Then She Was Gone (37 page)

‘Something happened in their final year,’ Rossi interrupted.

‘See, that’s the thing,’ Vincenzo said, shaking his head. ‘I knew it would come out about her, but she wasn’t the only one, Laura. There were many young girls over
the years with similar stories. She was just the only one that tried to fight back against them. The others . . . they just accepted what happened to them as part of university life
or something. I don’t know. There were one or two who maybe said something, but it was quickly hushed up. Sam and his friends had power from very early on. Their parents were influential, had
friends in high places, the usual bollocks.’

‘Why is she different?’

Vincenzo closed his eyes for a second and looked away. ‘She was the last one, I was determined about that. Turned out, I couldn’t have been more wrong.’

‘We know what Sam Byrne was doing.’

‘He wasn’t exactly discreet about it. That guy was screwed in the head. He would have killed someone eventually. I know it, you know it.’

‘So, what did you do?’

There was a moment when she felt she’d gone too far. Then he spoke.

‘I didn’t do anything about it. That’s why I’m worried about her.’

Murphy could feel the shift in the mood of the incident room. It helped that he’d felt it before, on too many occasions. A sense of losing. There had been a battle going
on all week and there was a feeling that they weren’t winning any of it. The clock was ticking down now – that was another thing they could feel.

It was almost over.

Another photograph was added to the others already displayed on the murder board. Neil Letherby, another name to be crossed off the list.

‘What do we do now?’

It was a question Murphy had heard a few times in the previous hour. He turned to DC Hashem and tried not to shrug in response.

‘We keep looking,’ he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. ‘He’ll be coming to Liverpool. That’s what has happened to the last three. I know
there’s two suicides, but maybe whoever is doing this was worried about being caught. Now, it’s all zeroing in on the city.’

‘I can’t believe they let him get away.’

Murphy didn’t respond, preferring instead to keep his thoughts on the uniforms in Manchester to himself. The call had gone in for Simon Jackson to be placed in protective custody and moved
out of the building. When the uniforms had gone up to his office, he was already gone.

‘Look, there was nothing we could have done . . .’

‘I don’t know about that . . .’

‘Well, that’s the way it is. We offered to take him last night, but he refused. We had people at his workplace, but we can’t have eyes everywhere. This isn’t
over.’

‘What do we do?’

Murphy ran his fingers over his head, caring little how the remaining hair on his head looked once he’d messed it up. ‘We need to work out where Simon Jackson could be.’

‘How do we do that?’

A few minutes later, Murphy was doing the only thing he could think of – going back to the beginning. He was downstairs in the evidence room going through everything they had collected so
far.

‘We’re looking for anything which may give us an idea of some kind of pattern,’ he said, looking over the assembled tables at the young DCs gathered there. ‘I know
it’s a long shot, but at the moment, it’s all we have.’

He waited for them to start going over the crime scenes and the evidence from them, whilst he concentrated on what had been needling him all week.

‘The forensics report for each crime scene is shocking, really,’ DC Hale said, sitting down with a stack of paper in front of him. ‘Just nothing of any use.’

‘Keep going with it,’ DC Kirkham said to him, organising his own pile to go through. ‘You never know what’ll jump out of it.’

Murphy listened to the various conversations around him, staring at the things which had been brought from Sam Byrne’s office. There was something there which had stuck in his mind, but he
couldn’t remember what it was.

‘It strikes me that we’re almost looking for a connection between them all,’ DC Hashem said, walking back to the table as the door closed behind her. Murphy spied the new
folders in her hand, Chris Roberts’s name marked on the top file. Someone must have just delivered it, he thought.

‘We already know the connection, though, don’t we?’ Hashem continued, stopping in the middle of the room for a second, before moving towards the table again.

‘The club at university,’ DC Kirkham said, the pen in his hand travelling up to his mouth.

‘Exactly,’ DC Hashem replied, sitting down at the table and laying the files down in front of her. ‘Did we ever get any information from the university about that?’

‘Nothing useful,’ Murphy said, joining the conversation finally. ‘They acknowledged the existence of it, but said it was unofficial and had nothing to do with the university,
as such. Denied any connection whatsoever.’

‘It still exists though.’

‘Yes, as far as we know . . .’

‘And before you ask,’ DC Kirkham said, cutting in once he’d removed the pen from the corner of his mouth, ‘we did try and speak to current members. No one was very
helpful, though. Me and Mike went over there, but it was all very cloak-and-dagger. They barely even recognised the names we gave them. We crashed one of their meetings. They were more interested
in telling us about the fact they were no longer gathering in the old pub round the corner. They have a whole meeting room thing going on now, at the Old Vic on the campus. The art gallery and
museum place. Even if they did know something, I doubt we’d get any info from them without bringing them into the station and interviewing them under caution.’

‘All those rich boys have a bloody good solicitor on hand, anyway,’ DC Hale said, shaking his head. ‘Not going to get very far there.’

‘Back to the old-fashioned way then,’ Murphy said, returning to the stacks of paper in front of him. ‘See if something here gives us an answer instead.’

Murphy spent the next hour reading through the files garnered from Sam’s office. Most contained correspondence that had no influence on the case. There were a couple of nasty letters,
which he put to one side to make sure they had been followed up on. However, it seemed unlikely that this was all the work of a disgruntled member of the public. A left-wing activist who killed and
dismembered rich Tory boys was probably what certain people were hoping for, but he didn’t think it was going to be the answer here.

There were a number of photographs, which he stacked together. Some were framed, others loose and still in sleeves from a couple of different developers. It was odd to see them again –
everyone seemed to just save their photographs on their phones or computers these days.

‘Where’s the report on Sam Byrne’s computer?’ Murphy asked no one in particular. DC Kirkham’s head popped up first.

‘Think it’s in . . . Ah, here it is. I had a quick scan of it, but Graham was working on it. If he hasn’t mentioned anything, I doubt there was anything
there.’

As if on cue, the door swung backwards and DC Harris wheeled himself into the room.

‘Speak of the devil . . .’ Murphy said, standing up and then sitting back down quickly. He’d once tried to help DC Harris and been given down the banks for it
for the following half hour. He wasn’t about to repeat that mistake again. ‘Just talking about Sam Byrne’s computer. Anything of interest?’

‘Not really,’ DC Harris replied, making his way to an empty spot at the table. ‘Bunch of porn, but I’m not sure that’s anything out of the ordinary. A lot of
“barely legal” stuff, but nothing that doesn’t seem professionally put together, rather than amateur. Usually means the girls are old enough.’

‘What kind of stuff?’ DC Hale said, files in front of him forgotten as he leaned forwards on the table.

‘Mostly nudes. The only stuff of any interest was the harder-edged images. BDSM, that sort of thing. A lot of girls tied up and that sort of thing. Never understood the fascination with
that, to be honest.’

Murphy tuned out as he heard the conversation continue. He was likely to become annoyed with one of them if he carried on listening. Instead, he drew the photographs closer, going through each
one in turn.

It was a minute or so before he found the photograph which had been on the edge of his memory all week. It had been lying in a drawer, rather than hung on the wall like you would expect it
to.

Eight men, all in tailcoats, holding champagne flutes in front of them. Wide grins plastered across their faces.

‘I’ve seen that picture before,’ a voice from beside him said. Murphy turned to see DC Kirkham. ‘It was on Simon Jackson’s wall. That’s what drew my attention
when we were in his office and he was denying being in contact with Byrne.’

Murphy was aware that the voices inside the room had died down and everyone was listening. ‘This frame,’ he said, discarding the packets of photographs and leaving only the framed
pictures on the table, ‘it’s different to all the others.’

‘Older, maybe?’

Murphy hummed in response, but continued to stare at the photograph. Along the bottom edge of the photo, there was something that caught his eye.

‘Pass me the box of gloves, Jack,’ Murphy said, waiting for Kirkham to slide them his way and then putting a pair on. He turned the frame over and undid the clasps on the back,
removing the piece of card which held the photo in place. He turned the frame back round and let the photograph fall onto the table.

‘He’s folded the photograph to make it fit the frame,’ DC Kirkham said, leaning on the table next to him. Murphy straightened out the photograph and read what was inscribed on
the section that had been hidden from view.

Where It All Began – The Abercromby Boys

‘Sir.’

Murphy looked up to see DC Hashem standing on the other side of the table and pointing towards the photograph.

‘There’s something written on the back.’

Murphy turned the photograph, the scrawl of handwriting there now clear to see.

Murphy finished reading, remaining silent as he let everyone take in what was written on the photograph.

‘That’s the same handwriting that was on the note found with Matthew Williams.’

Murphy turned to nod at DC Hashem. He began to formulate a reply but didn’t get a chance to.

‘I think I’ve found out where James Morley is going to be later.’

Murphy faced DC Hale who was holding a flyer of some sort, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘This,’ DC Hale replied, sliding the paper over towards Murphy. He picked it up, reading the simple message written on there.

‘I know where that is,’ DC Kirkham said. ‘Do you think . . .’

‘Everyone, let’s go,’ Murphy said, feeling the rush return. They had it.

‘Where are we going?’ DC Hashem asked no one in particular, looking confused as they moved towards the exit.

Murphy stopped in his tracks at the door, turning swiftly round and looking above everyone’s heads. ‘You know what this means, don’t you?’

DC Kirkham thought for a second, then his mouth dropped open.

‘He’s not going to stop at just the eight men,’ Murphy said, moving out of the door and starting to jog down the corridor. ‘He’s going to end the whole
thing.’

Murphy thought of the place where the men all met up. The Old Vic, the art gallery and museum . . . the cafe downstairs where Jess had suggested to Sarah she should go that
afternoon.

He started running.

Rossi sat in silence, listening as her brother detailed his involvement to that point. Something changed within her as she heard his words wash over her. She knew that things
would never be the same within her family after this was over. That was certain. If her parents found out what she wanted to do, that would be it. She would often shake her head at people who
believed the Mafia films and their stance on
going against the family
. It wasn’t as bad as all that, she would say, downplaying its importance.

It was lies.

What her brother was telling her now would send him to prison – if she chose to tell someone about it. There was no doubt about that.

If
she said anything about what he was saying.

‘I was trying to help her,’ Vincenzo said, lost in the haze between them now. ‘That’s all. It’s the least I could do. We spoke to the girl who Tim was interested
in. She was Polish, trying to get by on her own. She’d been trafficked here or something . . . I wasn’t sure about that part. Anyway, she was more than happy to help. She
was already pregnant before she slept with him.’

‘This is unbelievable . . .’

‘Hazel talked her into the whole thing. There was a big plan. She was going to have the baby, no one would know about it, then she would disappear. Only, the fact that Tim ran away with
the baby made it more difficult. We had to get the little girl back, so I . . . I helped do that.’

‘Why?’ Rossi said, surprised how strong her voice was. ‘Why did you feel you had to?’

‘I could have stopped them. The club. Back at the beginning. Told them it was a bad idea. Or, I could have joined them, brought them down from the inside . . . I don’t
know. I could have done more.’

‘This is unbelievable,’ Rossi repeated once more, running both hands through her hair, wanting to pull on it and scream.

‘You have to help me,’ Vincenzo said, crossing the room and sitting next to her on the sofa. ‘I’ve screwed up, I know that. I don’t know what to do.’