An Early Grave (25 page)

‘Thought you might show up, Tara.’ He grinned proudly at his sick humour.

‘Detective Inspector Grogan, if you don’t mind. Our Lithuanian friends tell me you acted as tea boy. Is that correct?’

‘So what? I got paid for doing it. I was helping out.’

‘But what you really wanted was to get some acting experience?’ said Murray. ‘You wanted into the action with the girls, isn’t that right?’

Crawley shrugged, but made no reply.

‘A yes or no will do fine, Mark,’ said Murray.

Still he refused to answer.

‘What were the guys like? Friendly? Must have been OK to let you into the house?’

‘They were great. They needed help.’

‘Very kind of you to make the gesture. Which of the girls do you think was best at her job?’

Another shrug.

‘Ok, let me put it this way. Which one did you fancy having a go with?’

Crawley fell silent as the cockiness deserted him.

‘Why did you claim to have seen Callum Armour going into the house with Audra?’ Tara asked.

‘Cos he’s a fucking paedo.’

‘Callum was trying to protect Audra, wasn’t he? You were annoying her, and he scared you off?’

Crawley slouched in the chair, arms folded, feet outstretched. Enough of a show to prevent him talking. Tara didn’t think he would hold out much longer.

‘I’m going to put my theory to you, Mark. I want you to stop me when I’ve got something wrong. OK?’ His gaze fell to the floor. ‘You intended going into the house that day. You were dying for a starring role in one of those films. Help out for a while and maybe those guys would give you a chance. You waited outside with Audra, but she didn’t care much for your hanging around, and when Callum Armour came along she had someone to help get rid of you. Off you go, no problem. But later on, Mark, maybe after dark, you came back, and the guys let you into the house. Laima and Ruta left about ten o’clock. Audra was still being filmed. With one of the men? Or did you get your chance? The two film-makers left around midnight, leaving you alone with Audra.’

‘No. I left before the men.’

‘What about Audra? Why didn’t she leave?’

‘I thought the guys would give her a lift home.’

‘So you went back to the house later on to check who was still inside? Did she let you in, Mark? Was the door unlocked? Don’t forget to stop me if I get the story wrong. You thought; Audra does all sorts of things in those films. She does it with men, and she does it with other girls. She’s up for it. It’ll be the same thing except there are no cameras running. You’ve seen the things she can do with her body, with her mouth and her hands. Maybe you picked up a few tips from watching the men.’ Crawley’s face glowed red. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His gaze remained downward, but he stole glances at Tara as she continued with the description of Audra’s final minutes. ‘How am I doing, Mark? Sound familiar?’

‘Nice story no proof, cop.’

‘You think?’ His eyes met Tara’s then turned to Murray as if he might find solace there. ‘Let’s talk about Callum Armour, shall we?’ Tara continued.

He shrugged indifference, but Tara saw him wilt. She reckoned by now she’d planted enough doubt in his mind. He must be wondering who he could trust. Debbie perhaps? She was about to rub out his last hope.

‘Why did you attack him with a stun gun?’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Did you think he was going to tell us what he’d seen? Were you trying to scare him off? Kill him, shut him up for good?’

‘He’s a paedo. Shouldn’t be allowed out.’

‘He was the best friend you ever had, Mark. And you didn’t even realise it.’

Crawley attempted a laugh; it died in his throat and became a cough.

‘Whatever you did to Audra Bagdonas, and whenever you did it, Callum saw you leaving the house.’

‘Proves nothing. I didn’t kill her. More likely to be him, friggin weirdo.’

‘No, Mark. Too late with the denial, I’m afraid. He saw what happened later on, just before daylight. Once again, stop me if I get it wrong. You killed her, probably raped her, too, but we can prove that later. Then you went home to Debbie, who’s eight months pregnant with your child. Hard to sleep after you’ve killed a young girl, isn’t it? So you lie awake thinking, and you begin to wonder if, in your haste, things might look a bit obvious even to us dumb bizees when Audra’s body is discovered. Maybe I should go back and clear up the mess I’ve made? Make it look like someone else is responsible. Only three doors down. I’ll slip back there and mix it up a little. Most nights, Mark, your friend Callum doesn’t sleep well. His life is filled with more tragedy than you can possibly imagine. He sits by his window, gazing into the street. Once again, he sees the figure of Mark Crawley slipping in the back door of the house, where Audra is already lying dead. He could have called the police straightaway. Even when he’d heard that Audra was dead, a girl he knew well enough to stop and say hello, he could have told us that he saw you going in and out of the house during the night. He could have told us that he saw you taking away Audra’s clothes, her bag and shoes. You did a pretty good job gutting the place. Busy night, wasn’t it?’

Sweat and now tears poured down the youth’s face. His hands moved randomly from under his arms to the table, to his pockets, to wiping his eyes. He was finding it hard to sit in any comfort.

‘But you had a friend in Callum Armour, and you didn’t even know it. He was never going to tell on you, Mark. Do you know why? Do you?’ She shouted the questions, angry with him, angry with Callum but much more with herself. She felt too gullible for police work. Too many people spinning yarns to deceive. In future she would take a step back and have a good hard look before accepting a story at face value. Time now to finish off this disturbed young man.

‘You couldn’t sleep that night, but neither could your girlfriend. She’s expecting your child, and you’re off with other girls, growing more frustrated as they reject you. Finally, you decide to take something that isn’t yours. You rape and you murder, and then you return to your girlfriend’s bed. Debbie can’t sleep either. She’s awake when you return to the house. She follows you, right inside, into the very room where Audra lies dead. She is so frightened by what she sees, but you beg her to help you and to keep quiet. As the pair of you leave the house for the last time Callum is still watching. Debbie knew it. But Callum was never going to tell. Audra is dead; telling won’t bring her back. Debbie is heavily pregnant. Callum’s not going to ruin her life and the lives of her children. You’re only kids, he thinks. You were in the clear, Mark, until you opened your mouth. Until you tried to stitch up Callum. Only then did he decide we should hear the truth.’

She was already on her feet, looking down on the wasted youth, his head buried in his hands.

‘How did I do, Mark?’

CHAPTER 41

Strong tea with sugar wasn’t enough to shake out the dull feeling in her head. It went beyond tiredness, approaching nervous exhaustion. Home for six hours, no real sleep, a mere doze on the sofa as late night television ran from boisterous American sitcoms to gung-ho American police forensics. Just on the cusp of deep sleep, tele-shopping appeared, the Country Music Collection on CD, running on a three minute loop. Next a quick-fire sales voice explained how to strip a multi-functional vacuum cleaner to its component parts, put it back together and spring clean an entire house, and, of course, this was not available to buy in shops.

‘You look…’

‘Don’t say it; I know I look like shit.’

‘I was going to say you look well considering the day you had yesterday,’ said Murray, who certainly wasn’t his dapper self. She smiled thinly, striving to feel grateful for small mercies. Same clothes as the day before, hair unwashed and she’d taken no care with make-up, in fact she had no recollection of doing anything in readiness for work. She’d dozed on the sofa, woke up, drank some orange juice and left.

The pair of them sat in Tweedy’s office ready to brief the Superintendent on the outcome of their case. Murray attempted to treat his lack of rest by ingesting ridiculously strong coffee.

‘Good morning,’ said Tweedy quite jovially, entering the office and placing his leather-bound bible at its usual spot on his desk. Tara didn’t know whether he’d been reading it somewhere in the station or whether he carried it to and from work each day. Tweedy, judging by his ebullient manner, didn’t look as if he had any trouble sleeping. Tara knew he was a policeman from the old days, from the old ways, a veteran. He’d presided over the successful closure of many cases; he’d suffered frustrations and setbacks when others had ended badly. At his age and with so much water having passed under his bridge, Tara reckoned there was little to surprise or to shock him. Maybe after forty years’ service he’d achieved a certain inner peace that allowed him to sleep well and to rise each morning and face the day with enthusiasm, no matter what lay ahead. And perhaps faith did work; perhaps he gained strength from the words in his Bible; a belief in God was all he needed to tackle life head on.

‘I gather this young man, Crawley, will make a full statement this morning?’

‘That’s correct, sir,’ Murray replied.

‘Very good work, both of you. Perhaps you could answer some questions for me? Crawley has a girlfriend who is pregnant?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Tara. ‘Any day now. We intend interviewing her, but we think it can wait until after she gives birth, assuming Crawley makes his full confession.’

Tweedy nodded his approval.

‘She helped bring closure to the case?’

‘She helped confirm our thinking that Crawley was trying to fit Callum Armour for the murder. We believe also that Debbie was responsible, in the first instance, for contacting the police about the killing. If you remember we received an anonymous call.’

‘What about these people who were making films?’

Only a man like Tweedy could make it sound such an innocent pursuit, she thought.

‘One of the two men is Teodor Sokolowski, the owner of the house. The Lithuanian girls told us that he owns several across Merseyside. Rents them to migrant workers, usually girls; and he uses that as a platform for recruiting prostitutes and girls who are willing to participate in adult films.’

‘Have you spoken with these men?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Murray. ‘They high-tailed it back to Poland as soon as they heard of the murder. We’re making contact with the Polish authorities to have them arrested. Although they’re not implicated in the murder they have some explaining to do of their activities.’

‘And the two girls?’

‘Terribly frightened by the experience,’ said Tara. ‘They were not surprised that Crawley was responsible for Audra’s death, but they didn’t speak out for fear of what Sokolowski might do. They couldn’t draw attention to his operation.’

‘Audra had marks on her chest, a word of some kind?’

‘Crawley’s work, sir.
Kurwa
is a Polish word meaning whore. Ruta Mankus told me the men said it a lot to the girls during the filming. It became a play word. Apparently Crawley asked what it meant, and he began using it. All of them thought it was funny.’

‘So he burnt that word into the girl’s flesh to shift the blame for the killing towards the Poles?’

‘Exactly. I called Debbie after Crawley folded. She told me that when she followed him into the house he was using a cigarette to brand the word on Audra’s chest.’

‘Terrible business,’ said Tweedy, shaking his head and closing his eyes to shut out the disturbing vision.

Tara and Murray spent the rest of the day preparing formal statements, firstly from Mark Crawley in the presence of a solicitor. A night in a cell helped cultivate an attitude of remorse, and he didn’t argue much over the content of his statement. The girls, Ruta Mankus and Laima Gabrys, had been allowed home the previous evening, but instructed to return, after a night’s rest, to make their statements. When it came to Callum’s statement, at Tara’s request, she and Murray worked together. They included the final piece of information Callum had revealed, that he’d witnessed Crawley’s coming and going from the house and Debbie’s involvement in the early hours of the morning. It helped Tara confirm the sequence of events she’d put to Crawley, but it continued to rankle that Callum could have saved her days of trouble if only he’d been forthcoming when they’d first met. She realised, of course, he’d used his knowledge to bargain a favour, and she had acquiesced. This morning, seated opposite his drawn face, not well-rested after a second night in a cell, she wanted nothing more than to be well rid of his scheme and his theories. When they finished with the statement, she told him he was free to go. He knew better than to raise the topic of his private sojourn to find his wife’s killer.

*

Aisling threw her arms around her in the middle of Liverpool One, dozens of shoppers and workers looking on as they tried to reach the escalator.

‘We were
so
worried about you, luv,’ she said.

‘I’ve been fine, honestly.’ Kate took her turn with the hugging, then kissing Tara on both cheeks.

Still holding her, she said, ‘You are not good at keeping in touch these days, especially when you promised.’

‘Sorry about that. Things got a bit hectic, but I was always safe. I can take care of myself, you know?’

Aisling didn’t look convinced.

‘When are you going to pack it in, Tara?’ she said as they stepped onto the upward escalator. It was a timely opportunity for a non-reply. She didn’t need a lecture, not after the last few days. The three of them were out for pizza and then to the cinema. The subject of work, as far as she was concerned, had already been exhausted. She was determined to enjoy herself.

‘What film are we going to see?’ she asked. The shopping centre had become a handy and favourite place for all of them. Aisling was easily parted from her money in House of Fraser, Harvey Nichols or Ernest Jones. Kate and Tara tended to browse rather than buy, but it was an entertainment to watch Aisling pontificate over a new dress, to try it on, decide it didn’t fit, then decide it did, but she didn’t look right in it, to replace it on the rack, move to another and repeat the process. She could walk away from three or four dresses and coats feeling pleased that she hadn’t succumbed. Kate and Tara knew she would return a day later and buy the lot.

‘It’s for my work,’ she would say. ‘You girls are lucky not having to worry about what to wear every day. I can’t turn up at a reception or go to a hotel to meet some gorgeous celeb dressed like shit.’

‘Has to be something funny,’ said Kate. ‘It’s been a helluva day; I don’t want to see anything violent or anything sad.’

‘I’m with you, Kate,’ said Tara. Aisling was already knitting her eyebrows.

‘Doesn’t leave us much,’ she said.

They consulted the listings at the cinema before heading to the restaurant. A romantic comedy was the obvious choice, Aisling out-voted. They looked a dysfunctional trio entering the restaurant. Tara, as usual, had shown up in working clothes. Kate, orange hair fading to light brown, had managed a quick change from hospital fatigues to a striped jumper, stretch jeans and brown ankle boots, which left Aisling to shine in a long-sleeved, stretch-dress well short of her knees and a pair of high and shiny black heels.

Tara realised from the moment she sat down to dinner that she wouldn’t get through the evening without giving a run-down on her travels to London. Relieved that the investigation into the murder of Audra Bagdonas was largely complete, and telling herself she would have no further dealings with Callum Armour, she related the entire story of the mysterious deaths of the Latimer College alumni. Reaching the end, or at least the point where matters now stood, she was amazed to find that Aisling was most intrigued and not prepared to let the matter rest. So much for her habitual concern that Tara was not cut out for police work, and should be looking for an alternative career that would bring her happiness and a rich husband. Kate was just as bad, the pair of them taking turns to guess the identity of the killer, like they were playing Cluedo.

‘Well, I think it’s that Egerton-Hyde fella,’ said Aisling, taking her last mouthful of linguini. ‘Doesn’t want to be exposed as gay and he married to Georgina Maitland. What did she ever see in him, anyway? The cream of the British aristocracy, rich and thick. It’s all that in-breeding you know. Besides, you can’t trust politicians.’

‘No, it’s not him,’ said Kate. ‘I would say the one who has the quiet girlfriend, what’s his name?’

‘Ollie Rutherford?’ Tara replied incredulously, taking a substantial gulp of rosé and regretting what she’d started. She hadn’t really considered Rutherford as the killer. Perhaps he did have something against the others.

‘It’s always the quiet one, isn’t it?’ said Kate.

‘But what motive could he have?’ Aisling replied.

‘I don’t know; maybe he’s mixed up in shady business deals. Maybe he holds a grudge for something. What do you think, Tara? You’re the bizee.’

‘Sssh!’ said Aisling. ‘There’re bad people about this city you know. You don’t go advertising the fact that you’re a cop.’

‘Thanks, Aisling,’ said Tara, ‘But most of the restaurant just heard what you said, never mind Kate.’

‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘At least I said it quietly.’

‘Tell us anyway, Tara. Who do you think killed all those people?’

Tara shook her head.

‘I don’t know, and to tell you the truth I don’t care. It’s over for me anyway.’

‘Don’t you want to find out who did it?’ said Aisling. ‘If it was me, I wouldn’t settle until I found the answer.’

Tara glared at her friend. She felt weary from a discussion that would achieve nothing.

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ she said. ‘Telling me to get out of the police, and now you want me to solve a crime just to see if you guessed it right. It’s not my patch; it’s not my job. You want to find out who the killer is? You go and play with Callum Armour. I’ve had my fill of him.’

Aisling stared open-mouthed, unable to speak.

‘It’s all right, Tara, don’t upset yourself,’ said Kate, placing her hand on Tara’s.

‘I’m not upset. I just wish you wouldn’t keep on about it.’

Aisling found her voice.

‘Tara, I know you’ve had a hard time of it, luv, but don’t take it out on us. We’re your best friends. We thought making light of things would help you get over them. If you want our help we’re here for you. But it seems to me this guy Callum has affected you in some way.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘The way you talk about him. I know you’re angry with him for not telling you things, but your eyes light up every time you mention his name.’

‘Don’t be daft, Aisling.’

‘I know you well enough by now, Tara. You haven’t finished with him. Not by a long way.’