Murphy?’
‘Who?’
‘She’s a member of the group. Has been for about a year.’
‘I don’t know her.’ He shook his head.
‘Tall. Walks with a stoop. In her sixties. Does that jog your memory?’
‘Oh, yes. Now I remember. Miserable cow. When she does come to meetings, she doesn’t speak to anyone. She sits at the back on her own. She’s never worked on anything with me. I don’t know about the others.’
Whitney stood. ‘Thanks for your assistance. We’ll be in touch if we need to speak further.’
They left the flat, and she breathed in some refreshing clean air. How the hell anyone could live like that, beat her. She should be used it by now, seeing as she’d been in enough shit-hole places in her time as a police officer, but for some reason it affected her today. It was probably the sleaziness of O’Brien she didn’t like.
‘What’s your verdict?’ she asked George.
‘I agree there’s no way he could have written a letter to the radio station. He certainly doesn’t have the verbal skills or the vocabulary. When you asked him about Vera, his whole demeanour changed. Did you notice the way he crossed his arms? It’s an indicator he’s protecting a secret. Subconsciously, his arms were acting as a barrier.’
‘They could be working together. She’d be able to write the letter.’
‘It definitely needs further examination,’ George said.
‘We’ll interview her and check her background. I’ll phone the office now and get her details. We’ll go straight there.’
‘What about Beryl Murphy? Isn’t she coming in?’
‘Crap. I forgot.’ She checked her watch. ‘We should still have time. She’ll have to wait if we’re running late.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Whitney pulled out her phone and keyed in the shortcut to the incident room.
‘Lenchester police, DS Price speaking.’
‘Matt, it’s me. Put me onto Ellie, please.’
‘Hello, guv,’ Ellie said.
‘What have you found out about Vera Smith?’
There was a few seconds of silence, other than the click of computer keys. ‘No record. She worked for Hamilton’s for many years and had to leave for health reasons. She’s on the sickness benefit, as she’s not eligible yet for her state pension.’
‘Family?’
‘Husband died several years ago. One daughter, but I don’t know where she lives.’
‘Give me her address. We’re going to pay her a visit.’
‘One Rushton Crescent.’
‘Thanks. We’ll see you later.’ She ended the call and popped her phone back in her pocket. ‘Right, we’re off to Rushton Crescent. A much nicer area.’
They drove across the city to the Warkworth Estate. Vera’s house was a traditional 1930s pebble-dashed semi-detached. It had a big bay window with smaller stained-glass windows above it. The front garden was grassed and in dire need of mowing. They parked in front of the freestanding garage and headed up a concrete path lined on both sides with small stones. There was a brass knocker on the dark red painted door. Whitney knocked twice, and within a few seconds they could hear someone shuffling towards them.
The door opened. ‘I was expecting you.’
Whitney held out her warrant card. ‘DCI Walker and Dr Cavendish. I take it you’re Vera Smith, and Jimmy’s been in touch.’
‘He phoned to tell me you’d been to visit, and he thought you’d be coming to see me.’
‘He wasn’t wrong. May we come in?’ Whitney asked.
Vera held open the door and they walked in. The house smelt fresh and clean, a stark contrast to Jimmy’s. It made a friendship between the two seem even more bizarre.
‘Come through to the kitchen, I’ve just boiled the kettle. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great, thanks. Milk, no sugar,’ Whitney said, grateful to finally have one.
‘Same for me,’ George said.
They followed her to the kitchen. She used a multi-coloured stick and walked slowly, each step seeming an effort. Her breathing was laboured. They sat down at the kitchen table while the older woman made the coffee.
‘You have quite a way to go for the Justice Hunters’ meetings,’ Whitney observed.
‘It’s the only club of its kind in the area, so I have no choice. Plus, I know Len, and I wouldn’t want to go anywhere without knowing anyone. Especially not a club like that.’
‘What do you mean?’ Whitney asked.
‘Most of us in the group joined with the best of intentions. But you can’t be sure of everyone.’
‘What about Jimmy?’
‘Jimmy’s had a tough life. He didn’t have it good when he was a child, and he ended up in trouble. He’s paid the price. Now he wants to give something back.’
She passed them both a coffee, and Whitney wrapped her hands around the mug and inhaled the intoxicating fumes. ‘And you don’t believe by being aggressive and threatening these people he’s doing more of the same, only in the so-called legal way?’ Whitney asked.
‘DCI Walker, and by the way that was very sneaky of you coming to our meeting and not saying who you were.’ She arched an eyebrow.
‘I told you my real name. I was off duty and wanted to come and see what it was all about. Len knew who I was. I didn’t deceive anyone,’ Whitney responded.
‘That’s your view. Anyway, as far as Jimmy’s concerned, things happened to him as a youngster, which is why he’s so committed to our cause. It’s nothing to do with his criminal record. I’d be no good confronting the men we expose, so we use Jimmy, who’s good at it.’ Vera’s voice was matter-of-fact.
‘How far would you go when dealing with men who groom young girls? What do you think about the fact two were murdered?’ Whitney asked.
‘I could say they got what they deserved. But I don’t believe in taking another person’s life. There are other, more effective, ways of dealing with them. They should be imprisoned and exposed on social media. The public should know who they are. That’s far worse, in many respects, because they have to live their lives and continually pay the price for their perversions, with everybody knowing about it. So, in answer to your question, I’d rather they weren’t murdered. As for them being mutilated, that’s a different matter and is something I could live with.’
Whitney finished her coffee and placed her mug on the table. ‘
What do you know about Beryl Murphy?’
‘I’ve spoken to her a few times. She’s not an active member of the group. Why?’
‘We’re looking into all members of the group. Thank you for your help. Before we go, please can you let me know where you were on Thursday the tenth between six and ten in the evening, and also Monday the fifteenth from ten in the evening until two in the morning. So we can eliminate you from our enquiries.’
‘Both days I was at home and recovering from my shifts at the local Oxfam shop. I was tired and in bed by nine.’
‘How do you manage with your asthma and walking disability?’ Whitney asked.
‘I don’t do any sorting or pricing. I sit behind the counter and take the money. I’m not so decrepit I can’t do that. If I’m having a bad day, I phone and don’t go in. It’s not like at work, when I could be letting everyone down because projects needed to stick to a strict deadline. This gets me out of the house and stops me from feeling like an old has-been.’
‘We’ll be off now. If you think of anything to help our investigation, here’s my card.’ She handed it to Vera.
They headed back to the car. Once inside, she turned to George.
‘So?’
‘I believe she was telling the truth. Nothing she said made me think otherwise.’
‘I’m thinking about putting a tail on Jimmy O’Brien to see what he gets up to. We also need to check his alibi. He still could be the murderer with someone’s help, even if it’s not Vera. Let’s see what our interview with Beryl Murphy uncovers, and I’ll decide.’
After grabbing some lunch from the café around the corner from the station, they went back to Whitney’s office. Beryl Murphy had only just been brought in, which gave them time to wolf down their sandwiches.
‘Ready?’ Whitney asked as she wiped the crumbs from her mouth with a paper napkin.
‘Yes. Do you want me in with you or looking on?’ George picked up her bottle of water and tipped it into her mouth.
‘Come in with me. Matt’s tied up.’
Whitney picked up the investigation folder from her desk, and they went downstairs to the interview room where Doug had left the woman.
‘Hello, Beryl. Thanks for coming in,’ she said as they entered. She placed the file in front of her. The only thing in there were photos of the victims, but she always took in a file when interviewing. It showed she meant business. At least, that’s how she saw it. She hadn’t asked George for her opinion.
