Ruthless

22

‘Did you sleep here?’ Janet found Gill already at her desk when she got into work early.

‘No, I didn’t,’ Gill said, her tone clipped, brusque. Janet looked at her; she had dark circles under her eyes. Janet knew Gill could manage on five hours a night but it didn’t look like she’d even had that.

‘Did you want something?’ Gill said without looking up.

Janet felt awkward. ‘No,’ she said. Pardon me for breathing. She retreated to the outer room, hung up her coat and logged on to the system but she found it hard to concentrate, wondering why Gill had been so short with her.

Gill could be sharp, critical, but only when someone had done something wrong or not done something important and needed a kick up the arse. She was fair, she didn’t lose her temper without good reason and she wasn’t ever manipulative or sulky. If something got up her nose she tackled it head on. Janet shuffled in her seat, tried to focus on the statements she was reviewing and shut out the voice in her head, quibbling about Gill cold-shouldering her.

Lee came in and waved hello, then Kevin.

Had she misheard? Had Gill just been so preoccupied with work that she’d made the remarks without being aware how curt she sounded? Or was it to do with Olivia’s death? Had something happened that Gill couldn’t tell her about?

This is bloody ridiculous. She got up and went to Gill’s door. Knocked and went in without waiting for permission. ‘What’s going on?’ she said.

‘What?’ Gill scowled, took her specs off.

‘Something’s up. I’d rather know what it was than sit out there trying to guess.’

Gill stared at her, looking annoyed, a glint in her gaze. Janet held her ground.

‘It’s nothing,’ Gill said, ‘just-’ Then her mouth twitched and Janet was stunned to see her eyes fill with tears.

‘Come on,’ Janet said. The ladies’ toilet was the place of sanctuary, somewhere away from prying eyes and the demands of phones and e-mails. Gill followed her there, perched against the sinks, arms folded.

Janet leaned on the wall. ‘I understand, if it’s about Olivia, if you can’t tell me-’

Gill shook her head, screwed up her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut. Then she looked across at Janet. ‘It’s Dave,’ she said.

Janet felt a stab of relief. Not her then. Not Elise. ‘Now what’s he done?’

Gill tried to speak, faltered. ‘He… erm… stupid bugger’s on the piss, big time. All the time.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Found him covered in his own sick last night, out in our summerhouse,’ Gill said.

‘Oh, Gill.’

‘Idiot.’

‘But he’s all right?’ Janet said.

‘After a fashion. He’d cut his arm breaking in,’ she shook her head, ‘ten stitches.’

‘Was Sammy-’

‘No, he was out.’

‘What are you doing here? You should be-’

‘Pot, kettle?’ Gill tipped her head on one side. ‘Where else would I be? Not sitting at his bedside wiping his sweaty brow. I hate him,’ she said, ‘I bloody hate him.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Janet said.

The door swung open and Rachel came in, paused as she saw Janet and Gill. Janet made eyes at her, tipped her head. On your way. Rachel withdrew.

‘You mustn’t tell anyone. Not Rachel, no one. Promise?’ Gill said.

‘I won’t.’

‘Lee and Kevin have already seen him drunk as a skunk on the office floor.’

‘Here? When?’ Janet said.

‘Saturday.’

Janet remembered the smell in the office, how she’d thought someone was drinking on the job.

‘He thinks he’s invincible. Captain Thunderpants. Like there’s no problem, no consequences. I tried to tell him – the job, there’s a limit to what people will accept. I went to see him Sunday evening. Told him to sort himself out, to get into rehab, join AA, anything. I thought maybe I’d got through. Obviously not,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘Where is he now?’

‘At home. He’s finally agreed to a stint in rehab. Well – it was that or see a photo of him, pissed and covered in his own chunder posted online.’

Janet looked sceptical.

‘OK,’ Gill said, ‘no, I wouldn’t but I did take one and showed him so he couldn’t do that whole denial thing.’ She screwed her hands into fists, groaned. ‘I’m sorry, kid, you’ve enough shit to deal with-’

Janet cut her off. ‘Doesn’t work like that.’ All the times Gill had held her hand, passed the tissues, watched her back. After Joshua died was the first time but many others since then and she’d done the same for Gill, when Dave walked out forcing Gill to leave the job she loved best to be closer to home, when Sammy moved in with his dad, when Chris finished with Gill.

‘How is Elise?’ Gill said.

‘She’s devastated. And she’s fifteen so of course she can’t believe it ever gets any better, gets easier. She has to find out for herself, experience it. It hurts – watching.’

‘Families,’ Gill said.

‘What would we do without them?’ Janet said.

‘She’ll be all right, she’s a bright girl and she’s got you and Adrian.’

‘Ade blames me,’ Janet said.

‘What?’

‘We had a humdinger last night, except the girls were in bed so it was all whispered.’

‘Blames you how?’ Gill said.

‘Because I said we should let them go to the party, because I said we should trust them, because Elise told him that she didn’t want to buy anything illegal in case she did get caught and then I might lose my job.’

Gill raised her eyebrows. ‘If that were true then half of the Manchester Met force would be stood down by now.’

‘What else could I have done? I did trust her. And now what? Do we think of her as a liar and a sneak for the rest of her life?’

‘No,’ Gill said.

‘I know.’

Gill sighed, turned to the mirror, raked her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. ‘Right, mate, once more into the fray?’

As one of the investigating officers, Rachel took on the task of attending the magistrates’ court with the Perrys, where the charges against them were noted and the case sent to Crown Court. Rachel requested that the men be remanded in police custody. She then re-arrested and cautioned them on suspicion of murder in the case of Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi. Noel Perry looked outraged when she did so though he offered no comment but Neil grinned and nodded as if he’d been expecting it, as if it was some sort of badge of merit to be accused of further offences.

Her mother’s voice kept echoing in her head, a nasty little earworm, maggot more like. You’re a selfish little shit, Rachel, you always were. My own daughter dobbing in my own son. Grassing up her little brother. Didn’t the silly cow understand that Rachel would’ve done anything rather than see Dom lose his freedom, his chance at something resembling a decent life. Anything except collude in covering up a murder, anything except lose her job, which was her life more or less.

While the twins waited for transport back to the police station, Rachel returned and joined the briefing, wondering what the drama had been earlier with Her Maj, trying to catch Janet’s eye and signal her curiosity. But Janet was keeping her head down, so in the end Rachel did too. Focused on the new developments they had to tackle.

In the viewing room, Gill was able to see both interview rooms on the separate monitors and hear the conversations. The similarity between the twins was overwhelming, she could discern absolutely no difference in facial features, gestures or intonation. The only way she could differentiate between the two men was because the tattoo on Noel Perry’s neck was on the left-hand side while the same design was on Neil Perry’s right side, some sort of monsters.

Lee had stayed with her to watch. Janet’s interview began first, Rachel just coming into view on the other screen as Janet said, ‘Mr Perry, you have been arrested on suspicion of the murder of persons known as Lydia Oluwaseyi and Victor Tosin, on Friday the eleventh of May. You are formally under caution and anything you do say may be given in evidence. You have the right…’

Gill sipped at her coffee.

‘Tandy,’ Lee said, ‘he was at the English Bulldog Army meeting at the George Inn. The same night the twins were there, Sunday the sixth.’

‘They met then?’ Gill said. ‘Exchanged numbers?’

Janet had finished the caution and preamble. ‘Is there anything you wish to say?’

Noel Perry looked dull, impassive, then his expression broke. Hard to tell whether it was a grimace or a smile when he said, ‘I did it, I killed them.’

Gill froze. Lee stared at the monitor, open-mouthed.

‘Let me be clear,’ Janet was saying, ‘you’re admitting responsibility for the deaths of the two victims known as Lydia Oluwaseyi and Victor Tosin found in the warehouse on Shuttling Way after the fire which was started on Friday the eleventh of May?’

‘Yeah.’ He braced his hands on his knees, legs apart.

‘Fuck me,’ murmured Gill, ‘that was easy. Lee, take a message. Tell Janet to carry on, we want a full statement, A to Z. We want to know exactly how the deaths were carried out and how he set the fire. His movements before and after. And motive.’

‘I’d hazard a guess,’ Lee said dryly as he left.

On the other screen, Rachel was going through the charge and Gill notched the volume up. Neil Perry answered the first question, ‘No comment.’ And the second. ‘No comment.’ Gill leaned closer, intrigued now at an emerging difference between the brothers.

Janet began by letting Noel speak uninterrupted. She would then revisit each point of his story and tease out the detail.

‘I went there on Friday, and it was like with the dosser. I shot ’em and then torched the place. That’s it.’ He shrugged.

Could it have been any balder? ‘What time on Friday was it?’

‘Dunno,’ he said.

‘Afternoon, evening?’

‘Dunno,’ he said.

‘Was it dark?’ Janet said.

‘Yeah.’

Janet felt a prick of doubt. One-word answers were never a good sign.

‘How did you get into the warehouse?’

‘Off of the bridge, by the canal, there’s a broken bit in the panelling there, you can get through then to the building. In one of the doors.’

‘The door wasn’t locked?’

‘Padlock’s long gone.’ More voluble now.

‘Had you been there before?’ Janet said.

He hesitated. Why? ‘Yes.’

‘Why was that?’ Janet said.

‘To get some stuff.’

‘You mean drugs?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Who did you get the drugs from?’

‘The nignogs.’

‘Are you referring to the victims, Lydia Oluwaseyi and Victor Tosin?’

‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘On Friday you went in the warehouse door, then what?’ Janet said.

‘Shot ’em, like I said.’ He rolled his shoulders back, twisted his head to and fro as though he was tired of the situation.

‘Whereabouts were they?’ Janet said.

‘Just inside. That was their squat.’

‘Whereabouts in the space?’ she persisted.

‘Just there,’ he said.

‘Standing, walking, sitting?’

He seemed unsure. ‘Standing.’

Janet didn’t miss a step. ‘Who did you shoot first?’

‘The bloke.’

‘Victor. Where was he?’

‘In the place, I told you.’

‘Was he sitting or standing when you shot him?’

‘Standing,’ he said.

‘Where did you hit him?’ she said.

‘In the chest.’ He banged a fist on his own breastbone.

‘How many times?’

‘Once.’

‘Then what?’

‘I did her.’

‘Lydia, where was she?’

He started to shrug then gave another sickly grin. ‘Trying to get away.’

‘You shot her how many times?’

‘Don’t remember,’ he said.

‘Try and remember,’ Janet said.

‘Once, in the back.’

‘What happened next?’

‘I poured the petrol on them, lit it up.’

Janet nodded though her mind was racing, trying to work out how what she was hearing fitted with the facts. Or didn’t. ‘And after that?’

‘Went home.’ He shuffled in his seat, rubbed his hand on his forearm where the fancy lettering spelled out the infamous quotes from Hitler’s bible.

‘Did anyone see you arrive home?’ Janet said.

‘Mum was out.’

‘What about Neil?’

‘Dunno,’ he said.

‘He wasn’t involved?’ Janet said.

‘No comment.’

‘Where’s the gun now?’

He fell silent.

‘Don’t you know?’ she said.

A shrug.

‘Was it the same gun that you used to kill Richard Kavanagh?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Where did you get the gun?’

He shook his head.

‘You need to speak,’ Janet said.

‘No comment.’

‘What about the petrol, where did you get that?’

‘Same as before,’ he said, ‘the Shell place.’

‘So let me be clear, when you shot Victor he was standing how far away from you?’

‘Few feet.’

‘How many?’ Janet said.

‘No idea. Didn’t measure it.’

‘Was he facing you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘He was praying,’ he sneered. ‘Lord save me!’ Noel Perry widened his eyes and shook his hands in some ghastly parody.

‘Did you go to the warehouse intending to harm the victims?’ Janet said.

‘Yeah.’ Amusement in his eyes.

‘Why was that?’

‘Immigrants. Coons. Shouldn’t be here. Parasites spreading AIDS. Taking British jobs, houses.’

‘You were happy to buy drugs from them?’ Janet said.

‘Business.’

‘The drugs in your home, did you buy those from Victor and Lydia?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘You didn’t steal them?’ Janet said.

‘No.’

‘When did you buy them?’

He paused. His face hardened. ‘Can’t remember.’

He scratched his arm, shifted in his seat. It was all off kilter. What he’d said did not mesh with the forensics.

‘How could you see?’ Janet said.

‘What?’

‘The windows in the warehouse are boarded up, there are no lights. How could you see, to shoot them?’

He was silent for several beats then said, almost with relief, ‘There was candles.’

‘Did you touch the bodies after you had shot them?’

‘No way!’

‘Where did you pour the petrol?’ Janet said.

‘On them and all around.’

‘And they were both lying on the floor?’

‘Yes.’

‘How far apart?’

‘Dunno.’ He shifted in his seat again, threw his head back in a show of boredom.

‘Approximately?’ Janet said.

‘Fifteen, twenty feet.’

‘When did you buy the petrol?’ she said.

‘Can’t remember.’

‘Whereabouts did you shoot Victor, where on the body?’

‘I’ve told you. For fuck’s sake-’ He turned to his solicitor. ‘I’m not saying any more. I did it. Game over.’

‘He’s lying,’ Godzilla said to Rachel and Janet and Lee.

‘The details don’t stack up with what we know.’ She summarized the problems with Noel Perry’s confession, counting them off on her fingers. ‘One, we’ve no accurate time of day given for the shootings. Two, the description of the actual killings is wildly inaccurate. He doesn’t refer to the victims sitting, he can’t even get the number of shots fired right. Three, his claim to have started the blaze with petrol is contradicted by the hard evidence. If we contrast this with the joint accounts of the Richard Kavanagh murder, which were consistent, coherent, detailed and supported by forensics, I think we are looking at a false confession.’

Janet agreed. ‘Minimal detail, the less you say, the easier to keep on top of the lies. The only bit that seemed coherent was the account of previous visits and how he gained access.’

‘So I think we can accept that he was familiar with the warehouse,’ the boss said. ‘And he admits going there to buy drugs but his brother is no comment. From what we’ve seen so far these two don’t even fart without the other joining in, so I don’t buy Noel Perry suddenly going solo and committing a double murder. And I don’t think Neil has any idea that his brother has confessed.’

‘With Kavanagh,’ Rachel said, ‘they both suddenly owned up, didn’t they, couldn’t get a cigarette paper between the stories, but this time only Noel does.’ It was a weird one all right.

‘With Kavanagh they had time to discuss it before we picked them up,’ Janet said, ‘“if it’s getting close to charge we’ll own up,” that sort of thing. But they were already in custody when the warehouse victims were discovered so they’d not have any chance to talk about it.’

‘Even if they were responsible,’ Rachel added sarcastically.

‘Why a false confession, Lee?’ Her Maj said.

‘There are different types, different categories, but in this context I’m thinking attention-seeking. More stripes on his sleeve,’ he said.

‘Or is he protecting someone?’ This from the boss.

‘Greg Tandy?’ Rachel said. ‘Or Marcus Williams if it is drug-related?’

‘So we don’t charge Noel Perry?’ Janet said.

‘Wasting police time,’ Rachel joked.

The boss’s phone went and she rolled her eyes. She pulled it out, then held up a finger, red claw at the tip, signalling she had to take it.

‘Harry, what you got?’ she said.

Her face sharpened as she listened, then she thanked the caller.

‘What?’ Rachel said, alert to the shift in tension in the room.

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ the boss said, her eyes bright. ‘Tests on items recovered from the Keane house, in a holdall in Greg Tandy’s room, namely a pair of leather gloves, bear significant amounts of gunshot residue and traces of barbecue lighter fuel.’

‘So the twins kill Kavanagh but Tandy does the double murder?’ said Rachel, excited that they might have their killer.

‘I don’t know if he did but I think we can safely say the Perry twins did not,’ Her Maj said. ‘Unless some startling new evidence crawls out of the woodwork and starts clog-dancing by the end of the day, we ship them off to prison. Janet, arrest Tandy and interview him on suspicion of the murders; Rachel, talk to his family and oversee the search.’

‘Boss,’ Rachel said, ‘what about the hospital?’

‘What?’ Godzilla barked, a weird look on her face. Something flashed across Janet’s face too.

‘Shirelle,’ Rachel said, ‘if she comes round and I’m at the Tandys’…’

‘You’re not the only rat in the alley, Rachel. If you are still tied up we send someone else. Teamwork. Hard to grasp, I know, but keep trying,’ Her Maj said in a snotty tone of voice. God knows what Rachel had done now, parted her hair the wrong way, but she was glad the meeting was almost over. Eager to get out there and get on with it.

23

Gloria Tandy was not best pleased that her husband was ‘assisting the police with their inquiries’.

‘What? For fuck’s sake!’ she swore. ‘What inquiries?’ She had greeted Rachel and her colleagues who would do the search with the same ill grace as before.

Rachel evaded the question. ‘You’ve not seen him then, not missed him?’

Gloria stared at her and finally said, ‘He moved out, Friday.’

‘You failed to mention that,’ Rachel said.

‘Yeah, well.’

‘Why did he leave?’

‘We weren’t getting on,’ Gloria said.

Really? Or did he need to go to ground after the killings at the warehouse? Mind you, the fact that Tandy hadn’t informed his nearest and dearest that he was down the nick just might support Gloria’s account of things.

‘What time did he leave?’

Gloria kept swinging her foot, a rhythm of restless irritation. ‘Two o’clock, around about then.’

She glanced at the quartet of officers who had accompanied Rachel. ‘What’s them lot doing?’

‘This is a warrant to search your property.’ Rachel showed her the paper. ‘Is anyone else at home?’

‘Connor’s in bed.’

‘If you could wake him and you’ll both have to wait down here with me.’

Gloria gave a bitter snort then called up the stairs. ‘Connor? Connor, get up. The police are here, they want to check the house. What for?’ She turned to Rachel. ‘You have to give a reason.’

Rachel nodded at the warrant, ‘A search for firearms and proscribed drugs.’

‘Drugs?’ she said. ‘He doesn’t touch drugs.’ No mention of weapons.

Connor came downstairs. When he saw them all in the living room he threw back his head and raised his arms, then let them drop heavily in a gesture of despair.

‘Anyone else in the house?’ Rachel checked.

Gloria gave a shake of her head. Rachel gestured for the team to go upstairs and begin looking.

‘Your husband attended a meeting at the George Inn on Sunday the sixth of May?’

‘Don’t know,’ Gloria said.

‘Free country, innit?’ Connor said.

‘Do you know if your husband had any dealings with Noel and Neil Perry?’

‘He’s been locked up since 2007.’

‘Since he came out,’ Rachel said.

‘He never,’ said Connor, ‘they’re nutters, them.’

‘Connor, shut it,’ his mother said. ‘He never told me anything,’ she said to Rachel. ‘I wouldn’t want to know anyway.’

‘Did your husband, to your knowledge, bring any weapons into the house?’

‘You want to ask me any questions like that, you’d best caution me and get a brief.’

‘He hasn’t done nothing,’ Connor said defensively, ‘it’s harassment, innit?’

‘Connor,’ Gloria warned.

Connor kicked at the kitchen table. ‘It’s all shit.’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Gloria bawled, ‘you are doing my head in. It’s bad enough having this lot crawling all over the place without your bloody chuntering.’

Connor glowered at his mother.

The minutes ticked by and finally the police came downstairs empty-handed.

‘Would you like to wait upstairs while they search down here?’ Rachel said.

‘In the kitchen,’ Gloria said. ‘I want to see what they’re doing. They leave it like a pigsty if you don’t watch.’

The trio moved into the kitchen while the searchers began systematically checking the living room. Gloria Tandy’s phone went and she began a conversation with someone about a christening, going through the living room to wait by the front door as she did so.

Connor moved over and got a can of Coke from the fridge. He popped it open and drank, watching Rachel the whole time. Finally he said, ‘If I tell you something, you won’t say who told you?’

‘I can’t promise that,’ Rachel said. ‘Depends what it is.’

He rubbed his nose, thought for a moment. ‘You was asking about the warehouse, well, the Perry boys, they was there Friday.’

Rachel’s spine stiffened. ‘You sure?’

‘I saw them coming away over the bridge,’ he said.

‘What time?’

‘About nine.’

‘You’re sure they’d been at the warehouse?’

‘Well, they’d come up the hill from there. I seen them from my window.’ He shook his drink as if testing how much was left.

‘Why didn’t you say anything before?’ Rachel said.

‘Didn’t want to mess with them. They’re off their heads.’

‘They’ve been charged already,’ Rachel tried to reassure him, ‘they won’t be out for a long time.’

‘It could still go wrong, innit. Not even go to trial for months. Anything could happen. I ain’t no witness.’

‘Connor-’

‘What you on about?’ Gloria was back, phone in hand.

‘Nothing,’ he said quickly.

Why was he telling her now, Rachel wondered? Because the twins were in custody and he felt safer? It had been on the news: two men who have been charged with the murder of Richard Kavanagh continue to be questioned on further serious charges.

Or was it because Connor suspected his dad’s involvement and he wanted to throw the police off track? She knew Connor wouldn’t say anything else with his mother back in earshot. So instead Rachel tried Gloria. ‘Did your husband know Victor and Lydia?’

‘Who? Did he heck?’

‘Done in here,’ the man leading the search team said and Rachel and the Tandys shuffled into the living room while the police examined the kitchen and the back yard.

They found nothing.

Rachel had done the babysitting and was able to leave but whether the new information she had got was gold dust or dirt, she’d no idea. If Connor Tandy really had seen the twins coming from the warehouse on Friday at nine, did that actually help matters given it seemed evident that the twins were not responsible for the double murder? Or did it just muddy the water even more?

Janet had looked at Rachel’s interview with Greg Tandy. The guy was no comment all the way. He was an odd-looking man, doll-like, his round eyes and high eyebrows gave him a surprised look. But his repeated answer was dull and flat, stripped of any intonation.

Janet wondered if she would do any better now evidence was stacking up against him.

Greg Tandy hadn’t shaved; his jaw was dusted with back dots like pepper where his stubble was growing in. His disposable suit added to the impression Janet had of him looking like a toy, or a puppet, Andy Pandy, Thunderbirds.

‘Mr Tandy, there are two separate matters I wish to talk to you about today,’ Janet said. ‘I’d like to begin by informing you that a search of the house in Crescent Drive where you were staying revealed a cache of firearms, as seen in this picture. I’m now showing Mr Tandy a photograph, exhibit number MG4. Can you explain to me what you were doing with these weapons?’

‘No comment.’

‘Can you tell me how you acquired them?’

‘No comment.’

He had long teeth, uneven and protruding so his lips never fully closed. And he’d a smoker’s cough.

‘Have you supplied a weapon to anyone since your release from prison?’ she said.

‘No comment.’

‘You understand possession of a firearm is an offence punishable by law?’

‘Yes,’ he said. He coughed, cleared his throat, a sound like a car revving and trying to catch.

‘Did you supply Neil Perry with a weapon on Tuesday May the eighth?’ she said.

‘No comment.’

‘A search is currently being carried out at your home in Manton Road. Can you tell me if there are more firearms there?’ Janet said.

‘No,’ but he looked sick. Because they’d find something there or because his family would be affected?

‘Mr Tandy, is there anything you wish to tell me in relation to the firearms found in your possession?’

‘No comment.’

Janet nodded. Turned over the page of her notes, skimmed over them, then sat back. ‘Have you fired a gun recently?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘Are you certain about that?’ Janet said.

‘Yes.’

‘You haven’t fired a weapon since your release from prison?’ Leading him along the path, closer to the trap.

‘No,’ he said, with some impatience.

‘I am now showing Mr Tandy exhibit number MG10. A photograph. Do you recognize this bag?’

He stared at the picture, whistling in his throat. Something, consternation rippling through his expression? ‘No comment,’ he said.

‘This bag was found on top of the wardrobe where you were staying. You own a bag like this?’

‘No comment.’

‘This is exhibit number MG16. You recognize these gloves?’

‘No comment.’

‘They were found, along with a balaclava and a boiler suit, in the bag. Are they your gloves?’ she said.

‘No comment.’

‘We believe they are. We expect DNA testing to corroborate that.’

He gave a hacking cough.

Janet continued, walking him up to the gaping big hole in his account. ‘You have just told me that you have not fired a gun recently, yet the gloves recovered from your belongings contain significantly high levels of gunshot residue. How do you account for that?’

He snorted, eyes hot, the patches of colour on his cheeks darkened. ‘It’s a bloody fit-up,’ he said, ‘you can’t do that.’

‘I can assure you that none of the evidence recovered has been tampered with and we have watertight continuity for everything here,’ she said.

He shook his head, rattled off a cough. ‘It’s a fucking fit-up.’ He turned to his solicitor, ‘I want that on the record.’

Janet didn’t give him time to compose himself. ‘We also found significant traces of kerosene, that’s like paraffin. Highly flammable, sometimes used as a fire accelerant.’

He caught on quickly. ‘No way, no fucking way. I had nothing to do with that, with them shootings. No way.’

‘You refer to the murders of Lydia Oluwaseyi and Victor Tosin.’

‘Any murders. You can’t put that on me. I didn’t even know them,’ he said.

‘Perhaps you can explain then how your gloves came to be drenched in lighter fuel and thick with gunshot residue?’

There was a moment when he faltered, almost imperceptible, but Janet saw it in the minute changes in the muscles around his mouth, and the flash in his eyes, the hiatus in his breathing. He’d realized something, worked something out or remembered something. The moment passed in an instant and he resumed his defence.

‘No comment,’ he said, his lips twitching, reminding Janet of a horse baring its teeth.

‘Can you tell me where you were on Friday between the hours of seven and nine pm?’

‘No comment.’ Face closing down, he looked beyond Janet and into the middle distance. A stare of measured indifference, the mask was back in place. She knew he wouldn’t tell her anything else but she was intrigued by his violent reaction to the evidence on his gloves.

24

Rachel reported to hospital reception and asked for Shirelle Young. She needed the ward number.

‘Are you a relative?’ the clerk said.

‘Police.’ Rachel showed her warrant card.

Finally the clerk found Shirelle listed and directed Rachel up to the second floor, to the ward at the end of the corridor.

When Rachel got there the ward was locked, a laminated notice stated that visiting hours were 2-4 and 6-8. No visitors at any other time. Someone had underlined No visitors and any other time with several strokes of a marker pen.

Rachel rang the buzzer and waited. No one answered. She peered through the glass in the door; the ward looked deserted but she saw someone at the far end cross from one bay to another.

Rachel pressed the buzzer again, kept it pressed as she counted to twenty. A disembodied voice answered, ‘Yes?’ Making it sound like a slap.

‘Police, here to see Shirelle Young.’

‘Visiting hours are two till four and-’

‘Police,’ Rachel repeated, ‘here to speak to a victim of serious crime.’

‘God, sorry. Thought you said please.’ A giggle. ‘Come in.’ The tone sounded and Rachel pushed through the door.

It was a big ward, with the nurses’ station halfway down. As she drew closer Rachel could hear someone calling, ‘Nurse, nurse!’

There was an air of abandonment to the place. Rachel hoped she’d die at home, or outside, anywhere but somewhere like this. She hated hospitals, the smells and the mess.

The nurses’ station was deserted. Shirelle’s name was written up on the board behind but, unlike the others, there was no bed number assigned to it.

Exasperated, Rachel poked her head into the nearest bay. Saw only sick people, dozing, drips in their arms. None of them Shirelle.

She walked further down the corridor. The tremulous voice kept on calling, ‘Nurse? Nurse?’ and someone struggled with a hacking cough. Rachel heard a peal of laughter. In an anteroom, two nurses, one tiny, the other like a beanpole, were heaping laundry into bags. ‘Shirelle Young,’ Rachel said, flashing her ID to stop any argument. ‘Admitted last night.’

‘Should be on the board,’ the titchy one said.

‘No,’ Rachel said, ‘not her bed number.’

There was a pause. Titch frowned, the other one shrugged.

‘I could go round every bed,’ Rachel said sharply, ‘if you’ve lost her.’

That riled the smaller nurse, who got all huffy and said, ‘Take a seat, we’ll check for you.’

The seats were a little further along, tucked in an alcove out of sight. Rachel sat, impatient, glanced at the notice banning mobile phones and checked hers. No messages. No one ever paid any attention to the signs. She wondered why they still bothered.

‘Nurse! Nurse! I need the commode!’

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

As far as Rachel could tell, there were only those two nurses, and whoever it was had buzzed her in, covering the ward. That couldn’t be right, could it?

Then the lanky one was back. ‘She’s gone,’ she said. She was trying to look relaxed about it but Rachel could see worry in her eyes.

‘Discharged?’ Rachel said.

‘Not officially. I think she’s just left.’

Rachel’s pulse jumped. ‘Where was the bed?’

‘Near the door.’ The nurse pointed to the entrance to the ward.

‘When was she last seen?’ Rachel said.

‘She got her meds ten minutes ago.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Call security. She’s a potential witness as well as a victim, she could be at risk. She mustn’t leave the hospital. You can describe her?’

‘Yes, sure,’ the nurse said defensively.

‘Then do it.’

The woman blinked and Rachel ran. She took the stairs, judging it would be quicker than the lift. The stairwell was empty apart from a bloke in scrubs running up. At the bottom Rachel looked about. The place wasn’t too busy out of visiting hours but there were still patients heading into consultations and clinics and others being moved between departments by porters.

Rachel waited, focusing to catch any movement that seemed too swift, out of synch with the slow flow of people. There was only one way in and out, the main entrance. Rachel ran to the automatic doors, skirting past the woman pushing an old bloke in a wheelchair. From the top of the ramp she had a good view of the grounds, across the lawned slopes to the car parks and bus stops below, either side of the road.

She scrutinized people systematically, eyes roving over faces, body shapes and clothing, looking for a match. Her gaze snagged on a figure leaning on a low wall, half turned away from her about eighty yards from where she stood. The white jacket, her size, the shape of her head, the dark hair all fitted. Rachel was halfway there when Shirelle looked round, sensing her approach, and began to move, running in an uneven gait down towards the road.

Not this time, matey. Losing Keane yesterday had been bad enough. Rachel pelted down the slope, gaining on the girl. Ahead Shirelle stumbled and Rachel would’ve got to her but for a family group, five adults with two buggies, who chose that moment to cross the road and block the pavement.

Swerving around them, Rachel cut into the traffic. A taxi braked hard, blaring its horn, the driver mouthing outrage when Rachel’s hand glanced off the bonnet. She felt sweat break across her neck and back, the thunder of her heart in her head. Rachel regained the pavement, Shirelle veered right and back up the grass slope towards the hospital outbuildings, perhaps looking for cover. Rachel followed, chest aching, legs straining, heat in her face.

Shirelle was slowing, Rachel could hear her panting as she closed the distance between them. When she was near enough, Rachel lunged, grabbed Shirelle in a flying tackle that sent them both on to the grass with a thump. Shirelle screamed. The impact forced the air from Rachel’s lungs, jolting her elbows, reawakening the tenderness where Neil Perry had throttled her and the bruises from Tandy’s arrest.

‘What you doing?’ A scandalized voice, an Asian bloke. ‘Get off her, leave her alone.’

Other people drifted their way, adding their own comments.

‘Twice her size, she is.’

‘Probably pissed.’

‘Let her alone.’

Rachel could smell the grass and earth and some faint perfume on Shirelle’s hair and a whiff of antiseptic.

‘Nasty bitch.’

‘Cat fight, is it?’

‘Get security guards,’ some man yelled.

‘What have you done to her?’ a woman said, face like a whippet. ‘That’s brutality, that is.’

‘I’m calling the police,’ the good Samaritan yelled at Rachel, phone at the ready. ‘Get off her now.’

For fuck’s sake. Rachel rolled off Shirelle and planted one hand between her shoulder blades to keep her prone.

‘I am the police,’ Rachel said.

‘Yeah, right, and I’m the Queen of Sheba.’ The guy looked around, inviting the clot of onlookers to share his derision. The Whippet was using her phone camera.

‘If you want a witness,’ she said loudly to Shirelle, ‘it’s all on here, darling.’

Oh, frigging perfect, Rachel thought, be all over YouTube.

Rachel reached for her warrant card and swung it around with her free hand. ‘Satisfied?’

Some of the crowd melted away but most stayed for the sideshow while Rachel dragged Shirelle to her feet and said, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the possession of banned substances with intent to supply. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence against you.’

The Asian guy stood his ground, face still like a smacked arse, mouth pursed, shaking his head as if deeply disappointed in Rachel and how she’d conducted herself.

Shirelle looked worse in the clear light of day, her face more swollen. Stitches ran across the deeper cuts over her eyelid and cheek and lip. She had lost teeth too, gaps at the front. Livid bruises on her forearms and hands. Rachel imagined the blows, smashing the girl against the hard ground. Boots or fists or bats?

Nevertheless Shirelle had been examined by the police doctor and found fit for interview. A duty solicitor was present. Rachel stated the grounds under which Shirelle had been arrested, and cautioned her.

‘You know we searched your flat,’ Rachel said. ‘We found a number of items banned under the Misuse of Drugs Act.’

Shirelle gave a small sigh.

‘Can you tell me why you had these drugs in your possession?’

‘No.’ Her voice painfully hoarse.

‘What were you doing at Stanley Keane’s? Getting stocked up?’

‘No,’ Shirelle said quickly.

‘Is he responsible for your injuries?’

‘No.’

‘We can help, you know. You don’t have to deal with it on your own. And we can keep you safe, if that’s what you’re worried about. Keane works with Marcus Williams, doesn’t he? The Williamses of this world, they sit up there, king of the shit heap, raking in the money, calling the shots, but it’s people like you always pay the price. I don’t think that’s fair.’

The girl was unmoved.

Rachel said, ‘I want to talk to you again about Victor and Lydia. We know they were dealing, I think you were supplying them. Is that the case?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘You’re not in work – is that true?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Claiming Jobseeker’s?’ Rachel said.

‘So?’

‘Can you explain to me how you’ve furnished your flat and paid for a new kitchen on sixty quid a week?’

Shirelle gave a little snort, said nothing.

‘From the proceeds of drug-dealing perhaps?’

‘No way.’

‘We have a witness saw Noel and Neil Perry near the warehouse on the Friday evening. Did the Perrys visit the squat?’

‘Maybe.’ Which meant yes.

‘Did you see them there recently?’ Shirelle hesitated. She must realize, Rachel thought, that she’d be incriminating herself to some extent if she admitted regular visits to Victor and Lydia, even if she stopped short of saying they were buying drugs from her.

‘We’ve got enough to do you for supply,’ Rachel said, putting a bit of pressure on. ‘Well, did you see them?’

The girl didn’t reply.

‘Come on, Shirelle. He was a friend, wasn’t he? Victor. Or are you protecting someone. Was this beating to keep you quiet?’

‘No. Thursday, I seen them,’ she said.

‘The Perrys. What time?’

‘About four, I was leaving the squat.’

‘Not Friday?’ Rachel said.

Shirelle shook her head slowly to the right then left.

‘You see Victor on Friday?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time?’

A pause. ‘Same,’ she said.

‘But not the twins?’

‘No.’

Rachel thought of the stash that the Perry brothers had, more than personal use. ‘Were they dealing, the Perrys?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘Heavy users?’

‘Dunno. Ain’t exactly mates.’

‘They’re racist tossers but they’re happy enough to deal with Victor?’ Rachel said.

‘Hypocrites, in’t they.’

‘And on Saturday you were up on Middleton Road, with a bagful of party poppers. You heard the girl died?’

Shirelle closed her good eye.

‘Not your week, is it?’ Rachel said.

‘It was legal.’

‘That might have been, the rest isn’t. Class As, Shirelle, you can get life for that. You going to do that for Williams? Reckon he’ll thank you for it? Even if it’s accepted you played a lesser role, you’re looking at seven years. What’s keeping you here? Family? We heard you’re on your own. Think about it: new name, new flat, new chance. This all goes away.’

‘I i’nt a grass.’

Rachel had an image of Sharon, the night before, the disgust on her face, disgust at Rachel. The rotten ache of it inside her.

‘They could have killed you,’ Rachel said. ‘You don’t matter, you’re disposable.’

Shirelle didn’t speak.

‘It’s one of the lines of our investigation, whether associates of Williams were behind the murders, Victor’s murder.’

Shirelle’s expression hardened. ‘They weren’t, no way.’

‘You liked Victor, you went out with him, and I thought you’d at least want to see whoever killed him pay for it. Perhaps Victor double-crossed Williams, perhaps he was cutting the product?’

‘No,’ she repeated, ‘he never. It wasn’t any of them.’ Shirelle was adamant.

‘You know who, then?’

‘No.’

Rachel held her gaze, tried to see beyond the cuts and the bloodshot eye.

‘That’s the truth,’ she said, ‘I swear.’

‘What do you know about Greg Tandy?’ Rachel asked.

‘Who?’ But there was a false note to the question.

‘He was staying at Keane’s. Connor’s dad. You know Connor?’

‘I know Connor,’ she said, ‘I don’t know his dad.’

Rachel wasn’t sure she believed her. Aware that when any probing came close to Williams or his grubby little empire, Shirelle watched her step.

‘What was he like, Victor?’ With no family, no records, any information on the man was patchy to say the least. They probably knew more about Richard Kavanagh. Didn’t even have any photographs.

‘He was a big kid.’ She paused, but the temptation to talk about him must have won her over. ‘Like when we were together, he was still friendly with Lydia and I said, “I don’t share,” but he just fooled about, like it was a joke. He never grew up.’ For the first time, behind the words blunted by her injuries, Rachel heard grief in what Shirelle was saying.

Most of them don’t grow up, Rachel thought. Would Sean? Had he? This, the marriage, pushing Rachel to meet her mother, was that grown-up behaviour? He still found farting and cock jokes totally hilarious.

‘Is there anything else you wish to add?’ Rachel was ready to wind things up, they had enough to charge her with possession with intent to supply.

‘The Paradise,’ Shirelle said, ‘it’s been OK.’ A sliver of remorse.

‘I know,’ Rachel said, ‘and then it wasn’t.’

25

The café, self-service, was cheap and cheerful, not too greasy, ideal for a quick lunch.

‘What are you getting?’ Rachel said.

Janet looked at her watch, they hadn’t long but she needed something hot and filling. ‘Macaroni cheese.’ Rachel ordered the pasta and a steak and mushroom pie. They took their meals to an empty table in the corner.

‘So, what’s wrong with Her Majesty?’ Rachel said.

Janet shook her head. ‘None of your business.’

Rachel gave a heavy sigh.

Janet didn’t care, there was no way she was going to betray Gill’s confidence. Friendship was rooted in trust. Sometimes she wasn’t sure whether Rachel understood that.

‘How’s Elise?’

Janet told Rachel the same she’d told Gill earlier, including the fact that Ade blamed Janet and Olivia’s mother had turned on Elise.

‘You want to tell her what’s what,’ Rachel said. ‘If it was Olivia egging Elise on, Olivia lying about the party, then…’

‘There’s a time and a place,’ Janet said. ‘She’s mad with shock.’

‘But for Elise-’

‘I’ve explained it to Elise, she sort of gets it. She just feels bloody awful. It certainly hasn’t helped.’

‘What about Taisie?’ Rachel said.

‘She’s completely confused. She’s meant to be the awkward one. Elise never puts a foot wrong. And Taisie really liked Olivia so she’s in bits. Of course she’s still at the “why-would-anyone-want-to-take-drugs” age so she can’t understand it.’

Taisie had sought Janet out the previous evening, in tears. She sat on Janet’s knee, something she hadn’t done for years, as she asked her questions. Why did they buy the drugs? Was it like heroin? Why did only Olivia die?

Then Elise had woken her in the night, saying her heart was beating too fast and she daren’t go to sleep because she might dream about Olivia. Janet had felt her own body pick up on the panic in her daughter, echoing the same physical sensation.

She had coaxed her daughter back to bed after a milky drink and a talk. Told her to breathe very slowly and deliberately, that it was harder for anxiety to overwhelm you if your breathing was steady and regular. That what you did with your body could help soothe your mind, your emotions. But today Janet herself found it hard to breathe deeply. Her guts were in knots.

She ate some food, hoping it would help settle the jittery feeling she’d had ever since Saturday’s phone call from Elise. What if she was losing it again? Twice she’d been mentally ill, the spectacular breakdown in her teens that had come from nowhere, then the depression and anxiety that followed Joshua’s death. Both times Ade had been a rock, helping her cope, waiting for her to heal, believing she would recover, that they had a future. That wouldn’t happen if she cracked up now, and what effect would it have on the girls?

‘Oy, Dolly Daydream,’ Rachel broke into her thoughts, ‘did you hear me?’

‘What?’

‘Forget it,’ Rachel said.

‘No, go on, what?’

‘I was just saying it could have been worse. She won’t have a criminal record-’

‘Somebody died,’ Janet said, ‘I call that worse.’

‘But if she’d been prosecuted for supplying, had to go through the courts-’

‘She’ll have to go to the coroner’s inquest.’ That would be an ordeal in itself. Janet had attended inquests as a police officer, for sudden deaths that the police determined to be accidental or suicide.

‘All I’m saying-’

‘Leave it, please. I know you’re only looking for a bright side but honestly it doesn’t help,’ she said sharply.

Rachel looked taken aback. She’d get over it. Janet was in no mood to start tip-toeing around, worrying about Rachel. Rachel could look after herself.

Janet stared at her plate and felt her appetite drain away. She’d eaten half of it. That would have to do.

‘You coming?’ she said to Rachel, who had polished off her meal.

‘Well, I’m not staying here, am I?’ Rachel snapped, her bolshie side showing again.

Dave had found a place in a rehab clinic. He could use some of his private health insurance to pay for it, and didn’t have to wait. Gill had arranged to drive him there because she didn’t quite trust him to go.

She asked Janet to keep an eye on things at work and if anyone asked to just tell them she had a hospital appointment. Noel and Neil Perry were awaiting transfer to prison. The vans did their rounds at the beginning and end of the day, delivering suspects to court, bringing defendants back to prison after their time in the dock. If further investigation led the police back to either of the Perrys in relation to Victor and Lydia, the police could apply to the prison to have them produced for interview. Gill thought there was little chance of this happening. They hadn’t been involved in the double murder, she was sure of it.

The chief superintendent was happy to give them a twelve-hour extension to continue questioning Greg Tandy, given that the evidence now pointed to his possible involvement in those killings.

‘Or I could ask Lee,’ Gill said to Janet, ‘in case Elise wants-’

‘It’ll be fine but if I am needed I’ll hand things over to Lee. You won’t be all that long, will you, anyway?’

‘You’re right.’ Gill shuddered, wishing it could all be over.

She picked him up from his mother’s. His mother answered the door and didn’t seem to know what to say. Gill had no idea whether Dave had spoken to her in any detail about it all. Anyway his mother settled for, ‘It’s very good of you. He just needs a bit of breathing space.’ It must have been a nightmare for her, her middle-aged son suddenly going into a 40 per cent proof meltdown in her spare room, after years of independence.

Dave came downstairs carrying a suitcase, said hello with no warmth, flat and resigned. He gave his mother a brief hug then took his case outside. Gill followed, popped the boot. Once he’d stowed it away, he got in beside her.

The first part of the journey was in silence, the atmosphere strained.

‘My car,’ he said, as she reached the motorway heading south.

‘Don’t worry, I put it in the garage. It can stay there for now.’

‘Emma…’

The whore.

‘I’d rather she didn’t know I was-’ He nodded in their direction of travel.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Gill said. She’d no idea where things were up to with Dave and the whore. Had presumed that with his drinking and general fuckwittery he had queered his pitch and burned his bridges and hence the move back to his mother’s. Did Dave really imagine there might be life in that relationship? If he was hiding his treatment from the woman then it really didn’t sound like a match made in heaven. In sickness and in health. And what was all the bollocks about starting again with Gill? She didn’t care any more. They could fuck off into the sunset together if that’s what they wanted.

Gill pulled out into the fast lane, overtaking a trio of Morrison’s lorries. Tired of the silence, she switched on the radio, caught the news. ‘Manchester Metropolitan Police have announced there will be no criminal proceedings following the death of fifteen-year-old Olivia Canning at a party in Oldham on Saturday. Olivia is believed to have died from complications after taking the legal high known as Paradise. A spokesman for the police said, “We continue to caution the public against the use of any drug that is untested and can, as in this case, be potentially fatal. Policing the trade in so-called legal highs remains a minefield as small changes to the composition of the drug when a substance is banned means producers are able to avoid prosecution and continue to sell to the public. It’s a game of catch-up,” said Sergeant Phillip Whitaker, “we’ll never be able to identify and proscribe the drugs as fast as the chemists invent new ones.”’

‘Janet’s daughter Elise was with that girl,’ Gill said.

Dave grunted, stared ahead out of the window.

She made no further attempts at small talk. Part of her longed to confront him, to stop the car and drag him out and berate him for his thoughtless, selfish behaviour. But she bit her tongue. Letting rip wouldn’t help beyond getting rid of some of the tension wound up inside her. He was sick, raddled with alcohol. Bawling him out would probably serve to confirm whatever shitty thoughts he had running around his brain. Best to keep quiet, and later she would thump her pillows or break something or weep. Alone, with no one to worry about.

He needed support, in her head she understood that. At least he’d get it where he was going, she hoped. Taking him there was the most she could muster.

Another twenty minutes and they arrived. Gill pressed an intercom at the gates and gave his name before the barrier lifted. She parked and turned off the engine. He sighed then said, ‘Thanks,’ still with that level, unemotional tone. She watched as he dragged his case across the paving to the doors marked Reception. A tall man, broad-shouldered, the hair on his crown beginning to thin.

When he had disappeared inside, swallowed up by the automatic doors, she turned the engine on and reversed out of the parking space. Relief that he was gone, off her hands, washed over her, mingling with a deep sadness that it had come to this.

‘Janet,’ her mother sounded weird, ‘Elise has gone.’

‘Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?’

‘She was going home, but Taisie’s just rung up asking for her. She should be there by now.’

‘When did she leave?’ Janet said, her guts tightening.

‘An hour ago,’ Dorothy said.

Christ. It took fifteen, twenty minutes tops to walk the distance between the houses. ‘I could have collected her,’ Janet said, ‘or Ade. Why did you just let her go?’ She regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Chucking blame at Dorothy was no solution.

There was a brief silence before Dorothy replied, the hurt clear in her voice. ‘She said she wanted to walk. I’m sorry.’

‘Look, Mum, it’s probably just-’ All the usual explanations… she’s called at Olivia’s, she’s with friends, she’s got something after school… no longer applied. ‘I’ll go look for her. I’ll ring Ade. You stay there in case she comes back.’

Janet told Lee she had to go, asked him to cover until Gill returned. She rang Ade, heard his phone go to voicemail as she clattered down the stairs. She wondered about leaving a message explaining to him what had happened but hated the thought of the alarm it might cause. Instead she just asked him to call her as soon as he’d picked up her message. When she tried Elise’s phone she got the automated response ‘unable to take your call’, suggesting the handset was either dead or off.

Janet drove as quickly as she dared. She decided to check in with Taisie first and then trace the route back to Dorothy’s. There were a handful of shops between the two, might Elise have stopped off in one of them?

Taisie was in tears, her face pinched with worry. Janet’s heart flipped over at the sight of her.

‘Hey,’ Janet pulled her close, ‘come here.’ No point in telling her not to cry. Of course she should cry if she felt like it. ‘I’m going to go look.’

‘Can I come?’ Taisie begged.

‘No, I need you here so you can let me know if she gets back. Keep trying her phone, yes, every ten minutes, you ring me if you hear anything – and ring round her friends, any you’ve got numbers for.’

Taisie sniffed, nodded. ‘OK.’ Taisie rarely cried, most often in anger, when she was frustrated with the world.

‘Good girl.’

‘Mum?’ Taisie became agitated again as Janet reached the front door, a high note in her question.

She needed reassurance, Janet saw. Olivia dead, now her big sister missing, the world must suddenly seem such a treacherous place. Janet didn’t usually lie to her girls, she felt it was part of her role as a parent to answer their questions about life with unflinching honesty. Now she took a breath, put her hands on Taisie’s head, a benediction, kissing her forehead. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ she said, ‘she’ll be fine.’

She prayed the lie would not come back and destroy them all.

Janet drove along the road to her mother’s and back twice, the knots in her stomach twisting tighter with each pass. At the back of her mind a question thrummed. She did her best to ignore it. It was like a drill boring into masonry, or a woodpecker hammering on a tree over and over. What if she’s done something stupid? It happened, Janet knew, too often, more usually to boys than girls but still… In the course of the job she’d attended some heartbreaking scenes. Pushing the images away, she turned into the side street close to the run of shops and parked.

She selected a photo of Elise on her phone, ignored the lump in her throat, and asked in each place, a hairdresser’s, hardware store, bakery, newsagent’s and Indian takeaway, if anyone had seen her daughter. All she got were negative replies and pitying looks.

Janet went back to her car. Half an hour had passed with no word. An hour and a half since Elise had left her grandma’s. Maybe Janet should report her missing. Fifteen, vulnerable given recent events, a witness to a sudden death. She felt a spike of fear. Might Elise have attracted the wrong sort of attention, could someone have seen them going to the police station yesterday? That’s stupid, she told herself, you’re being paranoid. But what if she ignored these fears and in doing so exposed Elise to danger?

She drove back towards home, unsure what to do next, sick with worry. A band of pain tight around her head. When her mobile rang she braked quickly and pulled in, earning a blast of the horn and a raised middle finger from the driver following.

‘Ade?’

‘You found her?’

‘How did you know?’ Janet said.

‘I’ve had Taisie on. Well?’

‘No sign, I’ve been up and down the road. I’ve tried the shops.’

‘Well, where the fuck is she?’

‘Don’t shout at me, Ade, that isn’t helping.’

‘Have you tried the common?’ he said.

The common, some reclaimed land that had once been a tip, ran south of the main road about a block away. Janet hadn’t been there for years and she’d no idea if Elise had. The rough ground had been landscaped and grassed over, saplings planted. She remembered a pool in the centre.

‘I’ll go there now.’

Janet parked at the end of the cul-de-sac. Carved tree trunks, an owl and a fox, guarded the entrance. Signs warned about dog fouling, fire lighting and camping.

The saplings were more mature now, in leaf too, and there was little sign of the area’s previous use save for occasional bits of rubble, concrete blocks, half-bricks, lumps of cinder which must’ve worked their way to the surface in among the grass hillocks.

The light was dappled on the path and Janet walked quickly. She remembered rightly that the main route followed close to the outskirts of the grounds with several smaller paths leading from it to the centre, like the spokes of a wheel. Occasionally there were benches made of fake wood which were flame and vandal resistant. She met a man with a spaniel and showed him Elise’s photo. He shook his head, ‘Sorry.’

Once she had made a full circle she took the next path into the middle. As she drew closer she could see the tall rushes that edged the pond, obscuring a clear view across. The water was an opaque grey-green, sickly looking, grease on the surface. Ducks and ducklings paddled in the shallows.

Janet went left, her eyes burning, fists and jaw clenched. Would she be here now, her daughter lost, if Vivien hadn’t been so cruel?

She rounded the curve of the shore and her legs went weak. Elise was there, on a bench, perfectly still, her face in profile, gazing at the water.

Janet fought the temptation to cry out, to run, and made her way to the bench.

Elise glanced up at her. She looked exhausted, pale, her eyes rimmed with shadows. She scowled at the light.

‘We were worried about you.’ Janet sat down.

‘Sorry,’ Elise said.

There was silence, broken only by the occasional squabbling of the ducks and the alarm call of a blackbird somewhere in the trees.

Janet’s head was full of recriminations: why weren’t you answering your phone, Elise, how could you just disappear, have you any idea what that might do to us? But she kept her counsel. Elise had already had one deranged mother badmouthing her.

Janet steadied her breathing, waiting for her body to recognize that the immediate trauma was over, to shift into a lower gear. She texted Ade. All OK back soon. Tell T and D.

‘We used to come here last summer,’ Elise said, ‘after school sometimes.’

I didn’t know. Did Ade? Was that how he knew to look here? Something else I missed because of work?

Janet watched the water, the dimples made by insects, the patterns cast by the bulrushes. Her daughter was here, safe. She could hear her, each breath, see the way she absentmindedly threaded her fingers together. But Vivien… who would never again share a moment sitting side by side with Olivia, whose life would never be complete… Janet looked up. The sky was blank, a suffocating white.

‘Oh, Mum,’ said Elise, still staring out across the water.

‘I know,’ Janet said, ‘I know.’

26

Rachel had the police scanner on, force of habit as she was driving back to Manorclough. The boss wanted more on Greg Tandy. The fact that his house was close to the warehouse, just over the canal, meant sightings of him in the vicinity could be completely innocent. Rachel would talk to his neighbours, see if she could plot his comings and goings.

When a burst of static came over the airwaves followed by a call-out to patrols in Manorclough with reports of shots fired in Manton Road, she felt the shock jolt through her. Tandy’s street!

Rachel took the next left, flooring the accelerator as soon as she was round the corner. This road had ramps but she didn’t slow down as the car bucked and banged over them. Protocol for incidents involving firearms was to isolate the area and wait for the armed response unit. But she was so close. There might be something she could do to help.

She flew along Shuttling Way and then turned on to Derby Fold Lane, past the ruined warehouse and over the bridge then sharp left into Manton Road.

As she jumped out she could hear sirens not far away and she saw several people gathered outside the house, among them Connor Tandy and his mother Gloria. The air smelled of cordite. The front downstairs window was smashed, glass glittered on the pavement, the front door was wrecked with bullet holes. The lights were on in the house, the curtains, closed but shredded, billowing out of the broken window, the TV still burbling away.

Rachel pushed through the crowd to reach Gloria and Connor. They looked terrified, standing shivering. Gloria had a cigarette in one hand; when she raised it, her hand shook uncontrollably.

‘What happened?’ Rachel asked.

‘They shot at us!’ Connor’s words were jerky.

‘Who, did you see anyone?’

He shook his head, his mother copying him. ‘I was upstairs,’ Gloria said, ‘getting changed. Connor was-’ she choked, ‘he was in there.’ Tears glinted in her eyes as she nodded to the front room.

‘You’re not hurt?’ Rachel looked at the boy’s face, his hands. The cut on his cheek from when he’d fallen off his bike was almost healed.

‘No.’ He shook his head, frowning, and pressed his hands to his ears. That many shots a few feet away from him, he’d be half deafened. It was a miracle he hadn’t been hit. Had the gunman aimed to kill or just frighten and silence those inside?

‘You can’t go back in,’ said Rachel.

‘But our stuff?’ Gloria said.

‘We need to recover the bullets, they might help us work out who did this. Can you think of anyone who would?’

Surely, if the woman knew, she’d tell Rachel now, having come so close to losing her boy.

‘I don’t know,’ she said and seemed genuinely bewildered. ‘Who the fuck would do this? What’s he ever done,’ she pointed her fag at Connor, ‘or me?’

Or did the culprits think Greg Tandy was still in residence?

‘We’re going to get you moved,’ Rachel said.

‘What?’ Gloria scowled.

‘You can’t stay here.’

The squad cars arrived and Rachel had a word with the officers and agreed on where to erect the cordon. ‘Take statements from all the onlookers,’ she told them. ‘Did anyone hear or see anything? Was there a car, or motorbike, any words shouted, anyone behaving oddly. Yes?’

The officers agreed.

Rachel rang Gill but got Janet instead. ‘Someone’s been shooting up Greg Tandy’s, no casualties but we need a safe house for Mrs Tandy and Connor. Can you find out what’s available and get back to me?’

‘Of course.’

Rachel took the Tandys to sit in the back of her vehicle while she waited for an address.

Janet finally got back to her with the location of a house in Bolton. Someone would meet them there with basic provisions: tea, milk, bread and margarine.

‘What size are they, clothes wise?’ Janet said.

Rachel relayed the question.

‘Twelve,’ Gloria said, ‘why?’

‘We need to take your clothes,’ Rachel said, ‘get you new ones.’

‘Why?’ Connor asked.

‘In case there’s evidence on them, you were in the middle of a crime scene. It’s standard procedure. What size shoes?’

‘Six,’ Gloria said.

‘Connor? Clothes?’ Rachel said.

‘Don’t know,’ he shrugged.

‘Men’s – small,’ his mum said.

‘Feet?’

‘Sevens,’ he said.

Rachel passed on the information to Janet.

‘How long will we be there?’ Connor asked.

‘Don’t know.’

‘What about work?’ This from Gloria.

‘You can’t go,’ Rachel said. ‘Not until we’ve assessed the risk. Which is pretty fucking high given what just happened.

The witness protection service was, of course, hush-hush. Cops like Rachel knew next to nothing about how it worked, beyond being able to access safe houses in an emergency for vulnerable or intimidated witnesses and victims.

Mother and son were subdued as Rachel drove the twenty miles to their destination. The wind was getting up and bringing rain with it, heavy squalls that spattered the windscreen and drummed on the car roof. Rachel checked in the rear-view mirror regularly but no vehicles stayed on their tail long enough to concern her.

She stopped as instructed on the roadside outside the house at the end of a row of Georgian terraces and was met by a woman who was driving a small van. The woman checked Rachel’s identity but did not share her own, handed her the key to the house, told her there was an intercom and panic alarms throughout and handed her two large laundry bags with clothing and shoes and a bag of groceries.

Like some spooks movie. But Rachel didn’t mind if this was the way to safeguard Connor and Gloria.

Most of the houses nearby had been converted into offices with brass nameplates by the door. Presumably it was easier to be anonymous here when people were only around during office hours.

The safety measures were apparent: no glass in the front door, bolts and locks on that, double-glazed frosted-glass windows with wrought-iron screens too, tastefully done but they would significantly increase the security. Intercom at the door provided a means to check out by both audio and video link who was calling, and there were bright-red panic buttons in every room. The door to the upstairs was locked and had a no-entry notice on. But the ground floor provided two bedrooms, a dining kitchen, lounge and shower room. There was no back door.

The furnishings were practical, minimal. Industrial-style carpet, flecked so as to mask marks. Formica table and four dining chairs, a modest TV. Plain green curtains. No paintings or cushions, no touches to make it anything other than a place of transit. Rachel thought of a budget hotel crossed with a clinic or a dentist’s. Bland pretending to be homely and failing.

‘I’m starving,’ said Connor.

‘There’s bread and milk.’ Rachel held up the bag.

The kitchen smelled stale though the pedal bin and fridge were empty. The fridge was switched off so she turned it on. Gloria examined the central heating controls and set that going. ‘It’s freezing,’ she said.

‘You’ll be cold from the shock, too,’ Rachel said. ‘There’s a toaster,’ she showed Connor.

‘Don’t just want toast,’ he complained.

‘I saw a chippie down the way. I’ll go, give you a chance to try the intercom when I get back.’

‘Sound!’ He grinned like it was a game.

‘Change your clothes and shoes first, put everything you are wearing now in these.’ She gave each of them evidence sacks and passed them the bags of new gear.

‘I’m not going out like this,’ Connor moaned when he re-emerged. ‘What are these – Primark?’ He stuck out a foot in a blue and black trainer.

‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Rachel said.

Gloria didn’t want anything to eat, but Connor asked for chicken and chips, or sausage, chips and gravy. And Coke. Rachel wondered if she could claim it on expenses.

She let herself out, put the evidence bags in the car and walked along past the lawyers’ and accountants’ offices, shielding her cigarette from the wind and rain to light it.

She wondered if there was a link between the attack on Shirelle and this one. All three targets – Shirelle, Gloria and Connor – were on the fringes of the case, close to potential main players. Shirelle knew the murder victims and worked with Keane, who might be a suspect. Connor also knew the dead couple, well enough to tell Rachel that Shirelle had dated Victor. And Gloria was married to a man who was now a candidate for the killing of the two young people. A man with access to weapons and with accelerant on his gloves.

When she got back to the safe house she pressed the intercom.

‘Who is it?’ Connor’s voice crackled.

‘It’s me, you daft git, let me in.’

‘Not if you’re calling me names,’ he said.

‘I’ll eat your chips then, shall I?’

He buzzed her in.

While Connor ate in front of the telly, Gloria sat in the kitchen, smoking and drinking tea. Her earlier shock and exhaustion gave way to a burst of anger when she said to Rachel, ‘This is him, isn’t it? Greg, it’s because of him?’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘What else can it be?’ she hissed.

‘We’re trying to establish what Mr Tandy has been doing. If you can help-’

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head sharply. ‘All I know is he was shooting his fucking mouth off after that tramp got killed and I told him I didn’t want to hear it. He could go. So he did. No argument. We hadn’t been getting on since he came out, not for a long while before that.’

‘What was he saying about the tramp?’

‘How it was a good thing, people like that scrounging off the rest of us, scum of the earth. He’d like to shake the hand of whoever did it. He was pissed,’ she added. ‘Not like it was a Muslim, is it?’

‘Kavanagh?’ Rachel said.

‘Yeah. Not a terrorist, a Paki. I could understand that. Coming over here and blowing stuff up. Forced marriages. Grooming our kids. And they’re dirty.’

Rachel didn’t know where to start with that little lot. Didn’t even try. ‘So you argued?’

‘I’d had enough. He’d only been home a week and I knew he was up to something. I don’t want Connor going the same way.’

Rachel remembered Connor’s earlier comments, ‘They all look the same to me, niggers.’ A chip off the old block.

‘Connor wanted to go with him. They don’t get it at that age. You try and keep them steady but-’

‘You wouldn’t let him?’

‘No. To God knows where, and with the probation after Greg once they find out he’s not at home. Anyway…’ She ground out her cigarette and as if on automatic took the ashtray and emptied it into the bin. ‘… I said I wasn’t having it so then I’m in the doghouse with Connor, and Greg goes and makes it ten times worse by saying that he didn’t need a kid hanging round his neck, whining all day. And now this – whatever he’s done.’

Rachel didn’t give her anything. Better not to say.

‘That’s it,’ Gloria said. ‘If he’s brought this down on us, he can forget it. I’ll divorce him.’

‘What about Marcus Williams or Stanley Keane?’ Rachel said. ‘Did Greg say anything about them? Could they have been behind the attack?’

‘No, he never said anything about anybody,’ Gloria insisted.

Rachel went over the precautions with them one more time before she left. ‘You are not under house arrest, you are here for your own protection. You can go out, though I’d advise you to stay here as much as possible. Do not go anywhere you may be recognized. That means staying away from home, work, family, friends, school. Yes?’

‘Cool,’ Connor smiled.

Gloria rolled her eyes. ‘How long for?’

‘I don’t know. We need to identify the threat. If you do speak to anyone on the phone do not reveal your whereabouts.’

Rachel sat outside in her car and rang in. Godzilla answered.

‘Rachel. Everyone all right?’

‘Yes, boss, settled in for the night.’

‘Good. We’ve recovered several bullets from the scene.’

‘Any witnesses?’ Rachel said.

‘None. All too busy tucked up watching the soaps.’

‘I’ve got the clothes to log in,’ Rachel said. ‘Boss, I didn’t get to talk to the neighbours about Tandy’s recent movements.’

‘Briefing tomorrow, we’ll look at that then.’

Another inch, Rachel thought, a different angle of entry and they would have had another fatality on their hands, a scrappy, mouthy fourteen-year-old, shot watching TV.

27

Rachel had been brooding about Sean blabbing to her mother for twenty-four hours. It all came to a head as soon as she got in. He started wittering on about tomorrow’s football and where to watch it, like nothing was wrong. Even Sean must have noticed the god-awful atmosphere last night and her mother’s sudden departure from the pub.

‘How could you tell Sharon about Dom, about me turning him in?’ Rachel said. ‘That was private.’

‘But she’s your mam,’ Sean said, ‘Dom’s too.’

‘In name only. You had no right!’

‘Rachel, please, calm down.’

‘Don’t tell me to calm down.’

‘I thought she knew, knew he was in prison, I thought you’d have told her.’

‘That I fucking put him there? And now she’s playing the bloody martyr, the saint. Blood is thicker than water. You look out for your own. Fucking hypocrite.’

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but at least it’s out in the open.’

He really did not get it. He thought shoving people back together again meant they’d all play happy families. He did not see the Baileys were more your Jeremy Kyle-style family. Fractured and fucking hopeless. She should never have married him. The thought was like a knife, swift, lancing through her. Oh God. She felt awful, disloyal, and cruel. Don’t be daft, she told herself, give it time.

‘You know what she’s like,’ she was saying, ‘a bloody disaster.’

‘She’s not all bad,’ he said.

‘I can’t be doing with her, Sean, every time I turn round she’s here, wanting things, talking-’ She didn’t know how to make him see it.

‘She’s missed a lot,’ he said.

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘But it’s water under the bridge, isn’t it? Think of the future.’

She didn’t want to. ‘I need to take it more slowly,’ she said, ‘small doses, you know?’

‘OK.’ He sounded reluctant.

‘So don’t encourage her. If she comes round, tell her we’re busy or we’re going out.’

He looked pained. For all his street smarts Sean was rubbish at lying, at playing games.

‘Though we probably won’t see her for a bit, the way we left things. Least not till she’s running short,’ Rachel said.

Sean nodded, pulled her close, kissed her. Rachel felt uncomfortable, too hot, and twitchy. She drew away. ‘Think I’ll have a run,’ she said.

‘Now?’

‘Wind down.’

‘What’s wrong with the sofa, Thai chicken curry?’

‘Sean-’

‘All right,’ he said, ‘do what you got to do.’

He was so grateful to have her there he’d bend over backwards rather than say anything to challenge her. But instead of being thankful, that made her feel worse. She made an excuse: ‘Bitch of a day.’

‘Go,’ he said, ‘I’ll be here when you get back.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘course you will.’

‘Sammy, I need to talk to you,’ Gill said. ‘Turn that off.’

‘I cleared up the other day,’ he objected.

‘It’s not that.’

He looked at her, picking up on her serious tone, paused his game.

Gill crossed and sat in the armchair. She felt anxiety fluttering behind her breastbone. ‘It’s about your dad,’ she said. ‘He’s gone into rehab.’

‘Where?’ Sammy said.

‘A place in Cheshire. Like a hotel.’

‘Without a minibar.’

She smiled, ‘Exactly.’

‘How long will he be there?’ Sammy asked.

‘I don’t know, as long as he needs.’

‘OK.’

She rubbed at the cloth, the piping around the edge of the chair arm. They had picked the design together, her and Dave, argued about the colour scheme. She won. And later he admitted it worked, both comfortable and stylish at the same time. They had christened the couch the night it was delivered. Days when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Sammy sound asleep upstairs. They’d been so bright back then, nothing seemed too hard. Gill working all hours solving murders, Dave gaining promotion. Both ambitious. Both still on the way up, proud of each other. Good prospects. Good money. Enough to build this place, enough for good food and clothes and cars. And Sammy. The blessing of Sammy.

All that and now this.

She made a fist, tapped it on the chair a couple of times. ‘Your dad, he’s been – well, you know he’s been having problems for a while.’

‘Yeah,’ a hint of sarcasm there. She was stating the bleeding obvious. She kicked herself. ‘Well, he came here drunk last night, broke into the summerhouse, blacked out. And now he’s getting help, professional help.’

Sammy’s mouth twisted, he shook his head in disgust. Seeing this, his loss of respect for his dad, hurt more than anything.

‘It’s hard for us to understand,’ she said, ‘but it’s a disease, an illness. It’s not about you or me or anyone else. He still loves you, Sammy, whatever else. You know that?’

‘I suppose.’

‘He does. And so do I.’ She gave him a hug. ‘We’re going to be all right.’

‘I know,’ he said.

‘How’s Orla?’ She changed the subject.

‘Good, yeah.’

‘We should go out some time,’ she said, ‘the three of us, a meal.’

‘Right,’ he said, ‘before Christmas or after?’ Sarky. Sarky was OK.

‘I do have days off,’ she chided him. ‘I’ll tell you when and you can ask her.’

‘OK.’

‘She’s not vegan or anything?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘OK, that’s a date to be arranged.’

She expected him to return to his game but he switched it off and disappeared upstairs.

Gill closed her eyes, took a breath and let it out slowly. She looked outside where the cherry tree stood in shadow, the rain falling steadily against the windows. She closed the curtains.

It’s going to be all right, she told herself. Who knows what might have happened if she hadn’t found Dave when she did, if she hadn’t forced him to see what was so blindingly obvious, if she hadn’t finally got through to him. And now he was off her back, out of circulation and, she dearly hoped, was going to make a good recovery. She’d need to get the glass fixed in the summerhouse, clear out the mess in there. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight she meant to eat something decent and get a good sleep and try to feel halfway normal again. For her and her boy.

It was all going to be all right.