Then She Was Gone (9 page)

‘Only one unidentified in the morgue now. And it’s the least likely one.’

Rossi gave him a quick look before going back to her computer. ‘That’s good, I suppose. We’ve found some things on here, but not sure how they relate.’

Murphy stood up and walked round to her side of the desk. ‘What have we got then?’

‘Tons of messages from female admirers. Apparently there are still women out there who’ll sleep with Tories . . . who knew?’

‘Good start,’ Murphy said, ignoring Rossi’s remark. ‘Anything that looks like something that’s gone further.’

‘Most are just standard responses. Thank yous and hope you vote for me and or my party, et cetera, et cetera. He’s talked a bit more with some of them, but nothing too explicit.
There are three women who sent pictures after he asked them to, but they’ve gone to phone after that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Exactly what I say,’ Rossi said, flicking between tabs on the computer screen. ‘He’s asked for their number and that’s the end of the conversation. We’re
getting in contact with them now, but we’re talking months between these things. Last message was three months ago. Worth checking, but don’t hold your breath.’

‘Anything else on the other one . . . Twitter?’

Rossi huffed and switched tabs again. ‘Nothing in direct messaging. He doesn’t seem to respond to anyone on there at all. He posts quite regularly on Twitter – much more
regularly than on Facebook – but just standard campaigning things at the moment. There are automated tweets going out most days, so even though it looks like he’s been posting he
hasn’t been in reality.’

Murphy didn’t bother asking what she meant. It was unlikely he’d understand afterwards anyway. ‘Where’s Graham?’

Rossi murmured a ‘dunno’ and went back to clicking on her computer. Murphy spotted DCs Hale and Kirkham sitting at another desk and decided to speak to them first.

‘Anything from the office stuff?’ Murphy said when he reached them. He leant one hand on the desk, towering over them. ‘You’ve had a couple of hours now.’

‘Nothing yet, sir,’ Kirkham replied, whilst Hale busied himself again. ‘We’re going through stuff, but there’s a lot of unimportant info. Graham has taken a bunch
of stuff away to work on properly.’

‘Keep at it,’ Murphy said, standing up and brushing down his shirt. ‘I’m sure there’s something in that lot we should know about.’

‘Will do, sir.’

Murphy turned, giving a quick glance at the almost empty board at the head of the room and making his way back to his desk. There was a commotion from behind him and a loud shout.

‘Shite, who left this here?’

Murphy paused and turned to see DC Graham Harris berating another DC at the other end of the room.

‘I’m in a bloody wheelchair and you leave things lying on the floor? Just bloody move it.’

Murphy waited for DC Harris to wheel over towards them, Rossi now up out of her seat to see what was going on.

‘Honestly, health and safety around here is shocking,’ DC Harris said as he made his way to their bank of desks. ‘I’m sure some of them have a bet on to see who can flip
me over.’

‘You can rest assured, Graham, that if that happened, someone would be flipped over themselves for the trouble.’

‘Good to know,’ Harris replied, wiping a hand across his glistening brow, taking away some of the shine. ‘Anyway, I think I’ve found what that woman at Sam Byrne’s
office was intimating might be of interest.’

Murphy grinned, happy to be right for a change. ‘What is it? Secret hideaway abroad? Stash of money?’

‘Almost right. He has another property. An apartment just outside of town, near the student accommodation on Mount Pleasant. He rents it, under a business name. Found it going through the
books. Must be a tax thing.’

Rossi came round from her side of the desks. ‘I bet he’s holed up there. Shall we pay him a visit and close this thing before we manage another hour’s overtime?’

‘Why not?’ Murphy said, grabbing his coat and following Rossi out the door.

The light was beginning to fade as they entered the apartment building and made their way up the stairs. Posters adorned the walls, all of a political nature, all displaying
various proclamations along the same theme. The free-form thoughts of left-wing idealists, Murphy noticed.

‘You would think with these places being so bloody right-on, there’d be a lift or something,’ Rossi said from behind him, already sounding out of breath.

‘Told you to pack in the smoking,’ Murphy said, waiting at the top of the stairs for Rossi to make her way up. ‘Only on nights out, my arse.’

‘Nothing to do with that,’ Rossi replied, joining Murphy at the top. ‘I just hate stairs. It’s all right for you with legs the length of the Mersey.’

‘What number is it again?’ Murphy said, turning and facing the two rows of doors ahead of them. ‘Twenty-eight?’

‘Close. Eight. Last one on the right. This place brings back memories.’

‘You stayed in student digs? Your ma and auld fella are just down the road. Could have saved a fortune.’

Rossi shook her head. ‘I was nineteen and wanted out of the place. Five brothers, and me a student. Three of them were still at home, and between them and my mum and dad, the questioning
after a night out got too much. Shared a flat up the road with a couple of others. It’s mostly students around here, always has been.’

The converted block was situated on Mount Pleasant, a road which led up towards Abercromby Square. A Tesco Express with student accommodation above it was only a couple of doors down. The
building they were in provided housing for private tenants and students with a little more money behind them. It hadn’t stopped the fly-posting, though, Murphy thought.

‘That door doesn’t look right,’ Rossi said as they reached number eight. Murphy stood to the side of her as he waited for her to knock. ‘The handle has been screwed
with.’

Rossi knocked once, then again when there wasn’t an answer. Murphy extended a finger and pushed on the door. It opened slowly in front of them.

‘Told you it wasn’t right,’ Rossi said, her voice louder now. ‘Police, we’re looking for Sam Byrne.’

Silence came from inside the flat. Rossi announced their presence again, only this time with more force. Murphy poked his head forwards into the darkened hallway, listening for any movement.

‘Are we going in?’ Rossi said, a whisper in his ear.

‘Of course,’ Murphy said, stepping into the flat. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone here.’

‘Famous last words . . .’ Rossi said from behind him, following him inside. Murphy allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Now he was a few steps into the flat, he
could hear a low noise coming from a room down the hall. He took the telescopic baton he’d been carrying in his belt and extended it to his side. ‘We’re inside. Door was unlocked
and we’re concerned for the safety of Sam Byrne. Anyone in here should make themselves known to us now.’

Murphy waited a few seconds for any movement, then pressed ahead when he heard none. His heart began beating a little faster, his eyes were wide, watching for any sudden movement ahead of him.
Now his vision had adjusted, he could see five doors, all leading off the single hallway. They were all closed. Murphy opened each one in turn, Rossi by his side as he did so.

He opened the living room door first, which turned out to have a kitchen attached. The curtains had been drawn, but it was still light enough to see it was unoccupied. The next door revealed a
small closet, followed by a bathroom. Both similarly empty. There were two doors at the end of the corridor, one with light creeping out from underneath the door, one without.

Murphy went to the darkened door first and knocked, the sound muffled by his leather gloved hand. He opened the door when there was no answer. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness
within, but he knew there was no one inside. A musty smell assailed him.

‘One more,’ Murphy said to Rossi, his voice matching her previous whisper as he moved to the other door and knocked on it. The sound echoed around the small hallway.
‘We’re coming in, if you want to make yourself known to us, now’s the time,’ he said, his voice bouncing back off the door. A glow emanated from beneath the door, light
spilling into the gloom of the hallway. He could hear low music, a distant bass drum and melody coming from within the room. He tried to place the music, but couldn’t quite catch it.

‘I’m opening it,’ Murphy said, taking hold of the handle. ‘Standard pro.’

Rossi tensed beside him and he opened the door.

He swept the room in a second, the inside much smaller than he’d been expecting. Rossi was behind him and opening a wardrobe door in the time it took for him to realise they were alone in
there. The glow was coming from a red light fixed to the wall. The light buzzed, making the low sound Murphy had registered when they’d entered the flat. Music was playing softly, coming from
a speaker with an iPod dock on top of it. The window was covered in thick, black material, tacked to the wall so it couldn’t be removed.

Most of the space was taken up with what looked like a king-sized bed, a raised pole on each corner. The bed was clear of a duvet or blanket – just a sheet tinged red by the light was
covering the mattress. The overhead light blinked on and Murphy turned to see Rossi standing next to the light switch.

‘Dio Mio
 . . .’

Murphy turned back to the bed to see the red light hadn’t been the only thing giving the bed a flash of colour. The white sheet was stained in places. Red and brown marks, sometimes in
large circular spots, others just small smears. There were restraints built into the bed; chains and manacles hanging down from the bedposts. There were stains on the wood of the bedstead and marks
etched into the grain.

‘What the hell is this?’ Murphy said, dropping his baton to his side. He removed his gloves and reached into his pocket, taking out a packet of latex gloves. He snapped open the
packet, placed the gloves on and moved closer to the bed. ‘Most of these don’t look recent.’

‘There’s a box here,’ Rossi said from the other side of the room. ‘Seems to be full of sex toys.’

‘Usually we have to go hunting for those.’

‘Most of these don’t look like the normal ones we’d find anyway.’ Rossi stepped to the side and, after putting on her own gloves, lifted something in the air. ‘Ball
gag.’

‘I’ve only ever seen one of those in that film . . . what was it called? The guy with the wig, what’s his name?’

‘John Travolta. You’re thinking of
Pulp Fiction
. I wish it was the first time I’d seen one of these . . .’

‘The less I know about your private life the better,’ Murphy said, thinking the levity of his tone sounded odd in that room.

‘Not a chance. I’ve had some terrible cases over the years,’ Rossi said, placing the gag back in the box where she’d found it. ‘We need forensics in
here.’

‘You reckon?’ Murphy said, looking at the bedside table. There was a glass ashtray, which was empty but stained black on the bottom. He opened a drawer to find boxes of condoms and
another large sex toy. ‘I think you were right about MPs,’ he said, closing the drawer and steeling himself to open another one. ‘They are all a bit weird.’

‘Told you so.’

Murphy opened the middle drawer and found a box of red candles, some with melted wax hardened on the sides. The bottom drawer held a small black book, which Murphy took out and placed to one
side.

‘We’re both ignoring the obvious thing in the room,’ Rossi said, standing at the foot of the bed. ‘What do you make of it?’

Murphy looked towards where she was pointing. On the wall above the head of the bed were printed slogans displayed in picture frames, all surrounding one phrase which had daubed directly onto
the wall.

SLUTS – WELCOME TO PAIN

Murphy moved closer and winced. The rest of the words on the wall were similarly offensive.

‘This guy is off the charts,’ Rossi said, wrinkling her face as she approached the wall from the other side of the bed. ‘Do we have to find him?’

‘Yes,’ Murphy replied, turning away and snapping off a glove. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. ‘I’d really like to get an explanation for a
start. I want to know if everything that happened in this room was consensual.’

‘You think something might have happened to him here? Seems like bloodstains on the bed. Maybe he got too strong with someone and they didn’t like it.’

‘I think we have to consider it may have been the other way around . . . Hello, it’s Murphy. We need a forensics team here . . . No, no body, but a shit
ton of other stuff we need to look at now.’

Murphy continued talking as Rossi made her way out of the room and turned on lights throughout the rest of the flat. By the time he’d ended the call, she’d made her way back to the
bedroom.

‘It’s definitely his place,’ Rossi said, handing him a few envelopes. ‘All have his name on them. Gas and leccy bills in his name. Couldn’t find one for water.
There’s more stains in the bathroom, but apart from a chair and TV in the living room, there’s nothing else here. This wasn’t somewhere he spent much time.’

‘Given his house up in Blundellsands, I don’t think he spent much time being normal anywhere.’

Rossi murmured an agreement, then went back to looking at things in the room. ‘Got a tablet here,’ she said after a minute of looking. Murphy poked his head up from underneath the
bed. ‘Battery’s dead, but I don’t even want to know what’s on it.’

‘Can those things take photos and videos?’

‘Can you please move into 2016 at some point? It’s like being partnered with Inspector bloody Morse. Yes, they can take photos and videos. Just like that thing in your hand
does.’

Murphy narrowed his eyes at her. ‘All right, smart arse. I don’t own one of them, so wasn’t sure, that’s all. Put it down and let them bag and check it. We’ve got
enough other stuff to deal with anyway.’

‘Neighbours?’

Murphy nodded. ‘Getting late, though. Unless we find a murder weapon in the next half hour, it can wait until tomorrow morning.’