The Dying Place (37 page)

Murphy sat forward, dropping the pen on his desk.

‘Tell me it.’

33

Sarah was already sick of spending her evenings alone. Although she was under no illusions; she knew the score with David Murphy. A big case came in and he was gone, like he was never really there anyway. She’d laugh and say they were like ships passing in the night, but she was getting a bit bored with the line.

It was always the same with him. Once the big conversations started, he stuck his head in Crosby beach and pretended not to listen. Same with any kind of job around the house. There was always a time limit to everything.

She picked paint flecks out of her hair as she waited for the kettle to boil. Radio Merseyside was broadcasting on the kitchen radio, giving her wall-to-wall coverage of what was happening in Liverpool that evening.

It was ridiculous to even conceive of the idea that David was involved with this type of event. The idea that he would even be near this guy – someone shooting people in the street, for Christ’s sake – was beyond real.

She didn’t know if she liked the feeling.

Sarah moved her lesson plans to one side of the table and sat down, staying near to the radio, preferring the local voice to the one coming from the TV in the living room. She drank a cup of tea without thinking about it, concentrating on the sound from the radio.

‘Unconfirmed reports say more than three dead, with more seriously injured. Police are advising people to stay at home and only make journeys within the city if necessary. Now, the weather.’

Sarah wondered how many people even listened to the local radio any more. Couldn’t be that many, not with six thousand channels on TV to choose from. Mainly old people, with nothing but nostalgia keeping them loyal.

Oh, God, she was one of those people. Getting older constantly, she thought, a dramatic eye roll for no one’s benefit but her own thrown in for good measure.

She finished drinking, rinsing her mug and placing it in the dishwasher. Still the same feeling, as always. Unable to marry her two separate lives together. BD and AD. Before and After David.

She’d never considered a dishwasher before. Just wasn’t on her radar. Now she couldn’t live without it. No clue how she lived before it existed in her kitchen.

It was the small things.

Sarah moved back into the living room, curling up on the sofa with a fresh cup of tea, flicking between the news channels as live shots of her city appeared across them both. Big news, blood sells.

She knew that only too well.

Maybe she just needed more friends. More hobbies. She’d tried a few things, but nothing really appealed. And after a day teaching primary school kids she could barely be arsed to sit upright, never mind do anything else.

At least she had Jess. That was one good friend. True, she’d been David’s mate first, but the two saw much more of each other without David now.

‘Speak of the devil …’ Sarah said under her breath as her phone rang, Jess’s Facebook profile picture flashing up on her screen.

‘Hey, was just thinking about you …’

‘Have you seen what’s going on? Fucking crazy out there!’

Sarah smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s David’s case. Or was. I’m not sure what he’s doing now with it. Not seen him on TV at all, so I don’t think he’s in Toxteth.’

‘It’s so weird. I’ve just driven back from town and the roads are dead. Everyone hiding away.’

‘It is after nine …’

‘Is it? Bloody hell, later than I thought. You know how it is. Once you start working, it’s hard to stop.’ Jess’s voice went muffled as she shouted, ‘Peter?’

‘Yep. Is he out again?’

Jess came back on. ‘Seems like it … Peter?’

Sarah held the phone away from her ear as Jess seemingly tested her voice level.

‘He’ll be out with his mates somewhere, I imagine. No clue as to what’s going on.’

‘Yeah,’ Jess replied.

Sarah frowned. ‘You all right?’

‘Yeah, course. Just don’t like him being out when all this is going on …’

‘Oh, don’t worry about him, Jess. He’ll be fine. It sounds like this guy is heading to south Liverpool anyway, from what they’re saying here.’

‘I suppose you’re right. I’ll try ringing Peter, see if he answers. That’s if he hasn’t sold this phone as well.’

Sarah hung up after saying her goodbyes, unable to stop the thoughts entering her head. She knew more than Jess did, she got that now. Jess wasn’t aware that some bloke was targeting teenagers, and that now he seemed to have taken his crusade to the streets.

She tried ringing David, just to get peace of mind, but there was no answer. Left a message, but didn’t expect a call back soon.

Head in the sand. Head in the job.

Everything would be waiting for him when he returned. When it was all over.

Until the next time.

Sarah shouted at the phone to shut up before realising she’d fallen asleep on the couch. If it hadn’t rang repeatedly, she probably wouldn’t have woken up, but there were only so many times the stupid song she used as a ringtone could play before she had to stop ignoring it.

She picked it up, expecting it to be David, glancing at the TV as she opened one eye a crack.

‘Hello?’

Breathing on the line, nothing for a second, then a noise she’d never heard before. Almost a cry, a sob, a bark.

‘He’s been taken, Sarah …’ Jess eventually managed.

Sarah sat up, still waking up. ‘Who, David? What are you talking about?’

‘No. Peter. No one is listening to me.’ The crying was back, but it sounded more like sobbing than the horrible barking noise of before.

‘Calm down, Jess. What’s gone on? What’s happened to Peter?’ She looked towards the TV screen, saw the word BOOTLE appear and shook her head.

‘His mates have just turned up. They’ve just been in Bootle …’

There were sobs now, stopping Jess from talking as Sarah began reading the text on the TV screen.

Further shootings in Liverpool. Bootle area. Reports suggest at least three dead.

‘Oh no …’ Sarah murmured, her hand going to her mouth.

‘I can’t find him. They say he was taken.’

Sarah looked around the empty living room. ‘Taken?’

‘By him. The police aren’t doing anything …’

‘Have you tried David?’

Jess choked back, more crying. ‘Yeah, loads. No answer. Going straight to voicemail.’

Sarah stood up, her legs still a little wobbly from the unexpected sleep. ‘I’ll ring direct. See if I can get hold of him. Don’t worry, Jess. We’ll find him. I’m coming round to yours now.’

‘Thanks, Sarah,’ Jess replied. ‘Tell Bear that I want everything done. The works.’

Sarah ended the call and began scrolling for the direct line to David’s office. Finding it, she dialled and waited.

‘Rossi.’

Sarah brushed a hand through her hair, checking the mirror in the hall for a second before pulling her boots out of the shoe rack. ‘Hi Laura, it’s Sarah.’

‘Hi Sarah. Sorry, he’s not here. Have you tried his mobile?’

Sarah paused in the hallway, one boot on unzipped, the other hanging limply in her other hand. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s gone to chase up a lead. As you can imagine, we’re a bit swamped here. What’s up?’

Sarah breathed in, pulling on her other boot. Began telling Rossi of Jess’s phone call.

When she was done, platitudes over, she left the house.

Hoping everything was going to be okay.

Hoping David wasn’t going to be in danger.

Hoping against hope. Against reality.

34

While his wife was still sleeping on their sofa, having not yet been woken by Jess, Murphy continued listening to Brannon on the phone.

‘I can’t believe you don’t know this …’

‘Get over it, Brannon,’ Murphy barked back. ‘I don’t have time for fucking about. What happened?’

‘Jesus … it’s outrageous this.’ A long sigh which sounded as fake as Brannon’s intermittent tan. ‘Kevin Thornhill’s mum went first. She was out shopping and got mugged. Had her nose broken, but it brought on a heart attack. She died a month or so later, from complications with the surgery she had afterwards. The scrotes who mugged her were never found, even though there was CCTV of the attack …’

‘I remember that,’ Murphy said. ‘Caused quite a shitstorm. Seemed to disappear eventually …’

‘Yeah, except some of us don’t forget easily. His dad especially. He died not long after. Stroke or heart attack. I forget which. It’s not been easy on the family, and now this.’

Murphy thought for a second. ‘Do you know what the brother looks like?’

‘No idea. Hang on …’

The phone went silent again. Murphy tried to use the time to make things fit but couldn’t place the pieces together.

‘There’s no photos of him here, but Kev’s missus knows what he looks like she reckons, although it’s been years. What for?’

‘Throw the news on and see if she recognises the picture of Alan Bimpson that’s been released.’

‘You’re not thinking he’s—’

‘Just do it, will you?’

‘Fine. Wait there. Got it on now. Jan, do you know that face, do you recognise it?’

Murphy waited as a muffled response came.

‘She doesn’t think so.’

Murphy’s shoulders slumped. ‘Okay, no problem. Could just be a coincidence then.’

‘Right you are. Listen, we’ll need to talk to the boss when this is all done. I’ve got some grievances …’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Murphy replied, ending the call before Brannon could go on any further.

‘What’s that all about?’ Rossi said from behind him.

Murphy swivelled in his chair. ‘Something or nothing. Can’t quite decide yet. Any news?’

‘We’ve had word from on the ground. Bootle is clear. Our man isn’t there any more. They’re trying to trace him now.’

Murphy laced his fingers together behind his head. ‘I hate this. Feel like a spare part just sitting around here.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Then we need to do something,’ Murphy replied, sitting forward. ‘Harris, get in here.’

DC Harris came scuttling back in response to Murphy’s shout. ‘Yeah.’

‘You’re with me again. We’re going to check out some of these directors’ addresses. See if we can get a lead on Bimpson.’

‘Okay …’

Murphy could see the reticence plastered all over the young DC’s face. ‘Don’t worry. First sign of trouble, we’ll be out of there before anything can happen.’

‘No, it’s fine. Honest.’

‘Tell your face,’ Murphy replied. ‘Let me just clear it with the bosses.’

Murphy lifted the phone and dialled DCI Stephens’s number. As he explained the situation, he watched Rossi print off the list of addresses they currently had for the directors for Bimpson’s property firm.

‘David, we’re quite busy here. What can I do for you?’

‘We’re going to head out and see if we can track down some info about Bimpson’s property firm. There’s a list of directors, so we’re going to see if there’s any of them who might know where he could be …’

‘We’re pretty much decided on where that is, David, but you’re free to check things out.’

Murphy stood up. ‘Where do you think it is? What have you got?’

‘Calm down, David. It was you who gave us the lead. We looked at what he was caught saying in Bootle on camera. We reckon he’s going back to the farm. We’re getting set for a long night.’

Murphy thought about it, tried to make the piece fit. If he chewed off one end and forced it in, it kind of worked.

Kind of didn’t.

‘If you think that’s what he means, sounds like a plan. We’ll do this lot here then, keep us busy.’

‘Good.’

The call ended, Murphy taking the proffered piece of paper from Rossi and motioning to Harris to follow him.

Something wasn’t right.

Rossi found the information before too long. Trying to find a link between Alan Bimpson and the directors named at his company, it had become even more obvious that Bimpson was a blag name, a pseudonym used to keep his identity a secret from the beginning. Going back even further than when this case started, to when he’d first invested in the youth club and Kevin Thornhill’s vision.

But it still didn’t make sense. Had he really been planning the events of the last few months for that long? Rossi checked the date on the photograph, the single one they had held before he’d become the star of the new reality show in Liverpool.

Scousers Shooting Scallies.

Rossi didn’t think even Channel 5 would take that show. Never mind ITV2.

The date was over eighteen months before. If Bimpson had started taking teenagers seven months before, Dean Hughes being the first, it made little sense that he would have started using a different name in his official records that far back. There could have been a whole host of reasons that he’d given the
Liverpool Echo
a different name, but would he have used one for his own company?

Rossi chewed on the end of the pen she was holding, before spitting it out when she realised she’d picked it up out there in the main incident room.

‘Don’t know what they’re carrying …’

She went to her Internet browser and typed the property firm’s name into Google, waiting for the inevitable deluge of results that always came. Resisting the initial urge to click on the firm’s website, she instead clicked on the images tab.

It was there, a few scrolls from the top of course, but there all the same.

A picture of them all together. A major deal announced of some kind, in one of those magazines that only the trade would normally see. Now these things always end up on a website no one ever visits.

The phone rang on Murphy’s desk, Rossi glancing at it before looking at the picture, clicking on the site it was attached to and waiting for it to load. She stood up, answering the phone to the stricken and upset Sarah, replacing the handset when she was done.

Torn.

Rossi hated talking to DCI Stephens, avoided it as much as possible. A probable reason she had never really fought to make DI was because she could do without having to speak to her too often. It was much easier that Murphy was her buffer. It was nothing against the boss – Rossi just felt there was always a study being taken. An
are you as good as me, or better
? type of scrutiny. It was always the same with women in the police. Stupid, but true.