Dead To Me

7

GILL WAS RILED, summing up for the team: ‘So, we’ve Mr Shit-for-brains to thank for coming over all prudish and ruining our crime scene.’ She turned to Janet, ‘Did he touch anything else?’

‘Says not.’

‘You believe him?’

‘No,’ Janet said.

‘Mitch?’ Gill invited him to chip in. The big lad was ex-army, a gentle giant. He was a good detective – they all were, bar Kevin, but Gill was determined to turn him round. His old boss had claimed Kevin was irredeemable, but Gill loved a challenge. Though she was beginning to wonder if Kevin was a lost cause. He didn’t seem to learn from his mistakes, just repeated them bigger and better. Self-criticism of a woodlouse.

Mitch spoke: ‘Sean Broughton in the system, fine for possession of Class B, cannabis. Oldham magistrates, five months ago.’

‘Not a caution?’ Gill asked, the usual policy for that offence.

‘Already had two.’

‘Naughty step not working for him,’ Gill said. ‘There were signs of Class As at the scene.’

‘Paraphernalia,’ Lee said. ‘No drugs recovered, though.’

‘Word is, both Sean and Lisa were using,’ Mitch added.

‘Supplying?’ Gill said.

‘No, not that I’ve heard.’

‘Did have a couple of call-outs, domestics,’ said Andy, ‘knocking lumps out of each other.’

‘Doncha just love ’em!’ Gill shook her head. ‘And where are we with-’

Rachel spoke up, interrupting her: ‘The brother, Nathan Finn, he died in January, suicide – but he was a junkie too.’

‘A family affair,’ Gill said. ‘Helps us how?’ She stared, unsmiling, put Rachel on the spot. The girl was bright, did she think this contributed to the case?

‘Dunno, background?’ Rachel slumped in her seat, smarting perhaps. Gill didn’t have time for it. ‘Do we fancy Sean?’ she asked the room.

‘Kevin does,’ Pete quipped. Laughter. Kevin gave him the finger.

‘We need more,’ Janet said. ‘I think he’s keeping something back but…’ She shrugged. Lukewarm about Sean being a credible suspect.

Things could change, Gill knew; people cycle through the roles from victim to witness to suspect and back. ‘There’s another reason he delays calling us. Changes his clothes. Ranjeet reckons there would be some blood on the killer’s clothes.’ It was virtually impossible to knife someone and not come away with traces of blood. Especially when you retained the weapon. All they needed was a drop, a smear. Though with Sean, a defence lawyer would argue that he picked up blood traces in the process of covering Lisa up. It made the whole forensics side of it that much messier.

After talking it through with Phil Sweet, earlier in the day, Gill had put together her list for Gerry, the forensics submissions officer. She had wanted them to examine trace evidence from the body, from the duvet and from the sheet in the bedroom, but Gerry wasn’t playing.

‘I can’t authorize all this premium rate, Gill,’ he said. ‘What are your priorities?’

‘The body obviously, but given her state of dress and the indications that she had sex, I’d like to include the material from the bedroom.’ She could try, couldn’t she?

‘Yeah, and I’d like a Lotus and early retirement on a six-figure pension. However… straitened times.’

‘C’mon, Gerry.’

‘The best I can do is put the body samples through premium rate as a first tranche and let you have the second lot as standard.’

At least he wasn’t telling her to sit on part of her trace evidence, which might have happened. It would all get looked at, even if she had to wait longer for some of it. ‘You’re a hard man, Gerry.’

‘I am God’s gift, that’s what I am. You’re getting everything you want tested.’

‘Not when I want.’

‘Patience,’ he had said.

‘Go on,’ she told him, ‘bugger off and play with your budgets.’

‘For now, Sean Broughton is our witness, but talk to him again. Lisa’ – Gill moved the discussion on to focus on the victim – ‘left care, Ryelands House, eight months ago. They no longer have a duty of care but we should still pay ’em a visit. Lisa’s personal advisor is James Raleigh. Rachel, you talk to him: what was he dealing with, any recent trouble?’ Gill glanced at her papers. ‘Where’s Mr Finn?’ she said.

‘Mickey?’ Janet got there first.

‘Droll,’ said Gill. She saw a flicker of panic in Kevin’s eyes as he joined in the laughter. Poor sod didn’t know the term: Mickey Finn, a drink laced with drugs. Roofies the modern equivalent, rohypnol.

‘Bernard Finn,’ Pete said, ‘Irish citizen. Whereabouts unknown. Left the area in ninety-three. HGV driver.’

‘Right, now, we’ve only one FLO in place as yet and we are taking next-of-kin to do a formal ID.’ She looked at Janet: ‘OK, cock?’

‘Fine,’ Janet said.

‘If she’s fit, have a chat too.’ Gill saw Rachel glance at Janet, body language between the two of them like a pair of alley cats bristling for a scrap. ‘Take Rachel,’ she added to Janet. Throw them together, force them to work it out.

‘Thought I was doing the personal advisor?’ said Rachel.

‘Use your initiative,’ Gill said briskly, ‘time management. Kevin.’ Gill fixed on him, watched his face: untroubled, a kid, eager.

‘Boss?’

Gill waited.

Andy nudged him, gestured to Kevin’s notes. Though whether he had anything there apart from the schoolboy doodles he specialized in, Gill had no idea.

‘Yes, right.’ Kevin scratched at his head. ‘Erm.’ Kevin was a tier one interviewer, talk and write at the same time; how he’d progressed to Major Incidents was a mystery to all who had the pleasure of commanding him.

‘House-to-house,’ Kevin finally got going, ‘no sighting of Sean, though some more still to canvass. But old biddy at the end saw Lisa come home in a taxi.’

‘Time?’

‘Heartbeat was on, the first ad break.’

‘Which is…?’ Gill saw Andy roll his eyes in despair. He’d probably already told Kevin to pinpoint the time.

‘The one about the bobbies in the Dales.’

‘Time!’ yelled Gill.

‘I’ll check,’ Kevin said, affronted.

‘You do that,’ she said, making a mental note to discuss this with Kevin, how one piece of information needed developing, verifying. Coming home with half the story was not good enough. He had to join the dots.

‘Have we got the firm?’ she said to him.

‘I asked her that.’ Kevin was obviously pleased with himself about this stunning piece of detective work. ‘But she couldn’t remember.’

‘Get dialling, Kevin.’

His face fell.

‘Are we done?’ Gill surveyed them. Nods of assent. People made to move, gathering up papers, drinks, pens.

‘Janet – a word.’

Gill went to her office. Once Janet was inside, Gill closed the door to give them some privacy as the lads filtered back to their desks. ‘You’ve got your face on,’ Gill said.

‘I don’t have a face,’ Janet objected, baby blue eyes wide.

‘Yes, you do. I know you, kid. You’re sulking about Bailey. Not going to work, kiddo – drop it. Status quo.’

‘“Whatever You Want”?’ The tune popped into Janet’s head.

‘Things stay as they are.’

‘I never did Greek,’ Janet said. ‘Look, we’re at the mother’s and she wades in, intrusive questions, clumsy assumptions. You know what she said? Could we call the son round to be with her.’

‘Ouch!’ Through the glass Gill could see Rachel at her desk.

‘Right,’ Janet said, with feeling.

‘But you told her?’ Gill asked.

‘Yes,’ Janet said, the tone in her voice: Of course I did, what do you take me for?

‘Good, she’s learning.’

‘Seems to me it went in one ear and out the other,’ Janet complained.

Gill had had enough. She needed to make it plain that Janet had to deal with this on her own, not come running to Gill with every gripe and squabble. ‘Time will tell. I expect you to train her up. She wants this, she’s got plenty between her ears, I’ve seen her files. She’ll learn. You point out her mistakes and you encourage her to do better. Clear?’

‘As glass.’

Gill gave the thumbs up and went to ring the CSM. They needed a sit-down, see where Sean Broughton’s bed-making left them, forensically speaking.