Mick grabbed her face and shouted. ‘All right, all right, bitch, is this how you want to play it?’
Shoving Vicki to the floor he sat across her chest and rained blow after blow to her face. He almost admired her resilience, but not so much that he was going to let her get the best of him. Vicki continued to grab at Mick’s shirt, nearly tearing it as she pulled him towards her and spat in his face. That was the last straw for Mick. He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the floor.
His eyes darted around the room and he spotted the crude-looking ashtray on the coffee table. ‘If you breathe a word of this to anyone, anyone, I will hunt you down and finish the job.’ And with that, Mick smashed the ashtray in Vicki’s face repeatedly until she was a pulpy mess of flesh, blood, and broken teeth.
Breathing heavily, Mick sat back across Vicki’s legs, exhausted. Feisty bitch. But when the reality of the situation hit him, Mick was soon pacing around the room, looking for ways to avoid prison. He hadn’t touched anything unusual, given the fact he’d been in a ‘relationship’ with Vicki, so fingerprints could easily be explained. He grabbed a pair of gloves from under the kitchen sink and began tossing the place. If it looked like a robbery, it would place him out of the frame. He was under no illusion that he’d probably be questioned or arrested, but given that robbery wasn’t in his history, he reasoned that he should be released without charge while the police moved on, chasing ghosts. He happened across an old coffee jar in one of the cupboards, discovering a nice little stash of money inside. That would come in handy, but also help further the robbery scenario he’d devised in his mind. Mick pocketed it and looked around the flat. Once satisfied that it would throw the police off the trail, he washed his face and hands in the kitchen sink, and then made his way to the front door. Voices in the hallway stopped him dead. He waited, breathing heavily, until he heard a door close. Taking a chance, he looked out the door to check the coast was clear.
Mick snuck out through the empty hallway and shoved the rubber gloves in his pockets. Using the key that Vicki had left at his flat, Mick locked the door behind him. That would delay any chance of someone just randomly walking into the flat and coming across the bloody mess that lay on the floor. He used the stairs to avoid meeting anyone in the lift.
It was now dark outside, so Mick was confident that any blood on his clothes would be difficult to see by passers-by. He pulled his coat around him and, with his hands in his pockets, made the reasonably short journey back to his flat in record time.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Shell was pleased with herself. She managed to finish the job earlier than she’d told Vicki. She placed the key in the door and locked up the premises. Headed to her car and loaded her supplies into the boot. Although she was annoyed, Vicki was desperate for her keys and Shell couldn’t turn away a friend. It would be a half hour drive, so Shell turned up her music and headed towards the Lockwood Estate.
She was relieved to see some light seeping out of Vicki’s front window as she pulled up outside the flats. Vicki seemed pretty agitated when they spoke earlier, so Shell had been worried that she’d pass out after doing her usual: downing a bottle when she found it difficult to cope. If the lights were on, she was probably still awake and sober. Vicki tended to drink heavily in the dark, like she needed a blanket of darkness to hide her sorrow. Shell thought about how well Vicki had been doing and decided that now would be the perfect time to offer her a part-time job in her cleaning business.
Shell reached into her pocket for the spare key as she approached Vicki’s door, but decided to knock first, out of politeness. After knocking three times and hearing nothing from the other side of the door, she let herself into the flat. She immediately saw Vicki’s legs sticking out from behind the couch.
‘Well, that’s a sight to see. I thought you were off the drink?’ Shell sighed. She shut the door behind her, mentally reconsidering the cleaning job offer. She walked towards Vicki, with the intention of helping her back on to the couch and giving her a mouthful as well.
When she got closer, however, Shell stopped. The keys fell from her hand and spiralled slowly to the floor. They landed with a thud. Bounced and then were still. A long moment passed before Shell realized her throat was raw from screaming. She stood there for what seemed like an age, staring in shock at Vicki’s almost unrecognizable face. At the pool of blood on the floor. She snapped out of it and quickly dialled 999 from her mobile phone. Her hand was shaking as she requested the police and an ambulance. Shell was frantic, pacing around the flat. She could barely speak when the call handler asked her if Vicki was still alive. She didn’t know what to say and couldn’t bring herself to check for a pulse. She just stared at Vicki’s chest and noticed with relief that it was rising and falling, albeit slowly.
‘Yes, I think she is alive. But she’s unconscious and her face … oh God, I can’t even tell if it is her.’
Shell took in a deep breath and listened to the call handler’s instructions. Crouched by Vicki, holding her friend’s hand, she waited for the police to arrive and, when the sirens could finally be heard, without thinking, she placed Vicki’s hand on the floor, hung up on the operator and ran out to the street to wave them down. A small crowd had gathered outside the building, blocking the paramedics’ pathway to the flat.
‘For fuck’s sake, can you bastards move out of the way!’ Shell shrieked. Shell followed the paramedics up the stairs to Vicki’s flat and showed them inside. Her body shook uncontrollably as she watched them talk to Vicki and strap her on the gurney. The police wanted to ask her some questions, but she couldn’t think straight.
‘Please, officers. Can you just give me five-bloody-minutes? I’m watching my friend be wheeled into an ambulance after someone attacked her. Leave me alone.’
‘We understand, Miss?’
‘Baker. My name is Shell Baker.’
‘OK, Miss Baker. We need you to step out of the area. Go into the hall and have a breather. Give me a wave when you feel we can have that chat. The sooner we get what you know down on paper, the quicker we can find whoever did this to your friend.’
The tears started flowing down Shell’s face. She needed the fresh air and took the officer’s advice. Hoped the police found whoever did this first, because if she found them first, there would be hell to pay.
Shell dealt with the officers’ questions , but couldn’t offer them anything other than what she saw when she arrived. She explained that Vicki had lost her key and Shell had promised to drop the spare one round. She’d noticed the empty bottle of White Lightning in the kitchen and told officers that Vicki had reduced her drinking over the last couple of weeks. After that amount of alcohol, she would have been shit-faced.
In the past, Vicki could drink six litres or more of that stuff and it wouldn’t even phase her. The police asked whether Vicki had any enemies, and Shell was forced to tell the truth: over the years Vicki had made many enemies and the drink had made her abusive and violent at times. She knew the police would be checking her out on their system, so there was no point keeping anything back. Finally, the officer asked whether Vicki had been in a relationship with anyone recently. The hairs on Shell’s neck stood on end.
‘Why would you ask that? Don’t you think it’s a robbery?’ Shell looked past the officer into the flat at the torn-apart room – open drawers and cupboards, items strewn about. ‘There are a lot of druggies in this area. Though why they would think Vicki had any money, is any one’s guess.’
‘We just need to explore all options and speak with anyone who may have seen her.’
‘I don’t know for sure, but I think she was hanging out with this guy named Mick. Shagging him, even though I warned her to stay away from him. I’m not sure what his last name is. He’s definitely on probation though, because they sometimes go to their appointments together. Vicki’s PO is Sarah something or other, but she also saw Lucy … uh … I think that’s her name.’ Shell felt herself redden and bit her li
p. The less she could share about Lucy, the better, given that she was sleeping with her husband.
‘There were rumours going round the pub about Mick. That he likes to beat up women. But Vicki swore he’d never laid a hand on her … I warned her. For fuck’s sake, why didn’t she listen to me? If he did this, I swear I’ll …’ Shell started crying again and couldn’t get her words out.
‘Thanks for your time, Miss Baker. Can we just get your number in case we have any follow-up questions?’
Shell gave the officer her details and showed them out. Forensics were still collecting evidence, so she left them with the spare key, so they could secure the property.
Leaves were swirling in the wind as she stumbled her way to her car. Shell was shaking as she heard the bleep of her car door unlocking and sat down. She took a moment, fighting back the tears. She dug her mobile out of her bag and dialled Patrick’s number. He answered after two rings in a hushed voice.
‘What the hell are you calling me for?’ The line was quiet. ‘Shell? Shell? Are you still there?’
Shell stared silently out at the rows of grey flats.
Patrick’s voice got louder. ‘Look, I’m outside now. You just caught me at a bad time. Where are you?’
‘I’m … on my way to the hospital. Vicki’s been beaten pretty badly, and I don’t know if she’ll survive.’ Gathering herself together, she carried on, ‘I wanted to let you know that I won’t be around for a few days, until I see that she’s OK. And I tidy her flat … you know … so it’s ready for when … if … she comes home.’
‘Babe, I’m so sorry. Look, I might be able to sneak out. Do you want me to meet you there? I’ve missed you.’
‘No. I need to do this myself. I have a few things to take care of. As soon as I can, I’ll call you … and Patrick …’
‘Yes?
‘I love you.’ She hung up without waiting for a response. She wasn’t prepared for one, so she did what she always did and shut the conversation down.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Mick stripped out of his clothing and placed them in a plastic bag. He’d dispose of them soon. He jumped in the shower to wash any remaining blood off him, sprayed the shower with bleach and rinsed out the water. Mick was sure he’d seen something on one of those CSI shows: bleach would get rid of evidence. His tub was filthy anyway, so even if it didn’t work, it might clean the place up a bit. Mick was surprised at how calm he felt, considering his days were numbered and that bitch, Lucy, would recall him for being in a relationship. He looked at his hands and turned them over, feeling the sting of the scrapes and cuts on his knuckles. He’d have to figure out a way to explain these to the police. He thought for a minute and then settled on an idea: maybe pick a fight when he went to the pub.
Mick grabbed a pair of jeans off his floor, put them to his nose and breathed in. They could last one more day, despite the stain on the knee. He chose a dark T-shirt and threw on his black hoodie. Put his ear to the door, listened to the silence outside. The streets were quiet for a change and Mick thought perhaps his luck was in. He might just get away with what he’d done to Vicki.
I only slapped her around. She’ll have a headache and a few bruises at most. No big deal.
Mick didn’t want to be seen leaving his flat; that way he could choose his reported time of arrival at the pub. It would be heaving tonight, and he could get lost in the crowd. Darts nights always drew the crowds. He’d usually avoid them, but tonight it would give him the perfect opportunity to create an alibi.
He put Vicki’s money and spare key in his pocket, making sure everything else was removed from the clothing he’d worn earlier. He was planning on dumping them in a large rubbish bin that sat near the entrance to the underpass, where some local homeless people had set up camp.
Mick took a chance and peered cautiously out of the door. Satisfied, he sprinted along the pathway and headed down Browning Street towards the underpass. At this time of night, most of the homeless people would be too drunk, or fast asleep, to remember him. It was just his luck that as he approached the waste bin, one of them headed towards him.
‘Spare change, mate?’
Normally Mick would have told the drunk man to fuck off, but tonight he didn’t want any trouble. He pulled out some loose change from his pocket. The man swiped it out of his hand before, Mick could say anything, and then headed in the direction of the shops.
No one saw him dump his sweater and tracksuit bottoms in the bin. Mick stared into the underpass, lost in his thoughts about what had just happened.
‘Oi. You! What are you doing there?’ shouted one of the homeless men. A few others sat up on their cardboard beds and eyed Mick.
‘Nothing, mate, just getting rid of some rubbish. That all right with you?’ Mick gave him a hard stare. The man lay back down and turned over, grumbling incoherently. Mick carried on through the underpass, without looking at the folk who called this place their home. Fucking saddos.
When Mick arrived at the pub, he looked through the grotty window, satisfied that he’d easily blend in. As he pushed through the door, he looked at the bar to make sure that Kevin had not spotted him. Kevin had a memory like an elephant and if he saw Mick now, he’d clock the time, and any chance he had of pulling off an alibi would be scuppered.
He headed towards a group of men he’d chatted with before. Although he’d never class these guys as his mates, he often enjoyed banter with them over a few pints. ‘Mind if I join you, lads? I was over the other side of the room and those wankers are just talking shite.’ Mick laughed. He had picked up a half-empty pint glass off one of the tables, on his way across the room, to make his story believable.
‘Hey, Mick! Good to see ya, mate! Don’t normally see you here on a Thursday,’ Billy noted. ‘Jesus. What’s happened to your hands?’
‘I pop in on a Thursday now and again, but only stay for a pint or two because of all the noise. I ain’t no spring chicken you know!’ He looked at his hands. ‘I had a bit of work on a building site. Let’s just say, manual labour and I don’t mix.’
Billy laughed and raised his glass. ‘Can I get you a pint, Mick?’
Mick reached into his pocket and pulled out a tenner. ‘It’s on me, if you don’t mind getting it? Just don’t fancy standing in that bloody queue.’
‘Sure thing … and thanks!’ Billy took the £10 note and patted Mick on the shoulder.
While he waited, Mick put the half-filled glass down and mixed in with the other men around the table. He hated small talk, but knew he needed to shore up his alibi. Best to spend Vicki’s money, too. He offered to buy a round. The men at his table soon took him into their conversation, and he smiled to himself.
Can I really get away with this?
Billy arrived back at the table with the pints. ‘Kevin was asking when you arrived,’ Billy said casually.
‘Oh yeah? And what did you tell him?’ Mick’s voice was loud and he felt his hand shaking.
‘Calm down, mate. Not sure what’s got your knickers in a twist, but I told him you’ve been here ages.’
Wondering why Kevin was so curious, Mick looked over to the bar and raised his glass. He gave Kevin a nod and got one in return. Probably just being paranoid.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Mark took the information he gained from Lucy to DS Hooper.
‘She confirmed that Vicki Wilkinson was in a relationship with Mick O’Dowd? Why the hell didn’t she tell us this before?’
‘To be fair, guv, I think she only just found out. It was just an assumption initially, but seeing them at O’Dowd’s flat confirmed it. I just picked up the email.’
‘Mark, I don’t know why you feel the need to defend Lucy – and to be honest, I don’t want to know. But let’s face facts here. She fucked up. The minute she suspected anything, we should have been informed.’
Mark knew that no amount of explanation would change his boss’s mind. Once Hooper had his jaws locked onto something, there was no letting go. ‘S
o … what do we do now, guv?’
‘Are you serious, Mark? We need to speak to Mick O’Dowd. Grab PC Reynolds and go pick him up!’
Mark blushed. ‘Yes, guv. On it.’
He headed back to the unit and looked around for PC Reynolds. The newbie was nowhere to be seen. ‘For fuck’s sake. Has anyone seen Reynolds?’
Maggie looked up from her computer and shook her head. Mark turned to Kat. ‘Kat, do you know where Reynolds is?’
Mark didn’t like the sly look on Kat’s face, as if she was ready to wind him up. Frankly he wasn’t in the mood.
‘Reynolds is at the photocopier. I asked him to copy some shit.’
‘Well, now you can take over. I need him to come with me. Hooper wants us to pick up Mick O’Dowd and bring him in for questioning.’
‘Uh … since when did you become my boss?’ Kat swivelled her chair casually.
Mark was grateful when he caught Maggie raising her eyebrows at Kat, ‘Just do what he says.’
‘This is fudonkulous.’ Kat grabbed her coffee and slouched her way to the copier.
Huh? Mark and Maggie looked at each other quizzically. Maggie shrugged.
‘No clue. She is always making up words. I’m guessing there’s a fuck in there somewhere …’
Within minutes, Reynolds was back in the office, looking like Kat had put him through the photocopier. ‘So, where are we off to then?’
‘Just grab your coat, Reynolds, I’ll tell you on the way.’
‘Can I grab a quick cuppa? I’m parched.’
‘No … no chance. Now get your coat and let’s go!’
Mark heard a faint laugh from the office as PC Reynolds stumbled his way out after him.
Mark and PC Reynolds arrived at Mick’s flat, hoping he wasn’t involved in the assault on Vicki. They already had enough pressure, following the Millard and Talbot murders, without adding a serious assault to their caseload.
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