Bloodstream (40 page)

There was blood on the floor, dripping from Rossi’s neck as he caught her. Rossi’s hand flew to her neck as she lost her footing and fell into Murphy. There was a shout from behind them as more officers entered the terrace.

‘We need a paramedic here, now,’ Murphy shouted back behind him. ‘Get someone in here for fuck’s sake. Laura, speak to me.’

‘Cazzo!
I’m fine,’ Rossi said, lying across Murphy as they sank to the floor. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Don’t let him get away,’ Murphy shouted as he looked up quickly, the terrace now full of bodies, getting in the way of each other. ‘He went over the wall.’

‘It was him,’ Rossi said, pulling her hand away from her neck and looking at the red it left behind.
‘Figlio di troia.
The bastard was talking to me like he was normal.’

‘You’re going to be okay, Laura,’ Murphy said, looking at the wound on Rossi’s neck. ‘He didn’t do anything more than break the skin.’

‘Feels worse than that. My neck is on fire. Have they got him yet?’

Murphy looked up at the wall Ben Flanagan had leaped over after he’d pushed Rossi towards him, now surrounded by officers peering over and climbing it themselves. He heard a shout from beyond it, DC Kirkham’s voice travelling back to him.

‘Don’t worry,’ Murphy said, spying two paramedics getting the okay to enter the terrace. ‘They’ll find him. He won’t get far.’

‘I should have done something . . .’

‘Don’t be stupid, Laura. What were you supposed to have done.’

‘Anything other than what I did.’

Murphy moved aside and allowed the paramedics to take over, remembering a similar scene a couple of years earlier, when Rossi had been injured but not as seriously as she could have been. He wondered exactly how many lives Rossi had left.

Pushing aside anyone in the way, Murphy moved towards the wall, his height allowing him a better view.

‘You got him yet?’ he asked, receiving blank looks in return. ‘What’s keeping you all?’

‘We’ve got people moving towards his last position,’ one of the AFOs said, avoiding Murphy’s eye contact. ‘He moved quick, sir.’

Murphy turned away, walking past the paramedics tending to Rossi and out through the pub. Inside, the medical workers were still sitting round the table, drinks in front of them now standing untouched and unwanted. Darren Logan was still on the floor, handcuffed arms behind him, looking towards Murphy with pleading eyes.

‘Is she okay?’ Darren said, trying to get up from his position on the floor, but being pushed back by an AFO. ‘What’s happened out there?’

‘Let him up,’ Murphy said, helping Darren to his feet. ‘She’s going to be fine. You can see her in a little while. What do you know about Ben Flanagan?’

‘Nothing much,’ Darren replied, still trying to look past Murphy and towards the terrace. ‘He started working with us a few months ago. What’s happened?’

‘Do you know anything about him . . . where he lives, what he does outside work, anything?’

‘I don’t know, honestly. I just know him through work. That’s all.’

Murphy turned to the rest of the table. ‘Does anyone here know anything about Ben Flanagan at all?’

The table was silent. Shock had kicked in, and Murphy shouting at them did little to help.

‘Christ,’ DCI Stephens said, as Murphy made his way to the pub entrance. ‘What the hell went wrong?’

‘They were outside when the AFOs went in,’ Murphy said, pacing in front of DCI Stephens. ‘Did they not check that everyone was there before storming in?’

‘I don’t know, I would imagine so. Mistakes happen . . .’

‘Well, that mistake almost cost Laura her life and now Ben Flanagan has got away.’

‘Wait . . . Ben? I thought you were sure it was this Darren Logan?’

‘We got it wrong,’ Murphy said, coming to a stop by the side of DCI Stephens. ‘If we’d have checked before storming in, he’d still have been sitting at that table. He looks like a little kid, honestly. I didn’t think it would be him at all. He can’t be more than thirty . . .’

‘I don’t think that matters,’ DCI Stephens replied, placing a hand on Murphy’s elbow to stop him pacing again. ‘We’ll catch him, don’t worry. There was nothing else we could have done.’

‘There was plenty.’

‘He won’t get far,’ DCI Stephens continued, ignoring Murphy’s comment. ‘The area is going into lockdown. Did he have a car or anything here?’

‘I don’t know,’ Murphy said, spotting DC Kirkham outside the pub, pointing towards the top end of Hanover Street and Liverpool Central train station.

‘We’ll ask the people left in there.’

Murphy walked past DCI Stephens and went outside to talk to DC Kirkham. ‘You got him yet?’

‘I almost did,’ DC Kirkham replied, out of breath and red-faced. He stopped and placed his hands on his knees, gulping in air. ‘Bastard was fast. Ran down School Lane behind the shops. I lost him. There were others coming from the opposite side, so they’ll pen him in.’

Murphy turned to the uniform standing close by. ‘Get on to CCTV and track him down. The place is crawling with cameras.’

The uniform rushed off, shouting into his radio as he did so. ‘Did you get close to him at all?’

‘Not really,’ DC Kirkham replied, standing upright once more. ‘He was too quick even for me. Is that really our guy?’

‘It definitely looks that way.’

‘Shit,’ DC Kirkham said. His face then turned a darker shade of red. ‘Is Laura . . .?’

‘She’s fine,’ Murphy said, placing a hand on Kirkham’s shoulder and turning back to the pub. ‘Barely broke the skin. It was just a distraction. Worked as well.’

‘Any of us would have gone for her, rather than him.’

Murphy murmured in response and walked back into the pub. The medical workers were still sitting in chairs round the same table they’d been drinking at only minutes before. Darren Logan sat at the end of the row, ashen-faced and shaking. Murphy saw him casting glances behind him towards the terrace every few seconds.

‘His arse hasn’t even touched the seat,’ Murphy said under his breath. ‘He cares.’

There were more voices and a group of paramedics and AFOs crowded round something.

‘Just let me walk, for Christ’s sake.’

Murphy smiled and strode over. ‘All right, let her walk without you all getting in her way,’ he said, placing himself between a few of the officers there.

Rossi was moving slowly, one hand against a white bandage on her neck. ‘Didn’t even lose that much blood. Don’t know what all the fuss is about.’

‘You know how it is,’ Murphy said, brushing aside another officer who was determined to keep a steadying hand on Rossi. ‘You’re one of us.’

Rossi looked up at him, her complexion whiter than he’d ever seen it before. ‘Is Darren okay?’

Murphy hesitated as they reached the steps which led down to where the table was. ‘He’s fine, just worried about you.’

Rossi saw him before Murphy had a chance to signal to the officer standing by the table. ‘Get those bloody cuffs off him now,’ she said, one hand still up to her neck, the other pointing at the uniform’s chest. ‘He’s with me.’

‘Laura . . .’ Murphy began to say, walking across to her. ‘We can’t just . . .’

‘No, Murphy,’ Rossi said, shrugging him off. ‘He’s got nothing to do with this. Arrest her, though,’ she said, pointing towards a cowering brunette, attempting to hide behind another man. ‘She was with Ben. She’ll know something, I’ll bet.’

Murphy looked towards the uniform and gave him the nod, before leaving Rossi to it and walking back to DCI Stephens at the entrance.

‘Looks like she got away without anything major happening,’ DCI Stephens said, a smirk appearing across her harried face. ‘Good news at least.’

‘Any word?’

‘Nothing yet, but he can’t have got far. We’ve got a perimeter set up around the whole of town. He’s not getting through.’

‘He was with someone here,’ Murphy said, gesturing back towards the table. ‘Laura has pointed her out. We’ll need to question her.’

‘Good,’ DCI Stephens replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Hopefully she knows something.’

Murphy nodded, checking the time and rubbing a hand across his face. ‘What do we need to do?’

‘Set up a command post and monitor the situation. That’s all we can do really.’

Murphy took a look outside, past DCI Stephens, and rolled his eyes. ‘Press are here.’

‘Surprised it took this long,’ DCI Stephens said, glancing back to where Murphy was looking. ‘Hopefully we’ll have good news for them soon.’

Murphy tried to be optimistic, but failed.

It was ten p.m. by the time Murphy decided to call it a night. There was little he could do. He had traipsed the length of town, made sure that all the shops in the vicinity were closed for the evening and that the area had been evacuated. Safety had triumphed over profit.

There was a helicopter circling above and cars on the ground, all failing to report the one thing Murphy wanted to hear.

It seemed as if Ben Flanagan had disappeared.

The woman who had accompanied him to the pub was still being questioned, but Murphy doubted anything substantial was going to come from that. She’d said it was a new relationship, only a month or so old. It was clear she had fallen for him, but Murphy doubted those feelings were mutual.

The hospital had provided them with Flanagan’s address, but when they had stormed it, they’d found only an empty bedsit, save for a few bills in his name.

No clues as to where he actually lived.

Murphy wasn’t looking forward to the fallout, especially if they didn’t catch him within hours. He’d called Sarah early on, just to put her mind at ease. His phone had buzzed at nine thirty.

Murphy had smiled at that. Normality. It was exactly what he needed after the week he’d had. There wasn’t much he could do now, but still felt like he should stay.

Almost an hour later, he’d been ordered home and hadn’t put up much of a fight. He was almost dead on his feet. He’d caught a lift back to the station so he could pick up his car and then he’d driven home on automatic pilot.

Murphy parked up, leaving the radio on as he switched off the engine. It was the local call-in show, hosted by Pete Price, talking about the manhunt. Callers moaning about how their kids weren’t safe because the police weren’t doing their jobs properly.

‘Yet, the first people you’d ring in an emergency is us . . .’ Murphy muttered in his empty car.

Then a voice came over the speakers, one he knew.

‘You probably don’t even remember my name, Pete, never mind my daughter’s. My daughter is Amy Maguire . . .’

Murphy turned the radio up a touch, shaking his head as his heart began to hammer in his chest.

‘No one cares about her, do they? She’s been missing for weeks, and all anyone can talk about is these celebrities and stuff. Some guy giving them the run around in town now. My daughter is still out there and no one is looking for her, are they?’

‘Now come on, Stacey, there’s something more important going on at the moment . . .’

‘More important than my daughter’s safety?’

‘She’s eighteen, isn’t she? We’ve got a murderer loose in Liverpool right now – how are we supposed to be looking for an eighteen-year-old while that’s going on, love?’

‘Don’t “love” me, Pete, my daughter matters. She’s out there, God knows where, and no one cares. She didn’t get her face plastered over the
Echo
all week, or on
Sky News
twenty-four hours a day. No one cared when she went missing—’

‘Sorry, Stacey, but we’ve got lots to get through tonight . . .’

Murphy switched the radio off and rubbed a hand over the rough skin on his face. He made a promise to himself. Once this was all over, he would find Amy.

Show that someone cared.

The house looked dark from the outside, only a pale light coming through the curtains in the living room. He let himself in, closing the door behind him.

‘Hello?’

Candles where laid out in the hallway, leading into the dining room at the back, past the living room.

Murphy grinned, rubbed the tiredness out of his neck and took off his jacket. ‘Now this was a very good idea, babe. I’m sorry I’m so late in now. I’m sure you’ve seen the news and know why.’

Murphy shook his shoes off and padded through into the dining room, flickering tea lights leading the way. ‘Not much else I can do out there, so I’m not even going to feel guilty about this.’

He pushed open the dining-room door, saw more candles laid out on the floor and on every surface. He smiled, walking into the room.

Murphy froze as the familiar scene hit him.

Two chairs. Facing each other. One unoccupied. One not.

Sarah, looking at him, duct tape across her face. Bound to the chair so she couldn’t move or make a sound. Shaking her head as her eyes widened.

Seconds. Not even that. To process what was in front of him, his feet still stuck to the floor. The whole of his insides dropping a few millimetres, the breath sucked from his body.

His feet began to move finally, but didn’t get far. A noise behind him made him turn round, just as something struck him in the temple.

As Murphy fell to the floor, darkness already descending upon him, he saw his wife Sarah scream silently behind her gag.

And a man dressed in black, standing over him.

There was somewhere he had to go, before reaching the home of the lying detective and his wife. One last place to visit.

That room and the place he could talk freely. Without judgement or interruption.

The room which contained Number Four.

‘I have to go now,’ Ben said, the smell within the room overpowering him. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be back. They’re trying to stop me, but you can tell them. You can tell them that I was right. That you love me now.’

He waited for an answer that wasn’t going to come, then carried on speaking regardless.