Hit and Run

Chapter Six

First thing the next morning Janine went through to Tom’s room. Plastic dinosaurs, action-men figures and small soldiers littered the carpet. He slept on his bunk. His cheeks looked flushed; his arms were flung up behind his head.

‘Tom,’ she said gently.

He opened his eyes. Gave her a sunny grin. He scrambled out of his duvet and down the ladder, clutching a beanie-baby dragon.

Janine sat on the sofa-bed beneath his bunk and patted her knee. ‘Come here a minute.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to talk to you.’

He gave a small sigh and wriggled onto her lap.

‘You heard about Ann-Marie’s accident?’

He nodded, bounced the dragon on her leg and then his own.

‘Well, Ann-Marie was very badly hurt.’

‘Where?’ Tom was always literal, and curious.

‘Everywhere,’ Janine said. ‘And the doctors tried to make her better but she was too poorly.’ Janine paused a moment, trying to assess how direct to be. Tom put both his hands on the dragon and held it close.

‘It’s very sad,’ she went on, ‘you see Ann-Marie died. Everybody is going to be feeling very sad about it.’

Tom was very still. She gave him time but he said nothing. She put her arms round him pulling him back for a cuddle. ‘OK?’ she asked.

He murmured, stood up and stretched the dragon’s wings wide. ‘Mum?’

‘Yes,’ she steeled herself for difficult questions.

‘You know when I’m eight; for my party, can we go to Laser Quest?’

She bit down on the laughter rising in her throat. Bless him. ‘Yes,’ she said tightly, ‘course you can.’

He nodded and shot out of the room holding the dragon aloft.

Once she was dressed, Janine took Charlotte down and suspended her in the baby bouncer from the kitchen doorway. That gave Janine a chance to get on with the kids’ breakfasts. ‘Put those two slices in when you’ve got yours,’ she said to Michael who was hovering by the toaster. Eleanor and Tom were just finishing off their cereal and arguing about the puzzle on the back of the packet.

Charlotte pushed with her legs and whooped as the action sent her careering up and down and to and fro. ‘Lovely girl,’ Janine called to her.

‘Hello, everybody.’ Connie carefully held the elastic ropes of Charlotte’s bouncer to one side as she squeezed past.

‘Good show last night?’ Janine asked her.

‘Brilliant,’ Connie beamed. ‘I love the Royal Exchange.’

‘Ann-Marie Chinley got run over,’ Tom said to Connie. ‘And Mum’s going to under arrest them.’

Janine smiled.

‘Arrest,’ Eleanor corrected him. ‘Not under arrest.’

‘You are under arrest,’ Tom told his spoon. ‘You will, won’t you Mum?’

‘Going to try.’

‘She didn’t make it,’ Janine said sotto-voce to the nanny. ‘Oh, no,’ Connie said softly. Janine nodded. Charlotte squealed and swung wildly up and down. ‘I best make tracks,’ Janine said. ‘Their toast’s on.’ She left to a chorus of goodbye her thoughts already turning to the list of actions she needed to get underway when she briefed her teams.

‘Harper’s account checks out.’ Richard stepped into the canteen queue behind Janine. ‘Reported the car theft at ten. Cab from home to the Casino Royale in town, meal in the restaurant there.’

Janine took the plate from the woman dishing up the hot breakfasts. His account might check out but that didn’t signal the end of her interest in the man. Not by a long chalk. She pulled a face.

‘I was thinking,’ Richard said, taking his own plate, ‘Rosa: the lack of records, no known place of residence – either someone’s covering something up or she was here illegally?’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’ Janine slid her tray along, stopping by the tea machine.

He continued. ‘She walks in off the street, gets the job, all that cash in hand, nod and a wink stuff.’

Janine picked up the thread. ‘And Harper’s passing the buck, blaming Sulikov. Who’s also Polish.’ She glanced at him. ‘Any connection to Rosa? You talked to this Sulikov yet?’

‘He lives over there.’

She paid for her food and picked up her tray while Richard hunted through his pockets for cash.

‘Maybe you’ll get a trip to Warsaw out of it,’ she said.

‘Why couldn’t it be Hawaii, or the Maldives?’

The pair of them sat down at a table where Shap had already finished eating.

‘Meanwhile,’ Janine said, ‘you’ll just have to grit your teeth and put up with life at a lap dancing club.’

‘Shap’s like a pig in muck.’ Richard said. Shap snorted, rolled his eyes.

‘You looked pretty comfortable yourself from where I was standing,’ she said, scooping up a forkful of bacon and egg.

‘Trick of the light.’

Janine took a mouthful. ‘I missed this.’

Shap grinned as though the sentiment included his presence, the camaraderie or something.

‘The fry up, you plonker,’ Janine told him.

‘How’s the nipper?’ Shap asked.

‘She’s great. Happy, insomniac.’

‘Got a nanny?’

‘Live in. Well – live in, go out a lot.’

‘Raver, is she?’ Shap’s eyes lit up.

‘No. Self-improvement. Night classes, theatre, opera.’ Janine cut up her bacon.

Butchers came over, his face intent. ‘We’ve got a witness on the hit and run. She saw two men get out and torch the car. Good descriptions. Height, age, clothing. One of them had red hair. We’re getting a few sightings of the car coming in, an’ all.’

‘Good.’ Janine nodded, chewing. ‘Draw up a timeline. They got it when, ten?’

Shap nodded.

‘Running it all night. Maybe they stopped somewhere – petrol, take-away, boozer? Got out the car and someone saw them. We’ll try and keep it live, see if we can shake out some more witnesses, CCTV. Need to cross-check those descriptions with records.’ She speared sausage and tomato and dipped it in her egg yolk.

‘TWOCers,’ Shap said, the acronym for taking without owner’s consent.

‘Language,’ Butchers joked.

No one responded. They all knew there was no point in encouraging him.

Red hair helped a lot. Sorting through the criminal records and accompanying mug shots, as soon as the daily briefing was over, Butchers came up with a handful of candidates. Each would be honoured by a police visit. The boss came in and he brought her up to date.

‘Several possible matches… Saul Hetherington, Clive Swan… and… Lee Stone.’ Butchers was interested in Stone; he lived nearest to the area where the car had been abandoned and in Butchers’ experience criminals were only too happy to foul their own nests – most not having the nous or the gumption to stray far from home to do their dirty work. If it was Stone he’d nail him; the thought increased his pulse, he’d bloody nail him. And if it wasn’t Stone he’d keep on looking because this was one case he’d never give up on. ‘Taking without owner’s consent, carjacking, actual bodily harm, sexual assault. Eighteen months inside, released in June.’

‘And the car thefts?’ the boss asked.

Shap peered over Butchers’ shoulder. ‘Can’t keep his hands off them. And last time he was going after Beemers. Stuff worth nicking. Known associate, Jeremy Gleason.’

Butchers pulled up Gleason’s record. Small time stuff, couldn’t compete with Stone. Same address. The two were obviously bosom buddies.

The boss was nodding; she looked keen. ‘Visiting time?’ Butchers offered.

The maisonettes weren’t the worst Butchers had seen but they were probably skimming the building regs when they were put up. The cheap materials and no-frills design showed in the dimensions; he bet the walls were paper thin, the residents could probably hear the neighbours fart. They’d be damp too, likely as not, the flat roofs almost impossible to seal from the endless Manchester rain.

Butchers liked his DIY, knew about making something sound, something to be proud of. Even the old council houses, the first ones, had been put up with proper brick; not breezeblocks and plaster board and a lick of paint like this lot were.

The place was depressing: cracked glass in some doors, boarded-up windows here and there, frantic with graffiti and a shower of litter all about the place: carrier bags and take-away food trays, soft-drink cans and crisp packets wherever he looked. The bright winter sunlight glanced off fragments of glass that were sprinkled along the pathways. Time was people would have swept up, thought Butchers, but no one bothered anymore.

Shap knocked loudly on the door. Butchers rocked lightly on his heels, waiting for an answer, his throat suddenly dry Come on, come on.

Lee Stone answered the door, almost seemed to be expecting them. Cocksure in his manner, he stood aside when Butchers asked if they could come in. Stone’s sidekick Gleason was nervier; a tall, thin man with a shaven head, his face paled as they walked into the sitting room. The underfloor heating made the place stifling, especially with the glare of the sun coming in. There was the sweet smell of mould and fried food in the air. Butchers spotted a telltale patch of mottled plaster in one corner of the ceiling.

Butchers listened as Shap explained the background to their visit. ‘We’re particularly interested in the hours between 10 p.m. on Monday night and 10 a.m. on Tuesday morning,’ said Shap.

Stone was sitting back on the couch, legs spread wide. His bristly red hair was cut short, he had a bullet-shaped head, thick neck and ginger eyelashes. His eyes were an insipid blue. ‘Monday. Watched the box, went to bed.’

‘And yesterday?’ Shap said.

‘Got up late.’

‘After ten?’

‘More like two.’

‘Long sleep.’

‘Clear conscience.’ The man was practically sneering. Butchers felt like decking him. He turned to Gleason; he was a long drink of water, not an ounce of fat on him. ‘And you, Mr Gleason?’

Gleason nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah, what?’

Gleason glanced at him, eyelids flickering. ‘I was here, we were both here.’

‘Thing is, someone saw you Tuesday morning. Not long after nine. On the waste ground off Dunham Lane,’ Butchers told him.

‘Can’t have.’ Stone was dismissive.

‘So, you don’t know anything about the theft of a Mercedes or the accident which led to the death of a young girl yesterday?’ Butchers couldn’t disguise his irritation.

‘Oh, yeah. Saw it on the news.’ Stone looked from Butchers to Shap. ‘Tragic,’ he said, his voice laden with sarcasm. ‘Well tragic.’ He gave a slow smile. ‘Hanging’s too good for ‘em.’

Four and a half miles away, at the police station, Janine was finishing a call ordering flowers for the Chinleys. As she replaced the receiver, the phone rang afresh.

‘Janine? Richard. Lee Stone. Guess what he works as?’

‘Interior designer? Hypnotherapist?’

‘Bouncer,’ he told her. ‘At the Topcat Club. Harper reckons he’s good on the door.’

She felt her scalp tighten and a tickling in her wrists. ‘Is he now?’ She ended the call and got straight onto Butchers. ‘You seen Mr Stone?’

‘Just left him, boss. Him and Gleason covering for each other. Stone’s an arrogant prat.’

Janine told him about the connection between Stone and the club. ‘I want you to get back there, bring them in. Time we had a proper chat.’

‘Pleasure,’ she could hear a note of gloating in Butchers’ voice. ‘Just made my morning, boss.’