Читать книгу DEAD GONE - Luca Veste, Luca Veste - Страница 18

Almost thirty-six hours after the body of Donna McMahon was found in Sefton Park, Murphy and Rossi parked up near the City of Liverpool University.

Liverpool is the home of four universities. One near the city centre, which could be seen from the windows of the police station where Murphy worked. Two more further out from the waterfront, one to the north near Ormskirk, one to the south, Childwall University.

City University lay just beyond the outskirts of the main hub of Liverpool. In another of Liverpool’s little paradoxes, the city centre isn’t actually in the centre of the city, but to the left of centre as you look at it from above, built out of the port at Albert Dock. Being a former major worldwide port, that was where the money came from, the shipping merchants of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries building their big houses just outside the centre. Murphy had a book somewhere, which detailed the whole history of it, but couldn’t remember where he’d left it now. Probably lost in one house move or another.

Murphy looked around the campus, the vastness of the area taking him aback. There were walkways linking the different buildings, with the students guild building smack bang in the middle. Directly opposite was a bookshop which seemed to only stock large textbooks, which Murphy imagined students would need a wheelbarrow to cart around.

‘We need to walk down to the old library, and there’s a building near there that houses the history department,’ Rossi said, a folded map in her hand. ‘It’s moved since I was here.’

‘I don’t see a library.’

‘It’s straight ahead. About ten minutes’ walk.’

Murphy stopped. ‘Exactly how big is this place? I thought this was it.’

Rossi turned, but didn’t stop. ‘Big.’

Murphy moved, shaking his head. ‘No wonder they had to increase the fees. The council tax alone must be bankrupting.’

‘I doubt they pay …’

‘I know, I know,’ Murphy interrupted, ‘I just didn’t realise it was so big.’

They continued to walk in silence. A few minutes later, a walk across a busy main road, a shortcut across a small grassed park area, and they were at the bottom of the steps which led to the history building. Grand stone steps led upwards to a bulky door, old brass door knocker and number on the front. In the window to the side, a poster hung, asking for solidarity against university cuts. Murphy rolled his eyes and pushed open the door, holding it out for Rossi.

‘What’s the advisor’s name again?’ Murphy asked, as they ascended the stairs inside the building.

‘Lynn Ripley. She was here when I was studying. Don’t know her though.’

They stopped outside the office on the first floor, the staircase continuing upwards to more floors than Murphy could count. He reached out and knocked. A voice from within told them to enter.

The office was neat, tidy, efficient. The window faced out onto the green they’d crossed earlier. Lynn Ripley sat back in her large office chair, smiling tightly. Her hands were clasped together on the lap of her long skirt. White blouse, buttons closed all the way up over her ample chest, to her neck.

They introduced themselves, and Murphy allowed Rossi to take the lead as he scanned the office. Everything had its place, tucked away, maximising space. Clearly labelled. Nothing would be lost in this office.

‘We’re all in a state of shock in the department,’ Murphy heard Lynn say as he tuned back in, ‘she was well thought of by the staff. She would have gone far.’

Murphy waited for the tears to fall, but she composed herself. ‘What can you tell us about Donna?’ he asked after a few moments of silence.

‘She was well liked. Seemed to always have someone to talk to, many friends.’

‘Anyone special?’

‘Not that I know of. We don’t usually get involved in that side of things unless there’s a problem.’

Murphy scratched at his beard. ‘What about teachers, lecturers, anyone take a special interest?’

Ripley took a moment to think and then answered him, ‘No, it was all strictly professional with her lecturers as far as I was aware.’

‘Any problems with other students? Anyone who hung around when he wasn’t wanted, that type of thing?’ Murphy moved forward, leaning on a filing cabinet for support.

‘She lived with a girl … I forget her name …’

‘Rebecca,’ Rossi said.

‘That’s right. She has a boyfriend. Little stocky thing, shaved head. Short man syndrome.’

Murphy nodded, waiting.

‘I saw them arguing a couple of weeks back. In the library. Only caught a bit of the conversation, but it was definitely heated.’

‘What did you hear?’ Murphy asked, the wheels turning.

‘Donna was saying she was going to tell her. I don’t know what that meant.’

Murphy breathed out. ‘I think I have a pretty good idea.’

They walked briskly back to the car, Murphy talking a mile a minute as he laid out his theory to Rossi. ‘So, Donna finds out Will is doing the dirty or worse, behind Rebecca’s back. She threatens to tell Rebecca everything, Will loses his mind, and kills her.’

‘Hmm,’ Rossi replied, looking off into the distance.

‘What? It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened.’

‘I know. There’s just something missing.’

Murphy stopped. ‘We’re picking him up. See if he can massage your worries away.’

‘It’s … just … I don’t know.’

‘Spit it out, Laura.’

They were standing face to face outside the bookshop in the main university square. Rossi was scanning around, not wanting to look him in the eye. ‘I just didn’t get the impression that lad had the capacity to write that letter, and come up with that kind of cover story. That’s all.’

‘Oh. Is that it? He could have got that idea anywhere, Laura.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Look,’ Murphy said, softening his tone, ‘we’ll pick him up and see what he has to say.’

‘What do you study, Will?’

He wasn’t under arrest, Murphy made sure he was aware of that fact. He could see how nervous he was however, clammy hands clasped, making a wet sound as they came together. The touches he gave to his ear every ten seconds or so.

‘Music.’

‘Oh, you want to be a musician? What do you play?’

‘Violin.’

‘Really? You don’t look the type.’

Will crossed his arms in front of him. ‘Looks can be deceiving you know.’

Murphy leaned back, catching Rossi’s eye. ‘I’m sure. Do you know why we wanted to talk to you?’

‘You think I’ve got something to do with Donna being … well, you know.’

‘We’re not suggesting anything. We just have a few questions.’

Murphy had relented to Rossi’s suggestion that they speak to Will Ryder at his flat. He’d wanted to bring him down to the station, get him in an interview room, and question him there. They were sitting in the small living room, trying to ignore the abundance of takeaway cartons strewn about, and the smell of weed in the air.

‘Okay,’ Will said, ‘fire away.’

‘Did you and Donna get along?’

‘Didn’t really know her all that well. She was just Bec’s flatmate. Didn’t have much to do with her.’

‘Did you talk much?’

Will fidgeted with his earlobe. ‘Not really.’

‘No arguments or anything?’

Will stopped fidgeting. A look passed across his face which Murphy couldn’t be sure was guilt or confusion.

‘Not that I remember. Maybe once or twice if we made too much noise.’

‘How about in the library at uni a couple of weeks ago?’

That got his attention. His eyes darted about, looking for an exit. Murphy tried to keep a smile from breaking out. This was going the way he wanted. Nice easy solution.

‘Yeah, we had a little conversation about something.’

‘What was that about then?’

Long pause. Will began pulling at a thread on his grey joggers. Ran a hand over his shaved head.

‘If I tell you something, you won’t say anything to Bec will you?’

Murphy’s hand wavered in the air. Maybe, maybe not.

Will sighed, looked to the ceiling. ‘Okay, it was a one-off. I don’t want you thinking I do this sort of thing all the time. I was out in town a few weeks back. Got absolutely wrecked, and kissed some random girl. Donna saw it happen. Didn’t even know she was there. Pulled me up about it and I had to practically beg her to not say anything.’

‘And she didn’t?’

Will smirked. ‘Do you think I’d still be here if she had? Bec would have thrown me out on my arse. Doesn’t like cheaters.’

Murphy looked over at Rossi. Couldn’t read her expression. ‘So you just left it at that then?’

‘Yeah. Thought she was going to say something eventually, but just hoped she’d listened to me. I told her how upset Bec would be if she found out, played that emotional stuff, you know. Promised it was a slip, just the drink, never happen again. She seemed to accept that. Doesn’t matter now of course.’

‘Are you sure that’s all? You never saw her there again, argued?’

‘Yeah,’ Will replied, sitting forward off the settee, ‘that’s it. Look, I’ve got nothing to do with what happened to her. You’ve got to believe that.’

Murphy sighed, checked his watch. ‘That’ll be all for now. We’ll probably want to speak to you again, okay?’

Will looked relieved, which pissed off Murphy more than the state of the room. ‘Yeah, no problem.’

He showed them out, leaving Murphy and Rossi to walk down the stairs towards the exit of the building. Murphy tried to make sense of his thoughts. He was so sure he’d got his man, but the performance of the young lad had been too convincing. He was scared, not of being caught, but of being questioned. Being thought of as anything less.

Murphy didn’t know what to think. Only that he was pissed off he wasn’t arresting the cheating scrote. Open and shut case, to keep the wolves at bay. A murder case at that.

‘Well?’ Rossi eventually said as they sat in the car.

Murphy gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter than he already was. ‘I’m not convinced. I want you to speak to the girlfriend. On your own. I think you’ll get somewhere.’

‘Okay.’

They drove back to the station in silence.

Murphy sighed and leaned back in his chair. The day was coming to an end, an endless round of interviews with various possible witnesses and students getting them nowhere.

‘Anything from DC Harris yet?’

‘Not yet. He’s the last one,’ Rossi replied from her desk opposite.

‘We might not have got anything from those interviews, but I think we need to keep focus on the university. If it’s not Will, it’s someone there.’

Rossi pursed her lips, seemingly wanting to say something in rebuttal, before thinking better of it and saying nothing. She was learning quickly. Murphy liked that.

There was something more bothering Murphy though. He kept coming back to the letter, the words seeming to mock him personally. He’d attempted to dismiss them as the ramblings of a spurned student, trying to put them off track. Yet he kept coming back to the passage about death, unable to stop thinking about it. The words burned onto his memory.

Death is inevitable, yet people are always surprised when it happens.

He shook his head. He needed to go home, eat, sleep, shower.

Murphy stood up, taking his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘I’m getting off, Laura. Nothing more we can do right now. Get some sleep, okay?’

‘Oh, okay sir. Meet you here at eight?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ Murphy replied. He turned and headed out, entering the lift which was thankfully already at his floor.

Murphy leaned against the back of the lift, closing his eyes. The pain was back, rocketing across his head behind his eyes. Brilliant flashes of stinging light.

Stop thinking about her. Stop it. He repeated the mantra softly to himself for the entire lift journey, only stopping when the doors opened again.

The image of the dead girl, Donna McMahon, lying pale and peaceful, laid out on a bed made from damp earth, stuck in his mind. The image flickering across his conscious, soft, sharp, in focus, blurred.

The pain became worse. The image didn’t fade.

Murphy had to sit in his car for fifteen minutes, eyes closed, before he felt well enough to drive.

The pain subsided. The image didn’t. The way it always was. The pain was good in a way. At least it dampened down the worst of the flashbacks. The images of red flashing across his eyes, the pounding of his heartbeat as his breath shortened and became shallow.

They were always there. Ready for him. He just wanted to be normal again. Not some clichéd version of himself. Donna’s face blurred and became others. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He was haunted. The past, the present, forever blighted by his life. He couldn’t see any end to it.

This was just him now.

Rossi watched Murphy leave, entering the lift and resting his head against the back wall, his eyes closed.

Merda. He was losing it already. Great.

She could see Brannon watching her from his desk, a dirty smirk on his face. He could see it too. All she needed.

She checked the time; just before half past seven on day two. She pulled the letter from her desk and read it again.

It was too neat, too academic. Non emotional. If it was someone the victim knew, wouldn’t there be more there? Could someone who killed her, strangled her to death with his own hands, then put this together so sufficiently?

No. She didn’t think so.

She was using pop psychology. 101. Garnered from her first year at uni, when she’d taken a module just to see if it was of interest. It wasn’t for her. After the interesting bits had been and gone, she’d been left with a bunch of long words, which didn’t mean anything really. She was happier with sociology, learning about the world around her, how capitalism works, theories, and all that sort of thing. How social policy affected all their lives.

And she’d still ended up in the police. At least the degree had meant she moved out of uniform quicker.

She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to leave. Pay her dues.

Be the good daughter.

Alessandro and Isabella Rossi lived in a small terraced house in West Derby. A fifteen-minute drive from the station, a straight run on West Derby Road to the town, and then down a few side streets until she hit their road.

They’d lived there the past forty years, ever since they’d been talked into coming into the country with promises of endless work and riches. Alessandro ended up on various building sites, and then on the docks later in life. He got caught up in the dockers’ strikes of 1995 and now existed on their meagre pensions, bringing in just enough to buy the food that was always needed, and keep Papa Rossi in his Sky Sports and Lambert & Butler cigarettes.