An Early Grave (24 page)

CHAPTER 39

They agreed to split for the time being. Murray went with a uniformed constable to fetch the girls from the house on Stanley Road. Attempts to find the two men who worked at the rental agency, and were responsible for running the adult film enterprise at the house in Treadwater, had so far proved fruitless. It seemed likely that they had left the country. Once identities were established for the pair, and their whereabouts traced, they could be brought back to Liverpool if necessary. They sat below Callum on the list of suspects, but for reasons she could not explain, Tara didn’t think them guilty of murder. See the victim, and you won’t stop searching for the killer. She could see the word burnt into the flesh of Audra Bagdonas.
Kurwa
: bitch, whore. Callum said he saw the two men leaving the house. He didn’t mention seeing the other girls leave. Had they left earlier, before the men? She didn’t believe so. She was on her way to visit the person who knew the truth, but who so far had acted strangely to the point where he was determined to place Callum at the centre of the inquiry.

DC Wilson stopped the marked police car outside the house, three doors from the scene of the murder. The pair of them walked to the front door, and Wilson wrapped heavily with the metal flap of the letter box. Through the lounge window she saw a large screen television, a video game being played by someone inside. Tara glanced at her notebook making sure she had the correct address for Mark Crawley, the youth she would always associate with a blue football shirt. The door eventually opened, and a heavily pregnant girl glared at them through pretty, but nervously darting eyes.

‘Hello, Debbie. How are you?’

‘All right,’ the girl replied in a downcast tone. The bump was certainly increasing with each encounter. Debbie pressed her left hand against her back, clearly feeling uncomfortable. Barefoot, she wore a pale pink towelling bathrobe. The toddler, Curtis, wearing only shorts and clutching the living room door, stared intently at the callers.

‘We were actually hoping to speak with Mark. Is he here? I didn’t realise that you lived together, but this is the address we have for him.’

Debbie seemed unimpressed by all the civility aimed at her.

‘Mark,’ she called into the room. ‘Bizees want to see you.’

‘Tell them to fuck off. I’m busy.’

Debbie glared at Tara as if to say you have your answer, but Tara smiled back. She hoped to keep on the right side of this girl. From their first meeting, outside Callum’s house, she had the feeling that Debbie was honest and trying her best to stay out of trouble. Tara still had difficulty believing that this young girl was willing to associate with the likes of Mark Crawley, never mind him fathering her child.

‘Do you mind if we come in, Debbie?’ The girl glanced nervously towards the living room, her expression betraying the dilemma facing her. ‘This won’t take long.’

Reluctantly, Debbie stepped away from the door allowing Tara and Wilson to enter. She remained in the hallway as Tara entered the living room. Curtis scuttled past their legs reaching for his mother. She took him by the hand, but left him on the floor, unable to lift him in her arms.

‘Hello, Mark,’ said Tara in a civil tone. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right?’

Crawley, wearing blue jogging trousers and the Everton shirt, was sprawled in an armchair, his legs dangling over the side. He stared keenly at the television, a game controller held in both hands, thumbs moving frantically across the buttons. A combat game was playing, guns, bullets, tanks and night vision glasses, essential components of the war. Easy for the youth to ignore his visitors, but Wilson had other ideas. He stepped between Crawley and the television.

‘What?’

‘Detective Inspector Grogan would like a word, mate.’ Wilson glared at the boy with menaces, real-life combat a much harder game to that playing on the television. Crawley wouldn’t stand a chance against Wilson.

‘Why did you claim to have seen Callum Armour going into the house with Audra Bagdonas?’ Tara asked. It was unlikely the boy would ever submit to eye contact with her.

‘Cos that’s what he did, all right?’

‘What were you talking about with Audra before Callum turned up?’

‘None of your business.’

‘Did you threaten her? Were you trying to get off with her? Did she turn you down, Mark? Is that why you got angry? Is that why you decided to point the blame at Callum Armour? Because he helped her?’ She fired the questions at him, hoping to rile him, eager for him to lose it. Debbie stood by the door watching, biting at her fingernails, her uneasy gaze fixed on her boyfriend.

‘How’s your Polish, Mark? Know many words?’

‘What are you on about? I don’t know any Polish.’

‘Did you talk to the other girls who came to the house? Ask them what they got up to inside there?’ The Everton shirt persisted with his nil response, but Tara wasn’t looking at him; she looked at Debbie, who, with each question, seemed to grow more uneasy, chewing on her nails then her bottom lip.

‘Maybe you took part in some of their film making? Bit of fun? Some cash in it, too?’

Debbie disappeared from the door.

‘You know, Mark, if you did take part in one of those films we will find out. They’re made to be sold. It is a business. Television, DVDs, internet. Won’t be hard to track down.’

‘Only sold in Poland and Russia, those films,’ he said at last, and Tara knew she had him.

‘Is that what they told you?’

‘Didn’t say they told me anything.’ His attention returned to his video game. ‘Are you gonna fucking move, or what?’ he said to Wilson, who stood like a nightclub bouncer, smirking and making it clear he was not intimidated.

‘We haven’t completed all the forensic tests on Audra,’ Tara continued. ‘There were traces of semen found on her body. If you took part in sexual activity with her we’ll soon know.’

He glared at Tara once again. For a moment it seemed he was mulling things over. Then his stare resumed that cold aggression she’d witnessed on their first encounter. Finally, he cracked a disturbing smile.

‘It was a porno film. Bound to be cum all over the place.’ His stare was one of suggestion, but Tara no longer feared this insolent youth. She matched his smile with her own.

‘What time did you go into the house, Mark?’

He laughed, nervously, but he laughed.

‘Just tell her, Mark.’ Debbie stood again at the doorway, rubbing the coldness from her arms.

‘Ah, you stupid bitch!’

CHAPTER 40

‘I think your friend Crawley may wish to change his story,’ said Tara.

Murray looked at her doubtfully. She dropped into her desk chair, dumping her bag on the floor. She felt exhausted. A long day suppressing emotions, trying to wangle the truth from people determined not to give it. She was in no mood to debate matters with her colleague. He’d left the station a couple of hours earlier convinced he was right about Callum Armour and that she was wrong. Now, if she wanted to, if she cared to, she could make him feel two feet tall. She was in the right. Not that she held Callum in any great spotlight of trust, but she knew that Crawley was a hot suspect for murder when suddenly he came forward claiming to have witnessed Callum entering the house with Audra. He had been trying to deflect attention from himself, but he was too stupid to realise he had no need to do so. The investigation hadn’t been heading his way, but once he opened his mouth then she was going to ask why. She should be getting ready for home about now; instead she had four interview rooms occupied. Mark Crawley persisted with his tough exterior. To her it was like boast plaster on a wall. One hefty tap and he would crumble to bits. The two girls, Laima Gabrys and Ruta Mankus waited to go over their story for her benefit, having already gushed to Murray when he picked them up. Callum, she’d left to meditate on his despicable behaviour. Her face glowed with anger thinking of what he’d done to her, while all she had tried to do was help him. Murray was wrong about him, she knew that certainly, but from recent harsh experience she also knew that Callum had more information tucked away in his scheming brain.

‘Who’s first?’ Murray asked, ripping the cardboard from a pack of egg and cress sandwiches. He offered her a share, but she didn’t think her stomach could take it. While he ate, she fed him details of what happened when she questioned Crawley.

‘His girlfriend, Debbie, knows the story. She’s ready to pop any day. I didn’t want her waiting around here, getting in a state. Can’t be good for the baby. But if Crawley clams up, we’ll have to bring her in.’

By nine in the evening Tara and Murray, moving between the interviewees, had learned much from the girls, little from Callum, and nothing at all from Crawley. Laima Gabrys and Ruta Mankus were stunned to learn they were even regarded as suspects in the case. Once that prospect sank in they were only too happy to tell all they knew regarding Audra Bagdonas. Interviewed in separate rooms, their stories matched up perfectly. Both girls had been at the house with Audra that evening, but Audra was very much alive when they left and headed for home, a few minutes after ten o’clock they claimed. Most significantly, they left the house before the two budding Fellinis, who had continued to shoot movies of Audra. Callum, it seemed, had missed their departure or had decided not to mention it. At that point Tara left the interview with the older woman Ruta Mankus and went to visit Callum. A constable opened the door, but Tara went no further than the threshold. He looked tired and rather vacant, leaning over the table where she last saw him.

‘What time did the two men leave the house that night?’

Callum pondered the question. He looked for a trace of empathy in her stare, in those eyes, usually warm, but there was none. She’d come only for answers.

‘Around midnight.’

‘Did you see the girls leaving?’

He shook his head.

‘No.’

‘Do you think they were still in the house when the men left at twelve?’

He managed to shrug. She walked away without another word, and the constable swung the door closed behind her.

‘Tara!’

She re-traced her steps, nodded for the door to be re-opened, and once more stood on the threshold.

‘There’s something else I haven’t told you.’

*

Tara went straight to the adjacent interview room, where she found Murray questioning Laima Gabrys. His face was a picture to behold. Tara beckoned him outside, leaving the young girl frowning at the flurry of activity.

‘It might be true that the girls left before the men,’ she said. They walked a few yards along the narrow the corridor. ‘Armour said the men left around twelve, but he doesn’t know if the girls were still inside.’

‘Are you ready for this?’ said Murray, gazing through a window into a darkening night pierced by street lights and passing traffic on St. Anne Street.

‘What?’

‘Gabrys just told me that Mark Crawley was in the house with them and was still there when they left.’

Tara burst into the room, where Laima Gabrys, nervous and pale, sat with her arms supporting her head on the table. Her eyes were red and filled with tears. She clearly believed herself to be in a lot of trouble.

‘Laima, can you tell me what Mark Crawley was doing inside the house?’

She wiped the back of her hand across her nose, sniffing tears. Tara saw the slender arms trembling, saw her chest heave in a deep sob. Her polo-neck jumper, thin and grey, stretched across her bust, her padded bra straining the fabric. Tara, usually quick to offer sympathy to a distressed witness, decided in this instance that an out-pouring of emotion was speeding things along. If Laima continued to believe she was under threat of arrest for murder, it would surely loosen her tongue.

‘He wanted to be in movie,’ she answered.

‘Was this the first time he’d been in the house?’

Laima shook her head vigorously, her hair wafting around her face.

‘No. He come every day to ask guys if he can help with movie.’

‘And did they let him help?’

‘No. But he keep on asking. They let him come three times. But not to do film.’

‘Ok. What did he do?’

‘Make coffee. Order pizza. He held lights.’

‘He saw what went on in making the films?’

‘Yes.’

Tara looked at Murray. He smiled, and she took it in the spirit in which he’d offered it. Respect for a job almost done.

‘Thank you, Laima. We will try not to keep you much longer.’ The girl nodded, pulling a crumpled tissue from her pocket.

Tara and Murray walked to the room at the end of the corridor. Murray stepped aside to let her go first. She smiled.

‘Thanks, Alan.’ They sat down opposite a worried looking Mark Crawley, although when he spoke his words carried only indignation.

‘Can I go home now?’

‘Not for a while, Mark,’ Tara replied. Murray had already started the recorder. ‘Were you really so keen to be involved in adult films?’

Crawley glared from Tara to Murray as if considering a nil response.