скачать книгу бесплатно
‘A bit of a naughty boy then, by all accounts,’ DC Beth Mayes said, reporting to her senior. ‘Literally caught with his trousers down.’
DCI Aileen Peters smiled. ‘And no one saw anything, even though it was a Friday night?’
‘No. Nothing, ma’am. Once Kevin and Tracey were in the alleyway they were out of sight of the queue. And there’s no camera covering the side alley – just one at the front of the nightclub.’
She nodded and glanced at the report in front of her. ‘So we’re working on the assumption that the attacker was already there.’
‘Yes, ma’am. It looks that way. It’s a long dark alley, most of which isn’t visible from the street. There are plenty of places to hide – behind bins and outbuildings. You wouldn’t see someone hiding, especially with what Kevin and Tracey had on their minds. All she’s been able to tell us is that the attacker was dressed in black and had a balaclava hood covering his head and face. The CCTV footage from the camera at the front of the club shows a hooded figure going into the alley approximately half an hour before the attack. The same figure can be seen running out after the attack.’
‘He left the area on foot?’
‘Yes, as far as can be seen on the camera, which is about twenty feet.’
‘And no one in the queue saw him fleeing?’
‘No. He’d gone before the commotion began and anyone realized something was wrong. The first anyone saw or heard was when Tracey came out of the alley covered in blood and screaming that Kevin had been stabbed. He staggered out after her. That’s when their attention was drawn to the alleyway, but the attacker had fled by then.’
‘And Kevin didn’t see his attacker at all because he came at him from behind?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘It was definitely a he?’
‘From his build, yes.’
‘And we’ve ruled out Tracey or her friend, Chelsea, setting up Kevin? He’d had sex with Chelsea the week before and she wasn’t jealous and bent on revenge?’
‘According to both girls they were happy with the arrangement. They took it in turns to have sex with him and he let them both into the club for free.’
‘It must be a good club,’ Aileen Peters remarked dryly. ‘And the girls don’t see him at any other time? He’s not dating one of them?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Are there any other girlfriends on the scene who might not like the arrangement he had with Chelsea and Tracey?’
‘Not according to Kevin,’ Beth answered. ‘We saw him again yesterday in hospital.’
‘Did the management know about his arrangement with the girls?’
‘No. And they’re not happy that they’ve been drawn into this. It’s bad for the club’s reputation, especially when their licence is coming up for renewal.’
‘Tough. So Kevin can’t think of anyone who might have had a grudge against him? Maybe someone he collected money from or an opponent from one of his boxing matches? Someone he’d badly beaten?’
‘He says he doesn’t keep a record of his debt-collecting duties. It’s cash in hand. We’re checking out some of the fights he won, but so far nothing. Some of his opponents have form, but for pub brawls etc. None of them has a history of knife crime, GBH or anything premeditated like this. Although Kevin admits he knows some pretty dodgy characters.’
Aileen nodded. ‘So no motive and no suspect. At least he’s alive. If it was planned, which all the evidence so far is suggesting, then someone was watching him for quite a while to know his movements. That he could be relied upon to be in that alleyway at a particular time on a Friday.’
‘Yes, ma’am, it would appear so.’
‘Hmm.’ She glanced at the file and then up again. ‘Perhaps the press release will bring in some leads, but I’m not hopeful. We’ll give it our best shot, then put it to bed unless new evidence turns up.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you. Just one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘It may be nothing, but there appear to have been some other cases in the area that could be said to be similar. Where it seems that someone has been deliberately targeted and the assailant knew where they’d be at a particular time and day. All motiveless.’
‘Really? I wasn’t aware of this.’
‘No one was, ma’am. It’s something I’ve just turned up.’
‘When you say a few, how many are we talking about?’
‘I’ve uncovered five possibles that have happened in the last twelve months. There could be more further back. None of them involved a knife but they appear to be motiveless premeditated crimes against individuals. I know it’s a long shot.’
‘Go on. I’m interested.’ Beth wouldn’t be the first DC to find a lead missed by more senior detectives.
‘Ron McKenzie’s house was broken into last month.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’
‘He only went out in the evening once a month to attend a Masonic meeting. While he was gone, his house was completely trashed. They didn’t take anything but made a real mess, paint everywhere. On one of his bedroom walls they’d sprayed the words: payback time. He said he had no idea who was behind it and couldn’t think of anyone who would bear him a grudge. There were no leads and no one has been questioned.’
‘You said “they”?’
‘Forensics said it was possible there were two perpetrators, although they couldn’t be certain.’
‘It could simply have been an opportunist thief who knew McKenzie’s movements, but that doesn’t really tally with the words sprayed on the wall and that nothing was taken. Was he having an affair? Is there a jealous husband or jilted lover in the background?’
‘Not as far as we know.’
‘OK. What else do you have?’
‘Tom Murray, a barrister, and a more serious crime. He was knocked down by a motorcyclist four months ago. The bike mounted the pavement and then sped off. There are no cameras in the area but he was adamant that whoever it was had deliberately driven straight at him. A woman who’d just come into the street and saw the attack agreed. She said the rider accelerated towards the victim. Both of them said the rider was all in black, with a black helmet and a tinted visor so neither of them saw his face.’
‘I seem to remember we looked into some of the cases he’d worked on to see if anyone could have a grudge big enough to try to kill him. But there was nothing,’ Aileen said.
‘That’s correct. The file’s still open.’
‘Maybe worth taking another look.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Then there was the abduction of Mary Grey, thirty-six, a single woman living alone,’ DC Beth Mayes continued, her voice rising with enthusiasm. ‘Whoever took her knew exactly where she’d be at a given time on a given day and that she’d be alone. He also knew her name. She had no idea who he was and didn’t recognize his voice. He grabbed her from behind, bundled her into a van and put a blindfold on her. He drove her around for about ten minutes and then stopped the van. Before he threw her out he told her to be more careful in future. She says she doesn’t know what he was referring to. There are no suspects and we checked all the vans we knew to be in the area at that time.’
‘Is there anything or anyone linking these victims?’
‘Not from what we know.’
‘Have a look again – acquaintances, place of work, where they socialize.’ Her desk phone rang and she picked it up, listened to what the caller said, and then replied, ‘I’ll be there.’ Replacing the receiver, she stood. ‘I’ve got to go. Look back over two years to see if you can find any connection between them. It’s possible there’s a nutcase out there seeking revenge for some perceived injustice, but I’m more likely to think these are random acts of mindless violence. Worth having another look all the same.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Chapter Eight (#ulink_64061a45-f01e-5174-9abe-293befe7beb3)
‘You OK, Gov? Paul asked, barely able to hide his smirk.
‘Yes, of course,’ Derek snapped, coming down from the ladder. ‘It’s only a small snag. Fetch me the first-aid kit from the van, will you?’
‘Not a lot of point in putting it back, was there? Cutting yourself twice in one morning and you always being so safety conscious.’
Derek let the comment go, as he was increasingly having to do with Paul. He knew he wasn’t himself today; he had bigger, more worrying issues on his mind than Paul’s bad attitude. The incident at U-Beat nightclub kept replaying through his head just as he’d seen it but he needed to try to concentrate before he had any more accidents or let something slip.
Cupping his finger in the palm of his hand to stop the blood dripping onto the floor, he crossed to the small sink in the corner of the room and held it under the cold tap. The room was at the rear of the newsagents and used for storing stock. Cardboard boxes and crates containing bags of sweets, packets of cigarettes, crisps, fizzy drinks and so on were stacked all around him.
He was trying to fit a camera in this room to complement the one in the shop, and then put their system online. Originally Mr and Mrs Osman, the owners of the newsagent, had just wanted one camera in the shop to stop thieving from the displays and for their own protection, but on Sunday evening while the shop had been closed it had been broken into from the rear and stock stolen. They’d phoned him on Monday morning, desperate, and asked if he could fit the extra camera and put the system online. It was a relatively small job but the work wasn’t progressing as quickly as it should. He was struggling to concentrate, there was only limited space to move around, and Mr and Mrs Osman kept interrupting him – coming in for stock or to ask him questions when all he needed was to be left in peace to finish the job.
Paul eventually returned, carrying the first-aid box, with his phone still in his hand; taking advantage of him, Derek thought.
‘I’ll be nurse then,’ Paul said.
Derek turned off the cold water tap as Paul set the first-aid box on the work surface beside the sink and took out a plaster. Away from the cold water the cut immediately opened and started bleeding again. ‘It’s deeper than I thought,’ Derek said, holding it over the sink.
‘Is there a bigger plaster in here?’ Paul asked, rummaging in the first-aid box.
‘Should be.’
He found a larger plaster and a sterile pad. ‘Give us your finger then, and we’ll use this to stop the bleeding.’
Derek held out his hand and Paul steadied it as he pressed the sterile pad on the wound. Gentler than he would have imagined, Derek felt the cool tips of Paul’s fingers, the touch of his clammy palm, and the warmth of his body nearby. He was standing close, far too close. Soothed and excited, Derek breathed in the bittersweet seductive mustiness of the teenage boy, a heady mixture of testosterone, perspiration and deodorant. How long since he’d been this close to a young man? He knew exactly, and knew he mustn’t go there again.
He took a step back. Paul removed the sterile pad from the wound and then expertly peeled the plaster from its packet and pressed it gently into place.
‘Very professional,’ Derek said, his voice unsteady.
‘Should be; Mum’s a nurse. We’re all up to speed on first aid.’
‘Are you?’ Derek asked, feigning ignorance of Paul’s home life. ‘That’s good. Well done. You said “we”?’
‘Yes, Mum, Dad, my brother, sister and me,’ Paul clarified, closing the first-aid box. ‘Although they’re my parents’ favourites. I’m the runt of the litter.’ He threw the discarded packets and soiled dressing into the bin and then looked at Derek, waiting for his instructions. ‘What next?’
‘Oh, yes. Perhaps you could finish connecting that camera for me? You know what to do.’ His usual instructive manner had gone. The intimacy of a minute ago lingered and Derek was reluctant to let it go. He could identify with not fitting in. Although he didn’t have any siblings he was sure if he had he would have been his mother’s least favourite: the runt.
‘So you’re happy with the way your apprenticeship is going?’ he asked awkwardly as Paul climbed the ladder.
‘Yes. Why?’ He glanced down at him.
‘Well, I haven’t asked you before and it’s important you’re happy. The apprenticeship scheme will ask you for feedback.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘So no complaints?’
‘Apart from the abysmal pay, you mean?’
‘You’re on apprenticeship rates.’ He waited until Paul had finished clipping the wire he was working on. ‘And your home life? No worries there?’
‘None that you need to be concerned about,’ Paul returned.
‘And all’s going well with your girlfriend?’ Derek persisted. He knew Paul had a steady girlfriend because he disappeared most lunchtimes saying he was going to phone her.
‘I guess. Although last Saturday was a bit of a bummer after the stabbing at the club the Friday before.’
‘You go to U-Beat nightclub?’ Derek asked, taken aback.
‘Sometimes. The police were inside asking about the stabbing. It seems there might be a connection with some other crimes.’
‘They said that?’ He struggled to hide his shock. Thank goodness Paul was up the ladder and concentrating on wiring the camera.
‘Yes. They were trying to find out more about Kev, the bouncer who was stabbed. We didn’t know him.’
‘And the person who did it? Do they have any leads?’
‘Don’t think so. It seems he might have got away on a motorbike. Hey, you’ve got a bike, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but I only take it out on Sundays,’ Derek said, a little too quickly.
Paul glanced at him, tightened the last screw, then came down the ladder and waited. ‘What next?’
Derek shook his head. ‘Nothing. Clear up and go home.’
‘You sure? It’s only one-thirty.’
‘Yes. I’ll be here a while talking Mr and Mrs Osman through accessing their system online; they don’t appear very computer savvy. Then I’m going home to catch up on some paperwork. I’ll see you at eight-thirty sharp in the morning.’
‘OK. Thanks.’ Paul quickly swept up the last of their mess and left.
Because Mr and Mrs Osman couldn’t leave the shop unattended, they came through to the stockroom separately to learn how to access their CCTV online, so it was three o’clock before Derek arrived home. His mother was exactly where he expected to find her – in the living room, watching television. She wasn’t surprised to hear him come in early, for his wasn’t a nine-to-five job.
‘I’ve put your clean laundry on your bed,’ she called. ‘Your room could do with a clean, but that’s your job.’
‘I know, I will,’ he said, bristling. She treated him like a little boy.
In the kitchen Derek put his lunchbox in the sink for washing later, poured himself a glass of water and went upstairs to his room where he would stay until she called him for dinner. It niggled him that she went into his room at all. At his age – forty-one – it should have been his domain, and she could have left his laundry in the airing cupboard, but he didn’t complain. He always turned the monitors off when he was out and even if she switched them on, which he doubted she would, she wouldn’t get any further than the screen savers, as the system was heavily password protected. It was the fact she had entered his territory at all that he bitterly resented, but he felt powerless to say anything.
With his bedroom door bolted, Derek sat in his office chair at his workstation, took a sip of water and powered up the monitors. As soon as they sprang into life he began searching local newspapers for updates on the stabbing at U-Beat nightclub. What Paul had said was worrying him.
The police were appealing for witnesses, the articles said, and anyone with any information should contact the number shown below. They were especially interested in talking to a motorbike rider seen leaving the area shortly after the incident, but there were no more details.
Derek opened the folder where he’d downloaded the footage from the CCTV camera at the front of the nightclub. When he’d watched in real time – as the attack had happened – he’d been concentrating on the actual action; now he scanned it for anything he might have missed. On the very edge of the screen he spotted a figure in black running from the alleyway just after the attack, but there was no motorbike in view.
