No Questions Asked (9 page)

‘Really?’

‘Really, Bernie’ said Terry in a voice that kept on fading out because he couldn’t swallow properly.  ‘It’s the truth’.

‘So what about Bradley Thompson, Terry?’

‘What about him?’

Terry walked over with the bottle of vodka in his hand. ‘He was eleven years old, Terry. Eleven fucking years old! Did you kill him?’

‘No, I never, I never killed him Bernie, you’ve got to believe me’.

‘Why do they ever let scum like you out of prison, Terry?’

‘I never touched Bradley Thompson, Bernie! I don’t know anything about it’.

‘You expect me to believe any of that crap?’

‘It’s true, it’s true!’

‘I’ll bet you’d like some of this, Terry’ said Bernie as he held the top of the open bottle of vodka above Terry’s mouth. Terry started to cry.

‘You can’t do this to me, Bernie. I never touched Bradley Thompson’.

‘Terry, I want answers and you’re going to give them to me’.

Bernie then poured some vodka straight down Terry’s throat. Terry coughed and spluttered and then Bernie poured some more down him.

‘Please Bernie’ Terry pleaded tearfully. ‘If I go back on the booze I’ll go back to the way I was before’.     

‘And what was that, Terry? Will you go back to interfering with little boys and leaving a scar on their emotions forever more, you dirty little perverted piece of scum!’

Bernie then poured more vodka down Terry’s throat. Terry kept coughing and spitting some of it out as his body reacted to not being able to swallow it all properly. But it wasn’t that which was putting the fear of God in him. He’d been an alcoholic since he was a teenager but for five years now he’d been clean. And being clean meant that he’d been able to control his urges when it came to young boys. When his mother died he’d been a different man to the one she’d known and had to protect for so many years. The relief in her eyes had been obvious and he’d been determined never to go back to the kind of hell he’d been through and that he’d put others through. He was a counsellor now. He helped other paedophiles to turn away from their unlawful and sordid ways. He helped them to unearth the shame from deep within them and use it to convince themselves of their wrongdoing. It was like curing someone of any addiction but Terry felt like he was doing something to pay back all the wrong he’d done by helping other men to chase down their demons and destroy them. But getting the taste back for alcohol would destroy all that. Getting his taste for alcohol back would destroy him.

‘I don’t know who killed Bradley Thompson’. Terry was struggling to get his words out. His chest was going up and down as he fought to try to regularize his breathing. Both his hands had curled into fists. He couldn’t go back there. He wasn’t going to go back there.

‘But you talk to all your pervert mates’ said Bernie. ‘And one of them wouldn’t have been able not to boast about his little conquest. If you didn’t do it, Terry, then you know who did’.

‘I don’t know, Bernie!’ Terry insisted. ‘You’ve got to believe me’.

‘I want to know, Terry’.

‘Why do you?’

Bernie looked down pitifully at Terry. ‘Because I have a trade to protect that sometimes you paedo scum interfere with, if you’ll pardon the pun’. His face grew serious as his mind moved onto more difficult territory. ‘And because I have a certain personal interest in this particular case. Now, are you going to tell me who Bradley Thompson’s killer is or are we going to do this the hard way?’

An hour or so later Bernie was standing over Terry Latham who was curled up like a baby on the floor in a hideous state of drunkenness. Bernie had got his thugs to thump Terry hard in the stomach several times and mixed with the vodka, another bottle of which Bernie had opened and poured down Terry’s throat whilst Terry begged him not to, would’ve opened up Terry’s mouth if he’d had anything to tell.

‘What will you do with him now, boss?’ asked John Squires. John had approached Bernie during a meeting of the far-right Albion movement to which they’d both belonged. John had been frustrated with the entire justice system after his brother Tim Ryder had been with having underage sex with a minor and various other counts of paedophilia but then had been allowed to do away with himself before he stood trial. John had also been angry that a gang of Gorton boys had stopped the ambulance carrying his sick mother to the hospital which resulted in her not getting there quickly enough to save her life and nobody was being held to account for it. The police had been useless and John had felt driven to work with someone like Bernie who seemed to be dispensing what real justice should look like.

‘You don’t get squeamish, do you John?’

‘Not really, no’ said John. Somebody had to take the scum off the streets and make them safe for ordinary people again. Somebody had to smash through all the so-called human rights protections that are routinely given out to those who don’t deserve them and if that meant getting a little tough with people then so be it. ‘I saw all of this happening in Rhodesia decades back. It’s the only way to maintain control’.

‘But can I trust you, John?’

‘Of course, boss. What made you think you couldn’t?’

‘Oh nothing’ said Bernie, calmly although he thought it was now time to test John’s loyalty. ‘Get him in the boot of your car, please John. We’re going to take him on a little ride’.

John dragged the body past where Brett Collins was lying in a pool of blood. Bernie asked his other men to take Brett home. He wouldn’t talk anymore if the police came calling again. He’d realised the error of his ways and he knew he’d be back in here if he did and next time he wouldn’t get out alive. 

John followed Bernie’s instructions and drove up to where there was a footbridge that crossed the M62 just beyond the limits of Salford. It was getting on for eleven and there wasn’t anybody about.

‘People are too scared to walk round here this late’ said Bernie. ‘Must be something to do with the levels of crime’.

Two other members of Bernie’s crew had come with them and they helped John get Terry Latham out of the boot of his car. Then they left it to John to drag Terry along the ground until they reached the concrete surface of the bridge. Terry was drunk beyond anything John had seen before. He couldn’t stand up. He was slurring his speech and his eyes were barely open. But then the penny dropped about why he was there and he started to put out a pathetic struggle that wouldn’t have got him anywhere even if he was sober. Bernie gave the nod and John started punching him. Terry was in fit state to fight back and he wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere with John anyway. John was built sturdy and strong. He’d never had any problem taking care of himself. Nursing his injuries as well as his inability to support himself, Terry couldn’t help being dragged to the balcony of the bridge. There was some traffic passing underneath which cracked the stillness of the late hour.

‘Yours has been a sad and sordid little piece of a life, Terry’ said Bernie as John held him as upright as he could. ‘You should thank me for this. I’m releasing you from all the perversions that have always eaten away at you deep down inside. Give my regards to your mother’.

John waited for Bernie to say something else but it was clear what he was meant to do. He wasn’t sure if getting involved in the actual killing of people was what he’d intended to happen when he approached Bernie but he’d be a hypocrite if he squirmed away from it now. Besides he looked at Latham and saw his own brother Tim. He saw all the victims he’d made of young boys over the years and it firmed up his intentions.

‘We haven’t got all night, John’.

Bernie’s tone of voice was soft but it nevertheless sent a shiver down John’s spine. With one hand on the back of his neck and the other pushing upwards with great force between his legs he plunged Terry Latham over the bridge and into the next life. His body bounced off the top of one car and into the path of an articulated lorry that crushed his bones and made sure there would never be any life in him again.

‘Good’ said Bernie. ‘I’m glad you can see things my way all the way if you see what I mean?’

‘I don’t suppose anyone would’ve seen’ said John.

‘Well of course there’s the CCTV’ said Bernie. ‘But it’s not always on. Let’s hope that tonight is one of those nights when it isn’t’. 

. .

SIX   

Adrian drove his daughter Jessica to school in complete silence. Neither of them knew how to bridge the widening gap between them. When he pulled up outside Jessica went to get out but Adrian asked her to stay for a few minutes so they could ‘talk’.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

‘You won’t be late, Jess’ said Adrian.

‘I don’t care if I am or not’ she declared, her arms folded and her face set.

‘Jess, this is not like you’.

‘What isn’t?’

‘This attitude of yours about Kate’.

‘I can’t stand her, Dad’ said Jess, defiantly. ‘Deal with it’.

‘Is that any way to talk to me, Jess?’

‘It is when you’re intent on seeing that bitch’.

Adrian took a deep breath. This wasn’t going how he would have liked it to go. He needed Kate. He needed her to be by his side. For the last few days he’d been hearing Ollie Wright’s words echoing through his mind. There may be a time when he couldn’t help but give in to his other proclivity towards men. But he wasn’t planning on it. If he could make it work with Kate then he might be able to free himself of that other kind of longing. He wasn’t certain. He wasn’t sure. Maybe Ollie’s words would come back and haunt him. But for now he wanted to do everything he could to bring Kate into his life.

‘Was that really called for, Jess?

‘Yes when it comes to her’.

‘Jess … it’s been hard for us all since Mum died, I know that and believe me nobody will ever replace her. But Jess, I’m a Dad and a Mum now to you and your brother and sister. I take the role on gladly because I love you all more than life itself but can’t you give me a break? I need someone, Jess. Not someone who will replace your mother and not someone who will ever be more important than my kids but someone who’s there for me. You’re old enough to be able to understand that. I know you are. You’re also old enough to know that whatever I might end up feeling for Kate is different to what I felt for your Mum and couldn’t in any way detract from what I feel for you and your brother and sister. So give her a chance, Jess. Please? For my sake?’ 

‘I’m promising nothing’ said Jess who then got out the car and stormed off.

Adrian sat there and watched his daughter stomp her way into school. It would make her look very ‘uncool’ amongst her friends if he went after her but he was worried. Had he managed to get through to her but needed to be patient whilst she processed it all and decided to be more reasonable? Or had he just wasted his time and there was more mudslinging to come. She’d been such a sweet little girl. Always there with a smile and a happy face for Daddy. Now Adrian wished, like he suspected most parents did, that children could jump from being twelve to being twenty and bypass all these unpredictable teenage years.

‘Sir?’ Ollie Wright called out as he walked up to Jeff holding a black and grey rucksack. ‘Sir, this is the missing rucksack belonging to Bradley Thompson. It’s got his name stitched inside and a diary together with a change of clothes’.

‘Where was it found, Ollie?’

‘In Gary Mitchell’s shop, sir’ said Ollie. ‘It was in a store cupboard at the back and quite neatly tucked away’.

‘Where nobody would be able to find it easily’ said Jeff, looking at the rucksack and feeling his heart sink. This could be a game changer. But what made it difficult for Jeff was his personal friendship with Gary of several years standing. When Lillie Mae died Gary had been there for Jeff and given him as much of a shoulder as any straight man can to another straight man and usually over several pints in the pub. But he had been there for him. Christ, this was Gary and it looked like he may have murdered an eleven year-old boy who may or may not turn out to have been his son. Jeff wished to God this wasn’t happening.

‘Sir, this could be significant in closing the case’ said Rebecca who was still waiting for Jeff to take her out for that drink he’d promised but who still felt like she couldn’t find her way into him. ‘And we also have the mobile phone records to question Mitchell about’.

‘Well you and Ollie question Gary Mitchell and I’ll watch from the CCTV room’ said Jeff. ‘But take a softer line with Gary. I know him. The more aggressive you are with him the more he won’t give you a bloody inch. And I want you both to understand that I want conclusive answers and cast iron guarantees round every little bit of evidence that points to Gary Mitchell being our murderer’.