The Dying Place (14 page)

Omega nodded, his perception shifted. ‘Okay. But please, talk these things through with me first.’

He left later that night, wanting to sleep in his own bed. Not on those single, threadbare mattresses back at the farm, but in the nice king-size one he had at home. It wasn’t too late, and he had appointments the following morning anyway.

He needed to keep up appearances, after all.

Reverend Andrew Pearson fiddled with his dog collar in the rear-view mirror and then drove his car away from the farm.

From the place where sin was rife.

12

They’d done a few hours on the Sunday, but there was really no point to it. Murphy had pushed to get more done, but there were no leads. They’d tried the off-licence on the strand in Norris Green, but the owner barely remembered the incident involving Dean, never mind bore a grudge over it. Told them shoplifting happened so often, he only made complaints just to claim on the insurance. Murphy had ended up going home in the early afternoon, losing himself to the match on the radio as he did some more decorating.

It was Monday morning, the effects of the weekend silently leaving the station. The remnants of a busy weekend in town, the logistics of policing the multitude of pubs and clubs becoming almost second nature to most of those working, but still difficult to imagine for anyone who hadn’t experienced it for themselves.

Murphy stood in front of the Dean Hughes board. Examined the limited information posted on there, making sure there was nothing he’d missed. He wasn’t sure what was worse … dealing with pissheads in the city centre, coked-up and looking for a fight, or this.

At least it was only one.

Briefing was set for nine a.m., so Murphy spent an hour in his office reading over the information gleaned from the door-to-door enquiries. More information gathered from those not home the first time around. Nothing there. The body being dumped late at night, not directly in front of any houses, Murphy had expected nothing less. It was still an annoyance, especially with the preponderance of CCTV around the city. No trouble clocking him doing a few miles an hour over forty going down Scottie Road, but they never pointed the bloody cameras at possible body dumps.

‘Anything?’

‘Nada
.’

‘That’s Spanish, but thanks for trying.’

Rossi had arrived twenty minutes after him, bearing gifts of bacon sarnies and fresh coffee. She was in his good books for the day.

‘What’s the Italian then?’

‘
Niente
.’

Murphy pushed away from his desk. ‘I think I prefer the Spanish.’

‘If it wasn’t for the months he was missing, we’d be looking at who he was hanging around with …’

‘We have been.’

‘Not really. The girl he was with last? The one lad already in custody? Both don’t know what he’s been doing. Could have been anywhere, with nothing sinister about it at all. We’ve had that kind of thing before.’

Murphy scratched at his beard. ‘Yeah, but usually there’s a pattern of behaviour before that happens. His mum was shocked he’d gone, thought there was something wrong until the note arrived. And that’s bullshit as well. You don’t fuck off with someone and then send a note months later.’

‘Maybe …’

A knock at the office door interrupted Rossi, the door opening without a response from either of them, and DS Brannon entering.

‘Morning,’ he said, perching himself on the edge of Rossi’s desk, facing Murphy. ‘I’ve spoken to Kevin.’

Murphy gave him a blank stare, Rossi pushing him off her desk.

‘Okay, okay, I’m moving,’ Brannon said, bringing one of the chairs from the DCs’ desks over. ‘Kevin Thornhill. The guy who runs the youth club your scally was seen at.’

‘Right,’ Murphy replied. ‘Good.’

‘Yeah, said we can go around this morning.’

‘
We
?’ Rossi said, disdain dripping forth so much from a single word that even Brannon couldn’t miss it.

‘Yeah. I thought since I know the bloke it was only right that I go with you. Make things easier and that.’

‘Reason not to, if you ask me.’

Murphy held up a hand to stop Brannon arguing back. ‘The three of us are going. We need all the help we can get at the moment.’

Brannon smirked at Rossi, earning a look back which wiped it off his face.

The briefing out of the way, Brannon drove them to the youth club, situated on the outskirts of the Norris Green estate. The long road coming down from Croxteth Park turning from Dwerryhouse Lane to Lower House. The houses behind the main road grouping together to form the estate itself.

Rossi sat behind Murphy, sulking because she had to sit in the back of the car. It was hardly like Murphy could squeeze his bulk in the back, but she’d attempted a small victory by making it difficult for him to slide his chair back enough to stretch his legs out.

‘That actor, David Morrissey, used to go to that school,’ Brannon said, pointing towards De La Salle on the right-hand side. ‘It’s one of those academies now … whatever they are.’

‘Didn’t Rooney go there as well?’ Murphy asked, pulling at a thread on his black trousers. Time to get another suit.

‘Yeah, but he was well after. Guessing you went to Speke Comp?’

Murphy nodded. ‘Gone now, though. Pulled it down a few years back. Just been left to rot. Saw a thing in the
Echo
a year or so back. Bunch of people living there were complaining because they were getting rats.’

Brannon slowed the car, indicating right to pull into Carr Lane East, the church on the corner hiding the youth club behind it. The back of the church faced onto a few small houses – the vicarage, Murphy assumed – and a large building which was opposite. The sign was loud and garish, jaunty colourful writing splashed across the front.

Norris Green Youth Centre.

The club itself was the newest building in the area, completely rebuilt from an existing run-down shack of a place. Murphy recalled the full spread given to the project in the
Liverpool Echo
– the pictures of the people who had backed the project standing proudly next to the first bricks being laid. All victims of crime. Youth crime in particular.

It seemed to be
de rigueur
for the families who had been affected by serious, well-publicised crime to go on to help the community at large. Something for those parents of children lost, or the offspring of older victims, to hold onto, to work towards. A distraction from the reality of grief. Murphy had considered it when his own parents had been murdered; setting something up in their names to keep the memory of them alive, to keep himself going. In the end, he internalised it all, placating his conscience with the thought that his mum and dad would have hated any kind of public display of their deaths. No matter that their murders had been quite the story when they had occurred. Better to let the story die than to keep raking it up.

Murphy got out the car as soon as they’d parked up, eager to stretch his legs and take in a few breaths of fresh air, away from the various smells of fried chicken mixing with greasy burgers emanating from within Brannon’s car. Rossi had done the same, wincing towards Murphy as she looked over the top of the car. ‘You two talk to this Kevin. I’ll have a look around, see if I can jog anyone else’s memories.’

Murphy nodded towards Rossi, letting her walk ahead as he waited for Brannon who was attaching a steering lock inside his car. ‘What are you doing that for? It’s the middle of the day.’

‘I know what it’s like around here. Not taking any chances,’ Brannon replied with a shrug.

‘Like anyone would nick that piece of crap anyway. You need a new car, Tony.’

Brannon gave him a stare as he shut and locked the car door. ‘Not all of us can afford a new car … sir.’

Murphy let him have that one.

Kevin Thornhill met them at the entrance of the youth club and led them towards a short corridor away from the main hall. His office was at the end, a few posters on the walls of the corridor, drugs and sex education in the main. Windows on the other side faced out onto the road, the fields behind the school in view. Murphy kept a few paces behind, allowing Brannon to make small talk with Thornhill.

‘Do you want a drink? We’ve got tea or coffee,’ Thornhill said, as he closed the door behind them.

Murphy shook his head. ‘I’m all right, thanks.’ Brannon did the same after a moment.

‘No problem,’ Thornhill replied, sitting down behind a small desk. The office was roomy enough for two chairs either side, but that was where the space ended. Murphy looked around, impressed by the level of clutter which Thornhill had aspired to.

‘Sorry about the mess. Yearly review is coming up, so I’m up the wall with paperwork, trying to justify costs and that.’ Thornhill turned to Brannon, ‘Just shift that box over if it’s in the way, Tony.’

‘We won’t take up much of your time, Mr Thornhill …’

‘Please, call me Kev,’ Thornhill said, flashing a smile that showed faded white teeth.

‘Okay, Kev,’ Murphy replied. ‘I’m sure DS Brannon has given you a few details of why we wanted to speak to you.’

Thornhill’s smile disappeared in an instant. ‘Yeah, I was shocked to hear about poor Dean.’

‘Well, I’m sure then you’ll be keen to help us with our enquiries?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. When was the last time you saw Dean Hughes?’ Murphy said, removing a notepad from inside his jacket. He loosened his tie as he noticed the heat increase in the cramped office.

‘Would have been last October. About six months ago.’

‘And how was he?’

Thornhill leant back, a hand drifting towards his earlobe. ‘Seemed normal. He was a good lad at heart, but he was always getting himself into trouble it seemed.’

Brannon removed his jacket, placing it over his lap, but stayed silent. Murphy continued, writing down Thornhill’s responses. ‘Did he come here regularly?’

‘A few times a week up until October. We were trying to get him involved with the younger ones. The younger teenagers, I mean. I thought giving him some responsibility would bring him out a bit.’

‘How had Dean taken to that?’

‘Really well, I think,’ Thornhill replied, nodding his head. ‘He was talking about taking a few college courses.’

‘Did he have any problems with anyone here?’

‘Not that I know of, but he could get a bit hot-headed. Usually he calmed down quickly, but he let his frustration show a few times. There’s a few like him who come here. All looking for something to put them back on the straight and narrow. I thought he could make something of himself.’

‘Were there any fights or bust-ups with other lads?’ Brannon said, speaking for the first time.

Thornhill thought for a second. ‘Not that I can remember. We tend to have an argument every day, but it never gets very far. They all know we have a strict policy on that sort of thing.’

‘What is that policy, Kev?’ Murphy said.

‘One chance and you’re out. You get an official warning and if you break it, you’re not allowed back.’

Murphy hummed. ‘Seems a bit harsh …’

‘What you have to remember is that this is supposed to be a place these kids can come and be away from anything like that. If we allow that peace to be broken, they’ll stay away because it’ll be no different than the streets we’re taking them away from. This place has to be special, otherwise there’s no point. Plus, we’re only open because we have a good investor. Can’t be seen to be a soft touch.’

Murphy nodded slowly. ‘It seems to be working out well. I know youth crime is down in the area in the past year.’

Thornhill smiled. ‘Well I can’t take credit for that obviously, but we are very happy with the progress we’ve made.’

‘Who did Dean hang around with here? Any friends he brought in with him?’

‘Yeah, he was always in a group of three or four. He seemed to be the mainstay though. The others dropped in and out.’

‘Names, Kev?’ Brannon said, Murphy writing down the names as Thornhill said them. Names they already knew from Dean’s various social networks and from Amanda’s interview.

‘Anything else you can tell us, Kev? Doesn’t matter how small you think it is, we’re just trying to build up a picture right now. He was gone a long time before he was found.’

Thornhill leant back again, fingers unable to leave his earlobe, pulling on it, stretching it out. ‘I don’t know if it’s important really … it could be nothing.’

Brannon inclined forward in his seat. ‘Kev, give us a hand here mate.’

Thornhill sighed and placed his hands on the desk. ‘About a week after he was here last, someone came looking for Dean. Bit aggressive and that. Nothing we’re not used to. Was moaning on about being owed money.’

‘Did he say anything threatening about Dean?’ Murphy said, looking Thornhill in the eye.

‘Just that … well, it could mean nothing as they’re always throwing this kind of thing around these days … he said Dean was going to be dead when he caught up with him.’

Murphy took out a mugshot of Paul Cooper and showed it to Thornhill. ‘Is this the guy?’

Thornhill looked at the photo for a few seconds and then nodded. ‘Think so. Pretty certain about it.’

Murphy sighed internally. Cooper’s alibi was pretty watertight, so he didn’t think he was involved. Murphy wrote a note to look more into Cooper anyway.

Something wasn’t adding up.

Rossi let the blokes walk away, uninterested in what some youth club manager had to say. Much more interested in what was going on in the main hall.

The layout was much as she expected. A couple of pool tables, lots of chairs, vending machines and what were probably called ‘activity centres’, but were just trestle tables with some large scraps of paper on them. There was a place for younger kids in one corner, a few soft toys for the offspring of teenagers, she imagined.

‘Who are you?’

Rossi turned to find a stout woman in what looked suspiciously like a tabard standing next to her. Pockmarked round face, with limp and languid brown hair. Grey roots showing through. Her eyes told a different story though. Rossi thought they looked like they’d seen some hard times but hadn’t lost any sense of kindness behind them.