Blue Murder

CHAPTER SEVEN

Day 2: Sunday February 23rd

The kids were never at their best at six-thirty on a Sunday morning. Nor was Janine. Yawning and struggling to clear her mind, she scraped together breakfast for them.

Tom sneaked into the room and launched himself onto her back.

‘Jesus! Mind the baby,’ she yelled. ‘Get dressed and get your inhaler.’ He shot off. ‘And get Eleanor,’ she called after him.

Michael was prowling around, hunting through the cupboards. When had she had the chance to get any shopping in? ‘Michael,’ she told him, ‘if aliens had landed in the middle of the night and stocked the larder I think we’d have heard them.’

Pete was on the doorstep when they reached his place. A trendy waterside development in Salford Quays, which he’d rented when he’d slung his lot in with Tina. There was no way he was going to move into the place Tina already had. Liked his comfort did Pete. Janine thought he looked slightly ridiculous in his new setting; fifteen years too old and not nearly trendy enough.

The kids filed out of the car. Tom dived at his dad who caught him and swung him about before sending him inside.

‘Least they’ll feed us.’ Michael’s parting comment.

Janine wound her window down a bit. ‘I’m not sure when I’ll finish. I’ll ring. Tom’s a bit chesty, I think he’ll be all right but keep an eye on him. Oh, and Eleanor’s gone completely veggie now.’

Pete looked sick. ‘Well, what on earth do we give her?’

Janine started the engine, flashed him a brittle smile and waved as she drove off. Petty maybe but deeply satisfying.

Emma was still asleep but Lesley had been up since three. She had wrapped herself in a duvet, turned the fire on in the lounge and tried to get warm. The phone went very early but they had left the answerphone on as the police had suggested. She listened to the stilted recording and then the caller spoke. She recognised his voice before she even made sense of the words. Adrenalin coursed through her, raising gooseflesh on her arms and making her heart stutter.

‘Lesley? Pick up the phone.’

She shook her head, petrified. Clasped her hands to her ears to shut out the voice. ‘Lesley, I know you’re there. Pick up the phone. Talk to me, Lesley.’

Her teeth began to chatter and her breath came in little gasps. He was after her. Oh, God! He was after her.

The team were there on time, though DS Shap looked as though he’d not stopped to wash or shave on the way in. Janine plonked a large box of croissants down on the table alongside the coffee that Richard had ordered for the meeting.

‘Dig in,’ she told them, helping herself to a chocolate one. Butchers moved with surprising speed for a man of his bulk, as if he was frightened there wouldn’t be enough to go around. The others dived in after him.

‘Ferdie Gibson,’ Janine nodded to the board where Ferdie’s details had been added. An unflattering photo of the shaven-headed youth complete with inky blur on his neck. ‘We should have known about the stabbing yesterday.’

‘Not on file, boss,’ DC Chen explained, ‘it was never reported.’

‘We’ll be paying Ferdie a wake-up call after this meeting. Now,’ Janine licked her fingers, ‘we still have nine a.m. as the last sighting. Witness places Matthew Tulley between his house and the allotments then.’ She turned to Shap and Butchers. ‘I want all house-to-house accounted for by the end of today.’

They nodded.

‘One thing’s puzzling me,’ she continued. Richard looked expectant. ‘Why didn’t Lesley Tulley tell us about Ferdie Gibson?’

‘Shock?’ he suggested.

Janine pulled a face. She looked at the boards again where Lesley Tulley’s picture was up beside that of her husband. The picture had appeared in the morning papers, Lesley leaving the house for the mortuary, her face bleak and blank.

‘Husband’s been killed. We ask her if anyone had a grudge – I mean you’d mention it in passing wouldn’t you?’ She took a swig of her drink. ‘Post mortem?’

Richard held the report. The salient points had already been written up on the boards.

He summarised them for the team. ‘Death due to a massive haemorrhage from the wound to the abdomen. Defensive cut on the right arm. Time of death between nine, last sighting, and eleven, when he was found. Also the victim’s fingers were clean, no compost or plant material under the nails.’

Janine looked at the team. ‘Suggesting?’ she prompted them.

‘Not much of a fight,’ Shap said.

‘He’d not done much gardening,’ put in Chen.

Janine nodded. ‘He died sooner rather than later.’

Richard turned the pages of the document. ‘Dr Balloran concludes that the weapon was a sharp knife with a slightly curved blade. All-purpose type used by fishermen, gardeners… murderers.’

‘All right,’ Janine warned him.

‘Five inch blade. The attacker was right-handed. Victim in good health, report refers to a recent scar on upper chest.’

‘Ferdie Gibson carving his initials,’ said Janine. ‘Miss Grassmere?’

Rachel Grassmere flicked on the overhead projector. Richard turned off the lights. ‘Dabs still being processed,’ the forensic specialist announced, ‘but we’ve got a decent one on the tap. The trainer print, here by the water butt.’ The screen displayed an enhanced version of the muddy print Janine had struggled to make out. ‘Right foot, somewhere between a ten and a twelve from the look of it. Small tear on the outside heel and two puncture marks on the ball of the foot, sort of thing that a drawing pin leaves. It’s a dream. The lab’s getting us make and model.’ She snapped the projector off and the lights in the room came on again.

‘Butchers, best eliminate Mr Simon, first on the scene, before we go round checking people’s shoes.’ Janine told him. Butchers nodded glumly.

Janine stood up brushing crumbs from her clothes. ‘Ferdie might be the break we’re looking for but we don’t know that yet. As ever we have to look closely at next of kin.’

‘Mrs Tulley a suspect, boss?’ Shap asked.

‘Let’s just say we haven’t been able to rule her out yet. We’ll be seeing her today and trying to establish an alibi. Matthew Tulley’s diaries.’ Janine held up the books. She had spent an hour the previous evening scanning through them. ‘Practically all the entries relate to Tulley’s job. Meetings about Year 7 intake and Year 9 GCSE options, Governors and staff meetings. A few unexplained entries, star and time, but no indication what the appointment was. No leads there at present. So, the rest of you, you know what you’re working on. Back here at five,’ she instructed them, ‘and let’s fill this wall.’