name of. They’re basically interchangeable at this point.’
Murphy smirked, knowing exactly what she meant. Local cuts to the police service meant that constables in CID were being sent all over Liverpool to fill in where and when needed. It meant there was no kind of consistency on who was working at St Anne Street from one week to the next. Once you got used to one face, they were sent over to the other side of the city to fill in on some other case. Murphy didn’t even want to consider the mind who had thought up this gloriously stupid way of working.
‘I’m guessing nothing came of it, otherwise you would have told me?’
Rossi shook her head. ‘Just found him and ran. Didn’t see anyone at all. Nothing from door to doors either really. Other than a neighbour who thought she heard an argument near Castlesite Road. Wasn’t sure of the time because she was half asleep. Could have been dreaming, for all we know.’
‘CCTV any good?’ Murphy said, pressing the button on his keys to activate the central locking.
‘Not sure yet,’ Rossi replied, opening the passenger door and getting into the car. ‘I know there’s a few cameras around the cross near the Sefton Arms pub, but not the other side. Depends which way they came in. It’s not like we could tell if he was killed anywhere else in the area, unless there’s blood.’
‘Doesn’t mean we don’t look,’ Murphy said, turning the ignition. ‘We need to organise a bit of a search, I think.’
‘Seems like a lot of effort. Probably going to turn out to be an argument got out of hand.’
Murphy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for traffic to pass so he could pull out onto the main road. ‘I’d usually agree, Laura, but there’s a few things wrong here. The fact he’s been missing over six months. The placing of the body at the church …’
‘Like an unwanted baby,’ Rossi murmured.
‘Sorry?’
‘When you hear about these abandoned babies, you know, where the mother is too young or whatever, they leave them outside churches, don’t they?’
‘I’m not seeing your point.’
Rossi sighed, pressing the button to half open her window. ‘It could be that Dean Hughes was left at the church because they thought he’d be looked after there.’
‘Possibly. I think the damage was already done though, don’t you?’
Rossi shrugged and turned to look out the window. Murphy stared ahead, trying to get the cogs within turning.
Concentrating hard to stop the demons coming back in.
The Farm
Five Months Ago
Goldie had become used to life there pretty quick. It was the same all the time, really. Days spent in the quiet, waiting for the evening, when the ‘fun’ would begin. Three meals a day. Anything they wanted to read.
Okay, there was no TV, PlayStation, or even Xbox. No iPhone, Samsung … fuck, he’d take a Nokia at some points, just to be able to speak to his mum or something. He reckoned he’d even phone her first, rather than check Facebook or Twitter.
His muscles ached in so many places, he’d given up trying to work out where it hurt most. He’d caught sight of his face on one trip into the farmhouse. It was becoming harder, older.
Scarred.
Goldie was inspecting a fresh mark on his right thigh when they brought in the Bootle lad. Just dumped him in there, without a word.
They’d been getting a bit more light in the Dorm than in the first couple of weeks, so Goldie could see him fine. Dean, the other lad, wouldn’t have seen shit. He was in his usual position – lying down on his bed, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. He’d barely spoken two words to Goldie in the month he’d been in there with him.
Just shut down.
‘All right lad?’ Goldie said, standing up slowly, his thighs burning from overuse, his calves numb. It seemed too little a thing to say, but what the fuck else could he say? The lad had no idea what he was in for.
‘Who the fuck are you? What’s going on?’
Goldie
Murphy smirked, knowing exactly what she meant. Local cuts to the police service meant that constables in CID were being sent all over Liverpool to fill in where and when needed. It meant there was no kind of consistency on who was working at St Anne Street from one week to the next. Once you got used to one face, they were sent over to the other side of the city to fill in on some other case. Murphy didn’t even want to consider the mind who had thought up this gloriously stupid way of working.
‘I’m guessing nothing came of it, otherwise you would have told me?’
Rossi shook her head. ‘Just found him and ran. Didn’t see anyone at all. Nothing from door to doors either really. Other than a neighbour who thought she heard an argument near Castlesite Road. Wasn’t sure of the time because she was half asleep. Could have been dreaming, for all we know.’
‘CCTV any good?’ Murphy said, pressing the button on his keys to activate the central locking.
‘Not sure yet,’ Rossi replied, opening the passenger door and getting into the car. ‘I know there’s a few cameras around the cross near the Sefton Arms pub, but not the other side. Depends which way they came in. It’s not like we could tell if he was killed anywhere else in the area, unless there’s blood.’
‘Doesn’t mean we don’t look,’ Murphy said, turning the ignition. ‘We need to organise a bit of a search, I think.’
‘Seems like a lot of effort. Probably going to turn out to be an argument got out of hand.’
Murphy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for traffic to pass so he could pull out onto the main road. ‘I’d usually agree, Laura, but there’s a few things wrong here. The fact he’s been missing over six months. The placing of the body at the church …’
‘Like an unwanted baby,’ Rossi murmured.
‘Sorry?’
‘When you hear about these abandoned babies, you know, where the mother is too young or whatever, they leave them outside churches, don’t they?’
‘I’m not seeing your point.’
Rossi sighed, pressing the button to half open her window. ‘It could be that Dean Hughes was left at the church because they thought he’d be looked after there.’
‘Possibly. I think the damage was already done though, don’t you?’
Rossi shrugged and turned to look out the window. Murphy stared ahead, trying to get the cogs within turning.
Concentrating hard to stop the demons coming back in.
The Farm
Five Months Ago
Goldie had become used to life there pretty quick. It was the same all the time, really. Days spent in the quiet, waiting for the evening, when the ‘fun’ would begin. Three meals a day. Anything they wanted to read.
Okay, there was no TV, PlayStation, or even Xbox. No iPhone, Samsung … fuck, he’d take a Nokia at some points, just to be able to speak to his mum or something. He reckoned he’d even phone her first, rather than check Facebook or Twitter.
His muscles ached in so many places, he’d given up trying to work out where it hurt most. He’d caught sight of his face on one trip into the farmhouse. It was becoming harder, older.
Scarred.
Goldie was inspecting a fresh mark on his right thigh when they brought in the Bootle lad. Just dumped him in there, without a word.
They’d been getting a bit more light in the Dorm than in the first couple of weeks, so Goldie could see him fine. Dean, the other lad, wouldn’t have seen shit. He was in his usual position – lying down on his bed, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. He’d barely spoken two words to Goldie in the month he’d been in there with him.
Just shut down.
‘All right lad?’ Goldie said, standing up slowly, his thighs burning from overuse, his calves numb. It seemed too little a thing to say, but what the fuck else could he say? The lad had no idea what he was in for.
‘Who the fuck are you? What’s going on?’
Goldie
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