Dead To Me

39

BACK AT THE station, Andy met her in the corridor. ‘Janet, can I just check something with you?’ Sounding as he usually did, but she could see from the tension in his jawline and his knuckles whitening round the file that he held there was a subtext.

‘Sure.’ She went with him into the meeting room.

He closed the door.

‘It was a mistake,’ Janet said, wanting to get in first. ‘I’m sorry.’

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Did he agree? Then he nodded slowly.

‘Ade, the kids. What were we thinking of?’ She gave half a laugh. Didn’t feel at all amused. ‘Just put it behind us, yes?’

‘Is that what you want?’ he asked.

Didn’t he? ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. Because she couldn’t do this, feel like this. The guilt was horrible.

He waited, moved as if he’d speak, then didn’t.

The door flew open and Janet jumped.

‘Not interrupting, am I?’ said Kevin in his leery way.

‘No,’ said Janet.

‘Fuck off, Kevin,’ said Andy, throwaway, but Janet saw a murderous glint in his eyes.

‘Right, Sarge,’ Janet said for extra cover. It’d be a total nightmare if Kevin suspected something. ‘I’ll pass it on to the CPS case officer, soon as.’

‘Appreciated,’ said Andy. Then he turned to Kevin: ‘Aren’t you meant to be scanning CCTV?’

Janet escaped, left them to it. A shaky feeling inside, not unlike in the aftermath of Rachel’s car stunt.

‘You tell her.’

‘We’ll tell her together.’ Janet knocked on Gill’s door and Gill waggled a hand: come in.

Rachel followed in Janet’s shadow, knowing she was out of favour and not wanting to sabotage the mission.

Janet cleared her throat. ‘We’ve been to see Angela Hambley, an old friend of Rosie Vaughan, less than friendly with Lisa Finn back in the day. Angela got very arsey when Rachel started asking questions.’

‘As you might.’ Gill’s eyes gleamed brightly.

‘Small detail, and it could well be nothing,’ Janet said diplomatically, ‘but James Raleigh, Lisa’s personal advisor…’

Gill nodded.

‘… was in a photograph, on the wall, looking very cosy. He’d done a placement at Ryelands when all three girls were there. Angela claimed to have no idea whether he was still knocking around, even though his photograph’s on her wall and she’s cut off the other people in it. Most likely her mate Rosie.’

‘Raleigh never let on to me though,’ Rachel said, impatient at how slow Janet was to tell the tale. ‘He talked as if he had only met Lisa once she was living on her own when he got given her case. Acted like he’d never set foot inside Ryelands.’

Gill waited.

‘So,’ Janet said, ‘maybe we could ask him about that?’

‘You saying he could be a person of interest?’

‘Well, he’s interested me,’ Rachel put in.

‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Gill said nastily. ‘Which makes you the last person to go back and talk to him.’

‘Oh, boss,’ Rachel complained, damned if she’d keep quiet.

Gill stared at her. Then came to a decision. ‘Smacks of desperation,’ she said. ‘No grounds there, not unless you give me some more.’

‘What if we can find him in the vicinity of the scene?’ Janet said.

Gill raised an eyebrow.

‘We could ANPR his car,’ Rachel said.

A moment while Her Maj made up her mind. ‘No sign – you park it,’ Gill said crisply. Bit unreasonable, Rachel thought, but they’d have to take whatever crumbs they could. ‘Do it,’ Gill said. ‘In fact, Rachel – you do it. And that man is off limits unless you can you bring me his car in Collyhurst in our time frame.’

‘Yes, boss,’ they answered in unison.

Rachel ran the registration through the PNC first and got confirmation that James Raleigh was the registered keeper. An address in Royton. She thought about the argument Lisa had had in the taxi, telling someone to get out of her life, stop telling her what to do – Raleigh? But that didn’t fit with the data from telecoms: no call logged then between Raleigh and Lisa.

Rachel set up the data for the ANPR, automatic number-plate recognition system. Developed to combat terrorism, it had become an effective tool for tracing vehicles in many other crimes and was far more efficient than trawling through CCTV if a car reg was known.

Her thoughts wandered as she waited for the software to do its thing, finding all the locations that the number plate was ‘pinged’ on Monday afternoon. Kasim had been up in the magistrates’ court on Wednesday and remanded on bail. He indicated he’d be pleading not guilty to the charges and so, if he kept that up, the case would go to trial in the crown court and Rachel would likely be called to give evidence against him. She was pretty sure all her paperwork was up to scratch on that. Nick would be opening for the defence at the Old Bailey tomorrow, or Wednesday, if there were delays.

Her stomach was growling; she thought briefly of burger and chips or pie and peas, but didn’t want to take a break. She wanted to prove she was right and give Gill something to stick in her pipe. Rachel scoured the results on the screen. Her pulse accelerated. She had Raleigh on Oldham Road at 1.55 and 2.34. Perfect timing.

‘Got you, you prick!’ she said aloud, and went to tell Janet.

‘He works in the area, keep that in mind,’ Janet said. ‘He could have been visiting a client.’

‘Yeah – Lisa.’

‘Another client.’

‘Who lives on the same estate.’

‘Yes. That’s his job, neighbourhood social worker. Half of Collyhurst is probably on his books. We treat him as a witness, all nice and friendly, we don’t ruffle his feathers, we don’t tip him off.’

‘How can we ask him his whereabouts on Monday without tipping him off?’

‘We have ways,’ said Janet, a glint in her eye. ‘But we need to see what Gill thinks.’

‘Got him coming and going, boss.’ Rachel was champing at the bit, ‘Not so desperate now, eh?’

‘Oy! Don’t you get cocky.’

‘No, boss.’

‘So what do you want to do next?’

‘Arrest him,’ Rachel said immediately. ‘Failing that, cut his balls off.’

‘Question him as a witness, see if he’s got a reasonable explanation,’ Janet said.

‘Is the right answer.’ Gill pointed to Janet with both her index fingers. Rachel wondered if she did her nails every night; the polish was never chipped.

‘If we arrest too soon, we put him on guard, he clams up, won’t cooperate, even goes no comment. Plus the small matter of not having strong grounds,’ Gill said. ‘But if we talk to him as witness first, there’s a chance we’ll get information we can use in a subsequent interview under caution. Yeah?’

Rachel nodded her agreement. It did make sense, even if it was frustrating.

She rang and asked James Raleigh if he could call into the police station: they had a few more questions about Lisa and hoped he could help. He made excuses and Rachel pressed him, ‘Perhaps in the morning?’ Keeping her voice sweet. He dithered a bit, but finally settled on an appointment in between two client visits.

On the way home, Gill thought about Rachel, about what Janet had said: She reminds me of you. But Gill knew she had never had that reckless impetuosity. Like a puppy after a ball – any ball would do. And if that couldn’t be reined in, Rachel wouldn’t be able to progress, she’d quickly be regarded as a loose cannon, not fit for promotion. Gill’s options in dealing with the problem were limited: she could do nothing, bide her time and see if the detective had the smarts to learn from her mistakes and seriously tackle those areas needing improvement; put her on an action plan and if necessary institute efficiency proceedings; she could cut her loose and shuffle her back to Sutton; or she could play bad cop, keep Rachel on a short lead, punish her with the most tedious of tasks. But she hadn’t recruited the girl to see her prospects narrowed, her potential squashed. Gill wasn’t that sort of leader, or manager. She wanted to see Rachel fly.

Sammy was on the sofa. He’d found a way to operate his console with only one set of working fingers.

Gill watched him manipulate a footballer into a scoring position. The soundtrack commentary set her teeth on edge. ‘You eaten?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your dad make you something?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Sammy?’

He let his head fall back against the top of the sofa cushion. ‘Emma,’ he said.

Gill tensed. ‘Emma fed you. Where?’

‘At their place.’

‘Who took you to college?’

‘Mum,’ he complained.

‘Who picked you up at lunch?’

‘Emma.’

‘And this morning?’

‘Emma. Dad was busy.’

Busy? Fuck that! One day, two car rides and he sent his slaggy whore to be chauffeur. And cook! Gill was tempted to ask Sammy what he’d been fed, but she wouldn’t lower herself.

She went into the kitchen and shut the door. When Dave answered she piled straight in: ‘Couldn’t you have bloody done it yourself? He’s your son.’

‘You’re being petty.’

‘I don’t want that cow near him.’

‘Gill! Have you listened to yourself?’

‘No. Zip it, fuckwit. If I ask you to do something for Sammy, I’m asking you. You do precious bloody little as it is.’

‘Gill, you need to grow up and move on.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Her blood boiling, that red mist behind her eyes. ‘Like you have? Who is it you’ve moved on to now? Saturday night? Bigger tits, has she? Fresher uniform? Emma not twigged yet? Slow on the uptake, eh?’

‘Took you long enough.’ Hit her like a slap. Bastard.

‘I knew,’ she said. ‘I knew back when Sammy was in nursery and you were so pally with Sally the sergeant. But I thought Sammy was more important than hanging your dick out to dry. You were the one who fucked this family up, Dave, and there is no way that your tart is going to play stepmother to my son. He needs a father, not a stepmother!’ She ended the call, her whole body shaking, cursing under her breath. How dare he! How dare he still make her feel this way. How long would it take before she could think of him without feeling the spite in her mouth when she said his name, the hurt when she thought of him and Emma in their cramped little house with their snotty little kid.

She flung open the fridge door and got out a bottle of gin, there since the summer. No tonic, but Sammy’s lemonade would do. She mixed the drink and added ice and a chunk of lemon. Stuck an Amy Winehouse CD in the player and turned the volume up. She made herself a stir-fry, prawns and veg, oyster sauce and noodles, slugging the gin as she cooked and doing the odd dance step to the music. She had double her chocolate ration to follow. Fuck it.

She thought about Matthew. Nice bloke on first acquaintance, nice place, good taste, not afraid to roll up his sleeves and get stuck in, money to splash about. Good job, people person like herself. She had been flattered by his interest – delighted, if she was honest – to be seen as a woman and not a boss or a mother or a pal. As a woman, a potential lover, mate, partner. So long since she had been that. But how could she even entertain him when she was still so… She struggled to explain it to herself. So… What? Hurt? Damaged? Distrustful? All three.

He was only talking about a meal, though, when she had time. Could be weeks away, months. But I’d be leading him on, she thought sadly, because I’m not ready. Because I’m scared of someone hurting me like that all over again.