Authors: Luca Veste
They’re just like you. They love to watch and vicariously experience the thrill of violence and suffering. You know it to be true.
You want the world to die a slow, painful death.
You want to be there to watch it die.
There are faces you see every night, lying in the dark waiting for sleep to consume you. Appearing in your mind without invitation. Making your skin crawl, your stomach churn and hands shake.
You feel anger, you feel afraid. You want those faces to disappear.
You want silence. You want to switch off that part of your brain which keeps bringing them back.
Instead of living in a constant state of terror, you decide to do something about it. To switch off those voices and make those faces evaporate. You have plans, you are in control. You know what
to do. You have right on your side, you have the tools and the desire to do what is necessary.
You want retribution for what happened.
You want revenge.
There was a time when the issue of getting older hadn’t bothered him so much. He remembered that time with a fading clarity. Now it needled him, occupying his thoughts
without reason. Another year about to come to an end – the onward march towards the magical age of forty.
Aging was becoming wearisome.
Detective Inspector David Murphy looked out across the River Mersey, leaning forwards against the promenade railings. He glanced down at his hands gripping the metal, his knuckles white and
scarred, then stared back out across the water. He could see the ferry making its approach towards home in an early afternoon gloom. Darkened clouds were moving above him, moody and plentiful,
casting the water below him with a grey shadow. The view across the river was a direct contrast to the one he would experience from the other side of the water: fewer iconic buildings, less
industry and none of the bustle of modern life.
Murphy turned and gazed up at the Port of Liverpool building directly in front of him. Its more famous sibling – the Royal Liver building – sitting next to it, the mythical Liver
Birds perched atop, looking out over the same view as him. He craned his neck upwards to glimpse a sight of them. Took in the faded stone of the structure and felt a sense of calm wash over him.
Some things stayed the same in an ever-changing world. They signified a past which was now being increasingly encroached upon by futurism – the new museums and office buildings growing ever
closer to them. One of the newer museums lay to his right – fans of the Beatles given their own altar to worship at within. Further back, a black, glass coffin of a building lying between the
waterfront and the city centre. The Albert Dock was visible further down the river, now filled with trendy bars and shops selling to tourists and excited youngsters.
Yet, there were buildings that would always be part of the Liverpool city skyline.
‘I decided against it. Looks like it’s about to rain any second and there’s nothing sadder than eating ice cream under an umbrella.’
Murphy turned to his wife, watching her climbing the few steps up to the promenade to join him, and smiled towards her. ‘Could be worse,’ he said, wrapping his arm around her as she
reached him. ‘Could have forgotten the umbrella.’
Sarah lay her head against his chest. ‘This is nice,’ she said, turning with Murphy as he looked out across the river once more. ‘Been a while since we’ve been down
here.’
‘Everything’s changing.’
‘That’s modern life for you. Blink and they build something where you were looking last.’
Murphy made a noise at the back of his throat and continued to watch the ferry cross the Mersey.
‘I love the fact I’m going back to university,’ Sarah said, lifting her head slightly to look around the waterfront. ‘But I really wish the holidays lasted a little
longer. Could get used to meeting you on your lunch break and taking in the scenery around here.’
‘Don’t you think you get enough time off as it is? It’s like three months off in the bloody summer. More, in fact, than when you were teaching. I’m lucky to get three
days off in a row.’
‘Should have become a teacher instead then. I’d love to see you try and control a classroom full of six year olds.’
Murphy shuddered at the thought. ‘You’re OK. I’d rather deal with criminals any day of the week.’
There was still a period of adjustment going on between them, now Sarah had left work as a teacher. She had decided to go back to university, following the trauma they had experienced fifteen
months earlier. A violent attack in their home, which had almost resulted in both their lives being ended.
Sarah had wanted to understand what could drive someone to do what had been done to them, so she had decided to return to university and study psychology and criminology. Murphy just wanted to
forget.
‘You thought about where we’re going to eat later?’
Murphy pulled away and looked downwards at Sarah. Sometimes the height difference bothered him, sometimes it didn’t register. There was almost a foot between them, he was well over six
foot tall, she was not much over five. It led to some odd looks sometimes, especially as she had kept her pre-thirties looks. Whereas he was becoming more weathered by the hour. ‘I thought
you’d decide for once.’
Sarah began to shake her head before Murphy cut in again.
‘I’ve chosen where we’ve eaten at least the last six hundred times.’
‘You’ve kept count, have you?’
Murphy couldn’t help but smile. ‘Smart arse.’
‘I’ll think of something. Probably in town. I’m not going to be done in Liverpool One until late.’
‘Well, don’t spend too much money . . .’
Murphy stopped as he received an elbow in the ribs from Sarah. ‘I’m spending what I like, knobhead. I’ve not done any shopping in bloody ages and I need to fit in with the
other students. They’re all going to be at least fifteen years younger than me in that university. And I’m using my own money anyway.’
‘First, ow,’ Murphy replied, making a show of rubbing his side, ‘bony elbows. Second, I wasn’t exactly being serious. I just like seeing you react to my
sexism.’
‘You’re just a wind-up merchant, you are. Anyway, aren’t you best getting back?’
Murphy rolled up the sleeve on his suit jacket and checked the time. Looked up at the Liver Building and saw the same time peering down at him. ‘You’re right. I’ll speak to you
later, once you’ve bought half of the stuff in the shops, and bought me something two sizes too small because that’s the size you
wish
I
was . . .’
‘I never–’
‘Course you don’t,’ Murphy replied, smiling down at Sarah and then planting a kiss on her forehead. ‘You all right getting back from here? I’m going to flag a cab
down if you want dropping off?’
‘No, it’s all right,’ Sarah said, giving Murphy a squeeze and then stepping away. ‘I don’t mind walking up.’
Murphy made his way towards the Coffin-Building, turning to wave back at her, the smile on his face fading as he moved away. There was something to be said for taking off during work hours and
having a blast of normality. Mostly, it just made it more difficult to go back to work.
Within a few minutes, he was in the back of a black cab, winding through the traffic on the outskirts of the city centre, passing the never-ending roadworks on Leeds Street, sweeping round
Liverpool John Moores University and eventually turning into St Anne Street.
The too-familiar brown-brick building came into view, Murphy stopped the cab a few yards past and over-tipped the driver.
Five minutes later, he walked into the main office of the Major Crime Unit. He took a deep breath and made his way to his desk, passing the various detectives under his auspicious command.
‘Nice lunch?’
Murphy mocked a salute towards DS Laura Rossi and sat down. ‘Very. One of those where you don’t want to come back to this place.’
‘It’s why I try and eat in the building as often as possible. Not from the canteen, of course.’
Murphy pulled his chair closer to the desk and moved the mouse, causing his computer monitor to come to life. ‘What was on the menu from Mama Rossi today?’
Rossi ran a hand through her long, almost black hair, sweeping it away from her face. ‘Just some mortadella, olives and mozzarella on ciabatta. Nothing special.’
Murphy rolled his eyes at her. ‘Of course not. Bet it was bloody delicious.’
‘You always think that, but that’s only because you’re used to the shite they pass off as sandwiches in here.’
‘Got that right,’ Murphy replied, signing into his computer and checking his emails. ‘Missed anything?’
Rossi shook her head. ‘Still waiting on uniforms to pick up that lad who tried to hold up a post office this morning. Shouldn’t take them too long, given he had to take off the crash
helmet to be understood. DC Kirkham is taking a witness statement from that assault from last night–’
‘The domestic?’
‘Yeah. Going to try and do the bloke for attempted murder. CPS probably won’t go for it.’
Murphy grunted, reading through the subject lines of a few emails for anything of interest. ‘Is she still talking?’
‘For now,’ Rossi replied, shifting paperwork off her desk and into a drawer. ‘Wants him done for everything.
Bastardo
tried to strangle her, so
that’s sparked something in her.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Nothing at the moment. Although the boss has been on the phone for the last five minutes. Doing the pacing up and down thing as well. Got a feeling something is going
on . . .’
He made to reply when the door to DCI Stephens’s internal office banged open. Murphy rolled his eyes at Rossi and turned to look towards the boss.
‘David, Laura, when you’re ready.’
Murphy glanced at Rossi and shook his head. ‘Just when we thought we were going to have an easy afternoon.’
Murphy and Rossi shuffled into DCI Stephens’s office and closed the door behind them. The office was as neat and ordered as usual. A single filing cabinet, large desk and leather chair
took up most of the space. The only personal touch – a photograph of the boss’s family – faced outwards, so those coming into the office couldn’t help but notice it.
‘Sit.’
Murphy and Rossi followed orders and sat on the chairs placed to one side of the organised desk, waiting for DCI Stephens to amble back to her chair and drop into it with a sigh and a shake of
her head.
‘This is . . . well, it’s not the usual thing I would call you in for.’
Murphy glanced at Rossi, ready to raise an eyebrow, but she was focussed on the boss.
‘I have a missing persons report. Normally, it would be dealt with by uniform, as you know, but this is different.’
Rossi glanced at Murphy and his raised eyebrow.
‘This is a bit more delicate,’ DCI Stephens continued. ‘It’s a . . . well, it concerns someone we all know.’
‘Celebrity?’ Murphy said, having flashbacks to a case the previous year which had turned to awfulness within a few hours.
‘Not as such,’ DCI Stephens said, looking away and moving the notepad on her desk slightly. ‘An important person, shall we say. Someone who will be missed.’
‘Are we allowed to know his name?’ Murphy said.
‘It’s Sam Byrne.’
Rossi said something in Italian under her breath before Murphy had chance to answer. DCI Stephens spoke for him anyway.
‘Yes . . .
that
Sam Byrne.’
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds as they waited for DCI Stephens to speak. Eventually, Murphy grew tired of the performance. ‘That young bloke
who’s up for MP?’ he said, sitting back in his seat a little. ‘Surprised it hasn’t been in the
Echo
already. How long’s he been
missing?’
DCI Stephens turned her gaze back to them and almost rolled her eyes. ‘It’s being kept quiet for now. We don’t want to have it come out if he’s just taking a break or
something. He’s been gone for a few days at least. Last seen Thursday evening, leaving his campaign office.’
Murphy glanced at Rossi who was keeping her counsel. ‘This is the fourth day then. How do we come into it?’
‘I . . . sorry, we need someone to look into his disappearance. I’ve been asked by the higher-ups to put our best on it. Which means his parents have been
exerting
their influence. They want to see if we can find him before it becomes a story.’
Murphy couldn’t help but preen a little. It had been a while since he’d been categorised as the best at something. ‘What are the details? Who called?’
DCI Stephens brought the notepad on her desk closer. ‘Someone in his office. Assistant or something. Got into his car and vanished. No one has seen him, or the car, since. I imagine
Byrne’s parents had already been onto their friends here, though, once she’d been in touch with them over the weekend. He didn’t turn up to the office on Friday, didn’t
answer his phone that day or any other.’
‘He doesn’t have any significant other concerned?’ Rossi said, speaking aloud for the first time. ‘A girlfriend or boyfriend?’
‘He’s single, which makes things a little more difficult.’
‘So we don’t know if he has a girlfriend, or a partner we don’t know about, et cetera et cetera,’ Murphy said, finishing the sentence.
‘Exactly. I tried that one with DSI Butler, but he wasn’t having any of it.’
Murphy ran a hand over his beard – closely shorn, but dark enough to be noticeable. For now, anyway. He was finding more grey hairs by the day. ‘Comes from him then.’
DCI Stephens ignored his hard tone. ‘I just need you to look into it, see if there’s a simple explanation and then move on. That’s all. Nothing major, no big task force or
anything like that for now. We want this kept in house.’
‘OK, we can do that,’ Murphy said, glancing at Rossi for support. She turned away from him slowly, eyebrows raising and dropping back to normal in the time it took to face the boss
again.
‘Probably a partner we don’t know about. A weekend away has turned into something longer than intended? Have uniforms been to his address, his phone checked, that kind of
thing?’