Then She Was Gone (22 page)

‘Why didn’t you tell anyone what happened to you, Vicky?’ DC Hashem said, notepad forgotten now as she leaned forwards with her elbows on her knees. Murphy could see she wanted
to reach out and touch the young woman, but there was no chance of that happening.

‘Apart from the fact he threatened me? Who would have believed me? I went to the hospital, but didn’t really tell them anything and they weren’t interested in knowing. I found
out who he was a day or two later, when I was still in two minds about what to do. I knew I wouldn’t have stood a chance. I went to his apartment by choice, took his money, and that was it. I
would have been laughed out of your place. Even if I was a normal girl he would have still won. His type always do.’

Murphy wanted to argue with her, but found it difficult to disagree. No matter his personal feelings on the matter – he would have a very different form of justice for any man who did what
Sam Byrne obviously enjoyed doing – the fact remained that it became an argument between two sides. When you factored in that only six per cent of rape cases reported actually resulted in a
conviction, it was clear which side was winning.

He gripped the side of the sofa a little harder and wondered if it would be better to let Sam Byrne rot, rather than waste his time finding his murderer.

*    *    *

Rossi waited for Simon Jackson to formulate a response to DC Kirkham’s question, trying to keep a sly smile from passing her lips. The young man was floundering, beginning
to speak, before stopping himself and trying again.

‘It’s a very simple question, Mr Jackson,’ Rossi said, standing up and walking past him and over to the wall. ‘Why would you keep a photograph of yourself with our murder
victim hanging up on your wall if he was just an acquaintance you had little to do with?’

‘I . . . I don’t know.’

‘Oh, come on, you can do better than that. You don’t get to the position you’re in here, with a lovely wife and young child to boot, if you can’t answer easy
questions.’

‘I like to keep things. For sentimental reasons.’

‘You think of Sam Byrne in a sentimental way? That’s a little surprising given what you’ve said so far.’ Rossi was closer to him now and could see the beads of sweat
start to form on his forehead. She lifted the photograph off its hook on the wall and looked at it more closely. Sam Byrne was centre stage, dressed in black tailcoats and wearing a large bow tie.
The rest of the group were similarly attired, all wearing the same uniform.

‘That’s you there, isn’t it?’ Rossi said, moving to Jackson’s side and holding the photograph at his eye level. She could see his breathing become shorter and
heavier. ‘Right next to Sam Byrne. Nice outfit.’

‘Do I need to have someone here?’ Jackson said, noticeably paler now. ‘I’m not being accused of having anything to do with what happened to Sam, am I?’

‘Of course not,’ Rossi said, moving away from him and taking her seat, still holding onto the photograph. ‘As long as you tell us the truth from now on, I won’t take your
lies as evidence that you are trying to hide your involvement in my investigation. Sound fair?’

Jackson swallowed and wiped a sleeve across his brow. ‘OK, that’s fine.’

‘Let’s start with the rest of the people in this photograph. Can you tell me their names?’

‘Starting from the left,’ Jackson said, leaning forwards as Rossi placed a finger underneath each face. ‘That’s Paul Wright, James Morley, Timothy Johnson, myself, Neil
Letherby, Sam, Matthew Williams, and Christopher Roberts. Eight of us. We were the original members. More joined later.’

‘And what is this? Some kind of club?’

‘Of a sort, yes,’ Jackson replied, some colour returning to his cheeks now. ‘We met in the first months of university. We had something in common, all of us, in that we were
supposed to be elsewhere. Our families had all had high expectations for us, Oxford or Cambridge, that sort of thing. We’d all been privately educated, but not applied ourselves enough to
join the elite. So, we created an elite ourselves.’

‘And what did you do in this club?’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary. We held parties, helped each other out in our respective studies, that sort of thing.’

‘Why would you pretend not to be close to someone you were patently very involved with?’ DC Kirkham said, looking up with his pen in hand. ‘That doesn’t make much sense
to me.’

‘I . . . I panicked. That’s all. I have a highly pressured job here. I can’t have anything like this going on around me. I don’t want to be involved in
things of this sort. It was all such a long time ago.’

‘We’re talking a few years here,’ Rossi said, growing impatient with Jackson’s explanations. ‘It’s hardly like you haven’t seen each other in decades.
You’re not old men reflecting on a youth gone wrong. This is recent enough that you need to be upfront with us.’

‘I understand.’

‘When was the last time you saw Sam?’

Jackson hesitated, the colour draining from his face as quickly as it had returned. ‘Years ago. Probably about the time when we graduated . . .’

‘I hope you don’t play poker,’ Rossi said, giving Jackson a stare. ‘You have a terrible tell when you’re lying.’

Jackson didn’t say anything at first. Rossi remained mute, waiting for him to speak first.

‘I’ve seen him a couple of times since then, but not for anything more than a brief catch up. The group of us would check in from time to time, but honestly, I have no idea how this
has happened to him. I have nothing to do with that, no involvement whatsoever.’

Rossi somewhat believed the latter part, but there was something about the beginning of the sentence which didn’t ring true.

‘Just a catch up? Nothing more than that?’

‘Nothing,’ Jackson replied, his voice quieter. ‘We all went our separate ways after graduation. I couldn’t tell you anything about his life now, other than what I have
read in the papers. A Tory MP in Liverpool . . . that would have been something.’

‘It would have been something all right,’ Rossi said, sniffing at the thought. ‘How about any of the others?’

‘The same. An occasional email or text. Christmas cards, that sort of thing.’

‘There’s nothing else you think we should know?’ DC Kirkham said, pen poised in the air, pointing directly at Jackson. ‘Anything that will help us in this enquiry? I
don’t really want to have to come back here.’

Jackson shook his head slowly, but Rossi wasn’t convinced by the performance.

‘Here’s my card,’ Rossi said, placing her details on his desk in front of him. ‘If you remember anything else, if there’s something you want to tell us later, get
in touch.’

‘I will, of course,’ Jackson said, reaching across and picking up the card. ‘Huh, that’s funny.’

‘What is?’

‘I knew a Rossi, or something similar sounding anyway. Back in first year, he came to a couple of the meetings. Could have been Roserto or Roberto. Rossini? Something like that, I think.
Can’t imagine there are many Italians in Liverpool.’

‘More than you think,’ Rossi said, her pulse quickening. She glanced at DC Kirkham, who was busy packing up his stuff. ‘Used to be a little Italy near Lime Street, you
know.’

‘Hmmm,’ Jackson said, his brow furrowing as his face creased up in concentration. ‘His name was Vincent or Victor. One of the two.’

‘Can’t help you,’ Rossi said, heart hammering against her chest. ‘Well, I think we have enough here, don’t you, Jack?’

Kirkham looked at Rossi then at Jackson, frowning a little. ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

‘If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch,’ Rossi said, standing up and turning to face Jackson. She shook his proffered his hand. ‘You have been very
helpful.’

‘I’ll send something to the family. It seems right to.’

Rossi was already halfway out the door and didn’t respond. She was too busy wondering what her brother had become involved in. Her heart rate didn’t decrease as they made their way
to the car, or on the drive back into Liverpool. Just the single thought running over and over in her mind.

Don’t be involved in this, Vincenzo. Don’t be involved in this.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they had all reconvened back at the station. Murphy was chewing on the last bit of his sandwich, putting off the inevitable march over to DCI
Stephens’s office and presenting the mess of the case they had so far.

‘At least we have names to go through now,’ Rossi said across the desk to him. Murphy was still a little annoyed by her lateness that morning, but was more concerned by what he was
sensing from her now. There was something going on behind the DS’s eyes, but he couldn’t work out what it was.

‘That’s definitely an avenue to explore,’ Murphy said, putting his suspicion to one side. There was more to worry about right now. ‘Along with the fifteen million other
things that seem to be going on.’

‘No suspect, though,’ Rossi replied, swiping her hair away from her face. ‘That’s an issue.’

‘You’re telling me. All we seem to have at the moment is a bunch of blokes looking like dickheads in bow ties, a girl turning up at the parents of the victim saying she’s been
raped, and a sex worker explaining in great, horrible detail how her blood turned up at his apartment. I wouldn’t exactly be surprised if this whole thing started to get worse before it got
better.’

‘One thing at a time? The usual?’

‘The usual, yeah,’ Murphy replied, gathering his notes up and accepting the inevitable. ‘I’ll speak to the boss and then we’ll have a gathering.’

‘A gathering? I like that. Makes it sound like we’re going to have an office party or something.’

‘You supply the vol-au-vents, I’ll bring the cheese and pineapple on the sticks.’

Rossi laughed, but it was only on the surface. There was definitely something going on, Murphy thought, but he put it down to relationship issues again. He stood up and made his way over to DCI
Stephens’s office, taking in a deep breath before knocking and entering.

‘David, what’s the latest?’

No preamble, straight into it. Murphy usually preferred that, but at that moment he was hoping for at least a few more seconds to try and make sense of what he was about to say. No such
luck.

‘It’s all a bit of a mess,’ Murphy said, deciding honesty was the best course of action. ‘I know more about this guy, but none of it’s pretty.’

‘Let me have it,’ DCI Stephens said, leaning forwards on her desk, fingers intertwined in front of her.

Murphy gave her the whole lot, every detail they had discovered so far. He paused every now and again to answer a question or three from DCI Stephens. When he had finished, she looked as
confused as he felt.

‘So, he was a bastard.’

It was a statement rather than a question, but Murphy still replied. ‘Seems to be that way. I’m guessing he was picking up prostitutes and treating them in the same manner as the one
we spoke to earlier. Must have been his thing.’

‘Everyone has something.’

‘Yeah, well this is a bit different. Regards how it plays into his murder . . . I can’t say yet.’

‘Working theory?’

Murphy pursed his lips and sucked on his teeth. ‘Could be that he got involved with the wrong sex worker. Someone took exception to the way in which he used them for what he wanted. This
is strong violence being used against them, after all. Laura knows a woman caught on camera nearby on the night we think he went missing. We’re trying to track her down as we speak. Uniforms
knocked at last known address, but there was no answer. There’s also the question about the girl who turned up at Sam Byrne’s parents’ house.’

‘Said she was raped,’ DCI Stephens said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. ‘Possible that it could be a revenge for that?’

‘If we have learned anything recently, we should be open to any possibility.’

‘True enough,’ DCI Stephens said, looking past Murphy at the wall behind him. ‘You know Butler isn’t going to like any of this, right?’

‘With all due respect, boss, I’m not really bothered what he thinks about what we uncover.’

‘Yeah, well, I think we both know he’ll want to keep as much of this out of the press as possible.’

‘Not my call,’ Murphy replied, shifting in his seat and glancing towards the door. ‘It won’t come from me, unless we need it to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, for example, if we decide it is something to do with what was happening at that apartment, we’ll need to speak to anyone who may have experienced what the others have. In that
case, we’ll have to put out a call for more witnesses.’

‘Yes, we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Do we have any kind of timeline yet? Maybe that’ll narrow things down a bit more.’

‘We have a working model of one,’ Murphy said, thinking of the dates and times marked up on the murder board, hardly any of which had been confirmed. ‘To be honest, we’re
in the dark regarding most of his movements since Friday last week. ANPR didn’t pick up his car until yesterday morning, which could mean he was either driving around out of sight, or his car
didn’t move for four days.’

‘Last seen leaving the office on Thursday, not seen at his house in the meantime?’

‘Uniforms visited his neighbours up there, but they hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. To be fair, the houses are so set apart that it doesn’t surprise me. It’s
not likely that you would notice your neighbours coming and going at all.’

‘We do have a mess here, don’t we?’

Murphy went to reply, then thought better of it. ‘Best we can do is wait for forensics to come back on the body. Post mortem wasn’t much help, but we haven’t had anything back
from them yet. Let’s hope there’s something there that gives us a new lead.’

‘I think we have more than enough here to start shaping the investigation. Tell me more about this university thing.’

‘Well, this is more Laura’s wheelhouse,’ Murphy said, glancing towards the door once more, wondering if he should pull her in. ‘There was some sort of club that he was a
part of, which apparently gained a bit of a reputation. Laura seems to think there’s more to it, but I’m not sure how it will relate to this case now.’