Nick sat down and his breathing started to slow. A television screen was mounted on the wall. Some kind of chart show was on – ‘Breathe’ by Blu Cantrell was playing. It was No 1. Nick hated the song but it’s all he ever heard on the radio at the moment.
Nick took out his phone. He needed to ring Gwen and tell her what had happened and where Laura was.
Before Nick could find Gwen’s number, a young male doctor approached.
‘You’ve come to see Laura Foley. Is that right?’ the doctor asked.
‘Yes,’ Nick said, his pulse quickening – he was trying to guess what the doctor was going to tell him.
‘Are you a relative?’ the doctor asked.
‘No. Boyfriend,’ Nick said. He didn’t like the sound of that question one bit.
‘Are any of Laura’s relatives here at the moment?’ the doctor asked.
‘No, it’s just me,’ Nick said as he started to take short breaths. He was a police officer and he knew where this was going.
‘If you come into my office for a moment ...’ the doctor said.
Now full of panic, Nick didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t want to go with the doctor. He knew what the doctor was going to say.
Please god, make her all right. Please.
Nick could feel himself tremble as he sat down in the doctor’s office and watched as he closed the door. Nick felt sick.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
‘When Laura arrived, she was having trouble breathing and her blood pressure was dropping very fast. It seems that she had taken an overdose of heroin. We tried our best to stabilise her but she failed to respond to the treatment. I’m deeply sorry. We did everything we could for her,’ the doctor said.
Nick took in the words and then replayed them.
Did he mean she was dead? Is that what he was saying? He didn’t say the word though. I don’t understand.
Nick blinked at the doctor. He felt like he was in a dream. ‘She’s dead? She’s been clean for months ...’
‘I’m so sorry. Yes. Sometimes if an addict hasn’t used for a while, their body isn’t used to the drug. It can cause an overdose very easily,’ the doctor said. ‘I can arrange for you to see her if you would like that?’
Nick nodded – he felt like he had been hit by a bus. He got up and muttered, ‘Yes. I need to speak to her mum.’
Wandering over to the seats in a daze, Nick looked at Craig, ‘She’s dead.’
Craig shook his head. ‘What? Oh god, no.’
A feeling of anger was starting to take over from the numbness of the shock.
‘Where did she get the drugs from?’ Nick asked with gritted teeth.
Craig shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m so sorry...’
‘Don’t fuck me about. Where did she get the drugs from?’ Nick growled.
Craig looked at him. He was terrified. ‘I can’t tell you ...’
Nick leaned forward so he was six inches from Craig’s face. ‘You tell me, or I will arrest you, put you in my car in handcuffs and throw you in the Mersey.’
‘You ... you can’t do that,’ Craig stammered.
Taking the cuffs from his belt, Nick pulled Craig roughly to his feet. ‘Come on, Craig. We’re going for a little drive.’
‘His name is Curtis Blake. He’s some big dealer she used to go out with. He thinks he’s a fuckin’ gangster,’ Craig said as he visibly shook.
Nick stood up. ‘Where do I find this Curtis Blake?’
‘Croxteth,’ Craig said. ‘He calls himself the King of Croxteth.’
CHAPTER 6
August 2003
TAKING A BOTTLE OF wine from the glove compartment, Nick looked around furtively, then took two big mouthfuls and sat back in the driver’s seat.
Phew, that’s better. I just need to keep topped up if I’m gonna do this, he thought as he let out an audible breath. He gazed up at St Mark’s Roman Catholic Church and squinted. It was another boiling hot day in a record breaking summer heatwave.
Nick had been parked outside the church in Croxteth for nearly an hour now. Even though the main body of the church was 18th century, Nick could see that at the far end, the entrance had different colour brickwork. It had been damaged in the Blitz of 1941 and rebuilt.
A house of God? You’re joking, aren’t you? Well God can go and fuck himself, Nick thought. He had only asked God for two things in his life. And he had prayed for those with every ounce of his soul. But God had allowed his mum and Laura to die. So, unless God came down right now and tapped him on the shoulder for a little chat, he was done with him and everything to do with religion.
Nick could feel the alcohol swirling around his body and fogging his brain. It was calming his nerves, but it was also stopping him from thinking straight. Nick was on his second bottle of wine that day and it was only eleven o’clock in the morning. And he was sixty miles from home. Looking down at the six inch steel Bowie knife that he had stashed in the door of the car, Nick contemplated what he was about to do. Then he checked the rear view mirror. Nothing. No one around. Good.
Checking his watch, Nick saw he had five minutes before Curtis Blake was due to arrive at the church to lay flowers at his brother’s grave. From the intel that Nick had managed to get, Curtis did it like clockwork. Eleven o’clock every Sunday morning. Sometimes he came with his mother, Doreen. Today, Curtis Blake was going to be joining his brother, and Doreen Blake would have two sons to visit at St Mark’s.
Nick had hardly slept since Laura had died forty-eight hours earlier. Having broken the news to Gwen Foley, he had watched her dissolve into a hysterical mess. Now all Nick wanted to do was murder Curtis Blake, the man who
