Authors: Luca Veste
‘The couple hadn’t seen him either?’
‘George – that’s the tall one according to my notes – remembers seeing someone he didn’t recognise one day going up the stairs ahead of him. He wasn’t sure if
it was someone who was visiting at first, but then he saw him picking up post from the pigeonhole downstairs another time. Didn’t get a good look at him, so wasn’t sure who he was.
James – the short one, obviously – he has never seen him at all, but now knows all about it, of course. Has hundreds of followers on Twitter and Instagram apparently. Not sure why he
felt the need to tell me that . . .’
‘Right, good,’ Murphy said, making his way down to the bottom level. ‘Not about it being all over social media, of course, but at least we have a general framework to work
with. I want you to go back to the station and start writing that up and we’ll meet you back there. Get Graham to look at CCTV in the area and pull everything for the past seven days. Tell
him to be prepared to go back further. We’re working on a theory that he went missing Thursday night, as that’s the last time anyone saw him, but we need a complete picture of his
movements around here in the days leading up to it and after.’
‘Yes, sir,’ DC Kirkham said, putting away his notepad and standing up straight. ‘Anything else?’
Murphy shook his head and watched him leave. In the time he’d spent talking to Claire, the young detective constable had visited three places. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a
bad thing. He dithered for a second, unable to decide between waiting for Rossi in the car or in the lobby of the building. He settled for the latter.
‘I miss uni,’ Rossi said, closing the door of flat number three behind her. ‘The hours, damn I miss those hours.’
Murphy checked his watch. Only seven minutes waiting. Not bad. His patience was getting better. ‘Anything?’
‘Not much,’ Rossi said, following Murphy out of the building and onto the street. She waited for him to open the car and climbed inside before continuing. ‘Flat one was out.
Flat two wouldn’t put his phone down long enough to speak to me, even after I asked nicely. So I asked not so nicely and he told me he knew who Sam Byrne was and that he had seen him in the
building on a few occasions. Thought he was just visiting someone, though. An old friend or something, he thought. I think he’s the one who has been talking nonstop online about our
activities here. A uniform has tipped him the wink. The residents were milling about last night in the hallways, while forensics were doing their job, so one of them must have known Sam stayed in
the flat.’
‘That’ll be flat seven – Claire. Lives opposite Sam’s place. I spoke to her.’
‘Right,’ Rossi said, waiting a few seconds to see if Murphy was going to continue, but he kept quiet for now. ‘Flat three didn’t know a thing, but I don’t think
they’d notice anything happening from any distance further than the end of their noses. No idea what they’re doing at university. Can’t see that ending well for them. Thick as
bloody pig . . .’
Murphy waited for Rossi to finish ranting, which took a while as she went from speaking English to Italian halfway through a sentence.
‘There’s not enough to go on,’ Rossi said, once she’d finished. ‘Byrne’s missing under suspicious circumstances, but I don’t see a threat to life here.
Unless you got any more on your floor?’
Murphy told Rossi what he’d learned from Claire, throwing in DC Kirkham’s results as he did so. Once he’d finished, they both sat in the car watching the forensic officers exit
the building, packing up their white van.
‘Think they’ll have the answer?’ Rossi said, turning towards Murphy.
He thought for a second and then shrugged his shoulders. ‘No idea. I’m still not sure what’s going on here. Everything points to something happening to him, but we don’t
have a single concrete idea what that could be.’
‘We were told about this less than twenty-four hours ago, so maybe we’re just not seeing it yet.’
Murphy murmured an agreement, lifting the radio out of its cradle as it crackled to life. DCI Stephens’s voice filled the car, making Rossi reach across and turn down the volume a
little.
‘David, is Laura with you?’
‘I am,’ Rossi said, her brow creasing as she frowned at the mention of her name. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yeah, just wanted to make sure. I want to let you both know that DSI Butler will be making a public statement regarding Sam Byrne in the next thirty minutes. Couple of the broadsheets
have taken an interest in his disappearance, so a discussion has been had with the parents. They’ll be releasing their own statement at the same time. I guess we can’t keep things quiet
very long in the current climate.’
‘I hope you know it was none of us that released this info,’ Murphy said, hoping the edge to his voice was coming across on the radio. ‘We kept it as quiet as
possible.’
‘I know that, David. It was never going to be a secret once we got involved. That’s the nature of things, no matter what some people think.’
Murphy mouthed the word ‘Butler’ towards Rossi who rolled her eyes in response.
‘How are you getting on at this flat he rented?’
Murphy updated her on the morning’s activity. ‘Here’s Jack now,’ DCI Stephens interrupted as Murphy summarised DC Kirkham’s interview highlights. ‘He has his
determined look on,’ she said.
‘I gave him a couple of tasks to sort out,’ Murphy said, glancing at Rossi who was already staring out the side window at nothing in particular. ‘Listen, is there anything
we’re not aware of here? We’ve found certain things at this flat, which don’t exactly match up with what we know about Byrne so far. Anything that’ll surprise us down the
line that we could be told about now?’
There wasn’t an immediate answer, just radio silence, which made Rossi turn her head a little. Finally, DCI Stephens spoke.
‘Let’s talk more later. Nothing to worry about at the moment. Just keep on with what you’re doing for now.’
She finished the call, leaving Murphy with a quizzical look on his face.
‘A flat he tries to hide,’ Murphy said, extending a hand and ticking off items with a finger. ‘Which doesn’t look lived in, with a bedroom that looks like a torture
chamber, complete with blood and whatever else stains. A neighbour who has heard screams and seen crying women in the hallway. Yet, he’s the one that’s reported missing. It’s four
days before we’re brought into it. He’s in the public eye, possibly about to become a Member of Parliament. His car disappears but nothing else. Except maybe his laptop. What the hell
is going on here?’
Rossi shaped as if to answer, then stopped herself. Murphy waited, one hand now on the steering wheel.
‘My best guess?’
‘Go on,’ Murphy said, wondering if hers matched his at all. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘This was a place he didn’t want anyone finding out about. He was doing something here. This wasn’t a one-off thing, he’s had this flat a while. He’s in the public
eye now, so he’s kept it hidden, but something drove him back here. I’m thinking someone found out about it and what he does.’
‘And that’ll be what is key here,’ Murphy said, finishing the thought. ‘Finding out what he does here and why. Then we’ll be getting somewhere.’
Thirty minutes later, they were back at the station, gathering the few officers and detectives who had found themselves attached to the case. Murphy watched the television on the wall as DSI
Butler gave his statement live on the news channel.
‘
All our efforts are being directed towards finding Sam Byrne safe and unharmed
. . .’
‘Talk about an overestimation on numbers,’ Murphy said, his voice almost a whisper as he talked to himself. ‘We barely have half a dozen people on this.’
‘It’s hardly a big case, though,’ DC Hale said, sidling closer to Murphy. ‘Some bloke who has gone missing, that’s all.’
‘Which is why we have our DSI giving statements from his ivory tower and a MCU working the case?’
DC Hale started to reply, then kept his mouth shut. Murphy looked him over and waited for another remark, but it didn’t come. He didn’t bother giving him any more time to change his
mind and instead turned to the others who had been watching silently behind him.
‘I know missing cases are usually a ball ache and best avoided, but you’ve all heard by now who it is and who is giving statements on our behalf.’
There were a few turned heads and whispered words.
‘That means we’re going to be on the clock. It also means that within hours we’re going to be under scrutiny from the outside again. Sam Byrne was a prospective MP, ahead in
local polls and well liked within the community he wanted to represent. He was a Tory . . .’
There were a couple of heckles at that, but Murphy carried on as if he hadn’t heard them.
‘. . . which means he must be doing something right if he was about to be elected in this city, of all places. I want you out there, finding out what the real feeling was
about him, whether he had anyone stridently against him, things like that. We have one full name for a friend, and a whole bunch of first names. I want a couple of you combing through his social
media accounts to find out who these people are.’
There was a noise towards the back of the incident room, the sound of a phone slamming down. Murphy looked past a few heads to see DC Kirkham waving at him.
‘What’s going on, Jack?’ Murphy said, making his way towards the DC.
‘They’ve just found Sam Byrne’s car by the Rocket.’
‘Not exactly gone far then . . .’
‘Not just that,’ DC Kirkham said with a smirk, then looking past Murphy at the rest of the incident room. All eyes were on him. ‘It’s parked up just off the dual
carriageway, near the bypass. Someone has just called it in.’
‘Right, well, now we have his vehicle at least–’
‘I haven’t finished,’ DC Kirkham interrupted, still not showing any impatience. ‘There’s someone inside it. A body.’
Murphy felt his stomach drop a few floors.
It wasn’t the university they were supposed to attend, but it wouldn’t matter much. Some of them had careers already mapped out in front of them. Sam Byrne would be
an MP like his father. Simon would join a legal firm. James would work with his father in the City, moving back down to London. Tim was more single-minded about being his own boss and wanted to
create his own company – helped by family money, of course.
They would all be successful. That much was certain.
Sam was the catalyst. The creator. They didn’t even need to be from the same background really, simply the same mindset as him.
Ambitious, greedy, selfish and committed.
He had contacts before arriving, secured by his father, so he knew two fellow politics students would be in his group. He would target economics and business students next.
They had some local flavour, provided by a mature student, a few years older and wiser. He wasn’t pure-bred British, but he was in there at the beginning. A history student who was trying
to make something better of his life.
They were an exclusive band of eight by the end of the first semester, but Sam had further plans to recruit more. They would be the ‘grandmasters’. Others who joined, they would be
less important. The local pub provided the backdrop to what would become the official moment the Abercromby Boys Club began.
‘There are points of order we must adhere to if we are to ensure our survival. Firstly, no one discusses the group with outsiders.’
‘The first rule of Abercromby Boys Club is we don’t talk about Abercromby Boys Club . . .’
‘Very funny, Tim. Let’s be serious here. There won’t be many people outside of this room who will understand what we’re doing here. There will be
people who castigate us and try to shut us down. We must not break the code.’
‘Are we sure about the name? Only it’s the same as that clothing brand in America.’
‘It took hours to agree on that one. Let’s not go through that again. The university is situated on Abercromby Square. It makes sense.’
‘Fine, fine, what’s the second rule?’
‘We must exert our influence over the many. We may only be eight strong at the moment, but we must act as if we have the influence and power of eight thousand. We are
the forebears of what will become a long-lasting group. We will pass on our wisdom to others. Next year we will become the welcoming party for a new batch of intakes. This is the beginning,
gentlemen.’
‘Bullingdon Club for the north. I’m sure that’ll go down well in the south.’
‘We’re going to be better than them. For one, we won’t have any of the bizarre initiations they have down there.’
I heard you have to do something with a dead pig.’
‘That’s just rumours. My dad would never have fucked an animal.’
‘Well, that won’t be happening here . . .’
‘That’s a shame. That’s the only reason I turned up.’
‘Tim, enough with the jokes. We will have rituals, but they will be proper ones. They will be essential for new members.’
‘We need to write these down.’
‘I’ve already done that. Your overall responsibility is to the other members of this group. One succeeds, we all succeed.’
‘What do we get out of this?’
‘We all help each other. We all use whatever contacts we have to make things happen for one another. We look after each other, if someone screws up. That’s how
these things work.’
‘And this will help get us women?’
‘Of course it will.
‘Good, that’s what I want. Sluts. Bring them on!’
‘Keep your voice down, Neil. There’s a simple rule to getting any woman you want.’
‘What is that then?’
‘I’ll tell you, Paul. Three easy letters to remember. I-I-P.’
‘And that means what exactly?’