Marked men, p.5
Marked Men, page 5
Jordan perched on a waist-high wall and resumed the little creation he’d started while on the train. The hours he’d spent in his cell, fucking around with matchsticks. When it was only him who was found guilty of murder, he’d been stunned. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on most of the stuff they’d droned on about in court. So when he’d been led back down the stairs to the cells below, things didn’t sink in.
But they did in the months and years after. How the rest of them had put all the blame on him.
He’d run through the night it happened so often, he sometimes wondered whether his memories hadn’t become warped with overuse. The seven of them hadn’t planned on jumping the fence into Brook Green cemetery. Jordan didn’t even want to go. Though he could never admit it to his mates, he found the place too freaky.
It had been a book from school that planted the fear of graveyards in his head. It had been about the earth and how, if it was a balloon, the crust would be no thicker than a balloon’s taut layer of rubber. There’d been a picture of the ground. Trees and that above it, their roots below. Layers of dirt, then rock and other things dotted about. Rabbit tunnels, pipes and the odd dinosaur bone.
As soon as he set foot in the place, he got that image in his head. Him, standing on that flimsy skin of ground, all those rotting bodies just beneath his feet. Running between the gravestones, he’d try to avoid stepping on any of the grassy bumps. He knew the dead people were locked in their boxes, so it wasn’t possible for them to thrust their fingers up through the loose earth. But even so …
Carl was easily the worst. Wanted to smash up everything. Anything too big for him to wreck, he’d slyly encourage someone else. Wonder aloud if anyone was strong enough to topple whatever cross or statue had caught his eye. Only now, by looking back, did Jordan realize that’s how Carl always operated. Sneaky suggestions, or comments. Little challenges. Things that – at the time – hadn’t seemed planned. Crafty little shit.
Jordan didn’t remember who’d actually spotted the figure sleeping on the steps of the big tomb thing with the locked doors. Or had it been his rasping snores that attracted them? Anyway, they’d soon gathered round, staring with disgust at the bloated fucker. Layers of cardboard jutting out from beneath the blankets that cocooned him.
The soft slam of a car door caused Jordan to look up. Laughter that lifted to a shrill note halfway through carried to him across the years. On the garage forecourt, one of the couples was now in conversation with a third person. The vehicle’s open boot partially blocked Jordan’s view. He looked to the left and spotted the young sales assistant running a cloth over a car two rows away.
His eyes moved back to the couple. The man was now nodding in agreement at what was being said to him. A hand was outstretched and the man lifted his own. They shook. Then the boot was lowered and Carl Parker came into view. His hair was gone, but apart from that, he looked the same. Sharp features that, without the stick-on smile, left him looking mean. The face of a man whose mind never stopped calculating.
He was ushering the couple towards the sales room when his shifty gaze snagged momentarily on Jordan. A flicker of confusion in his eyes, a thinning of his grin. Then his salesman’s beam returned and he refocused on his customers.
Jordan pushed himself off the low wall and arched his back until he felt his lower spine click. He let out a sigh. That would do for now. Enough to leave the other man wondering if it really had been Jordan Hughes, back after all those years, just as he said he would be.
He placed the matchstick gallows on the wall and ambled off down the street.
NINE
‘I gather that a crime reporter from the Chronicle has already taken an interest,’ Ransford announced, fingers interlinked, hands resting on his desk.
‘Maybe one of the canal clean-up team tipped him off,’ Magda replied. ‘Or a member of the public; there were a few taking an interest. Not sure how he knew about the second victim, though. He must have got to Debdale minutes behind us.’
Sean scowled. In his opinion, word had got out from within their ranks. The idea of actively tipping off the local press – probably in return for nothing more than the price of a meal out – infuriated him.
‘How much do you think he knew?’ Ransford asked.
‘You mean about the wrist ties?’ Magda responded. ‘I’m not sure. He was aware that both bodies had been in water. I think he was hoping the victims might be linked, without knowing for sure.’
‘And is there? A link?’
Magda turned to Sean, who sat forward. ‘There is. I’ve run a check for both of them. Lee Goodwin’s well known to us. No fixed address, regular face round the city centre. A string of offences for low-level anti-social behaviour stuff, much of it drug related. Phil Nordern, not so much. He’s worked part-time for the council’s Parks Maintenance Service for over ten years.
‘Lee Goodwin’s mum named Phil as a friend of his son. In fact, she gave us his name as the most likely person to know what Lee’s last movements were.’
‘So they’re mates? Partners in crime, perhaps?’
‘Another thing,’ Sean said. ‘While we were at the location where Lee Goodwin had been sleeping rough, this character showed up. He maintained he was meeting a friend for a spot of fishing on the canals near Cornbrook. But I don’t know … something about him wasn’t right.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, the fishing thing: it seemed an odd reason to be passing by. Then, when I heard that’s what Nordern had been doing …’
Ransford digested the comment. ‘Homeless type as well, was he?’
Sean nodded. ‘I gave him a card. You never know.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Hard to say. Thirties? His face was pretty haggard.’
‘Tough paper round?’
‘Tough what?’ Magda frowned. ‘Paper …?’
With a forefinger and thumb, Ransford mimed pushing something forwards. ‘Tough paper round. Newspapers. Delivering them as a kid.’
Magda still looked lost. ‘This is a saying?’
‘Yes,’ Ransford replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
‘For if you’ve not had things easy in life,’ Sean explained.
Magda threw her hands up. ‘How will I ever get the hang of this language?’
‘Hang in there, kiddo,’ Ransford smiled, putting on a heavy Mancunian accent. ‘You’re doing all right.’
Magda shook her head slowly. ‘Next steps, then?’
‘We’ve got two blokes,’ Ransford said, contemplating a point high up on the wall. ‘Neither seemed like they were going places in life – killed within days of each other. Hands restrained with a plastic tie before they were shoved in water. To me, that has the hallmarks of an execution.’
‘You mean gangs?’ Magda asked. ‘There’s been no gang-related violence reported recently.’
‘I’m thinking organized crime of some description. They got themselves involved in something. Ripped off the wrong people. Got caught up in some feud. I’ll sound out the Narcotics Unit, see if they have anything. And let’s get into these two characters’ finances. Maybe they weren’t as skint as they seemed.’ He held up a forefinger. ‘And keep this reporter on side, too. This will boil down to local issues, I’m certain. It always helps to work with the Chronicle on cases like that. Can friends and family give us more on the two victims?’
‘We’ve been trying to trace Phil Nordern’s family,’ Magda replied. ‘All we’ve found so far is an uncle living out in Burnley. Both parents have passed away.’
Ransford waved a hand. ‘Pass that to Family Liaison: you’ve got other things to be sorting out. Ditto for Goodwin.’
‘Lee Goodwin was estranged from his folks,’ Sean stated. ‘The mum wasn’t even interested in hearing how he died. His own mum.’
Ransford briefly dropped his gaze to Magda. Sean spotted their mutual look of discomfort and immediately knew what that was about. His mum, Janet Blake, had been a sergeant with the Greater Manchester Police before injuries sustained while trying to stop an offender fleeing the scene of a crime had forced her to retire. Then, just a few months ago, she’d been murdered. By the prime suspect in a case Sean had been working on. It still didn’t quite seem real.
Magda gave a gentle cough. ‘I’ve arranged for local uniforms to canvass Nordern’s work colleagues. And we’ll continue with trying to locate the rough sleepers who shared the arch where Lee Goodwin had his tent.’
‘Very well. I’ve asked Maggie James to allocate you a dedicated Civilian Support Worker; it will take a lot of background enquiries off your plate. Update me again before close of play.’
They were both almost out the door when Ransford spoke again. ‘DC Blake? Hang on a second, can you?’
Magda shot Sean a glance as she continued out into the main room.
‘Close the door, Sean.’
First name now, thought Sean. I know what’s coming. He followed his boss’s instruction and turned round. ‘Sir?’
‘How is everything outside work?’
‘Fine, Sir, thanks.’
Ransford studied him for a second. ‘You’re moving into your own place, is that right?’
‘It finally went through today. At least I think it did. I’ll give the estate agent a call, but I think the keys are mine to collect.’
‘Whereabouts is it?’
‘Ancoats.’
‘Very up and coming.’
‘I thought best to grab a place while it’s still relatively cheap. It’s an apartment in a renovated mill.’
‘Nice. And where you and Janet lived – has that sold?’
‘I’ve accepted an offer, but we’ve not exchanged contracts. It’s not urgent. The apartment I’m moving into? I used the money from mum’s life insurance, you know, to pay for it.’ His words evaporated as memories of her flooded his mind.
Ransford indicated the chairs before his desk. ‘How are you finding it since she passed, Sean?’
He stayed where he was, hands seeking refuge in his pockets. ‘Getting easier, I suppose.’
‘She was a very special woman.’
‘Yes. She was.’ The images pushed themselves forward. Janet, bleeding to death on top of a bleak hill, poppies dotting the windswept grass about her. It was those dots of red that Sean saw when he found himself wide awake in the small hours, staring into the dark. Red spots swirling before his eyes. ‘I’d better …’ He stepped back towards the door. ‘You know … Magda will …’
Ransford had a sad expression. ‘Yes, OK. But you know support is available, Sean. If you ever—’
‘I do. Thank you, sir.’
There was no sign of Magda when he got back to their desks, so he used the opportunity to check his email. Nothing new from the estate agent. He checked the time: twenty to five. Suddenly, the prospect of moving into his own place made him feel nervous. Memories of his mum lingered in his mind.
He’d been just a primary school kid when injury had forced her early retirement. In the years that followed the incident, Sean had to become her primary carer. The two of them, living together in a house on a quiet street in Fairfield. Now that was over and, for the first time in his life, he was truly alone.
‘Got you a tea.’
He saw a cup appear beside his elbow and looked up to see Magda taking her seat. She smiled. ‘You looked a million miles away there.’
‘Yeah?’
She smiled conspiratorially and was about to say something when Troughton came hurrying over. ‘You two: a bit of a break, possibly.’ He commandeered the chair from an adjacent desk. ‘Debdale Lake. When they were dragging out Nordern’s body, a mobile phone was spotted in the shallows directly below him.’
‘You mean it belonged to the victim?’ Sean said, perking up in his seat.
Magda shook her head. ‘Unless it’s waterproof, so what?’
‘Your lucky day,’ Troughton said. ‘It’s a model that’s waterproof up to one metre.’
Now Magda looked interested. ‘Could it be switched on?’
‘Yup. They turned it off again, bagged it and it’s on the way to the tech department to see if they can get past the password. They’ll be in touch, soon as they know more.’ He got back to his feet. ‘That’s all for now.’
Sean crossed two of his fingers. ‘Here’s hoping. Anyway, what were you about to say?’
Magda’s smile reappeared as she leaned forward. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing some talk in the canteen.’
Sean cocked his head. Magda’s ability to pick up on whispers of conversation was something else. No one in the same room as her – however much noise was filling it – was safe. ‘Go on.’
‘I think you have a little admirer.’
Sean let out a groan and sank down in his seat. The tops of his ears were suddenly warm. ‘Magda …’
‘Maggie James was having a word with some of her team.’ She glanced over to the corner of the room where the Civilian Support Workers sat. ‘She’d hardly mentioned that someone was required to work alongside us when a hand shot up.’ She paused, an impish glint in her eyes. ‘Guess whose hand it was?’
Sean gave her a flat look. ‘No. I’m not playing.’
Magda pushed her bottom lip up. ‘Come on, you must want to know.’
‘What? Someone volunteers to assist us and that automatically means that person is actually, you know …’ He faltered. If he said anything more, Magda would only pounce on it.
Now his partner was grinning. ‘That person is actually, you know … what? Actually what?’
Sean shook his head. ‘Not playing.’
‘As it happens, that person, whose identity you’re so not interested in, is female. And she’s a bit older than you. Only by a few years, though. She’s also very …’ Her eyes shifted to beyond Sean and, in an instant, her expression changed to neutral.
‘Hi there,’ a voice cheerily announced. ‘Maggie James asked me to come over. She assigned me to the Goodwin–Nordern investigation?’
Sean rotated his chair to see Katie May standing beside their desks, notepad in one hand. White short-sleeved blouse and blue trousers. She had joined the SCU at exactly the same time as him: drafted in when an on-going investigation’s murder count started to spiral out of control. She was, Sean guessed, closer to being thirty than he was. Slim, dark brown hair cut in a bob, fringe low over her piercingly blue eyes. There was, he had to admit, something enigmatic about her. Like him, she shied away from socializing much outside work.
Magda sat back. ‘How was your week off, Katie? You’ve certainly caught the sun.’
As Katie touched her biro against her forearm, Sean registered how smooth and bronzed her skin was. He had to wrench his gaze away.
‘This?’ Katie asked. ‘What if I were to say the words “spray tan”?’
‘Really?’ Magda’s eyes had widened. ‘That’s bloody good.’
‘The new generation of treatment, according to the salon. Twenty-five quid.’
‘When I saw you, I imagined you stretched out on a lovely beach.’
‘I did go on a day trip to Scarborough. Does that count?’
Sean couldn’t keep his chuckle in. ‘Scarbados? Love that place.’
‘Me too.’
They looked at each other for a moment. From the corner of his eye, Sean could see Magda smirking. He quickly adopted a more formal tone. ‘So, er, you’re helping us out?’
‘I am.’
Now not sure what else to say, he reached awkwardly for some print-outs, picked them up and then put them back. To his relief, Katie had turned to Magda.
‘What needs doing first?’
Sean glanced up and saw a twinkle in Magda’s eyes as she considered the question. ‘Family Liaison first. Both victims need to be formally identified by next of kin. We’ll make a start on their bank records, though Lee Goodwin may not have had any formal financial arrangements.’
‘No problem. Anything else?’
‘Start harvesting CCTV. The areas around Deansgate Locks and Debdale Park: that should do for starters. There’s a file open on the system.’
‘I’ll get onto it.’ She promptly turned on her heel and set off back to the CSW section.
Sean took his time before looking over at Magda. As expected, the mischievous look was back on her face. ‘“I’ve been assigned to the Goodwin–Nordern investigation,”’ she murmured breathlessly. ‘That’s not how it played out in the canteen.’
Sean gave a shrug then turned to his monitor and brought up the Google Map for the part of Castlefield where Lee Goodwin had been sleeping rough. Best not mention, he thought, that I was chatting to Katie the other day. And she’s already offered to help me with the move to Ancoats.
TEN
The voice came from beyond the front door, somewhere deep inside the house. ‘Yeah, I’m coming, mate. Two seconds!’
Even though the words were slightly muffled, it was definitely Kevin Rowe’s voice. Jordan Hughes took his finger off the door’s buzzer then quickly checked no one else was on the little side street.
Deserted.
Filling the short drive was a pale blue van. Jagged lettering across its side spelled Crazy Diamond Window Cleaning Services. Lying below the bumper was the pizza box he’d just slung there. The front door’s lock mechanism began to rotate and, as the door opened, he flexed his knees in readiness.
Kevin leaned through the gap, a ten-pound note ready in his hand. His lower jaw just had time to sag before a vicious uppercut sent his bottom teeth crashing against his top ones. A couple of fragments fell from his lips as his eyes went white.
As he started to collapse, Hughes shouldered him back into the hallway. The man’s legs went and he hit the carpet heavily. Hughes scooped the ten pound note off the step, crammed it into his jeans and closed the door behind him. ‘Pizza’s cancelled, mate.’
Rowe was on his back, both hands motioning weakly above his chest. Conducting a ceiling orchestra, Hughes thought with a smile. He paced round the prone body so he could look down at Rowe’s face. The other man’s eyes were still open, pupils wide and aimlessly wandering about. Nice shot, Jordy, he said to himself, removing a roll of gaffer tape from the inner pocket of his combat jacket.
