You'll Get Yours, page 11
Just ahead of an elderly couple–a woman in a pink raincoat and a man in a black anorak—and behind a young girl in a hoodie and leggings, Lyons could make out Regina’s too-tight brown perm, the beige cardigan wrapped around her slumped shoulders. Lyons could even see the woman’s hand tightly clutching her handbag like a fist. A bit wound up, the poor aul dear, he thought. What in life could have made her like that?
Lyons took a deep breath as he saw three youths half-swagger, half-stagger in from the right, then barge into the queue. The girl jerked back in surprise, then her head shot forward as presumably she yelled something at them. The three boys turned around and leaned toward the girl, and from this angle, Lyons could see their mouths in rapid-fire motion, chests puffed, faces more snide and having a laugh rather than angry. Lyons was the one getting angry. One of them grabbed his crotch and made a lewd and threatening motion to the girl. He watched Regina step forward, her shoulders now raised, her hand pointing in accusation—Lyons’ heart went out to her—and saw the lads’ heads move in her direction. Grins appeared on all their faces, and their lips curled in contempt. One said something to her, another flipped her off, then they turned around. Regina’s shoulders slumped again, and her hand went back to her handbag.
“Daft eejits trying to be hard men,” Lyons snapped. “Hooligans out on the prowl, looking for trouble. And our Regina fell right into their trap.”
“Their behavior is disgraceful.” D’Arcy seemed to be struggling to comprehend. “But they would hardly...”
“There’s more,” Fern intervened. She pulled up a new window. This showed one of the corridors leading to the cinemas. “This is screen number three. Time Travel Aliens 3 was playing there, which is presumably what Regina had come to see. At 8 PM. You see here...”
Regina, with a tub of popcorn, shuffling down the corridor and into the theater.
“And if I fast forward half an hour...”
The three lads exited screen two, nudging each other, punching arms. It looked like they were laughing. Lyons wouldn’t mind knocking the laughter out of them, and a few teeth as well. One knocked over a bin, they shared another laugh, then one pointed at the door to screen one and said something. There was no ticket taker in sight. The other two nodded, and they disappeared through the door.
“Wait,” Hawkins said.
Two minutes later, they came out again and headed for cinema three.
Now D’Arcy gasped. “Don’t tell me...those lads are tracking her down?”
“Seems like it.”
D’Arcy shivered at Lyons’ side.
“A nightmare, so it would be. Having three yobs pursuing you.”
Lyons felt ashamed of his gender. “Bored with what they paid to see, and looking to make some action of their own.”
“What for, but?” D’Arcy asked, lips tight.
“Och, you’ve been on the force this long and you haven’t a clue, have you?” Lyons scoffed. “For to have fun, sure.”
“But she did nothing except...”
“Sure, you know the types of hooligans like that, or you should do. As my granny would say, doing it out of pure badness.”
“It’s a bit alarming, I admit,” Hawkins said. “But watch what happens next.”
D’Arcy gasped, and Lyons felt his heart fall.
“It gets worse?”
“I’m afraid so.” Hawkins fast-forwarded. “Here, at 21:32, we see...”
The door flew open and Regina hurried down the corridor and out of sight of the security camera. Lyons saw the look on the victim's face, more annoyed than angry or scared and thought, Good on you, love. She was a hard woman, that Regina. He meant it as a compliment. A woman raised on the mean streets of the Moorside? They generally were.
As if reading his thoughts, DI McLaughlin said behind him, “She’s one tough cookie, our Regina. Not only did she confront the lads when nobody else in that queue, or indeed the entire lobby, dare intervene, she appears more put out than afeared there.”
“But then...” Hawkins said, finger raised.
The door burst open again, and out the three lads raced, heading in the same direction as Regina.
D’Arcy shuddered again.
“The poor woman,” McLaughlin said, not for the first time.
“Is there any more, Fern?” Lyons asked feverishly.
“Aye.”
Hawkins pulled the lobby back up on the screen. It was now empty except for the concessionist with her nose in her phone and two workers sweeping up popcorn from the carpeting. Regina hurried through the lobby and apparently out onto the street. Seconds later, the three thugs crossed the lobby as well.
“The concessionist couldn’t recall them leaving,” Hawkins said.
“The smartphone,” McLaughlin said. “Making bad witnesses of us all.”
“Those lads,” Lyons appealed to his boss, “they’re sure to have form. They must be known to the Neighborhood Officers.”
“Seems more likely than not,” McLaughlin said. “Looks like they were engaging in at least underage drinking, if not only that, the way they were walking. Who knows what other petty offenses they’ve engaged in, just for the craic of it, as you said, son.”
Hawkins nodded. “I’ve created screenshots of all three of them and will be distributing them to all the constables. See if they ring any bells. If not, I can try to run some facial recognition software, run their faces through social media to see if any of them pop up.”
D’Arcy flinched. “We’ve facial recognition software? I didn’t know the budget ran to that?”
McLaughlin shook his head.“Sadly, it doesn’t.”
“My boyfriend gave me some for my birthday last year,” Hawkins explained. “Och, sure, not the best there is, not up to the Met’s or the FBI’s standards. But we’re not the Met or the FBI. Who knows, it might do the trick. Best birthday gift I ever got.”
AS THEY WERE WALKING back to McLaughlin’s office, D’Arcy gave her opinion.
“Truth be told, I can’t see lads like that having the, er, intelligence to do it, sir. Why the thumb in the mouth? Just because they’re ‘bad wee brutes’?” She used rabbit ears.
“Who knows what drugs their brains were fried with,” Lyons replied. “Out of their minds, they must’ve been, the way they were staggering about. They could do anything in that state and they’d think it was normal. Or a right laugh. And it would’ve been three against one.”
“It could just be a coincidence,” McLaughlin mused. “One hell of a coincidence if it is, but. Your woman is trailed by three thugs the night she gets murdered by an entirely different perp?”
“But...setting up the body like that?” D’Arcy insisted. “Why place her on the cannon? It doesn’t add up. And where did they get the knickers from?”
“Maybe they were Regina’s after all.” Lyons was getting irritated now. “And why would they do it? Drugs, I’ve already said!”
“How young are they, exactly?” D’Arcy wanted to know. “Could they even drive a van?”
“Provisional license at 15 years nine months, but that would be for a car,” McLaughlin said. “Don’t seem old enough. Not legally, no.”
“Could’ve learned somewhere, from an older brother or what have you,” Lyons said.
They’d reached the DI’s office and McLaughlin fell into his seat. Lyons dragged a chair up to his boss’ desk. D’Arcy perched on hers.
“At least we’ve some suspects to hand over to DCI Nix,” McLaughlin said. “He’s been giving me hell, needs content for the press conferences. Have you seen the headlines so far? POLICE ARE CLUELESS, and the like.” D’Arcy and Lyons winced. “And there’s Regina’s partner as well, so that’s four suspects. Better than telling the gaffer we’ve sweet FA.”
“And speaking of Kyle Minogue,” Lyons said, flipping open his PNB, “we might have yet another suspect to add to the list.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” D’Arcy cut in. Lyons rolled his eyes. “Regina hadn’t told Minogue anything about the threatening email, but he did say she’d been upset about something that had happened at work.”
“The staff seemed to have turned against her,” Lyons put in. “It’s just as I’d said, all ganged up against her.”
McLaughlin was surprised.
“Lyons and I,” D’Arcy said, “had a chat about it on the way to the station. We’re of the mind, sir, that whatever happened to her a few weeks ago, and this does fit in with the timeline of when the email was sent, not before, not after, but around the time the argy-bargy at work began, what I’m trying to say is, it must have happened at work.”
“And if it happened at work,” Lyons said, “then most likely it was one of her colleagues who sent that email.”
“They could, as Hawkins said, just...pardon, sir? Is something the matter?”
Lyons looked up from his notebook and saw the look of irritation on his boss’ face, his clenched fists on the desk. He was taken aback. It was rare for his boss to lose it.
“Boss?” he asked.
“I had that flimmin PC, whatever his name is,” McLaughlin sputtered, “that O, O something or the other.”
“O’Shaughnessy,” D’Arcy said.
“Aye, that one!” McLaughlin wasn’t roaring, but near as dammit. His face had turned pink. “And that another in here this morning, both waxing lyrical about Regina’s employment situation. From what you are telling me, nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Not according to her boyfriend,” Lyons said.
“I don’t know who I’m more narked with at the moment, those coppers or that flimmin manager of the Top-Yer-Trolley. What’s worse? That the man—” he clicked his fingers impatiently.
“O’Toole, was it?” D’Arcy suggested.
On McLaughlin ranted, “Aye, that O’Toole was spewing the lies to members of the force or that said members were eagerly gobbling them down. What has happened to standard interview techniques? Can’t those coppers tell when a witness is spreading bold-faced lies? More to the point, why would your man O’Toole lie? Has he got something to hide?”
“Well, sir, as manager, perhaps he—”
McLaughlin waved D’Arcy quiet. “I want the two of you down at the Top-Yer-Trolley this very minute! To reinterview that O’Toole character! I can’t believe anything of what he said about our vic’s employment there. And that bloody shop was where she spent half her waking hours. Sure, the way your woman just happened to appear in Derry out of nowhere, I wonder if he even vetted her before he hired her. No more happy families. Strong-arm him, you two. Perverting the course of justice! Obstructing the investigation! I’m raging, so I am! Raging! Off you go. Now!”
Lyons almost fell out of his seat as McLaughlin pounded his fist on the desk and some files clattered to the floor.
“Right you are, boss,” he said, scrabbling out of his chair.
D’Arcy, her face bright pink, followed suit.
“Oh, and Lyons?!”
Lyons knew McLaughlin always apologized when he succumbed to a rare outburst of rage, but that didn’t make being on the receiving end of one any less uncomfortable, even if that rage was directed at somebody else. Still, touching his mustache nervously, he half-feared turning around to face McLaughlin now.
“Er, aye?”
“Send that PC O'Shaughnessy and the other into my office. Now!”
McLaughlin’s fists pounded on the desk.
“Right you are, boss.”
Lyons scurried to the door.
“God bless us and save us!” Lyons heard his boss roar as he firmly but gently closed the office door behind him. “Can’t get the bloody staff these days!”
CHAPTER 14
WHEN D’ARCY AND LYONS pushed through the revolving doors of the Top-Yer-Trolley, they were greeted by chaos. There were long queues of customers snaking before the tills, mothers with children screaming from prams or clinging onto overflowing trolleys, clusters of chattering schoolboys and schoolgirls in their uniforms, bags of sweets and energy drinks and sodas clutched in their hands, a tradie or two with baskets brimming with ready meals, oven chips and tins of lager.
The detectives jostled past the teeming customers, making their way through disheveled shelves and haphazardly placed products. They spotted partially empty boxes of cereal, scattered cans of beans, and misplaced bottles of ketchup in a bin that was marked Irregular Underwear. D’Arcy looked a bit panicked. They made their way through Household and Cleaning, Health and Beauty, Home and Kitchen, Baby and Child and finally Electronics.
D’Arcy approached a shelf stacker whose name badge was upside down.
“Where’s the manager’s office? O’Toole, is it?”
The shelf stacker pointed to the door next to the public toilets. D’Arcy smiled uncomfortably, then her face dissolved into the stern mask she reserved for interviewing suspect witnesses. Lyons’ face went through the same change. This O’Toole was guilty of lying to the police.
Lyons rapped on the door.
“Come in!” called a high-pitched, reedy voice.
“Police, Mr. O’Toole,” D’Arcy announced as they entered, showing him their badges.
Henry O’Toole looked nervously at the two stern-faced detectives as he stood there behind his desk. His office was a picture of orderliness, with every pen and pencil perfectly aligned, the notepads and files stacked neatly and the computer screen wiped clean of any dust. O'Toole himself was around 40 years old, with closely cropped brown hair with blond highlights and round rimless glasses. He was impeccably dressed in a sharp, tight peacock green suit and a colorful tie. He looked like a man who took great care in his appearance, if not his shop. D’Arcy looked at him with approval, no sanitizing wipes necessary here, while O’Toole, even in his state of nervousness, ran his eyes over DC Lyons, staring with some curiosity and approval at the detective’s quiff, D’Arcy ignored at the DC’s side. Lyons shot her a look she couldn’t read.
“Er, please sit down, won’t you?” O’Toole invited them. “I’m mortified it’s madness out there, officers, but five staff have called in ill today.”
D’Arcy bristled slightly at being called a run-of-the-mill copper, but wasn’t about to correct him. No use starting off on the wrong foot.
The detectives sat in the two seats opposite the desk.
“Is there a problem?” O’Toole asked, fiddling nervously with his tie. “I already had two officers here yesterday, and I can’t help but notice that you two are...er...detectives.” D’Arcy relaxed. “That’s a bit of an upgrade, isn’t it? Has something come up?”
“We’re here to ask more questions about Regina Steps,” Lyons said.
“Ah, yes, the poor girl, very tragic,” O'Toole replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I told the others everything I knew yesterday. Ms. Steps was a model employee, had been for the better part of four years, and everyone here loved her. I can't imagine who would want to harm her.”
“That's not entirely true, Mr. O’Toole,” D’Arcy said sharply. “We have reason to believe you might not have been entirely forthcoming with our colleagues in the previous conversation.”
O'Toole looked taken aback. “I can assure you, er, miss, that I have been completely honest with your colleagues.”
Lyons said, “But we've since learned some things about Regina you didn't disclose to us.”
“Such as?” O'Toole asked, his eyes darting between D'Arcy and Lyons.
“Such as,” D’Arcy said, “she was being bullied and harassed at work on a daily basis.”
“And had been for some time,” Lyons added.
“She’d even been sent an email threatening death,” D’Arcy said. “This is a very serious matter.”
O'Toole's face turned red, and he started to stutter. “I-I didn't know about that. No one on the staff told me.”
“Really?” D’Arcy said, raising an eyebrow. “As manager of this shop, I find it hard to believe you knew nothing about one of your staff being subjected to a continual campaign of harassment. May I remind you, sir, it is a serious offense to lie to the police.”
O'Toole looked down at his hands, wringing them nervously. “I swear I had no idea. Ms. Steps was always so pleasant and cheerful. I can't imagine anyone would have a problem with her.”
Lyons interrupted, “How can it be that this escaped your attention? It’s a large shop, that I grant, and you’re here in your office. But weeks of non-stop harassment? Harassment that I’m sure escalated. The woman was at her wit’s end. I put it to you that you knew. Did you do anything to stop it? Or did you turn a blind eye, hoping it would all blow over?”
O'Toole looked indignant. “I would never condone bullying in the workplace, officer.” He bristled. “I follow proper HR protocol. And I don't appreciate your insinuations. I'm a law-abiding citizen, and I expect to be treated with respect.”
“We have a witness statement that the harassment occurred,” D’Arcy said. “I don’t know why you are denying it. Unless you condoned it for some reason. Unless you perpetrated it.”
O’Toole’s face grew pale, and he pointed at himself.
“Me?” he said weakly.
“It’s a fact it happened,” Lyons continued. “What we want to know is why.”
“But I...I...”
There was nothing but the sound of the ticking of the clock on the wall as O’Toole sat there, adjusting his pen for the fifth time. It appeared they had reached an impasse.
Lyons spoke again. “Now, Henry...” D’Arcy’s head whipped around. Lyons was using the man’s first name as if they were old friends. Lyons flashed O'Toole a sympathetic smile. “We understand this is a difficult time for you. We know you run a tight ship here. And we also know that sometimes things slip through the cracks.”
O'Toole shifted in his seat, looking uneasy. “I've already told you everything I know. There were no problems.”
“We’re all on the same side here,” Lyons said in a low voice. “You strike me as a man who appreciates attention to detail, someone who doesn't like to leave any stone unturned.”
