The Dying Place (12 page)

‘Saw the mum yesterday,’ Brannon replied. ‘I know a couple of her lads. Doesn’t surprise me one of them’s turned up dead. His older brother is the worst. Dale. He’s got a trial coming up in Crown. GBH, wounding with intent. Should have been attempted murder.’

‘Yeah, well … that’s only interesting if it has something to do with my case. You got anything on that, Tony?’

Brannon scratched at his head, bits of dandruff landing on his shoulders. ‘That youth club. I know the guy who runs it, Kevin Thornhill. Used to go to school with him.’

Murphy brightened. ‘Good stuff. Still in contact with him?’

Brannon smiled. ‘Yeah, he’s married to my brother’s wife’s sister’s mate. See him at family dos and that.’

Murphy tried working out the familial connection in his head, but got lost. ‘Good. Our vic was a regular at the youth club before he disappeared. Would be good to speak to Kevin about that, see if he remembers anything.’

‘No worries, I’ll set it up. He works weekends, I think. I’ll give him a bell now.’

Murphy watched Brannon waddle off. Sniffed and went back to looking at the board. Rossi joined him, eating a Boost and flicking the cap off another bottle of energy drink at the same time.

‘How late was it last night exactly? And why don’t you drink coffee like a normal copper would?’

‘Gone off coffee. And late.’

Murphy raised his eyebrows, earning a frown from Rossi.

‘What?’ Rossi said.

‘No judgement here, Laura. What you do on your own time is none of my business.’

‘No. It’s not, so let’s drop it.’

‘Right,’ Murphy said, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. ‘I give in.’

‘Yeah, cheers. Anyway, what did Brannon want?’

Murphy led them away from the board towards the office. ‘He knows our youth club manager. Married to his sister’s wife or something.’

‘What?’

‘I didn’t really follow,’ Murphy replied, pushing into their office, noticing it was empty before dropping into his seat. ‘Not the point anyway. He’s sorting out a meeting for us. In the meantime, we need to find out where Dean’s been the last seven months. Anything from those looking into his associates?’

Murphy waited as Rossi checked her in-tray and email. The door opened and DC Harris entered while in the process of removing his suit jacket, a folder being held in his teeth.

‘All right bosses,’ Harris said, once he’d extricated the folder. ‘Want an update?’

‘Of course,’ Murphy said.

‘None of Dean’s close friends have seen him since the night the mum reported him missing. One of them thought he’d buggered off to Spain to work in a bar – her words, not mine – two thought he’d joined a cult, and one reckoned he’d got some girl pregnant and done one because her auld fella was going to kill him.’

‘Names on the last one?’

‘Just a rumour. He didn’t know what the girl’s name was or approximate times or anything like that.’

Murphy sighed. ‘Right, well do follow-ups with the others. See if anyone can remember anything about that.’ He removed his phone from his pocket as it buzzed and bleeped in rapid succession. He read the text message and added, ‘Me and Rossi have a young girl to see.’

‘Who?’ Rossi said, perking up.

‘Last person we know of who saw Dean Hughes.’

‘No problem.’

This wasn’t going to be an easy one, but they were used to that by now. Merseyside in general had gained a reputation of taking its time with high-profile cases. If it took a year to get the right people, it took a year.

Murphy hoped it wouldn’t take that long.

The house belied its area. Expensive furnishings, down to the solid coffee table which was surrounded by a deep leather settee and armchairs. The smell of furniture polish mixing with jasmine told Murphy that Amanda Williams’s parents – and his money was on the mother, given the general air around the father – had readied the house for their arrival.

‘We dealt with Amanda at the time, Inspector,’ the father said, who’d introduced himself at the door only as Mr Williams. ‘I’m not sure what the point of all this is.’

‘We just need to make sure all avenues are explored, given the seriousness of the crime,’ Murphy said, eyeing the chocolate digestives on the plate sitting on the coffee table. At least the mother had offered her first name. Faye. Murphy liked the name. Filed it away. He peeled his eyes away from the biscuits, gave a small thanks to Faye, who smiled thinly and perched herself on the arm of her husband’s armchair.

‘They’re just here to cover every angle, Jim,’ Faye said to her husband, her accent buried in a veneer of clipped pronunciation. ‘Let them do their job.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s good enough. Tell them what you know, Amanda.’

Murphy hadn’t looked towards Amanda since they’d arrived. Dark eye make-up and drawn-on eyebrows. Legs clad in skinny jeans, tucked underneath herself, straining the fabric against her knees. She was wearing a large jumper which she sucked on the sleeve of, pulled against a thumb. Amanda brushed hair off her face, causing the bouffant to expand on top. Extensions, Murphy thought. Sarah had mentioned them once, but he’d baulked at the price and she hadn’t brought it up again.

‘Amanda, you know why we’re here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You realise how important it is to tell us everything you know, okay?’

Amanda nodded, eyes still on the edge of the coffee table, rather than on either her parents or Murphy and Rossi.

‘Good. Did you know Dean well?’

She sniffed, ‘Not really. Just from around and that.’

Around and that. Seemed a popular answer. ‘Were you seeing each other?’

‘Not really.’ Her eyes shifted finally, looking nervously at her parents. ‘He wanted to take me out, but I wasn’t that interested.’

Amanda’s father bristled in his chair, tutting quietly. Rossi caught the motion and cut in. ‘Young girl like you, I bet you have a fair few lads after you?’

She shrugged. ‘Suppose. Doesn’t mean I do anything though. I’m not a slag or nothing.’

The tut of admonishment came from the mother this time. The father was shaking his head.

‘What we need to know, Amanda, is if Dean and you were close.’

‘A bit, like. Not really. We’d talk and stuff. He’d text me a lot. WhatsApp and that.’

‘Did you talk the night he disappeared?’ Murphy asked.

‘Not much. He was just normal. Messing about with the lads, showing off, that kind of thing. I don’t remember much about it, to be honest.’

‘That’s because you had too much to drink,’ Jim Williams said, leaning forward, brow furrowing.

‘Please, Mr Williams,’ Murphy said, raising a hand. ‘We’ll get to that.’

Jim sat back in the chair, chewing his lip.

‘Was everyone drinking, Amanda?’ Murphy said.

‘Yeah. It was a Friday, so there were a few of us. We all chipped in and got a load of cider.’ She shot another look at her parents. ‘I don’t drink normally, but I did that night.’

‘Apparently you got yourself into a state,’ Rossi said, smiling, her tone on the jokey side. ‘Been there a few times.’

Amanda smiled for the first time since they’d arrived. ‘Yeah … guess I wasn’t used to it.’

‘So what do you remember then?’ Rossi said.

‘Just laughing a lot. Some of the lads were taking the piss out of one of the girls, and it was well funny. I was supposed to be staying at my mate’s house, but she disappeared at some point. I reckon it was with Aaron, but she denies it.’

‘What time was that do you think?’

‘Can’t really remember now. It was ages ago.’

‘At some point you ended up alone with Dean though?’ Murphy said, enjoying the way he and Rossi were in sync.

‘Yeah, but I was wrecked by then. Nothing happened. We was just talking, I think.’

‘Do you remember anything he said?’

‘Not really,’ Amanda said, stretching out her legs, the bones cricking in them as she moved. ‘Just talking shi—rubbish and that.’

‘Was he scared, afraid, anything like that?’

She considered it. ‘I don’t think so. It was so long ago. I think he talked about the youthy a bit. Wanted me to go down there in the week.’

There was something she was holding back, Murphy thought. Happy to discuss things she thought were safe topics, but there was something ringing in his mind. ‘Amanda, are you still okay with your parents being here? Only, if there’s something you want to tell us, but would rather do it privately …’

‘There’s nothing she can’t say in front of us, Inspector …’ Jim said.

‘I’m sure that’s the case, Mr Williams,’ Murphy replied, ‘but sometimes a little discretion is needed.’

He and his wife shared a look. ‘Five minutes. And we’re just in the kitchen. Don’t be forcing her to say anything she doesn’t want to. We know our rights.’

‘Of course,’ Murphy said, waiting for them to leave the room. Faye left first, the father looking behind as he walked out of the living room. ‘Okay, Amanda, is there something you want to tell us?’

‘I don’t know …’

Rossi took over, sensing the same thing Murphy was. ‘It’s okay, Amanda. If something happened between the two of you when you were on your own, that’s not your fault, we’ll listen.’

Amanda sat forward. ‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ Her voice raised upwards, into a higher pitch. ‘God, he wasn’t like that.’

‘Okay,’ Murphy said, his hands out in front of him, ‘what is it then?’

‘The drink. Like, we didn’t exactly pay for it.’

‘What do you mean?’

Amanda sighed, leaning back into the settee. ‘I wasn’t there though. It was nothing to do with me. I got told later. Dean and a couple of the other lads nicked it from an offy. That’s what I heard anyway, later on like.’

Murphy scratched at his beard and looked at Rossi. Got a blank look in return. ‘Which offy?’

‘Think it was the one on the Strand.’

‘Right. Anything else?’

Amanda shook her head.

‘Well, if there is anything more, just let us know, okay?’

Murphy felt there was more being unsaid – maybe about the exact nature of what happened once the two teenagers had been alone. He knew they weren’t about to be told anything else right then though. Amanda had retreated back into her shell, chewing on the end of her jumper, looking years younger than her seventeen. A little girl, thrust into the world of adults and death. The shock of the real world etched across her young face.

The Farm

Three Months Ago

It was becoming almost crowded in the Dorm now, Goldie thought – what with Dean, Bootle, another new lad who had arrived the week before, and himself. Four teenage lads, none of them older than nineteen, and Goldie reckoned the new lad was lying when he said that was how old he was. Looked more like sixteen, with bum fluff on his top lip which would probably disappear in a strong wind.

Bootle had tried to be the big man again when the new lad showed up. This time he’d been ignored, rather than beaten up like Goldie had done to him. Seemed to work just as well, from what Goldie had seen.

‘What’s your name, mate?’ Goldie had asked when things had calmed down after that first night, when the new lad had stopped banging against the door trying to get out.

‘Craig,’ he’d replied, from the bed he’d now taken to sitting rigidly upright upon. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Goldie. Over there is Bootle …’

‘It’s fucking MC Cray-Z …’

‘Whatever,’ Goldie replied, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. ‘Call him what you like, but I’m sticking with Bootle. In the corner, that’s Dean. He doesn’t say much, but don’t worry, Bootle more than makes up for him.’

Craig didn’t say much the first few days. Things started happening in shifts now, their
lessons
taking place one after the other. Always in the evenings, which Goldie had begun to realise was because they, them out there, probably had jobs and stuff during the day. He thought it meant he had more chance of escape during the daytime, the idea that less of them out there made his odds better. It didn’t matter though. Turned out the odds were pretty shitty when you were looking at a shotgun.

‘How long have I been here?’ Goldie had asked at some point.

‘How long do you think it’s been?’ The answer had come back from Omega. Goldie had learnt all their names and could tell who was who even without being able to see their faces. There was a woman in amongst them. Gamma. Goldie had counted five of them, including Alpha. He’d been shocked at first, not thinking it was possible that a bird could be involved in something like this. Then she’d called him a lazy, thick, fat twat, and he’d stopped wondering about her.

Omega was the only one he could tell wasn’t from Liverpool. Sounded more pie-eating country than proper Wool. At least he wasn’t a Manc. Goldie didn’t think he could handle being kept locked up by a Manc.

Goldie’s days were mostly the same … as were all the lads’. Wake up, or rather, be woken up by the banging on the door. The door would open and food already dished out on trays would be thrown on the floor. Porridge, which ranged from being too sweet to far too bland, depending on the day. The usual argument over who was going for a piss first, before the boredom set in. The only thing to do was read the books that were provided for them. Goldie wasn’t sure all four of them were exactly big readers on the outside. Dean would lie on his bed, just waiting for the evening, he guessed, whilst they sat around, sometimes talking, sometimes telling stories of the outside. Dreaming of what they’d do when they were finally let out.

‘I’m gonna fuck everything that moves, mate,’ Bootle would say constantly, endlessly. ‘Seriously, it’s going in every fucking hole, lad.’

‘Surprised you can find the fucking thing to stick it anywhere,’ Goldie had replied, the look of anger on Bootle’s face disappearing as they heard laughter from the direction of Dean’s bed.

That was about as much as they got out of him. Goldie would have been worried, but he was more interested in how he was in himself. The weight was draining from him. He could afford to lose some but didn’t want to end up as some lanky streak of piss.

No one spoke of how scared they were. Scared of every bang on the door, scared that every time they left that small dorm room, it would be for the last time. Goldie had almost become used to the way his throat would close up in fear when they arrived. When they were alone it was all bravado. Just a show.