Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law (9 page)

Dean woke up and lifted his head gingerly, as if any sudden movement might cause it to explode. He looked down at his crumpled shirt and found it covered in dried vomit. After Clare and he had split up, he hadn’t spent a single night in. His mate from the garage, Pete, had ensured that.

Last night had been no different; he and Pete had gone out, and judging by the state of his clothes, they had gotten absolutely hammered. He thought he’d enjoyed it at the time, but now, covered in his own sick and with the mother of all hangovers, he wished he hadn’t bothered. But the biggest regret Dean was having at the moment was not being able to call Clare. He looked over at his alarm clock and realised he’d forgotten to set it. Realising he was going to be late for work again he jumped out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Peeling last night’s clothes off and dumping them on the floor, he got into the shower. As he stood under the shower his mind his mind crept back to Clare. Why had she dumped him so fast? She had completely freaked out when he’d suggested that they move in together. He tried to force his mind back to last night. There had been women there, but he hadn’t been interested.

Getting out of the shower he dried himself off quickly and dressed. In his bedroom his phone started to ring, running into his room he grabbed the phone from his bed. Seeing it was Pete, he allowed himself a moment of disappointment before answering.

"Hi, Pete, what’s up?”

“All right, mate, you coming in to work today?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way; tell Jon I’ll be in within the hour.”

“You better get here quicker than that, he’s going ballistic.”

“All right, all right, I’ll see you in a half hour.” Dean hung up his phone. Dashing down the stairs he grabbed his jacket. Charging out of the door he ran to the bus stop and managed to get there just as the bus arrived.

Dean arrived at the garage within the thirty minutes he had promised.

Pete wandered over to Dean when he arrived.

“Jon still doing his nut?”

“Nah, he’s calmed down now, had a phone call from the missus.”

“Real or slag?”

“Slag, of course, his real missus hasn’t so much as coaxed a smile from him in years.”

“Are you coming out later? I’m going down the Rose and Crown later to enjoy my last hour or so of freedom before the weekend.”

“Yeah, all right, haven’t got anything else planned.”

“You never do these days, you’ve got to get yourself a woman, Dean, someone closer to your own age this time.”

“Give it a rest, Pete. I’ve told you, I’m all right as I am. You fancy going and putting a few bets on Saturday?”

“I’d love to, but Collette’s got me retiling the bathroom Saturday.”

“What about Sunday, then?”

“Nah, I’ve got to put the lino down, and once the bathroom’s finished I think she’s targeting the living room. At this rate I won’t have a weekend free for the next six months.”

“One chat with you and you could put most men off women for life.”

“It feels like I’ve got a life sentence sometimes. Bloody hell, maybe I should bump her off; at least I could get parole at some point.”

Dean started to laugh.

“Still, I shouldn’t moan, she’s not a bad old girl, really, and there are compensations.”

“So I’ve heard.”

As Dean spoke a Mini Cooper pulled into the forecourt.

“Ok, this is mine.” Dean motioned for the driver to bring the car straight into the garage. As the driver vacated her vehicle she passed the keys to Dean and Dean explained the work should be completed within an hour.

Dean got into the Mini, parked it over the inspection pit and started work. Fifty minutes later Dean dropped the bonnet and jumped in to take it over to the collection bay. As he parked, he noticed Pete coming toward him, coat in hand. Dean dropped the keys back in the office and the two started toward the pub.

“I’ve only got until six. Collette’s actually cooking from scratch tonight, and God only knows I don’t want to be late for that.”

“She’s got you well trained.”

“So she thinks, but I’ve been out with you most nights recently. Really this is just a strategic move to ensure my clothes aren’t on fire in the front garden tomorrow. Besides, she’s quite a good little cook when she puts her mind to it.”

As they neared the entrance to the pub, they noticed a group of lads loitering around outside. The Rose and Crown had benches outside for smokers. A couple of lads were sitting on the benches. As Pete and Dean walked past them, Dean nodded slightly in their direction. As soon as they were inside, Pete spoke up.

“Friends of yours?”

“Kind of, I know them from school.”

“Well, if I were you I’d keep your distance; right little fuckers, the lot of them. Remember I told you about all the smash and grab car incidents up round mine? Well, I heard it was down to them lot.”

“Come on, mate, you don’t know that.”

“I’m telling you, and they deal.”

“Deal?”

“Yeah, coke, heroin, skunk, whatever they can lay their hands on—my sister won’t take her kids down the park anymore cause there’s always some crack addict milling about. Take it from me: stay away from them, they’re bad news.”

Dean thought back to his school days; they had been the reason he’d been kicked out of school. He’d been caught with half a dozen ecstasy tablets on him. Funnily enough, the school wasn’t keen on having a drug dealer as a pupil, and he’d been shown the door.

Getting their drinks, the pair moved towards the pool table.

After three games of pool and several pints, both Pete and Dean were a little worse for wear.

“Your missus is going to do her nut when you roll in.”

“Nah, she’ll be all right, she’s good as gold, really.” Pete was busy trying to fit both his arms into the same sleeve of his coat, and Dean got up to give him a hand.

“You staying here for a bit?”

“Yeah, might as well finish my drink; I haven’t got anybody cracking the whip.”

“Collette’s not cracking the whip; there’s only one person wears the trousers in my house.”

“Yeah, that’s true, and at least she can work the zip on hers properly.”

Pete looked down and hurriedly did himself up.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you Monday, then, me old mate.”

“Yeah, will do.” Dean escorted Pete to the door. As he opened it for him, one of the lads who had been sitting outside walked in. After watching to make sure Pete navigated the road safely, Dean went back to retrieve his pint.

“Still whipped, then?” The voice was loud in the bar.

Swinging round to see where it had originated from, Dean recognised the culprit immediately: Mark Prime. Mark had always been the leader of the group, and now here he was, calling him out. Dean smiled, and taking the remnants of his pint, strolled toward him.

“All right, Mark, mate, long time no see.”

“You ain’t kidding,
Deano, how’s that bird of yours, then? Last thing I heard, she was wearing your balls as earrings.”

“If you mean Clare, we split up, and for the record I was never whipped.”

“Well you knocked the old dope on the head for her, and the party powder. I heard you’d become a real hermit.”

“It was fuck all to do with her; I guess I just grew out of all that shit.”

“In two weeks? Fucking hell, you’re breaking me heart here. I thought you were one of us?”

“Ah, sorry mate, but you know what I mean.”

“No, but fuck it; what you drinking?”

“Stella, but I was just going.”

“Bollocks, you’re coming outside and having a beer and a toke, see some of your old mates.”

Before Dean could object again, Mark had grabbed the pints and was heading for the door.

On the other side of town, Lauren Matthews, Dean’s mother, was in the middle of a stand up shout down row.

“For the last time, Alice, you’re only fifteen; you are not going to a sleepover at a boy’s house.”

“But his older sister’s going to be there.”

“Oh great, a seventeen-year-old girl’s holding the fort. Why didn’t you mention this before? What do you want to take, vodka or whiskey?”

“Nothing’s going to happen—why won’t you trust me?”

“You’re not the one I have the trust issue with, it’s the twenty or so other people who’ll be there.”

“But you know Cathy, she’ll be there.”

“Really? Her parents are ok with this, then?”

Sensing she may have chanced an arm too far, Alice tried to change tack.

“You let Dean stay out all night when he was fifteen.”

“Yeah, and look what happened to him—he ended up hanging about with those losers and got kicked out of school. I’m sorry, Alice, but the answer’s still no.”

“It’s because he’s a boy, isn’t it? This isn’t fair. I thought there was supposed to be equality now.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear you feel as if you’re a victim of sexual discrimination, but until boys can carry a baby to full term, the answer to every fifteen-year-old girl who wants to go to a boy’s sleepover is going to be no.”

“Oh, so that’s why I can’t go. You think I’d be stupid enough to get pregnant. I’m not you.”

“I know you’re upset about not going, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Mum, please.”

“No, and what’s more I’m going to give Cathy’s parents a call, see if they know what’s going on.”

Alice turned on her heel and stormed out the kitchen. Dean, who was just getting in, was almost knocked sideways as his sister stomped past him and flew up the stairs. Dean sauntered through into the kitchen.

“Bloody hell, Mum, what’s up with her? She almost knocked me off my feet just now.”

“Oh, the usual. She wants to go to a sleepover and I’ve said no, so now I’m the tyrannical bitch sent to make her life miserable.”

“Fair enough. What’s for tea?” Dean knew better than to get involved.

“Well, Alice and I had shepherd’s pie; you could have had, too, if you’d been here three hours earlier. Where’ve you been, anyway?”

“Just out with some mates.”

“Pete from the garage again?”

Thinking about her reaction if she knew
who he’d really just spent the last couple of hours with; Dean decided to go along with her guess.

“Yeah.”

“He’s a nice guy, that Pete, a lot better than that other lot you used to hang around with.”

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy, all right.”

“I saw that Mark and his cronies outside Tesco the other day, hanging about by the cash point and hurling obscenities about. He looks like he hasn’t had a good scrub in weeks. Is he still dealing?”

“How the hell should I know, Mum? I’m not his fucking keeper.”

“Watch your tongue. If you’re going to start talking to me like that, you can just fuck off and find a new address. God knows I have enough to put up with from that moody little mare upstairs.”

“Sorry. I’ve just been having a rough few weeks.”

Lauren stopped and regarded her eldest.

“You’ve had a hard few weeks? You wait ‘til you’re out in the real world, you’re gonna get the shock of your life.”

“Oh Christ, am I due for a verse of ‘the rising costs of living,’ rounded off with a chorus of ‘you’ll never make it on your own.’”

Lauren cracked a smile at this and cuffed him round the head.

“All right, you cheeky sod, what do you want to eat?”

It had been a week since Clare and Hannah’s fateful night, and both women had managed to avoid speaking of it. Clare had invited Hannah around and had brought in a bottle of vodka to help keep them numb. Hannah was bringing a film, and the two of them hoped to get back to a place where they could just enjoy each other’s company once more. Both women hated to admit it, but they were well aware of how much they reminded each other of that night.

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of her friend, and Clare went to answer it. Prior to the assault she hadn’t kept her door locked, never fearing for her safety in her own town
before. But after last weekend, she now never answered the door without the chain firmly on.

Clare checked it was Hannah, and, satisfied, she released the chain and let her in.

“How have you been?”

Both women knew just how ridiculous the question was, but Clare played along regardless.

“Oh, great, thanks. What film did you bring?”

“
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
.”

Clare laughed, releasing tension.

“In the mood for a bit of mindless violence, are we?”

“Aren’t you?”

“These days? Always. Thought you might have had enough of that from the local newspaper.”

Clare walked through to the kitchen, got two glasses out, and started pouring the vodka before returning to the living room and setting up the DVD player. An hour into the film, both Clare and Hannah seemed a little more relaxed, the vodka having taking the edge off. Clare’s mobile suddenly sprang to life, making both of them jump. Clare grabbed it from the table and checked to see
who it was.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t recognise the number.”

“What’s it say?”

“It’s a text but all it contains is a web address. Hold on, I’ll find out.”

Clare scrolled to the address and clicked on it. The phone became busy once more as it tried to locate the page. As the screen started to load, Clare’s mouth dropped open with a look of absolute shock. Hannah watched as her friends face drained of all colour.

“What, Clare—what the hell’s wrong?”

At that moment Hannah’s phone started to vibrate, informing her of an incoming message. Hannah retrieved her mobile from her bag and opened the message just as her friend had done not a minute before.

Hannah took one look and knew why her friend seemed so horrified. On the screen in front of her, clearly illustrated, was herself in a very compromising position, with whom she knew instantly had to be Tom Webber. His face had been scrambled in a bid to protect his identity, something he hadn’t bothered doing for Hannah. Hannah grabbed her stomach and ran toward the bathroom, and in the background Clare could hear her throwing up. Within two minutes Hannah was back, her head in her hands.

“Oh God, Clare. What are we going to do?” Hannah clasped her hands and turned to face her.

All the colour in Clare’s face had drained

“To be honest, I’ve absolutely no idea.”

Adam Woodacre and Tom Webber were still riding high. They’d just sent the text messages to Hannah and Clare, and the lines of coke they taken a few minutes before were doing their job.

“Can you imagine the look on their faces?”

“I know they must be shitting bricks now, stupid bitches.”

“Serves them fucking right, didn’t they listen to their mothers? Never go off with strange men.”

Tom howled with laughter at this.

“Well, they don’t get much stranger than you, me old mate.”

Grabbing another can of beer from the table, Adam chucked it at Tom.

“Cheers. Look, Ad, you sure they won’t go to the old bill?”

“Course they won’t, would you? Besides, the rohypnols out of their systems by now, so we’re home and dry.”

“Yeah, and I suppose the coppers have got enough to deal what with all the murders.”

“Yeah, I’d love to have seen the last one; apparently he was killed with an electric drill. Get pictures of that on the web—can you imagine how many hits it’d get?”

“Mind you, I reckon our photos should get a good few hits themselves. That was a stroke of genius, mate, setting up that website.”

“Well, now we’ve got it set up, there’s no reason why we can’t make a bit of a business from it. I’ve made sure other people can post things, too.”

“Nice one. I’ll drink to that.”