Then She Was Gone (35 page)

Murphy turned towards DC Harris’s voice, rubbing a hand over his face as he did so. ‘Yeah, we are. We can’t find him, so do you have a better idea?’

‘Not really,’ DC Harris replied, making a face like he was sucking a lemon and couldn’t decide if he liked it. ‘Just feels wrong. What does Laura say about it?’

‘Laura has nothing to do with the case now,’ Murphy said, then held up a hand in apology. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you. Look, this is difficult, I know, but we have to
cover our arses big time here. Everything has to be done as it normally would. What would we do usually in this position?’

‘Release his information,’ DC Harris said, after thinking about it for a few seconds. His tone was that of a teenager giving into a parent on a point. ‘Still seems
wrong.’

‘Of course it does. That can’t have an effect on what we do, though. Once this is all over, she’ll be back working with us, and she will want to know we did everything we
could.’

‘Unless her brother does have something to do with all this and we never see her again.’

Murphy didn’t even want to consider that outcome. It would colour everything about his work. He needed Rossi, more than he’d realised in the past. ‘We’ll cross that
bridge if and when it’s built and in front of us.’

‘What about the girl?’

‘Hazel Jones,’ Murphy said, finding himself saying what Rossi would have done in response. ‘She has a name.’

‘Of course she does,’ DC Harris said, shaking his head a little. ‘What are we supposed to do about her?’

‘Finding out where she is would be a good start. There’s obviously some connection, once we start looking at everything logically.’

‘You know, we could only find one other man from that list so far.’

Murphy swallowed, aware of the overnight update. ‘Simon Jackson. What are we doing for him?’

‘We’ve got uniforms by his workplace, but he’s eager to carry on as normal.’

‘What about Neil Letherby and James Morley? Any idea if they have been found yet?’

DC Harris hesitated, which was never a good sign in Murphy’s experience. ‘James Morley – we’ve left messages with his work and at home. He lives on his own, which is a
ball ache. Neil Letherby – we’ve got a little bit on. He has a partner, but she hasn’t seen him since he left for work yesterday morning.’

Murphy bit down on his lower lip. ‘Is that something that happens often?’

There didn’t need to be a response from DC Harris, Murphy knew the answer before it was given. The story was too similar to Matthew Williams’s one. And he was currently decomposing
in the morgue.

‘There’s still a chance that he’s out there somewhere and just hasn’t let his partner know. But, no, it’s not normal behaviour, apparently. We’ve been trying
to call his phone, but it just goes straight through to voicemail. Overnight team tried him a number of times. All logged.’

‘Put a trace on the last time it was on and pinged off a tower. He lives where?’

‘Somewhere north of here . . . Lancaster, apparently.’

‘And he had no reason to be anywhere near Liverpool yesterday? Tell me you’ve checked that?’

‘We have,’ DC Harris said, moving papers around his desk and finding his notes. ‘No, we checked with his work and he called in saying he would be late. Hasn’t been seen
since.’

‘Right,’ Murphy replied, getting that familiar sinking feeling. ‘So, if his mobile is anywhere near this city, that’s when we start worrying. For now, let’s not get
ahead of ourselves.’

He was already ahead of himself, though. He was seeing where this was going.

It was going to end soon. He knew that. Mainly because there wouldn’t be any more names on that list to save.

Four dead. One in prison for life. Three left to keep safe.

The woods were far enough away from the main road leading up towards the northern towns of Formby and Great Altcar to feel like a foreign land. Wide open spaces of farmland,
surrounded by thick, dense woodland, with an A road winding its way through it.

Traffic noise was audible, but only if you were trying to hear it. Otherwise, it was peaceful – serene. The odd bird chirping, wind rippling through the trees, the crunch of branches
underfoot, as they trampled through to the small clearing ahead. Murphy stopped and stared at the tree that stood in the centre.

‘It’s like an altar,’ DC Kirkham said from beside him. ‘Like it was meant to be here for this purpose.’

Murphy chose not to speak, taking in the scene in front of him.

The browned and blackened burnt wreck of a person took up much of his attention. It hung pitifully from the tree by a chain around its waist, as if it were in the middle of touching its toes
before the fire which had destroyed it took hold. The smell of burning flesh still hung in the air, mixed with smoke and petrol. There was a scorched patch of ground a few feet from the tree.

So far, only he and DC Kirkham had been able to handle looking at the body for any period of time. The sight of the charred remains had already cost them a few uniforms, and DC Hale had bolted
from the clearing saying he’d check that there were no members of the public in the vicinity, but Murphy had known the truth.

‘Corpse sniffer?’

Murphy turned towards DC Kirkham and nodded. ‘We’d already found out that his phone was switched off in this area, so it would only have been a matter of time.’

‘Is this private land?’

‘Think so, but it’s not exactly off-limits. There’s only a few footpaths, so you can walk through here without even realising. Uniforms have already spoken to the
woman.’

DC Kirkham walked away, probably to find the uniforms who had spoken to the female dog-walker who had discovered the body. Another example of the public being involved in the discovery of
crimes, without having any intention of doing so. It was enough of a cliche that it put Murphy off ever wanting to own a dog. He could do without finding a dead body whilst out walking the damn
thing.

‘Christ . . .’

Murphy turned towards the voice behind him. Dr Houghton was standing a few steps away, taking in the scene, much as Murphy had, eyes locked on the body hanging from the tree.

‘It must be bad,’ Murphy said, taking a step back to allow Dr Houghton to move past him. ‘Never heard you invoke His name at a crime scene before.’

‘There’s something about fire which always gets to me, David.’

‘I know what you mean.’

Dr Houghton stood closer to the body, hands on his hips as he surveyed what was left behind. Forensic techs moved into view, none of the usual joviality and gallows humour on display. Even the
scattered uniforms were keeping themselves to themselves, the eerie stillness of the area remaining undisturbed despite the increasing number of people descending on the scene.

DC Kirkham reappeared, moving to Murphy’s side and looking towards the clearing without speaking.

‘How is she doing?’ Murphy said, leading DC Kirkham further away.

‘They’ve called an ambulance for her,’ DC Kirkham said, taking one last look behind him before trudging off in step with Murphy. ‘She’s in shock. It’s about
the last thing you’d expect to walk into. They’ve managed to get out of her that she usually walks the dog this way every mid-morning. She called it in straight away and didn’t
get too close.’

‘She knew what she was looking at then?’

‘I would say so,’ DC Kirkham replied, shoving his hands in his pockets as they came to a stop a few more feet away. They came to a halt on a narrow path, dense woodland surrounding
them, leaving little room for the two of them to stand comfortably. ‘The smell probably didn’t help matters.’

‘She didn’t see anything, I’m guessing?’

‘Not that they’ve managed to get out of her yet. But I can’t imagine anyone hanging around long after doing something like this.’

‘We’re isolated enough that I doubt anyone even saw the fire when it was going,’ Murphy said, peering through the trees. ‘I think the nearest house is over the next
field.’ He pointed in what he thought was the right direction, but wasn’t entirely sure.

‘How did the fire go out?’ DC Kirkham said, joining Murphy at the top of the small bank he had ascended to get a better look at the surrounding woodland. ‘Could have burned
down a fair few trees, which would have made it easier to notice. Seems like it was all contained in one area.’

‘Just the tree and the surrounding patch of grass . . . good question. I doubt whoever did this brought a hose with them.’

‘Could just be the way it was done. I don’t know. I haven’t exactly come across something like this before.’

Murphy stepped back onto the path, glancing back towards the clearing, before walking away further. ‘About seven or eight years ago I worked something similar. A homeless guy, beaten up
and then rolled onto a bonfire. We lifted the lad who did it within a few hours. Just a kid. Teenager, who had a history of trouble. He’d run away from a foster home and met with this guy,
smoked his cigarettes and shared a can with him. Then beat the shit out of him, for no reason we could find. It was bommy night, so a few people were watching this bonfire still going at about one
in the morning. The homeless guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. We could never find out if he was still conscious when he was set on fire, but they suspected so. Always hoped the
beating was enough, you know.’

‘Doesn’t bear thinking about,’ DC Kirkham said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘The one way I don’t want to go.’

‘I don’t think we get much choice in the matter.’

DC Kirkham was about to reply, but then seemed to change his mind. He brushed a shoe across some loose soil and turned his head towards the trees. ‘Two left then. What, with Tim Johnson in
prison. Can’t imagine it would be easy to get to him in there.’

‘Get on the phone to the uniforms watching Simon Jackson. I don’t care what we have to do, just get him out of that building and into safe custody. Hopefully we catch whoever it is
trying to get to him.’

‘Yes sir,’ DC Kirkham said, snapping off his gloves.

Murphy watched the forensic techs continue to work the scene. ‘James Morley – what do we know about him?’

DC Kirkham huffed out a breath. ‘Not much really. He’s another one who moved back down south after graduating from university here. We’re struggling to find him, but
there’s nothing to suggest he’s in the area.’

‘Keep on it,’ Murphy replied, pulling out his phone and checking the time. ‘This feels like the end game now. Two bodies in two days means whoever we’re looking for has
escalated. Started to panic maybe. Means we’re close.’

He waited for DC Kirkham to leave his side before reading the message from Sarah which had buzzed through just before he pulled out his phone.

Hope all is OK. Off to the uni. Will see you at home later. xx

He fired off a quick reply, then pocketed his phone and felt a little buzz of adrenaline.

It really was the end game, he thought. Four days after being told to look into the disappearance of a local prospective MP, he now had three bodies  . . . the investigation had
moved in ways he could never have predicted.

That was the way of things. Nothing was ever as it seemed.

He thought of the three remaining men, the last surviving founding members of the Abercromby Boys Club, and wondered if they understood what was hurtling towards them. Tim Johnson secure in
prison, but the other two less safe.

He considered whether they had always suspected this would happen one day.

There was a part of him which admired the simplistic vision of revenge that was being enacted upon them. An act of vengeance they couldn’t escape.

Murphy shoved his hands in his coat pockets and shook his head at the futility of it all. Wished not for the first time that he could choose who the victims were, so it made his life just a
little easier.

In a way, it was no different from Jess having to defend the worst of humankind. He was currently tasked with stopping someone who was only cleaning up a mess that had been allowed to fester
over the years.

If he could provide justice to only those who deserved it most, his job would be a simple one. Instead, he put his head down and trudged back to the latest crime scene and kept going.

You know how this began. You’re beginning to see how this will all end.

You check the information again, wondering if fate is real after all. James Morley, back where it all started.

You think of him, wondering if he will know what your intentions are as soon as you walk into the room.

It doesn’t matter to you really. It will almost be the end. One last name, once James Morley is no more.

You watched a man burn to death just a few hours ago. Led him to his death, tied him up to a tree, then covered him in petrol. Lay a trail to a few feet away, where you could start the fire
without worrying about your own safety.

You wonder if it would have been better to have died with that man in those woods, burning alongside him.

Death scares you. You know that’s normal. We all fear the only inevitable thing in our lives. You’re no different. You wonder what is on the other side.

You wonder if you have made a difference.

You think of Tim Johnson, rotting in that prison cell. You wish he was dead now. You wish your list could be complete, with none of them ever breathing again. You regret not killing him. In some
ways, you wish he had been found not guilty. Once he was convicted, it was done. You had no chance.

Prison is a slow death.

Tim Johnson will never accept responsibility. He will never get out.

You used to lie awake at night, trying to envisage a future where you wouldn’t be plagued by nightmares as soon as you shut your eyes. You feel you might be closer now. That you will soon
be able to be at peace with everything that happened. That it will no longer haunt you.

There are two names left on your battered list. Two birdies. You need just the one stone.

You have peered into windows, late at night, trying to listen to what they were doing. You have witnessed them take women back home. Stayed until the next morning, just to make sure they
reappear.