Ruthless (21 page)

Rachel yelled, ‘Stop! Police, stop,’ and flew after him, aware of Mitch in her wake.

He raced downstairs and had reached the front door when Rachel, halfway down, jumped the remaining distance. She felt the giddy sensation of flying and then the solid impact of the man as she landed on his back, smashing him into the door, banging her knees and shoulder.

‘Bloody hell!’ said one of the uniforms.

‘Lara Croft, innit,’ the other one added.

Rachel ignored the jarring pains and yanked the man around. Slick black hair, red cheeks, startled eyes. The bloke from the CCTV at Bobbins, the one meeting Neil Perry. Greg Tandy. Missing for days. He was twitching, poised to bolt. Rachel shoved him round again. ‘Hands behind your back. Now. Do it.’ She snapped the cuffs on, her hands shaking from the adrenaline.

After losing Stanley Keane, Rachel took great satisfaction in arresting Tandy on suspicion of firearms offences. And sending him to the police station with the uniforms.

Rachel and Mitch searched the house. They found a substantial quantity of illegal drugs, glassine bags containing white powder, various forms of cannabis and an array of brightly coloured pills.

‘Pick and mix,’ said Rachel.

In the back bedroom, on top of the wardrobe, they found something else even more interesting.

Rachel rang the boss. ‘We’re at Stanley Keane’s,’ she said. ‘Guess who’s been sleeping over?’

‘Goldilocks?’

‘Greg Tandy,’ said Rachel, ‘we just picked him up. Greg Tandy and a bag full of guns.’

Godzilla called Rachel in as soon as she got back. Janet was already there.

‘The gun we want, it’s not with the cache of arms, so it’s still missing,’ the boss said.

Rachel had a thought. ‘It could be at Tandy’s own place.’

‘We’ll look, I’ll apply for a warrant,’ the boss said. ‘Janet, can you step out a minute?’

Janet nodded, no argument.

Once she’d left, Her Maj said, ‘Searches at Shirelle Young’s turned up Class A and Class Bs as well as some unclassified, Paradise and meow meow or some version of. From what you told me earlier I think we can show that she was dealing. Same as the drugs you recovered from Stanley Keane’s house.’

‘He was supplying Shirelle,’ Rachel said, just like she’d guessed. ‘Shirelle gets the goods from Keane’s and goes off on her rounds. Maybe Victor and Lydia were one of her stops.’

‘Never mix business and pleasure,’ Gill said.

‘And all that stuff about not seeing Victor since January, that’s bollocks. She’s just trying to cover her tracks. Though she’s in the clear for the murders.’ Rachel thought for a moment. ‘Greg Tandy knows the Perry brothers, he sells them the gun, he also knows Stanley Keane – well enough to be staying there.’ She considered the connections.

‘Why did Tandy leave home?’ Godzilla said. ‘And when? Suspicious to do so when he’s out on licence, as is hoiking a case of firearms about. Find out.’

If Neil Perry reminded Rachel of a malevolent teddy bear, Greg Tandy made her think of a ventriloquist’s dummy. The large round eyes under the monobrow, the dark slicked-back hair, round cheeks splotched with colour, too many teeth in his mouth. He stank of fags, and he’d buggered up his lungs with it because he wheezed and whistled with each breath. Prison, one of the few public institutions where you could still smoke.

‘Mr Tandy, you have been arrested on suspicion of supplying a firearm and for possession of a firearm as a prohibited person.’ She read him the caution and then said, ‘Before we begin, do you understand the charge?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘On Tuesday the eighth of May you met Neil Perry at Bobbins public house, can you confirm that?’

‘No comment,’ he said.

‘You know Mr Perry?’

‘No comment.’

So that was how it was going to be.

‘Did you supply Neil Perry with a handgun?’

‘No comment.’

And so it went. He offered no comment to all Rachel’s questions. It didn’t matter whether she asked him about his move from the marital home, or the weapons, or his movements over the last few days. In between the repetitive replies was the hiss and squeak of his breath.

Rachel wondered how Mrs Tandy put up with the sound. Sean snored when he’d had a skinful, but a sharp elbow was enough to get him to roll over and pack it in. But this chronic noise, it’d drive you barmy. Mind you, Mrs Tandy had had the bed to herself for the past few years. Maybe she kicked him out for disturbing her sleep.

Rachel kept going. ‘I am now showing Mr Tandy a CCTV recording, exhibit number JS18. This is you on the tape, is that correct?’

‘No comment.’

‘And here you leave the bar with Mr Perry and go into the men’s toilets. Can you tell me why?’

‘No comment.’ All that he said. On and on, with his clownish face and his toothy mouth and the rattling breath.

20

‘I’ll not keep you long,’ Gill told the team together, ‘but I want to make sure you’ve all got your eyes on the ball. One slip, one cock-up and we risk losing all the hours you put in, all the work you’ve done. Perrys have been charged for the Kavanagh murder, they’re up in court in the morning, we ask for them to be remanded in custody and then we arrest them on new charges for Victor and Lydia and begin interviews.’

‘The only thing we don’t have from the confessions is the gun,’ Janet said.

‘Protecting their source on that,’ the boss said. ‘What about motive for the double murder, any thoughts?’

‘If Victor and Lydia were dealing,’ said Pete, ‘maybe they were taking liberties, hands in the till and Williams wanted to teach them a lesson.’

‘Bit extreme,’ Gill said, ‘a rap over the knuckles would be enough. You think he put out a contract on the couple? We haven’t found any intelligence that links the Perry brothers to Williams.’

‘What about switching it round?’ said Lee. ‘A robbery, the twins decide to help themselves but Victor and Lydia resist. Bang. Bang.’

‘They were sitting down, weren’t they?’ Rachel said. ‘Not like there’d been a struggle, or either of them made a run for it.’

‘If someone is pointing a gun, you’re not going to run, that’s an invitation to open fire,’ Kevin said.

‘True,’ Gill nodded to Kevin, ‘but also true there was no sign of a fight.’

‘They could have been sleeping,’ said Mitch.

‘The Perrys are known racists. Kavanagh was a hate crime, this could be too,’ Lee said.

‘So … what? Noddy and Big Ears are on some cleanup-the-streets mission?’ Gill said.

‘One down, a million to go,’ said Janet, repeating Noel Perry’s sound bite.

Bragging or more than that?

‘Or they’re just dickheads,’ Rachel said, getting a laugh.

Gill’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the display, Dave, left it. ‘We have no formal proof of identity for Victor and Lydia?’ she asked, looking at Mitch.

‘No, but surnames used at the food bank are the same as those given when Lydia attended the walk-in clinic: Lydia Oluwaseyi and Victor Tosin.’

‘Refer to them as “known as” to be on the safe side,’ Gill said. ‘We don’t want some smart-arse defence lawyer down the line claiming that Lydia Oluwaseyi was actually Lydia Oluwa, and so the charges were inaccurate.’

Rachel nodded and Janet made a note in her book.

‘We are looking for Shirelle Young.’ Gill glanced over at Lee.

‘Not been back to the flat,’ he said.

‘Not with us crawling all over it,’ said Rachel.

‘Done a runner?’ Kevin said.

‘It’s possible,’ Gill said. ‘Local neighbourhood patrols will continue to be on the lookout. What have we got from house-to-house in the vicinity of the warehouse?’

‘Dead loss,’ Kevin said, ‘no one saw anything.’

‘Or they’re not willing to admit it,’ Rachel said.

‘The fire investigation officer tells me a fifth bullet has been recovered among the debris at the warehouse.’ Gill glanced at her watch. ‘Anything else? OK. Coffee run?’

Lee volunteered, raising his hand.

‘Double americano,’ Gill requested. She picked up her files and went to the office. Stretched to relieve some of the tension in her neck and shoulders. She checked her phone: missed call, no message. She was relieved Dave hadn’t left some rambling diatribe she’d have to listen to.

Gill thought of the phone call she had made earlier to Richard Kavanagh’s wife, now widow, who had not seen her husband for thirteen years but nevertheless was appalled and saddened by the manner of his death and the purported reason.

‘We have charged both men,’ Gill had told Judith Kavanagh, ‘and we have every expectation that they will be convicted as they have confessed to the crime.’

‘Why did they do it?’ Judith had said. ‘Was it a fight?’

More like an execution, Gill thought. The murder of Richard Kavanagh had not been carried out in the heat of a furious bust-up but as a calculated, cold-blooded killing of someone the men hated, simply because of his lifestyle.

‘Did they get into an argument?’ Judith went on. ‘Richard never argued. He used to walk away. He never even raised his voice. How many men can you say that about?’ She was talking too much; Gill recognized the behaviour – not ready for an answer to her question.

‘Mrs Kavanagh, I’m sorry to have to tell you that this is what we call a hate crime: when someone is targeted simply because of who they are, their identity, their membership of a group which the attacker hates.’

‘You mean like racists?’

‘Yes, exactly, but we also use this term for any group who can be singled out in this way, gay people or travellers for example,’ Gill said.

‘So what … because Richard was homeless?’ she said slowly.

‘Yes.’

‘I keep thinking about the fire—’

‘I can tell you that Richard was shot twice in the chest. He would have died very quickly from those injuries. He would not have been conscious when the fire was lit.’ Gill knew Rachel and Janet would have told her as much when they visited but it bore repeating – as often as was necessary.

Gill listened to the other woman breathe, heard her composing herself. ‘Thank you for letting me know,’ Mrs Kavanagh said eventually.

Now Gill wondered how on earth they might find the relatives of the young immigrants. Checks had confirmed no record of them entering the country legally, as asylum-seekers for example. With no dates of birth, no documents, it would be a long search. The Nigerian community in the UK might help get word out. Had they been sending money to their families? Immigrants often did, it could be a lifesaver for people back home. Or were Lydia and Victor orphans, or estranged from their families? Whoever they were, whatever they had done with their short lives, no one on earth deserved to die like that, shot then burned. No one deserved to die at the hand of another. Gill couldn’t do much to stop it happening but she would do her utmost to make those responsible pay.

She allowed herself a flush of pleasure at the thought of being able to solve all three murders and the prospect of taking Topsy and Turvy out of circulation for good.

Rachel’s phone went. She didn’t recognize the number. ‘DC Rachel Bailey,’ she answered.

‘It’s Liam Kelly, from the shop.’

‘Yes.’
The newsagent
.

‘We’ve just found Shirelle in the alley outside, beaten up,’ he said. ‘You were asking about her. I’ve called an ambulance.’

‘I’m on my way.’

Rachel went to the boss. ‘Shirelle Young, beaten up at the shops. I’ll go see.’

‘Keep me posted,’ the boss said.

‘Yes.’ Rachel was already wondering if the beating related to the murders or the drug-dealing or if it was personal. Remembering the slightly built girl, her nerves as they had talked at the flat, the way she repeatedly looked to the door. Expecting trouble.

Shirelle was still there, on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance that had manoeuvred down the alley and stopped outside the back entrance of the newsagent’s.

Rachel identified herself to a uniformed officer and then spoke to the paramedics. ‘How is she?’

‘Battered. Respiration and circulation’s satisfactory. Concussed.’

‘Can I?’ Rachel nodded to the ambulance.

‘We’re going now.’

‘Two ticks,’ Rachel said.

She stepped up into the van. The girl’s face was a mess, swollen, one eye pulped, cuts across her cheek and a torn lip. Her white leather jacket scuffed and spotted with blood.

There’d be no talking to her until she was back in the land of the living.

Rachel recognized some of the group waiting in the alley, Liam Kelly and Mels from the newsagent’s and Connor Tandy. Connor presumably had no idea his father had been picked up and was mixed up in the murder inquiry. And Rachel knew she mustn’t give anything away or the search at the Tandys’ in the morning and the further questions for mother and son could go tits up. No sign of the chip-shop woman, though judging by the smell in the air they were still serving. Liam Kelly introduced her to Mrs Muhammad from Soapy Joe’s, whom Janet had spoken to, and her daughter Rabia, and in turn Rabia named her friend, Amina.

‘Can you all move back.’ Rachel assisted the uniformed officer to secure the area. It was hard to see if there was anything of interest in the dim light from the lamp post at the end of the passageway; people had probably already trampled over any evidence but it was still important to try to recover what they could.

‘Come down to our shop,’ Mrs Muhammad said, ‘there’s more room in there than yours,’ she gestured to Liam Kelly.

Mrs Muhammad led the way, skirting the cobbles where Shirelle had been lying, and going into the back of the launderette. She switched the alarm off and put the strip lights on.

‘How did you find her?’ Rachel asked Liam Kelly.

‘It was Mrs Muhammad,’ he said.

‘Rabia told me,’ the Asian woman said.

‘She was just lying there,’ the teenager explained, ‘when we were coming back through the alley.’

‘You were smoking,’ her mother interrupted, ‘you think I’m daft? I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘Did she say anything?’ Rachel asked them.

‘No, she was unconscious,’ Rabia said.