hovel with a useless drunken bitch of a mother, he’d got sick
of seeing countless strangers come and go. The jovial ones, the cocky ones and
the downright nasty ones! It was common knowledge in the street where he’d
lived that his mother would go with anyone for a few drinks. By the time he
reached his teens he understood the implication of having so many ‘uncles’ and
as time passed by his resentment festered.
As he
wallowed in pain and self-pity at losing his precious Mandy he recalled
countless occasions when he’d borne the shame of living with such a mother.
Like the time when he’d picked her up from the street. She was so drunk that
she couldn’t stand straight. She’d fallen down in the pouring rain and when he
managed to get her off the floor her clothes and hair were drenched, her face filthy.
He’d had to accompany her home while she squealed with amusement like some
demented caricature.
He’d left home
at the earliest opportunity. From then onwards he made sure that he earned
plenty by whatever means necessary, legal or otherwise. It didn’t matter to him
as long as he could live a lifestyle that was far removed from his childhood.
He wore stylish clothes, drove smart cars and kept a nice home. Occasionally he
came across his mother in some pub or other, usually drunk and staggering, but
he avoided her, refusing to acknowledge her existence.
And the
girls loved his flash lifestyle, but most of them were slags just like her.
They’d do anything for a meal and a few drinks. Then he met Mandy who was so
different. She was everything his mother and all those tarts would never be. Mandy
had class; she was the prize. And now she was gone and he couldn’t stand it! When
his bitter thoughts threatened to overwhelm him he dashed from his flat, and made
his way towards the city centre.
--------------------
Wednesday
25 th June 1986
The arrival
of the police at Julie’s house late on Wednesday evening turned an already
trying week into a traumatic one. This time they interviewed her at home,
advising her that they had received the preliminary results of the post mortem
indicating that Amanda died of a drink and drugs overdose.
‘Tell me,’
Inspector Bowden asked Julie, ‘how long have you been taking speed?’
Julie stared
at him, incredulous. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never taken
speed in my life or any other kind of drug.’
‘How often
do you visit the Portland Bars?’ Inspector Bowden persisted.
‘I don’t
know. What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Come now Miss
Quinley, you must have some idea of how often you go there.’
‘I don’t
know, most weekends I suppose. It all depends.’
‘Depends on
what Miss Quinley; on whether you want to obtain drugs?’
‘No, not at
all. We don’t go there for that. It’s just one of the pubs we go to. It all
depends where everybody fancies going. Sometimes it might be there, sometimes
it might be one of the other pubs.’
‘And how
long have you been frequenting these pubs?’
‘A couple
of years I suppose.’
‘Well then,
Miss Quinley, I’m sure you’re aware of the problem in the past with a former
member of staff at the Portland Bars who was a known drug dealer.’
Julie’s
mouth fell open in shock. ‘I had no idea!’ she said.
‘Come off
it! You’ve been going in there every week for a couple of years and you had no
idea about the availability of drugs? Yet you were seen putting something into
Amanda Morris’s drink. Do you expect me to believe that?’
The
interview continued unabated and Julie responded to the questions with a flat
denial, until her father burst into the room. ‘Look you lot!’ he shouted,
‘She’s told you she’s not given drugs to the girl and no amount of bullying is
going to get her to change her mind. Now bugger off out of my home, and leave
my daughter alone!’
The
officers exchanged glances. Detective Inspector Bowden then stood up and calmly
replied
of seeing countless strangers come and go. The jovial ones, the cocky ones and
the downright nasty ones! It was common knowledge in the street where he’d
lived that his mother would go with anyone for a few drinks. By the time he
reached his teens he understood the implication of having so many ‘uncles’ and
as time passed by his resentment festered.
As he
wallowed in pain and self-pity at losing his precious Mandy he recalled
countless occasions when he’d borne the shame of living with such a mother.
Like the time when he’d picked her up from the street. She was so drunk that
she couldn’t stand straight. She’d fallen down in the pouring rain and when he
managed to get her off the floor her clothes and hair were drenched, her face filthy.
He’d had to accompany her home while she squealed with amusement like some
demented caricature.
He’d left home
at the earliest opportunity. From then onwards he made sure that he earned
plenty by whatever means necessary, legal or otherwise. It didn’t matter to him
as long as he could live a lifestyle that was far removed from his childhood.
He wore stylish clothes, drove smart cars and kept a nice home. Occasionally he
came across his mother in some pub or other, usually drunk and staggering, but
he avoided her, refusing to acknowledge her existence.
And the
girls loved his flash lifestyle, but most of them were slags just like her.
They’d do anything for a meal and a few drinks. Then he met Mandy who was so
different. She was everything his mother and all those tarts would never be. Mandy
had class; she was the prize. And now she was gone and he couldn’t stand it! When
his bitter thoughts threatened to overwhelm him he dashed from his flat, and made
his way towards the city centre.
--------------------
Wednesday
25 th June 1986
The arrival
of the police at Julie’s house late on Wednesday evening turned an already
trying week into a traumatic one. This time they interviewed her at home,
advising her that they had received the preliminary results of the post mortem
indicating that Amanda died of a drink and drugs overdose.
‘Tell me,’
Inspector Bowden asked Julie, ‘how long have you been taking speed?’
Julie stared
at him, incredulous. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never taken
speed in my life or any other kind of drug.’
‘How often
do you visit the Portland Bars?’ Inspector Bowden persisted.
‘I don’t
know. What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Come now Miss
Quinley, you must have some idea of how often you go there.’
‘I don’t
know, most weekends I suppose. It all depends.’
‘Depends on
what Miss Quinley; on whether you want to obtain drugs?’
‘No, not at
all. We don’t go there for that. It’s just one of the pubs we go to. It all
depends where everybody fancies going. Sometimes it might be there, sometimes
it might be one of the other pubs.’
‘And how
long have you been frequenting these pubs?’
‘A couple
of years I suppose.’
‘Well then,
Miss Quinley, I’m sure you’re aware of the problem in the past with a former
member of staff at the Portland Bars who was a known drug dealer.’
Julie’s
mouth fell open in shock. ‘I had no idea!’ she said.
‘Come off
it! You’ve been going in there every week for a couple of years and you had no
idea about the availability of drugs? Yet you were seen putting something into
Amanda Morris’s drink. Do you expect me to believe that?’
The
interview continued unabated and Julie responded to the questions with a flat
denial, until her father burst into the room. ‘Look you lot!’ he shouted,
‘She’s told you she’s not given drugs to the girl and no amount of bullying is
going to get her to change her mind. Now bugger off out of my home, and leave
my daughter alone!’
The
officers exchanged glances. Detective Inspector Bowden then stood up and calmly
replied
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