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He heard, rather than saw, the whipcrack as Bally-Suit man raised and struck his face with something. A few seconds of nothing, before the pain cut in.
Stinging, burning. His face on fire, from ear to nose in an almost straight line. Goldie pulled his hand away from his cheek where it’d flown in reaction, looking at it as if it wasn’t his. Blood, thin lines of red. Broken skin, broken face.
Burning.
‘This is something my dad gave me. He no longer had any need to use it, so passed it down. I only ever got it once, that was enough. I deserved it then as well.’ Bally-Suit man was standing now, his accent softening as he spoke. ‘It’s like a riding whip, what you’d see a jockey using. Only this is worse. Thinner, more pliable.’
Bally-Suit man moved around the table-desk and came close to Goldie as he held his face with one hand, trying to decide if punching this dick now or later would be preferable.
‘You’re going to learn some manners, young man. And learn them quick.’
Goldie took his hand away from where he’d been stroking the burning, turning to face Bally-Suit man. ‘Fuck you,’ he spat.
Bally-Suit man sighed through the covering and shook his head at him.
The crack came again, quicker than Goldie could react. Across the other side of his face. As he went backwards, away from the pain, Bally-Suit man kicked at his chair, sending him flying. Goldie’s head cracked against the floor, making him dizzy for a second or three before his senses returned, his fists balling and swinging.
Laughter rang back at him as he punched thin air, then pain flared across his thighs as the crack hit there. Then all the wind rushed out of him as a boot flew into his stomach. He tried to get up, one arm across his middle, but a boot on his neck stopped him.
‘Stay down. I don’t want to have to put you on the rack first day.’
Goldie glanced towards the table-desk as the cloth fell from it, revealing something he couldn’t work out. Restraints and wood. In any other setting it would have barely caused a second glance. Seeing it there, Goldie began to breathe quicker, trying to swallow.
Goldie shook his head clear, tried moving again. ‘Am I fuck lying down for you,’ he said, pushing away the boot from his neck.
His voice wasn’t as good as before. The hardness was already going, leaving him, getting the fuck out of there while it still could. If he wasn’t alone, maybe it would have been different; with his boys backing him up, things wouldn’t be the same at all. As it was, Goldie was on his own, and the prick in the bally-suit was standing over him with some whip type of thing that was causing him a lot of pain and he couldn’t even see it coming.
‘You don’t understand, do you?’
‘Understand what?’ Goldie said, pulling himself onto all fours as the man backed away from him.
‘You’re under our control now. You’ll do as we say, or there will be consequences.’
Goldie spat out a long drool of saliva onto the floor, eyes widening as he saw the redness of fresh blood mixed in with it. ‘You going to kill me, is that it? What for? I ain’t done nothing to you.’
Bally-Suit man laughed at him. ‘Course you have. You and all your mates. Everyone like you. Young boys with big mouths.’
A boot flew into Goldie’s stomach, flipping him over onto his back and making him cry out in pain before his breath caught.
‘You’re disrespectful, arrogant and nothing but a stain on this city,’ Bally-Suit man said, standing over him. ‘Well, that’s going to start changing. You’re going to start changing. Starting now.’
Goldie closed his eyes to the pain which was beginning to kick in from the beating, as Bally-Suit man crouched down and leant closer.
‘And if we’re not happy with your progress, well … let’s just say you’ll be begging for a little roughing-up like I’ve just given you. I have many ways of making you accept change.’
Goldie opened his eyes, but the man was no longer there. Just the two in balaclavas holding guns as before.
He got up with some help, and allowed himself to be led back to what he would soon call the Dorm.
And hoped it wouldn’t be the last place he could call home.
3 (#ulink_550ca293-f827-576e-8a61-aa954330f88e)
Reverend. Not vicar or priest. The Church of England always confused Murphy. Catholic guilt was much more his forte, forever cursed to carry that around with him. Sister Margaret Mary rapping your knuckles for getting a line wrong in the Stations of the Cross, or a proper beating for anything closely resembling impure thoughts. Every bloke Murphy’s age who had grown up Catholic had the same stories. Thankfully, his parents had grown out of religion before too long. C of E always struck Murphy as more tea and biscuits than the hell and eternal damnation his own church had taught him.
Reverend Andrew Pearson. Wild haired, with a grey, bushy beard and bright blue eyes which seemed to dart in every direction at once. Murphy imagined he was usually much more expressive, but today he was sombre, one hand clasped over the other in his lap as if to restrain himself from making any sudden gestures. With the interior of the church currently out of bounds whilst it was searched for evidence, they had convened in one of the marked police vans which were now at the scene – Murphy and Rossi sitting on one side, facing the reverend.
‘Sorry about the less-than-comfortable surroundings, Reverend,’ Murphy said, already feeling the strain of sitting in a confined space. Being six foot four had its drawbacks. ‘Hopefully this won’t take too long.’
‘Not a problem,’ the reverend replied. Murphy noticed the accent wasn’t local. From outside the city, he guessed.
‘I’m Detective Inspector David Murphy and this is Detective Sergeant Laura Rossi. We just want to ask a few questions about what happened this morning. Okay?’
‘Of course. But I did tell the other officers I don’t know all that much. Just the boys running towards me, looking like they’d had the shock of their young lives. I guess they probably had.’
‘I see. What time was this?’
‘Around half eight. Bit later than I usually arrive to the church, but I was delayed this morning. A few phone calls I had to make regarding an upcoming event. If I’d been on time, those poor boys wouldn’t have had to go through the shock.’
Murphy stretched his legs out slowly. ‘Do you live close by?’
‘Yes, the vicarage is only around the corner.’
‘And you weren’t disturbed overnight? Anything you can remember at all?’
The reverend shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. I went to bed around eleven and slept through until seven. Didn’t hear a sound.’
‘Did you recognise the victim?’ Rossi said after a few seconds of silence.
‘No. We don’t see many teenagers in the congregation, I’m afraid. Especially males. We have a choir, with a healthy number of boys, but once they reach eleven, twelve, thirteen, they seem to find much more interesting things to be doing. We try our best of course, but there’s too much pressure from outside.’
‘I guess,’ Rossi replied, writing in her notebook. ‘Did you enter the church after finding the victim?’
‘Only to use the phone in the office.’
‘Anything out of place?’
The reverend made a show of thinking for a few seconds before answering. ‘Nothing I can think of. It was still locked up and there wasn’t anything obvious to indicate anyone had been in there. I imagine your people will be able to tell if that’s the case or not.’
Murphy nodded, thinking the fingertip search he’d ordered of inside the church might prove to be a waste of time. ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’
‘How long do you think this will take, Inspector? Only we’re supposed to have midweek services this evening.’
Murphy raised an eyebrow at Rossi before turning back to the reverend. ‘Forgive the bluntness, Reverend, but as long as it takes. At the moment, the church is a crime scene, and the most important thing is ensuring that we gather all the evidence we need.’
Reverend Pearson brought his index fingers together and bounced them off his chin, nodding slightly at the answer. ‘Of course. I’m sure the congregation will understand.’
‘Thank you. We’ll keep you up to date with what is happening.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Reverend Pearson replied, bringing his palms down and smacking them onto his knees. ‘I will be praying for the young man and your investigation.’
Murphy shot Rossi a look as she choked back what he hoped sounded like a cough to the reverend, rather than the laugh he knew it was. ‘Yeah, thanks for that. We appreciate any help we receive.’ He took a card from his wallet and handed it over. ‘Just in case you have any further questions.’
‘Not religious then, Laura?’
Murphy was leading them back to where the victim’s body was in the process of being bagged up to be taken to the morgue for the post-mortem. The mood amongst the various technical officers and uniforms was more solemn than usual. Murphy guessed it was the setting, rather than the dead body.
‘Not in the slightest. All a load of rubbish, isn’t it? Cazzata,’Rossi replied, tying her hair back as she spoke.
‘Thought all Italians were religious?’
‘Probably more so back in the old country, but once they were outside – over here – my parents never bothered. Much to my nonna’s delight of course.’
Murphy snorted. ‘Well, let’s hope this isn’t a religious thing then. Can’t imagine you’d be much use.’
Rossi stopped, placing a hand on Murphy’s arm. The height difference meant she was almost at his wrist, when she was probably aiming for a bicep. ‘No, don’t get me wrong. I might not be religious, but I know my stuff. Religion is fascinating. Especially sociologically speaking. I just don’t believe in the magic man in the sky bit.’
Murphy looked down at her and smiled thinly at the echo of his own thoughts. ‘Probably best to keep your voice down a bit. You’re standing on hallowed ground here,’ he said, motioning towards the church before walking on.
‘Yeah … I’m about to get struck down by God’s wrath any second now,’ Rossi muttered under her breath, just about loud enough for him to hear. He bit on his lip in order to stifle the laughter.
‘You’re not, are you?’ Rossi said, as she caught up with him. ‘Don’t mean to offend, if you are …’
Murphy shook his head. ‘No. Not really. It’d be nice, I suppose, but I think I’ve been doing this too long to believe.’
Rossi looked away, nodding. ‘Anyway,’ she said finally, ‘what next … the kids?’
‘Yes. Have they been taken to the station?’
Rossi looked around and beckoned someone in uniform over. ‘I’ll just check.’
Murphy left her to it, turning to watch as the tent cover surrounding the body was pulled back and the trolley which would transport it to either a van or ambulance was taken closer to the scene. The victim was now completely covered in black for its first step in the journey of a murder investigation.
Well, almost its first step. What happened to the boy before it had arrived here was the beginning, really.
‘The lads are at the station. Parents are meeting us there,’ Rossi said, appearing at his side. ‘But, more importantly, we’ve got a name for the victim.’
‘That was quick,’ Murphy replied. ‘Thought they didn’t find anything on the body?’
Rossi shook her head, grinning slightly. ‘Didn’t need to. A uniform recognised him. Reckons he’s had a few dealings with him in the past.’ She pointed to an officer who was sitting on the small outer wall on the perimeter of the church. ‘PC Michael Hale.’
‘I’ve seen him before somewhere,’ Murphy said, walking towards PC Hale, Rossi in step next to him.
‘Same here. Can’t place him though. Probably some other scene.’
‘Hmmm. Possibly.’
They reached the PC, who broke off from speaking to another officer to greet them
‘Sorry about that,’ PC Hale said, once the officer had left.
‘It’s no problem,’ Murphy said, looking Hale up and down. ‘I’ve been told you know the victim?’
‘Yeah,’ PC Hale said, stroking a leather-gloved hand over his face. Three-day stubble, intentionally shaped and clipped. ‘Had the pleasure of his company over the years. If you know what I mean …’
Murphy waited, the silence growing between the three of them until Rossi filled it.
‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
‘Oh, sorry. His name is Dean Hughes. Lives over in Norris Green. Part of the crew there. Always in trouble for something or other. Those gangs are the bane of our lives – in uniform, you know. One of the reasons I’m trying to move over to work with you guys.’
‘Right,’ Murphy said, trying to decide on his first impression and finding it wasn’t good. ‘And you can tell, even with what’s happened to his face?’
PC Hale nodded. ‘I’ve seen him at his worst, after fights and that. It’s definitely him.’
‘So, how old is he?’
‘Think he’s eighteen now. Not sure. Haven’t seen him around for a while, so thought he’d either been banged up without me knowing, or got some girl pregnant and was trying to go straight. Never happens though.’
‘What doesn’t?’
‘Going straight. Those types … they’re always up to something. Can’t help themselves. Doing normal stuff just doesn’t come natural. Waking up early, going to work, doing an honest job … they can’t handle it. Rather sit at home on their arses and go on the rob at night. Looks like someone might have done us a favour here, if you ask me.’
Murphy knew the sort PC Hale was referring to – even had some sympathy for the bitterness which had crept into Hale from years of dealing with this type – but he still decided his first impression was right. Hale was a prick. ‘Is that what your dealings with Dean were mainly about … robbing, that sort of thing?’ Murphy said, aware of Rossi bridling beside him.
‘All sorts, really. Street robbery, violence, drink, drugs …’
‘Drugs?’ Rossi interjected, just as Murphy was taking a breath.
‘Yeah, only a bit of weed and that. Nothing major. I’m sure you’ll see his record soon enough, but I imagine it wasn’t just me who was picking him up most weekends. Proper little scrote. Used to take him home to his mum and she’d be just as bad. More pissed off with us than the little shit we’d took home for her. The state of that house as well … Jesus. Five kids, probably five different dads, I reckon. None sticking around for more than the two minutes it took to get her up the duff. You know the type. What do these people expect if that’s how they’re brought up?’
Murphy couldn’t help but glower at Hale a little. ‘Well thanks for the speech, PC Hale. Good to know a bit of background about the victim … you know, the dead teenager?’
Hale focussed past Murphy and Rossi at the church behind them. Murphy followed his gaze. ‘Yeah,’ Hale said eventually, ‘no problem.’
‘Let’s go,’ Rossi said, pulling once on Murphy’s arm before walking away. ‘I can’t hear any more merda right now.’
Murphy said goodbye for both of them and turned towards the church entrance where they’d parked up earlier, and walked quickly to catch up to Rossi. Heard PC Hale ask a fellow uniformed officer what merda might mean, and smiled in spite of himself.
‘You sorted here?’ Murphy said, as he reached his car – Rossi leaning against the passenger door, waiting.
‘Of course.’
‘Let’s get back then. See what these kids have to say and then make plans.’
4 (#ulink_63bff748-c9fb-5489-899e-9c701d3d0005)
The car journey back to the station was silent, broken only with long sighs from Rossi who sat beside Murphy. The four miles back to the city centre should have taken fifteen minutes but was taking much longer due to traffic going back into town.
