The Dying Place (10 page)

‘Hello?’

‘Did you bring food with you?’

Murphy shook his jacket off, his keys going on their own hook away from the door, so as to ward against car thieves apparently. Something about a fishing pole through the letter box.

He walked into the living room, ‘Yeah, Indian,’ he said, seeing the chair for the first time. ‘Probably not enough for you as well though.’

‘It’s okay. We’ll make it spread, won’t we, Sarah?’

Jess. Hanger-on, pain in the arse, third wheel, and his best friend. ‘Great. Don’t even be thinking about nicking all the bhajis though. Go and get plates.’

Jess left the room, not before aiming a kick at his shins.

‘She all right?’ Murphy said, listening carefully for the sound of plates being removed, keeping his voice low.

Sarah grimaced. ‘Problems with Peter again.’

‘Ah,’ Murphy replied. Murphy had known Jess over twenty years and for most of them she’d been a single parent. Murphy had chipped in over that time, even standing up for Peter as a child and becoming his godfather. Tried being a friendly uncle rather than a father figure, and failing spectacularly as Peter moved into the troubled teenage years. Murphy had fared better when he was younger, easily appeased with occasional trips to the match at the weekend or the odd trip to the picture house, usually to see some
Die Hard
-type of action film Murphy didn’t really enjoy.

‘She’s okay,’ Sarah whispered, ‘think she just needs a break.’

Murphy nodded, removing containers of food from the two carrier bags. He’d got lucky with Sarah. His first wife had hated the relationship he had with Jess. Couldn’t understand how a man and woman could be friends, never mind as close as Jess and he were, without any semblance of romantic feelings. Sarah had accepted the fact from the beginning. Hadn’t even batted an eyelid when he’d firmly told her how things were. Since getting back together a year earlier, it seemed like Murphy was becoming the extra person in the threesome. Sarah and Jess saw much more of each other, as his re-dedication to work became more time-consuming.

‘Didn’t get your big plate,’ Jess said, carrying plates into the room, cutlery strewn across the top of them. ‘You look like you need to lose a few more pounds before getting that back out.’

‘I’m allowed a night off. And anyway, you’ll have most of the food down your gob before I have a chance.’

‘Whatever,’ Jess replied, moving Murphy out of the way to take over removing the food. ‘Sar, you all right with sharing the masala?’

Sarah nodded, smiling at Murphy, knowing he was already relenting. ‘Korma for me,’ he said, removing a plate.

‘You’re a fucking soft git you are,’ Jess replied, tucking away the foil container holding the bhajis behind her on the coffee table.

Minutes later, there were half-f plates of curry, naan bread and poppadoms perched on their laps, and they stared at the TV in the corner. Murphy leant back in his chair.

‘What’s the matter, babe?’ Sarah asked. ‘Eyes too big for your stomach?’

‘No, just thinking is all.’

Jess mopped up the last of her sauce with a piece of naan bread. ‘New case?’

‘Yeah,’ Murphy said, attempting another forkful. ‘Eighteen-year-old in West Derby.’

‘Heard about that on the news. Found on the church steps?’

Murphy nodded. ‘Yeah, beaten and then strangled by the looks of it. Don’t think it’s religious or anything, but you know … can’t be too careful.’

Sarah dropped her fork on her plate, reaching over for the last onion bhaji. ‘Between her with her lawyer stuff,’ she said, using the bhaji to point at Jess, ‘and you with your murders and shite, it’s getting a bit dark a conversation for this time of night. Can we change the subject please?’

Murphy rolled his eyes at Jess, before lifting his plate off his lap to avoid a kick from Sarah. ‘Okay, okay. What’s going on with Peter then, Jess?’

This time it was Jess’s turn to roll her eyes. ‘Typical teenager bollocks. Seventeen years old and thinks the world owes him a favour.’

‘We were all like that once.’

‘I know,’ Jess replied, ‘but he’s just annoying me now. Hasn’t been going to college, so fuck knows how he’ll get on with his exams. More interested in going round his mate’s house. Keeps reminding me he’ll be eighteen in a few months. He’s at his dad’s tonight and I’ve had a word. See if him and the new bint can do anything to knock some sense into him.’

Murphy swallowed a chewy bit of chicken and winced. Not as good as usual. ‘Want me to have a word?’

Jess shook her head. ‘It’s all right. He’s not done anything too bad really. Just being a mother, I guess.’

Murphy heard a sigh from beside him. Sarah, looking pointedly in his direction.

He knew what conversation they’d be having when Jess finally left.

9

Murphy headed for DCI Stephens’s office, suppressing a yawn on the way. A late night was probably the last thing he’d needed on day two of a murder investigation. The half cup of coffee that morning wasn’t kicking in yet. The office was mostly empty – the night shift clearing out in preparation for the day crowd to take over. He glanced at the murder board he’d set up twenty-four hours earlier, the same details from the previous night plastered over the surface.

He peeked in his office without entering, frowning when he saw it was empty. He’d expected to see Rossi inside, working away on something or other. She was usually here before him, especially when they had a murder. He glanced at his watch, giving her the benefit of the doubt when he saw that it hadn’t long gone past eight a.m. It was a Saturday, after all.

Murphy knocked on the office door, hand on the handle waiting for the signal to enter.

‘Come in.’

DCI Stephens hadn’t seemed to have lost any sleep at all. Immaculately turned out, as usual. Always the first one here, well before the detective constables desperate to climb the promotion ladder.

‘Roped in for weekend work as well, boss?’ No
marm
, or any of that. She preferred boss, and that was fine by him.

‘Only half a day,’ she replied, motioning for Murphy to sit down in the chair opposite her. ‘Super wanted to make sure we’re making progress with this dead kid case.’

‘He was eighteen. Hardly a kid.’

She made no sign of noticing his correction. ‘What’s the plan?’

Murphy steepled his fingers. ‘We have a number of friends we have to question. We need to find out where he’s been for the last seven months. Nothing from the door to doors, no witnesses. So unless forensics have pulled anything, that’s our best bet.’

‘We don’t like the religious aspect to this case, David. Have we ruled that out yet?’

Murphy met her gaze. ‘You know it would be wrong to do that at this point. Best we keep an open mind.’

Stephens waved a hand away. ‘Of course, but the Super was very insistent that we don’t overstep the mark. Last thing we need is to cloud the issue. Have you spoken to Matrix?’

Murphy mentally added that to the list. ‘Not as yet.’

‘Well, get on that. Eighteen-year-old kid with a history … best to discount anything gang related.’

‘Right. Of course, boss.’

‘It’s quiet out there. I want you to galvanise the troops when they’re in. I won’t be in the morning briefing, so make sure the message gets across that we’re treating this with utmost importance. I don’t like the idea of kids – and eighteen is still young enough to call them kids, David – disappearing off the streets and turning up dead. That clear?’

‘Crystal chandelier, boss.’

Stephens smirked before checking herself and going back to stoic. ‘Good to have you here, David.’

Murphy shushed the group of six DCs, one DS, and a few uniforms which had congregated in the meeting room. He motioned for a straggler at the back to close the door behind him, scanning the room again as if he’d missed Rossi hiding in a crevice somewhere. She was still nowhere to be seen, even though it was now five past nine.

‘Okay,’ he said, banging the table in front of him once, ‘let’s get started.’

Murphy ran through what they’d learnt so far about Dean Hughes. His mother’s positive ID and list of friends. He reiterated the need to stay near the scene, directing this foremost at the uniforms, before giving the DCs he couldn’t remember the full names of some menial tasks to attend to.

‘Harris, you speak to Matrix. See if they have any info on Hughes. Also ask about these names.’ Murphy rattled off the names of those most active on Dean’s Facebook page. ‘Don’t bugger off on a quest if anything pops up. Let me know first.’

The door opened slowly at the back, Rossi poking in her head before entering and sitting down swiftly. The bottle of Lucozade Sport she was holding was sucked dry in a few swigs as Murphy finished up with the rest of the team.

‘Boss wants me to remind you to treat this with importance.’ Murphy paused and gave a stare at the PC who had made the first ID the previous morning, as he muttered something under his breath. Hale. He logged the name again in his head. He’d obviously wormed his way onto the briefing by overestimating his influence to his superintendent. ‘Won’t be long before the media are involved, even if it’s just local for now,’ Murphy continued, moving his gaze to the rest of the room. ‘And the last thing we need is for anyone to say the wrong thing.’

A raised hand from the one of the DCs. ‘Yes, Kirkham, is it?’

‘Sir. I heard the parents received a message a couple of months after he went missing?’

Murphy nodded. ‘Just the mother. Father’s not around and unlikely to be. She received a letter through the door a few weeks after he went missing. You’ve just volunteered to go pick it up. It’s a long shot, but it needs to go to forensics all the same.’

Kirkham didn’t seem annoyed about the forced volunteering, which impressed Murphy. He was used to quiet moans and rolling of the eyes. He finished up the meeting with a bit more geeing up of the troops, with only a couple of them realising he was putting on a show. Murphy waited for them all to leave, Rossi staying behind as he knew she would.

‘Late? Unlike you.’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ Rossi said, taking aim and throwing the empty bottle across the room and into the bin.

‘Not affected your aim though.’

‘Not that kind of late night.’

Murphy hesitated, unsure if it was the best time to ask what she’d been up to. Decided against it. ‘Forensics back in yet?’

‘Don’t know. Came straight in here.’

Murphy walked away into their shared office. ‘Best go and check then.’

He heard the chair scrape behind him as he went to check his email. The subdued murmurs of the main office instantly shut off as Rossi closed the door to their internal workspace. She’d acquired another energy drink from somewhere and started glugging it down as soon as she sat behind her desk.

‘Do we have addresses for all the names yet?’ Rossi said, in between swallows.

‘Harris is sorting that as we speak, aren’t you?’ Murphy replied, directing his question to the hunched-over DC in the corner.

‘Almost done.’

Murphy checked his email, the latest message proving to be the report he was waiting for.

He read over the first couple of pages, Rossi walking around her desk to read over his shoulder.

‘A couple of cigarette butts and a shoe print. That’s it?’ Rossi said.

‘From the general vicinity. At least that’s something. Look here though … DNA. Someone else’s blood was found on the clothing. That’s a break.’

‘No matches though,’ Rossi replied, leaning back on a filing cabinet. ‘Won’t know until we’ve got him that it’s him.’

‘True. Which is why it becomes the new thing we ask people at interview. Anyone who refuses to give a sample deserves to be looked into a bit closer.’

‘The usual then. Best read my own copy of it, I suppose.’

Murphy went back to reading over the rest of the report. No defensive wounds or skin under the fingernails – the normal place for them to find DNA. However, no evidence of any restraints used either, which struck him as odd. Dean would have surely known he was about to die, and if someone was strangling him he would have attempted to extricate whatever was being used.

‘Unless he was being held down …’

‘What’s that?’ Rossi said, looking up from her own copy.

‘No evidence of restraints being used. If you want to asphyxiate someone alone, without the worry of them clawing at you, there’s three things you can do. Wash them thoroughly afterwards to remove any traces of DNA; drug them so they’re unconscious whilst you work; or you have help. I can’t see any note of traces of bleach or something in here. And there’s no drugs in the victim’s system.’

Rossi looked away from him. ‘So, either he had someone to hold them down, or there’s something we’re missing.’

Murphy pursed his lips, ‘Could be.’

Harris had turned around in his chair, watching them as they spoke.

‘Any thoughts?’ Murphy said towards him.

‘Not right now. But I do have something. One of the names on the list. Paul Cooper.’

‘What about him?’

‘I know where he is. Right now as a matter of fact.’

Murphy smiled. ‘Well … come ’ead then. Where?’

‘Walton Lane nick.’

10

Five minutes away from Goodison Park, which the blue half of the city calls home, on the main stretch of Walton Lane which leads around Stanley Park and Anfield Cemetery, lies Walton Lane Police Station. The small station was twinned with the larger St Anne Street building which Murphy worked from. It had been a base of sorts until recently, the main traffic going through St Anne Street until the new crime commissioner began delegating more bodies there. The area around had suffered from an influx of professionals in recent years, those looking for cheaper rents and bigger homes, but who still wanted the security of the nicer areas. They didn’t like to be reminded that they were living on what was essentially a tarted-up housing estate, but the money wasn’t coming in from their wages to cover the cost of living in the more upmarket areas of the city. Hence the petitions, the pressure, the community spirit directed at those in power to do something – not to help those that they deemed to be a ‘problem’, but directed at getting rid of them. Those ‘others’. So the new-fangled position of crime commissioner came into its own, announcing more patrols, more bobbies on the street. Never mind that the role of crime commissioner was never seen as anything more than a political appointment by the uniforms on the ground, as well as CID bods like Murphy and Rossi.