‘What’s wrong? You OK? You’ve gone as white as a ghost,’ Mark said.
‘Do you know anything about him?’ Lucy pointed at the last name on the sheet.
‘Off the top of my head, no – but I can find out for you. Why?’
Years of experience and a gut feeling made her uneasy. ‘I just want to make sure all our assessments are right, because he seems to have come from another area, and my spidey sense is on high alert.’
Mark looked at her but didn’t press the matter further. The break was over and people were filing back into the room.
After a few more heated discussions, the group finished on time. Lucy watched the men leave and grabbed her bag.
‘Fancy a coffee, Lucy?’ Mark smiled at her.
Knowing that Patrick would only harass her if she was late, she declined but suggested a rain check. It would be better to meet with Mark before the next group started, like they had done today. Less likely that any questions would be asked if they were seen together. Not that there was anything going on, but Lucy just had to be careful.
‘Well at least let me drop you off somewhere.’ Mark had a look of concern on his face.
Lucy felt bad for having to turn him down, but Patrick would flip if he saw her get out of a man’s car. Knowing her neighbours, even if she got dropped off down the road, someone was bound to tell him.
Lucy locked up the office and said her goodbyes. She could see Mark still hovering around to make sure she got to the bus safely. As the bus arrived, she waved in his direction and smiled. It was nice to have someone looking out for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Michael O’Dowd, or Mick as he preferred to be called, left the group frustrated and gagging for a pint. That was the biggest load of shit. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong with giving a woman a slap if it meant she did as she was told. He learnt that at an early age, from his own father, a man who never got in trouble with the law. Mick felt there was a double standard when it came to women and men who hit each other. All his ex-partners gave as good as they got. Fuck ’em all. He did like that probation officer, though – Lucy. Almost makes the group worth going to.
Mick was new to the area but had found a pub near his hostel. His licence conditions meant he had a curfew and he didn’t want a bollocking so shortly after release. He walked into The Smith’s Forge and had a quick look around. The décor was as bland as the customers that occupied the space – the stools had tears in their padding, the carpet was worn and the pictures showed Markston pre-1950. On the plus side, it was quiet, so he could enjoy his pint in peace. He had to admit, he was slightly disappointed at the lack of female company in the place. But as he couldn’t take anyone back to his hostel, he shrugged his shoulders, and headed towards the bar.
‘Can I have a pint of Stella, mate?’
The barman gave Mick a nod, grabbed a glass and pulled the pint. Mick wasn’t in the mood for small talk anyway, so this suited him just fine. There was nothing worse than a barman who felt obliged to ask twenty questions when a new face appeared. Mick yanked out the remainder of the change from his pocket, placed it on the bar and made his way to the corner booth. From there Mick could keep an eye on the door and spot any trouble before it started. Not that he wanted any trouble; it just always seemed to find him.
Not even five minutes had passed and in it stumbled. A petite woman, looking a little worse for wear.
‘Oi, Kevin! Can I have a pint on tic, mate?’ Her hair was tied tightly in a bun resting on the top of her head. Her clothing virtually hung off her. She had trouble written all over her.
‘Come on now, Vicki, you know I can’t do that.’
‘Aw please, love. I get my dole money tomorrow. Just the one, I promise.’ From where Mick was sitting, her appearance indicated that one more drink would be enough.
‘Right, just the one. Any sign of trouble and you’re out, OK?’ Flashing a lopsided smile, Vicki thanked him. From the look on his face, Mick suspected that Kevin knew the woman didn’t get her dole on Fridays, but he still pulled the pint and placed it on the bar in front of her.
Mick noticed that Vicki was using the bar to balance herself. He looked away when he saw her scanning the room and hoped she hadn’t clocked him. He guessed she was a regular and probably knew most if not everyone in the area. Glancing back, he watched her squinting at a boisterous woman standing with a crowd of men around her. Mick groaned as Vicki’s sights finally found him and she headed towards his table. She seemed to be concentrating more on not spilling her pint, probably out of fear that the barman would not be so generous with the offer of another. He glanced at his phone in the hope that she would move on, but she just waited for him to finish.
‘Well helloooooo. Haven’t seen you here before; new to the area?’
Mick wondered if she knew how much she was slurring her words.
‘Look, fuck off, will you? I just want a quiet pint before I head out. I’m not in the mood for your kind of company.’
‘Well, aren’t you the fucking charmer?’
Unfortunately for Mick, the boisterous female had overheard the conversation and she didn’t seem impressed. She turned and gave him a look that screamed, watch yourself. When Mick icily stared back, she made it her business to step in.
‘Hey! There’s no need to talk to her that way. She was just trying to introduce herself. Be friendly, you know what friendly means, right?’
‘Leave it out, Shell.’ Vicki swayed on her feet.
‘Are you her fucking mother? I didn’t ask her to come over. I didn’t even glance her way. The fact that I’m sitting in a booth, keeping to myself – how much more of a hint do you both need?’
Mick’s lip twitched and his neck throbbed. Shell didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that she was pissing him off. Eventually this Shell woman looked away and mumbled something in Vicki’s ear. Mick overheard the word ‘licence’. Given the state she was in, her friend was probably warning her to behave. The boisterous one tugged Vicki’s arm gently and steered her away from Mick’s table.
Looking over her shoulder she mouthed, ‘Watch yourself, mate.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
Mick couldn’t be arsed with any grief and downed the remainder of his pint. He left the pub, ready to walk the short distance back to the hostel.
Mick gagged as he entered the building and took in the stale smell of the people who stayed there. He focused on getting to his room without being pulled into any conversations with the other residents. As he passed the communal living room, he noticed one or two people sitting around, blank faced, watching the television. Fucking druggies. Mick planned on moving on as soon as possible. He still wasn’t sure whether a return to London was on the cards, or whether he should just stay around and see what this area had for him.
He needed something else to focus on and decided to log in to his Facebook account, scrolling through the endless feed of nonsense that people seemed to post about themselves. He didn’t keep in contact with many of his old associates or friends but still had been curious to see how some of them, including his estranged children, were getting on with their lives. He may not have been the best father in the world but nobody is perfect. Mick would find his children again one day, he’d show them what a great father he was and what their mother was really like.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After making sure Lucy got on the bus safely, Mark left the probation office and walked the short distance to where his car was parked. The lighting was poor in the parking lot, but it was fairly empty at this time of night. He unlocked the door and sat down, throwing his jacket in the back seat before he started his car and headed home. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up with Lucy. She was acting strange at the end of the night and he didn’t know why she was so adamant to take the bus home. He waited around to watch her go, in case any of the group members lagged behind to harass her. He hated the way the men in the group eyeballed her
. In fact, he just hated the men in the group. Mark was brought up to respect women.
Bloody assholes should get a taste of their own medicine.
The drive home was uneventful. He pulled up outside his flat, sat for a moment and then gathered his things, before making his way inside. Dropping his keys in the bowl by the doorway, Mark sat down and reflected on the evening. Lucy had been creeped out by one of the group members and mumbled something about seeing him on the news. Mark made a mental note to follow it up in the morning. He knew it was none of his business but he had a soft spot for Lucy. Had she not been married, he may have eventually asked her out. He shook his head. Mark felt tired and his vision blurred. He realized that his blood sugar levels were probably high. It had been a while since he’d checked, and his mind was otherwise occupied. He went to the bathroom and took out his kit and tested himself. He was hyperglycaemic, probably distracted with all that was happening at work. He immediately injected himself with insulin, relaxing as he felt the effects almost immediately. He needed to keep on top of it in future, as he couldn’t risk any side effects while on the job.
Mark hated that he had to monitor his injections. He threw the used needle in the sharps bin and made his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He was lucky that the police no longer forced people with conditions like his to strict desk duties. He’d have ended up choosing a career he hated otherwise. He took his mug of tea and the newspaper and sat down on his lumpy couch to relax.
LONDON WOMAN BEATEN TO DEATH BY JEALOUS EX-HUSBAND
was the headline that greeted him on the front page. Mark threw the paper on the floor in anger. He had wanted to chill out but instead found himself thinking about Drew Talbot’s murder. The crime scene photos turned his stomach but he wasn’t sorry to see that Talbot was dead. He rubbed his neck; he needed to escape from the case for tonight at least. Sticking in a DVD, he lay back and closed his eyes for a moment. Sleep came quickly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
After watching the prick that Vicki had been trying to talk to leave the pub, Shell walked over to the bar and asked Kevin whether he knew anything about the nameless arsehole who had insulted her friend.
Kevin shook his head. ‘He just asked for a pint of Stella, Shell. I’ve no idea who he is, and I’m not really interested. As long as he pays for his drinks and doesn’t cause any trouble I’m happy to leave him to it.’
That wasn’t the answer Shell had been looking for. She didn’t take too kindly to unknowns coming in and playing the big I am. Especially a man. She’d leave it for now, though. The pub would soon be closing for the night. Finishing her drink, Shell grabbed her coat deciding it was best to head home. Patrick would be calling later.
‘You ready to leave, Vicki? I’ll walk with you.’
Holding up her pint glass, Vicki looked at Shell sheepishly. ‘Ah, I just have a bit left, go on if you want to.’
‘Suit yourself. But stay out of trouble, OK?’ Reaching into her pocket, Shell handed Vicki a £5 note and asked her to take a taxi home.
Shell was always looking out for people – especially those less fortunate. Vicki had led a troubled life and it was no wonder that alcohol had become her only friend. Abused, forced into prostitution, and beaten by one boyfriend or another, it was no surprise that Vicki just accepted what life threw at her. It angered Shell that Vicki still put herself in compromising situations when she wanted a drink. But Shell understood that having been told she was worthless over the years, Vicki had begun to believe that sex in exchange for money was all she was good for.
Shell made her way outside into the chill night and pulled her collar up tightly around her neck. Not too far to walk and she enjoyed the fresh air. She wanted a clear head when she spoke to Patrick. Living within a decent walking distance of the pub, if she cut through the park, gave Shell the freedom to have an active social life and not have to worry about transport. If she could, she avoided the park because of the hostel nearby. She had nothing against offenders – hell, half the people she knew got into one form of trouble or another with the law – but she’d seen a few people come and go from there recently that sent shivers down her spine. It was the quickest way home, though, and all Shell wanted was a cuppa while she waited for Patrick to call.
Shell picked up the pace as she made her way along the leaf-covered path, shivering in the cold. The dark trees surrounded her and fear hit her like icy water. A twig snapped behind her and she stiffened. Turning slowly, she looked behind her, being careful not to slip on the wet path. Her heart was racing but soon calmed when she realized there was nothing there. The hostel was coming up soon and she kept an eye on it as she walked by. Someone was standing in the top left window, a dark shadow staring onto the park grounds. She instantly recognized that face. It was the dickhead from the pub, an ugly smirk across his face. He spotted Shell staring and gave her a wave. She quickly turned away and sped up.
She didn’t see Mick O’Dowd laughing as he watched her run.
When she arrived home, she took off her coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. Placing her handbag on the side table, she dug around in her bag for her mobile phone. She was pissed off when she noticed the black screen and realized that the battery had died. Shit! Shell headed to the living room in search of her charger. If she missed Patrick’s call, her night would be ruined. She quickly plugged in her phone and switched it on. It immediately buzzed and dinged as eight missed calls and a voicemail flashed up on her screen. She called the voicemail service and listened.
‘Where are you? Thought you’d be waiting for my call but I guess I’m not as important as you make out. I had to sneak out of the house especially for this. It’s not on, Shell. But what can I expect from a woman – you all screw me over.’
The call ended abruptly. Shell didn’t like the harsh sarcasm in Patrick’s voice. She wondered if she should ring him back but, looking at the time, she decided the best thing to do would be to text him in the morning when his wife had left for work. Maybe he’d had a bad day. Too wired to sleep, Shell read the message her cousin Louise had sent her, and her blood boiled:
Shell, help. Rob is at my house.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Robert Millard wasn’t impressed at being woken up by the loud banging on his door.
‘I’m coming, for fuck’s sake.’
Robert yanked the door open and stared at the officers in front of him. ‘What the fuck do you pair want?’
‘Now, now, Mr Millard … that’s no way to greet people.’ The sarcasm dripped from Maggie’s lips.
‘What lies did that bitch say now? I haven’t been anywhere near her.’
‘If by that bitch you’re referring to Louise, I’m going to have to ask you to rephrase your question. If on the other hand you’re referring to that female dog we passed down the hall from your room … I can assure you, she has not made any complaints … yet.’ Maggie wanted to let Robert know that he wasn’t going to intimidate her either.
Robert turned to PC Reynolds. ‘How can you put up with that shit? You in charge here? I’d rather talk to you.’
‘DC Jamieson is my superior, and I suggest you look at her and answer her questions.’ PC Reynolds struggled to maintain his professionalism when it came to dealing with this kind of vermin. The domestic abuse cohort just happened to be full of them.
‘PC Reynolds is right, Mr Millard. The longer you play these childish games, the longer we’re going to stand out here and the more of your neighbours are going to hear our conversation. Is that what you want?’
Robert sneered at Maggie and stepped aside. ‘Come in then. But it’s only a bedsit, so if you’re expecting a seat you’re in for a surprise.’
Maggie and PC Reynolds pushed past Robert and stood in the cramped room. Maggie noticed the bin overflowing with Special Brew cans, and the stale smell of beer from the wornout carpet burned her nostrils.
‘We’re just doing a routine stop and check to go over the conditions of your restra
ining order. You know, that order that you recently breached. Remember that? We’re also here to offer you any additional support that you may need. Has your probation officer discussed our involvement with you yet?’
‘Ha! Are you kidding me? Another useless bi—’
PC Reynolds cleared his throat loudly as a warning to Millard.
‘Woman. Lucy does nothing for me. Look at this place. This is where she sticks me even though I was paying the rent on the house. Then I lose my job because of Louise, so I have no choice but to live out of black bin bags in this shithole. So, to answer your question … Lucy has told me jack shit. And coming around at this time to discuss my licence? What do you take me for?’
Maggie decided to take on another tactic.
‘OK. Well, let’s just say we can do this the easy way or the hard way, Millard, so why don’t you calm down before I have to make you.’ She touched her baton and smirked as he gave in.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The police had left and Robert had only just begun to drift off, when he was woken by another knock on the door. What the fuck? He had nodded in the right places just to get them out the door quicker. Looking at the clock, he saw it was just after one-thirty in the morning. Now he was really pissed off. If this is those fucking coppers again I swear to God! He yanked the door open, ready to shout What? in their faces, but it wasn’t the coppers.
‘Who the fuck are you? Do you know what time it is?’ He began to shut the door, but a swift movement caught Robert’s eye. By the time he realized that a needle had been plunged into his neck, it was too late. He felt the sting of the injection, the burn of liquid flooding into his veins. He stumbled and almost fell. Tried to reach up and touch the spot on his neck where the needle had entered, but his limbs were like lead and he slipped down to his knees in the hallway. He heard the front door close but he couldn’t move. His eyes stared straight ahead and a mist clouded his vision as he collapsed onto the floor. A strange sensation took over, an aching and burning that twisted through his neck and down into his back. Looking up at the ceiling, Robert realized that nearly every muscle in his body was paralyzed. His blood ran cold.
Dead Inside Page 10
