Ruthless

28

‘What the fuck is going on out there? See this?’ Gill held up a copy of the Sun. DEATH TOWN screamed the headline. ‘We’ve got three murders, a high-profile drug death, and now people are running around beating up and shooting at potential witnesses. We know the same weapon was used in all three killings but we do not have that weapon.’ She took a breath. ‘What we do have is a man in custody, in possession of incriminating evidence. The clock’s ticking and we need more on him. Anyone?’

Rachel spoke up. ‘For the timeline, Tandy left the family home on Friday. He’d heard about the Kavanagh murder, reckoned it was good news. His missus had had enough. They argued. No contact between him and the family since, according to her.’

‘The lab has found his DNA on the gloves.’

‘Brilliant!’ Rachel said.

‘Hold your horses – there’s also another profile,’ Gill said.

‘On the system?’ Janet asked.

‘No,’ Gill said. It weakened their case. Tandy’s defence could always claim that someone else, identity unknown, wore the gloves, fired the gun and used the accelerant.

‘It’s not Stanley Keane, he is on the DNA database?’ Janet again.

‘Yes he is and it’s not him,’ Kevin said.

‘Where is Keane?’ Gill said.

‘No sign.’ This from Mitch.

‘Time we paid Marcus Williams a visit, maybe Keane is staying there,’ Gill said.

‘Are you thinking Keane might have shot Lydia and Victor?’ said Janet.

‘The items recovered, the gloves, were at his address, we can link him to Shirelle and the drug business, he’s a known associate of Williams but… the DNA doesn’t fit.’ Gill felt boxed in; the evidence they acquired kept weakening the case rather than supporting their suspicions. ‘Sticking with Tandy,’ she went on, ‘if he is our killer, what’s the likely sequence of events? Starting with his release.’

‘We know he went to the George Inn for the EBA meeting and that the Perry twins were there,’ said Janet.

‘And he met with Neil Perry at Bobbins on Tuesday,’ said Rachel, ‘possibly to supply the weapon. He gets chucked out by his missus on Friday when he’s cheering about the first shooting. He takes his gear, the firearms, clothes, the gloves and stuff, to Keane’s.’

‘At some point he gets the gun back from the Perrys,’ Janet said, ‘he acquires a can of barbecue lighter fuel and he goes to the warehouse, shoots the victims, sets the fire. Returns to Keane’s.’

‘What then?’ said Gill. ‘Where is the gun now? And where did he get the lighter fuel? It’s a plausible narrative as far as it goes but at the moment it’s a fairy story. We need much more.’ The lack of CCTV in the area was another obstacle, no record of who was going to and from the warehouse or on the approach roads.

‘We have no motive-’ Janet said.

‘Unless Tandy wanted to make a name for himself with the Bulldogs. Bit of ethnic cleansing,’ said Mitch.

‘Or there’s some drugs war simmering, something we’ve not uncovered,’ said Lee.

‘However,’ Gill held up her hands, ‘motive is the least of our concerns. Janet and Rachel, you carry on checking for any sightings of Tandy with the neighbours and then at Keane’s. Mitch and Lee, pay a visit to Williams, we get a search warrant.’

Her phone rang. ‘DCI Murray.’

‘Alan here, from ballistics.’

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘Bullets recovered from the Manton Road address, we’ve run a comparison and they match those used in all three murder cases.’

Gill felt dizzy. ‘All of them?’

‘Yes, one weapon, six bullets, all fired from the same gun. The one you’re looking for,’ he said, emphasizing the point.

‘Thanks, Alan. The missing gun,’ she told the team, ‘it was used in last night’s attack at Tandy’s house.’

‘Could that be Keane?’ said Rachel. ‘Sending a warning to Tandy to keep his gob shut?’

‘It could be bloody Batman for all we know,’ Gill said, ‘but it tells us that if Tandy did the warehouse murders, he got rid of the gun between Friday night and Monday when we brought him in. We may never get that gun.’ In organized crime, weapons were passed from hand to hand, hired, sold, borrowed, hidden, looked after. The same weapon used by different people in the commission of diverse offences, as appeared to be the case now.

‘Maybe Tandy just went apeshit, lost the plot,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s out and back home but it’s the same shitty little life. His wife is on at him, she actually tells him to do one. So what’s it all for? He pulls a Terminator, picks on someone to hurt, someone who won’t stand a chance. Justifies it to himself ’cos he’s a racist dickhead.’

‘Why copy the Kavanagh killing?’ Gill said.

‘He’d been bigging it up,’ Rachel said. ‘That’s why Gloria chucked him out – well, partly. He gets the idea then.’

‘How did he know to go after the victims?’ Janet asked. ‘Victor and Lydia? He’s not a user.’

‘No,’ Gill agreed, ‘nothing on his medical.’

‘Stuff in the house, though,’ Kevin said, ‘Keane’s house.’

‘But not in the room Tandy was occupying.’ This from Lee.

‘His missus said he never touched drugs,’ said Rachel.

‘What if the twins told him about them? Could it be a challenge? We’ll do the wino, you do the black kids,’ Rachel said, ‘we can tell you where they’ll be.’

Gill sighed. ‘Greg Tandy is a career criminal, a gun man. I can’t see him entering some pact with a pair of lowlife scumbags like the Perry twins.’

‘If it was Tandy, he’d know to get rid of evidence,’ Rachel said, ‘so why hang on to the gloves then?’

‘Could Keane have been involved and then fitted Tandy up?’ Gill said.

No one answered.

‘Enough,’ Gill said. ‘Bring me something solid, quick as you like.’

They got bugger all from Tandy’s neighbours, apart from a lot of nosy questions about where the wife and boy had gone and rumours that Greg had shot at his own family. Given he was in custody at the time, that didn’t hold water. As for anyone seeing him any time on the Friday evening going to or from the warehouse, they drew a big fat blank.

Over in Werneth, where Stanley Keane lived, there were no fences at the front of the properties so it would be easy for the residents to see people coming and going. The neighbours to the left of Keane were out, no cars in the drive, no one home. At the other side, Janet and Rachel were greeted by a young woman in a yellow onesie, her eyes furred with fake lashes and her fingernails individually designed.

She’d not really paid attention to next door until all the police showed up. Stan Keane was a nice man, friendly enough. No, she didn’t know him well. Hadn’t seen him for a few days.

Janet showed her a photograph of Greg Tandy. ‘What about this man?’

‘The one you arrested Monday. Saw him then. You were there.’ She nodded at Rachel.

‘That’s right.’

‘Before that, can you remember when you first saw him?’ Janet said.

The woman narrowed her eyes. ‘Today is Wednesday?’

‘Yes.’

She sucked her teeth, dazzling white, Janet noticed, set off by vivid-pink lipstick. ‘Friday. ’Cos I was heading out. Girls’ night.’ She seemed pleased that she could remember.

‘What time was this?’

‘Half seven,’ she said.

‘And where was this man?’ said Janet.

‘He was going out too, just ahead of me.’

Heading for the warehouse, wondered Janet? ‘Was he carrying anything?’

‘Not that I remember.’

‘Did you see him after that?’

‘Well, I didn’t surface until the Saturday afternoon. Serious hangover, well trollied,’ she laughed. ‘Saw him coming in. He’d a bag then,’ she smiled, ‘probably been to the gym. No way was I going to make it, I tell you. I usually go Saturday.’

‘A gym bag?’ Janet’s heart gave a kick in her chest.

‘Well, holdall.’

‘What colour?’

‘Blue.’ The girl laughed. ‘The things you remember!’

‘And after that?’

‘Didn’t see him until the police came.’ She lowered her voice, leaned closer. ‘What’s he done?’ Janet caught a whiff of fake tan.

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Janet said. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘The bag he had his gloves in,’ Rachel said as they crossed the road.

‘Sounds the same.’

‘But she reckons it was the Saturday and he didn’t have the bag on the Friday.’

‘That would have been too perfect,’ Janet said.

‘Maybe he left the bag somewhere on the Friday after the murders and went to fetch it on the Saturday.’

‘Why? Where?’

‘His house? Though I don’t know that Gloria would have let him over the threshold.’

At the house opposite Stanley Keane’s, a Polish man answered. He explained his nationality when he spelled out his name, which consisted mainly of consonants. His English was excellent and barely accented. He too had noticed Tandy, the new resident, but found it harder to recall dates and times. He worked twelve-hour shifts in a call centre and when he was home he was usually in bed or half asleep.

He thought some more and then said, ‘I did see him going into Wetherspoon’s. That would have been about eight o’clock, on my way home from the bus.’

‘Which day?’

‘Thursday or Friday.’

‘It would be a great help if you could remember which,’ Janet said.

‘Sorry,’ he apologized. ‘I’d done twenty days in a row. Saturday was a day off so I know it wasn’t Saturday but before that.’

‘If you remember,’ Janet said, ‘please get in touch.’ She gave him her card.

The man knew Stanley Keane by sight but they had never spoken. He’d last seen him on Sunday evening, putting the bins out.

The manager at Wetherspoon’s didn’t recall Greg Tandy but the girl who was chalking up meals on the blackboard did. ‘Friday,’ she said, ‘it’s the only night I work here. He reminded me of Jimmy Carr, the comedian, but an older version. You know, the black hair and the big eyes. He sat over there, by the slot machines, on his own at first.’

‘Someone joined him?’ Janet said.

‘Yes, about half nine. Bigger bloke, beard and biker’s jacket, comes in here sometimes.’

Stanley Keane.

‘How long did they stay?’

‘Till closing,’ she said.

Janet felt her heart sink. The girl seemed to be on the ball and if her sighting was accurate then there was no way Greg Tandy could have been ten miles away shooting Victor and Lydia.

29

Rachel and Janet followed Gill into the meeting room.

‘The Wetherspoon’s sighting gives Tandy an alibi but Keane could have done it,’ said Rachel. ‘Keane didn’t get to the pub till later and the gloves were at his house.’

‘He fitted Tandy up for the murder?’ Gill said. ‘Wouldn’t Tandy shop him? The man’s only just been released. And why would Keane want to kill the Nigerians?’

‘Why would anyone?’ Janet said.

‘It doesn’t work,’ Gill shook her head, ‘because if Keane was behind it we’d have his DNA on those gloves and we’ve not. And we’ve nothing at his house that points to him bar the gloves.’

‘We could find out if he bought lighter fuel?’ Rachel suggested.

‘Doesn’t get us very far,’ Gill said. ‘You can buy it anywhere: petrol stations, supermarkets, DIY stores. People have it at home, everyone’s got a barbecue.’

‘I’ve not,’ Rachel said.

‘Sean will soon see to that, I bet you,’ Janet said.

‘What is it with men and barbecues?’

‘Throwback,’ said Gill, ‘they like to imagine they’ve just caught the animal, killed it and dressed it. Proud hunters all. Bringing home the bacon.’

‘When it’s actually a value party pack of quarter pounders or sausages from the farm shop,’ Janet said.

Rachel pulled a face.

‘A shop, attached to a farm,’ Janet spelled out.

‘I know! Behave.’

‘We questioned Tandy about his movements on the Friday night,’ Gill said. ‘He told us nothing. Now we find he has an alibi? Strong?’ She looked at Janet.

‘An independent witness.’

‘So why didn’t he give us it?’ Gill said.

‘He’s frightened? Protecting someone?’ said Rachel.

Gill sighed. They had seemed to be getting closer but first they’d eliminated Noel Perry and now Tandy was in the clear. It felt like they were back at square one. ‘Charge Tandy with the firearms offences and ship him back to prison.’

The search at Marcus Williams’s house revealed nothing. No Keane, no gun, no drugs.

‘Teflon as per usual,’ said Mitch as Kevin handed out the sandwich orders. Not only did Williams keep well away from the merchandise and the illicit activities of his network, he also drove within the speed limit, paid his council tax on time and had obviously found a way to launder his money.

‘Think about it from Marcus Williams’s point of view,’ said Gill. ‘Suppose he wants to get rid of Victor and Lydia, motive unknown for now. How might that play out?’

‘Well, Williams won’t be anywhere near,’ said Mitch.

‘So he finds someone to do the deed,’ Lee said.

‘Stanley Keane,’ Rachel said, taking the baguette Kevin passed her. ‘Keane gets the gun off Tandy-’

‘Who must have got it back from the Perry brothers after the Kavanagh shooting,’ Gill said, ‘some time between Wednesday and Friday evening.’

‘Keane borrows or steals the gloves too,’ said Janet. ‘He gets lighter fuel and goes to the warehouse, shoots Victor and Lydia, torches the place. Then joins Greg Tandy for a couple of pints in his local.’

‘An attempt at an alibi?’ Gill said.

‘Keane gets rid of the gun,’ said Janet, ‘why keep the gloves? Why not dump them?’

‘Unless he’s trying to frame Tandy,’ Mitch said.

‘Boss,’ Pete had answered his phone and now interrupted. ‘We’ve found something on CCTV for Monday night. Shirelle Young and Stanley Keane.’

‘I want it here, now,’ Gill said.

The CCTV, in grainy black and white, was from the cameras at the green man crossing near the shopping parade. Shirelle, in her white jacket, could be seen walking briskly. Then she stops in her tracks. Gill peered, holding her breath. A man approaches, grabs her wrists and kicks her legs from under her. He picks her up and at that moment his bearded face is clearly visible, livid with anger.

‘Stanley Keane,’ said Mitch.

‘What’s he so mad about?’ Gill said.

‘She led us to his house earlier, we found Tandy, we found the drugs,’ Rachel said.

‘This is five past eight,’ Janet said.

‘And Shirelle was found fifteen minutes later,’ said Rachel.

‘So,’ Gill said, ‘he beats up Shirelle and then he targets the Tandy house. He’d know we are holding Tandy so either that is a warning to Tandy to keep quiet or a warning to the family.’

‘It could’ve been a lot more than a warning,’ Rachel said. ‘The curtains were closed, they could both have been in the line of fire.’

‘Reckless,’ Lee agreed.

‘Someone must be sheltering him, someone must know where he is. Lee, Mitch, dig out family, old connections. We can assume he is still armed,’ Gill said. ‘I’ll discuss it with the chief superintendent. Much of what we have is circumstantial but erring on the side of caution, as far as public safety is concerned, I think we should be plastering his pretty little face all over the shop.’

‘What’s she like, the wife, Gloria?’ Janet said. ‘Reckon she knows any more than she’s saying?’ She examined her teeth in the washroom mirror, checking there were no stray bits of food stuck in them.

Rachel shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I think she’s had enough of him – the way she tells it. Glad to be shot. Ha ha!’

‘Funny,’ Janet said.

‘Well, she probably does better on her own. Tandy comes home and all hell’s let loose. Tossers, the lot of ’em.’ Rachel sounded angry.

‘You all right?’

‘Fine,’ Rachel said crossly, ‘pig in shit.’ She did that, hackles up like a dog at the slightest excuse. Particularly when she thought people were criticizing her or asking about personal stuff.

‘Bite my head off,’ Janet said.

‘I wasn’t. God, you’re so touchy.’

Janet gave her a look.

‘I. Was. Not.’

‘You sound like our Taisie.’

Rachel brushed her hair, didn’t speak.

‘Sean all right then?’ Janet said.

‘Will you leave it? Sean is fine. I am fine. My mad frigging mother is fine. We are all fucking dandy. Why do you have to be so nebby, sticking your nose in all the time?’

Janet was stung, her chest tightened. Normally she’d have tried to defuse the situation, joke about it or back off, but she’d run out of patience.

‘You need to grow up,’ she said coldly, ‘and get a fucking grip. I’ll be upstairs.’

But halfway there her phone went. Mum calling.

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘I know you must be busy,’ Dorothy said, ‘but you did say to ring…’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, Elise is in a right state. Up in her room, crying her eyes out. I asked her if she’d like me to get you.’

‘OK,’ Janet said, ‘tell her I’m on my way.’

She went quickly to the office and signed out. Told Lee she had to get home, personal business, and asked him to let Rachel know she’d have to go and talk to the Tandys on her own. Janet would check in with her later if she could.

Elise was still crying when Janet got home, lying on her bed, face red, nose and lips puffy from it all.

Dorothy made herself scarce and Janet sat down next to Elise. ‘Hey.’ She ran her hand over Elise’s head. ‘What’s to do?’

‘Holly messaged me. There’s going to be a service for Olivia, like a celebration of her life, and people are doing things, cards and poems and music and stuff,’ she gulped, ‘and I can’t go.’

‘Says who?’

‘Vivien. She said I’m not welcome. She said that to them, Mum. Olivia was my best friend, for ever, I loved her so much and I’m not even allowed-’ She couldn’t continue, she was sobbing so hard.

Janet sighed and stroked her back. ‘That’s not fair,’ she said, ‘it’s mean and it’s hurtful but that’s because Vivien is hurt and she’s looking for someone to blame and she’s picked on you. But listen to me, she’s wrong. This was not your fault, you are just being made into the scapegoat.’

‘Holly said some of them, they don’t think it’s fair and if I can’t go then they won’t either. Like a boycott,’ Elise said.

Janet sighed. ‘I don’t think that’s the answer. It’s good to know that they would do that to support you, that they understand, but then the service would become about you and who’s there and who’s not and who’s right and wrong and all the ins and outs of Olivia’s death and that wouldn’t be right, would it?’

‘No,’ Elise agreed.

‘We’ll just have to have our own private thing. I’m sure Taisie would like to do something, she’s really upset too, and your dad and I would.’

‘What like?’ Elise blew her nose.

‘Well, we can make cards, read poems, and take flowers to the cemetery once they’ve had the funeral. We could plant a tree.’

Elise pulled a face at the last suggestion.

‘You think about it,’ Janet said, ‘think what you’d like to do.’

‘OK.’

‘Have you had anything to eat today?’

She shook her head.

‘You need to have something. Soup?’

Elise shrugged.

‘Soup it is then, chicken or tomato?’

‘Tomato.’

It was vindictive of Vivien, Janet thought, demonizing Elise; perhaps in the future she would come round and see that it was unjust. The ostracism pained Janet but she took heart from the fact that some of the girls’ friends were mature enough to support Elise and want to include her.

30

Rachel pressed the entry phone at the safe house and was buzzed in. Connor was in the living room, the TV was on, loud, an action film going by the soundtrack but Rachel couldn’t put a name to it.

‘Where’s your mum?’ Rachel said.

‘Shopping.’

‘Shopping where?’

‘That Aldi you told her about.’ He seemed twitchy, scratching at his arms and his neck, his eyes glittering. Was he high?

‘Can you turn that down a bit,’ she said, ‘or off?’

‘Why?’

‘I want to talk to you.’

He nudged the volume down a notch.

She rolled her eyes. He gave a heavy sigh and snapped it off.

‘Thank you.’

‘What’s happening with me dad?’

‘I can’t discuss that with you,’ she said.

‘Why not?’ He stood and paced over to the window. ‘He’s my dad.’

‘I know. Connor, I wanted to ask you about a man called Stanley Keane. You know him?’

‘No,’ he scowled.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, I said, didn’t I?’

‘Has anyone been to the house to see your dad since he came home?’

He groaned, hit at his head with the heels of his hands. ‘Why won’t you just get it? My dad, he’s done nothing. You’ve got to let him go.’

‘Once we’re satisfied-’ she began but he jumped in. ‘No! No!’ he shouted, stabbing his finger at her. He was off his face, wired up on something, she was sure. She could see the sweat darken his hairline.

‘You think he did those niggers, he never. He never.’ He swung away from her. The sweatshirt they’d supplied was too big for him, covering half of his hands and down to his knees.

‘We’ll see. Please, Connor, sit down.’

‘No! We won’t see,’ he mimicked her. ‘You’ve got to let him go. You haven’t got the gun, have you?’

‘What do you know about the gun?’ she said.

He sniffed, scratched the back of his head. He was stepping side to side, unable to keep still.

‘Connor? Did you see someone last night shooting at your house? You can tell me.’

He ignored her and said, ‘He wasn’t around on Friday night, he’d gone. Did he tell you that? It wasn’t him.’ He hadn’t gone far though – to Keane’s – but he was ensconced in the boozer when the murders happened, which left Stanley Keane as their key candidate.

‘We have to go by the evidence,’ Rachel said. None of which quite matched anyone. Yet.

‘You haven’t got the gun, have you?’ he said again.

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Connor, I can’t talk about it, but your dad is still in custody and he’ll be there as long as we require him to be. And I’ll tell you this for nothing, he’s going back inside. He’s broken the terms of his licence.’

‘No!’ he yelled. ‘Fucking bitch.’ He moved his hand quickly, behind his back, and then he had the gun. The barrel pointing straight at her. Maybe three feet between them. He couldn’t miss.

‘Put that down,’ she said, her mouth dry, sweat slicking her skin, buzzing in her ears. The gun wavered; firearms were heavy, Rachel knew. She also knew she had to keep him talking, had to engage him if she stood a hope in hell of getting out of there. ‘This isn’t going to help anyone,’ she said, ‘not your dad or you.’

‘You tell them to let him go.’ His eyes shone.

‘It doesn’t work like that, Connor.’

She was so hot, burning up, and her stomach clenched hard as rock. ‘No one will do anything while you’re holding a gun.’

He walked up to her and touched the weapon to the base of her throat. She felt the hard cold steel. Smelled oil and a hint of gun smoke, and his sweat pungent and acrid. ‘Sit down,’ he said, moving the gun away a little.

She did, trying not to betray the fear thick in her blood.

He took a step back, then another, the gun levelled at her but his hold on it unsteady. The drugs, whatever he was on, affecting his motor skills, or maybe it was the excitement.

‘We can sort something out,’ she said, her voice catching. She coughed to clear it. ‘Maybe you want to see your dad, but not like this. Think about it. I’m a police officer.’

‘A pig, yeah,’ he said, ‘two niggers and a pig. That’ll show him.’

‘Who?’

Her phone rang, a shocking blare of sound. He jabbed the gun at her. ‘Leave it.’

‘It’ll be work,’ she said. ‘If I don’t answer, they’ll be round here in minutes.’

He looked doubtful. The ringtone repeated.

‘It’s a safety thing, me on my own. They call, we answer. No answer – rapid response.’ She moved to get her phone but he said, ‘No,’ moved closer.

‘I’ll tell them I’m fine,’ she said, ‘clocking off, yeah. Done here. Then they’ll leave it. Your call, Connor, they won’t hang on for ever.’

‘You say anything…’ he threatened.

‘With a gun to my head? I’m not fuckin’ stupid.’

He gave a sharp nod and she pulled the handset from her pocket, her heart hurting in her chest, her pulse galloping. Glanced at the display, hit the green key and said, ‘Hi, Janet, everything’s OK here.’

Connor was poised, eyes locked on her, gun too.

Janet began to speak but Rachel kept on, ‘I’m going to clock off after this, nearly done, shocking migraine so I’ll go straight home.’

‘Migraine?’ said Janet. ‘Since when have-’

‘Like your Taisie, eh? Head’s banging fit to burst.’ Please please, fuckin’ get it. ‘Mrs Tandy’s out shopping so we’ll have a word with her in the morning.’

Connor began to make winding motions with his free hand.

‘What’s wrong?’ Janet said, very quietly.

Connor moved forward, the gun swinging in his hand, his face darkening.

‘Got to go,’ Rachel said.

She made a show of ending the call but immediately after pressing the button she activated the voice recorder and set the handset on the seat beside her.

So what’s the plan? she wanted to ask him. You stupid little shitbag. What? You kill me too? Or hold me hostage and escape in a helicopter to a boat waiting to whisk you and your dad away to a far-flung country with no extradition agreement, like some shit-stupid video game.

‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Why did you kill them? Victor and Lydia?’

‘To show him.’ His mouth worked for a moment then he went on. ‘He wouldn’t take me with him – said I was just a kid, a nancy mummy’s boy. To get in touch when I’d grown a pair.’ His eyes were hot with rage. ‘He’d been well impressed with the wino. But I done two, black bastards. Coons.’ Hatred livened his face.

‘I heard you knew them, used to hang out. Friendly,’ she said.

‘So what?’ he said. ‘He’s blood, my dad, he’s family.’

And he doesn’t give a fuck.

‘What about your mum? She looked after you all the time he was away.’

‘She chucked him out,’ he yelled, spittle flying from his lips. ‘She started it,’ he complained, an outraged child.

‘Where did you get the gun? Did you nick it from your dad?’

Connor laughed, making the gun swing wildly, and Rachel flinched.

‘No, off of Victor. The Perrys, they sold it to Victor for some gear. They wanted rid, after doing the alkie, I reckon. Victor was showing it off. I asked to hold it. Bare luck, wasn’t it?’ He shook his head, grinning. ‘I had a knife – that could have got messy. Victor had the gun. How good is that?’ Delight danced across his face.

‘And the accelerant?’

A sudden blast of sound sent electric shocks through Rachel’s arms. The buzzer from the entry phone. They both glanced up at the screen. Janet.

‘You fucking tricked me, you bitch!’ he screamed.

‘No,’ Rachel said, scrambling up, ‘no, wait-’

The gunshot cracked loud as a mortar. Rachel was flung back, swung round, searing pain in her upper arm, and the stink of gunpowder in her throat. She fell, landing on her back, smacking her head on the floor. Her ears were ringing, roaring, and she could just make out the noise of the buzzer sounding again and again.

‘Fuck!’ She heard him swear.

There was a throbbing in her left side, a deep ache travelled down her arm and through her back. A safe house, shot to death in a safe house. Fucking ironic, no?

She would not let him do this to her. Not some fucked-up little tosser from Manorclough adding her to his hit list, to impress his racist twat of a father. No way, mate.

Rachel felt the floor shake as he came closer, sensed him bending over her. Felt him nudge her with his foot. A move that sent pain slicing through her and brought vomit in her throat. She played dead, tried to still her breathing and cracked open an eyelid the smallest possible fraction.

She would have one chance.

‘Fuck,’ he said again.

Rachel lunged. One hand, her good hand, a vice around his ankle. Her right foot flying up, knee bent, to kick at his wrist. She heard the muffled snap as she connected with the bones, his howl and her own yelp as the agony washed through her afresh, the world spinning and darkness looming. The crash as the gun hit the sliding frosted-glass door to the kitchen, shattering it like crystal rain.

He bent to free himself from her grasp and once he was low enough she let go of his leg and grabbed his arm, using his own momentum to pull him forward and haul him off balance, yanking him down and to her side, shuffling past him. A move she taught beginners at the self-defence class. Use the assailant’s weight and direction of movement in your favour. Work with gravity, pull, don’t push.

She scooted across the floor to get the gun.

Her left arm was useless, warm blood spread a growing stain on her blouse across her left breast, dripped down her arm. He was on his knees as she staggered upright, gun pointing at him.

Janet was still outside, visible on the screen, talking on a phone.

Keeping the gun on Connor, who was getting up, Rachel edged over to the intercom. Using her right elbow to press the buzzer, she missed, tried again and heard the crackle. ‘Janet,’ she said, ‘we’re coming out.’

‘Shot fired,’ Janet told Gill before the connection was lost.

Gill acted immediately, calling for help. ‘Gill Murray here, I’ve an officer under threat, possibly injured, shots fired at a safe house. I want an armed response unit there now. A second officer outside the scene can update you on arrival.’

‘Will do.’

Immediately that call was over, Gill rang and requested a hostage negotiator. She also rang the contact in witness protection who had allocated the safe house to the Tandys. ‘The safe house, how do we get in?’

‘Only one entrance, at the front,’ she said. ‘Do you know whereabouts in the property they are?’

‘Not as yet, why?’ said Gill.

‘We have a back-up procedure. Access through the house next door, via the basement, which leads up to a locked storage room adjoining the kitchen at the rear of the property or via the first-floor stairs near the entrance hall.’

‘I’ve an officer in there. I don’t know her status,’ said Gill, ‘and until I do I don’t want anyone wading in and putting her at increased risk.’

‘Understood, negotiation first of course,’ she said, ‘but we can get floor plans to your ARU.’

‘Yes, please do that,’ Gill said.

Rapid response protocol was kicking in. Roads being sealed off to isolate the area, residents in nearby buildings evacuated. Had Keane found the safe house? What was his aim? To silence the Tandys? Or was it Rachel he was going after?

Gill paced the room, phone in hand, poised to act as soon as there was word.

‘Walk,’ Rachel said, gesturing to the front door.

He glared at her, defiant. She felt nauseous, tried to swallow but her mouth was parched. Her hand tickled, she glanced down and saw the blood running along the creases in her palm. Love line. Life line.

‘Go on,’ she said, keeping her voice as firm as she could.

‘Or what? You going to shoot me?’ he taunted her.

‘If I have to.’

He didn’t move.

‘It’s over,’ she said. Her head was spinning. If she collapsed… if he got the gun… ‘Walk,’ she said.

He gave her another bitter look. She could see the rage, the tension, bunching the muscles of his face. Then he went ahead along the hallway to the front door.

‘There are officers outside,’ Rachel said, her voice still echoing in her head, her hearing distorted from the blast. ‘Some will be armed.’ He wouldn’t know she was bluffing, had no idea what was happening in the street. Yes, the cavalry might be on their way but the response wouldn’t be instantaneous. ‘No sudden movements. When we get outside you put your hands on your head, d’you understand?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Do you understand?’ she repeated.

‘Yes.’

She held the gun on him as he pulled back the bolts, the ones she had secured when she arrived, then he undid the latch.

He pulled back the door and the brightness of the light hurt her eyes. ‘Hands on head,’ she said.

Janet looked at them, surprise on her face at seeing Connor held at gunpoint. She balked when she saw the blood on Rachel.

‘Connor Tandy,’ Rachel said as they walked him to the car, the howl of sirens growing closer. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned-’ she caught her breath, the pain in her arm was changing, a numb tingling like pins and needles replacing the sharp streaks of acute pain, ‘something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

Janet opened the rear side door. Rachel still held the gun. ‘Got any ties?’ she said to Janet. They needed to cuff him.

‘In the boot, I’ll get you a bag for that too.’ Janet nodded at the gun. Her face was chalk white, Rachel could see the fear that edged her eyes though to anyone else Janet would appear perfectly calm.

‘Wait there,’ Rachel said to Connor, pushing the door closed. She felt her vision pitch and swim, tried to blink it away and concentrate.

Janet opened the car boot, Rachel moved so she could see her. ‘What the fuck was that?’ she hissed at Janet. She looked down at her blouse, the bloodstain growing. ‘Jesus, Janet?’

‘I didn’t know he was armed, you never said-’

‘I couldn’t say, he was pointing a gun at me.’

‘Are you all right?’ Janet said.

‘Apart from being shot, you mean?’

Janet’s face grew narrower, pinched. ‘“Migraine,” you said. Migraine means come and get me, migraine means I want to go home, I want a lift home now. “Like Taisie,” you said.’

‘If you’d used your imagination-’ Rachel said.

‘I came, didn’t I? I’m here. Look, I’m really sorry-’

A noise made Rachel spin round. Connor was climbing out of the car.

‘Oi,’ she said, ‘get your hands on your-’

He dived at her, the light glinting on a wide arced blade that he swung at Rachel, cutting through her sleeve, her right arm. And he legged it.

Janet shouted, ‘Throw the gun into the car!’ Then to Connor, ‘Stop! Stop now!’

He was halfway down the street.

Rachel ran.

Unable to move her left arm like a piston as she normally would, she found herself lurching to the side and almost stumbling into the walls and railings that fronted the Regency properties. She saw Connor dive into an alleyway. She could hear Janet behind her, the ring of her heels on the pavement and her voice shouting details of their location for the back-up.

The alley joined a wider passageway that ran behind the houses. Connor turned left. Seeing him increase the distance between them, Rachel willed herself on. Her head was thudding, the air in her lungs burned as though she was breathing fire, her eyesight kept blurring.

Wheelie bins, blue, brown and black, were dotted along the path in twos and threes. A cat skittered out of the way, as Connor belted along. Sirens were upon them.

Rachel looked ahead to the end where the alley met the road and saw vertical lines. She blinked and realized it was a gate. The alley was gated as a safety measure. Connor was trapped.

He hurled himself at the wrought iron and tried to get a purchase, to climb, but slithered down again and again.

Rachel was closer. Ten yards, five. A stitch crippling in her side. When she stopped running, just feet from him, he turned, the knife shiny and speckled red where it had sliced into her arm.

‘Drop the knife,’ she gasped.

He was panting, sweat on his skin, his face reddened with exertion.

Rachel saw Janet beyond the gates, she must’ve gone round the other way. The sirens were too loud for Connor to hear her approach.

‘Drop the knife,’ Rachel said.

‘You want it? Come and get it.’

Rachel’s breath caught, she felt the world tilt. She bent slightly, putting her right hand, the one she could still feel though sticky with blood from the cut, on her right knee for support.

Janet reached the far side of the gate. ‘Connor,’ she shouted behind him. He twisted round and she squirted his eyes with CS gas.

Connor screamed and dropped the knife, raised his hands and rubbed at his eyes.

‘Put your hands through the gate,’ Janet yelled.

‘My eyes,’ he squealed, ‘I can’t see! My fucking eyes.’

‘Hands. Now. Put your hands through the gate,’ Janet repeated.

He did as she said, tears streaming down his face, coughing and swinging his head as if he could dislodge the blindness caused by the chemical.

Janet snapped the plastic cuffs on, effectively tying him to the bars.

Rachel saw the vans pull up on the roadside near Janet. The men piling out. The sirens cut out with one last ‘whoop’ and she heard shouting, glimpsed Mrs Tandy dropping her shopping bags, yelling, and one of the men restraining her.

Rachel moved to lean against the wall, head spinning in time to the blue flashing lights, filling with bubbles, so dizzy, and her knees dissolving. Everything falling away.

31

Janet waited for Rachel in A &E. If she never had to see the inside of a hospital again it’d be too soon. They should have given her a uniform by now, or a mop and bucket. First there’d been her own near-death experience, belly sliced open requiring multiple surgeries, then once she was up and running, her mother had collapsed at home, thankfully having enough time and wit to call Janet for help. After the emergency appendectomy Dorothy had needed a hysterectomy. Then there had been Olivia. And now Rachel.

Janet clung to the fact that Rachel had been upright and able to go after Connor. Surely it couldn’t have been anything major if she could run like that? But what if the bullet had nicked a lung, or some minor debris had worked its way round to her heart or brain?

Janet got to her feet, walked over and stared unseeing at a noticeboard. Elise hadn’t hesitated when Janet heard Rachel needed her. ‘Go, Mum,’ she’d said, ‘go.’

But a thousand worries flew through Janet’s head: I should be here with you. Family first. I might be putting myself in harm’s way.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Elise said, sitting up straighter, ‘go on.’ Elise understood the friendship, how much it meant, how deep it went. Something Janet’s mother had never been able to fathom. Because Janet and Rachel were so very different. Rachel with her devil-may-care approach, her appalling choice in men (though maybe Sean was a turning point), her indifference to kids, her dysfunctional family; then Janet – daughter of teachers, hard-working, reliable, solid, settled. Until the Andy business. The one definitive thing she and Rachel had in common was the job, love of the job, commitment, compassion. You had to have that to survive in the syndicate.

Janet could not imagine work without Rachel, though in time if Rachel passed her sergeant’s exam the process of moving up and away would start.

So Janet had gone to Rachel. Ade would hate it, she could hear him now. ‘You’re a middle-aged woman, Janet, for Christ’s sake. The older you get, the less sense you seem to have. Did you think about anyone else? About your daughters?’

Gill wouldn’t be best pleased either. Janet’s stomach turned over at the thought of facing her.

She had called Gill from outside the safe house, reporting the sound of gunfire and the call from Rachel.

‘I’ll organize an armed response unit and a hostage negotiator,’ Gill said. ‘Do we know who is in there?’

‘Not sure,’ Janet had said, ‘once I get-’

‘No, Janet. You withdraw now to a safe distance. Stay well back. You don’t go anywhere near-’

Janet clenched her teeth. ‘Sorry? Gill, you’re breaking up. Can you repeat that? Gill… I can’t hear you, Gill?’ Then she had switched the phone off.

There was movement at the end of the waiting room and Rachel was there. Left arm and shoulder dressed and bandaged in a sort of sling, right forearm dressed. Blanket over her. Camisole soaked in blood.

A wave of relief coursed through Janet and she walked quickly over, smiling, a lump in her throat. ‘You,’ she said, hugging her, careful not to squeeze.

She felt Rachel stiffen. Never one for displays of affection. Then Rachel relaxed a fraction, pressed Janet’s shoulder briefly before she drew away.

‘What did they say?’ Janet asked.

‘Bullet nicked the bone in the top of my arm but went straight through. May or may not need surgery, depends on how it heals. Knife wound’s superficial, keep it clean, blah blah. No driving, no heavy lifting.’ She sighed. ‘That little gobshite.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I can get a cab.’

‘Don’t talk daft,’ Janet said. ‘Besides the boss wants to see us. Her exact words were, “If Rachel Bailey is not laid out in a mortuary somewhere, I want her here – pronto.”’

Rachel pulled a face, looked down at her stained clothes and said, ‘Maybe we could call at mine on the way, clean up a bit?’

‘Where the fuck do I start?’ Godzilla said, eyes blazing, red nails flashing like she’d claw at them any moment. Rachel, sitting in the chair at Her Maj’s insistence. ‘You, Fairy Lightfoot, sit down before you fall.’ Janet perched next to her, half sitting on the storage cupboards; the boss, on the other side of her desk, on her feet, on the move.

She had listened while Rachel played the voice recording of the conversation in the safe house, Connor’s confession. Not made under caution but still bloody good groundwork for formal interviews.

Then Godzilla had wanted to know what happened afterwards. Taking turns, Janet and Rachel had described Connor’s flight, their pursuit, his recapture, giving the bare bones of the story, keeping it simple, sticking to the facts.

‘Do I start with the fact that you,’ she dipped her head at Janet, ‘ignored my express instructions and went riding off like a bloody knight on a white charger?’

‘The phone-’ Janet began.

‘Don’t lie,’ Godzilla pointed a finger at her, ‘do not lie to me.’

Rachel swallowed. Janet never got a bollocking like this; well, hardly ever. Because Janet did as she was told, agreed with the boss’s strategy. Janet thought things through. She didn’t go off half-cocked.

‘Has it occurred to you,’ the boss went on, ‘that without your little intervention we might be facing a very different outcome. That if left to the experts, those officers expressly trained in hostage situations and armed response, we might have secured an arrest without an officer being shot and stabbed?’

‘We got a confession,’ Rachel said, ‘we-’

‘Am I talking to you?’ Godzilla roared. ‘Be quiet.’

Rachel’s cheeks burned. Bitch. She could feel the wound in her right forearm, the supposedly superficial one, throbbing in spite of the painkillers they’d given her.

‘The armed response unit didn’t reach the scene until at least ten minutes after I did,’ Janet said, sounding furious. ‘He could’ve shot and killed Rachel by then. He could have got out and run amok.’

‘We’ll never know, will we?’ The boss wheeled round and then back, placed her palms together. ‘And perhaps if you hadn’t piled in like a fucking rhinoceros he wouldn’t have freaked and shot her anyway. Did you think of that?’

Janet said nothing.

‘Protocol is there for a reason, because it works.’

‘Yes, boss,’ Janet said, a cold fury in her reply.

‘As for you,’ Godzilla glared at Rachel, ‘you’re injured, first you are shot and then you are knifed and then you go barrelling after an armed man. Have you got a fucking death wish? Had you got your body vest on? No. Taser? No. Baton? No.’

Anger flickering through her, Rachel said, ‘I just wanted to stop him.’

‘Just? There is no “just” about it. You didn’t think, Rachel.’

‘I got him,’ she said, ‘we got him.’

‘You could have been seriously hurt. More seriously. You and Janet both. I could have been going round to your husband…’

Rachel blinked, still surprised that she had a husband.

‘… to Janet’s family. If I wanted to run a training exercise in how not to deal with a violent offender, I could use this, you know.’ She walked across the width of her office and back. ‘You should know better,’ she said to Janet. ‘I thought you did. And you,’ her eyes bored into Rachel’s, ‘give me strength. When are you going to learn? I don’t want to be burying you with your bloody badge on the coffin and the police pipe band playing, but every time there’s a situation like this you turn into some suicidal nutjob.’

Godzilla took a breath then spoke slowly. ‘If someone is running around with a knife, someone who has already shown a predilection for violence, you do not pursue them. You run the other way. You alert people to the danger. You minimize the risk. Mi-ni-mize. Three syllables. Do I need to carve it on your forehead?’

There was a long pause. Rachel broke the silence. ‘Connor Tandy?’

‘You’re going nowhere near him, lady. Too much history. Too involved. Get someone to transcribe that confession,’ she pointed at Rachel’s phone, ‘and sod off home. Janet, you prep for the interview. His mother will act as an appropriate adult. Solicitor is ready, with him now. But at his medical he declared he’s taken amphetamines so we can’t interview him until he’s clean. Doc reckons another couple of hours. Now go,’ she said.

‘You reckon Greg Tandy knew it was Connor?’ Rachel asked Janet.

Janet thought back to the interviews. The fleeting reaction to the physical evidence, that moment when he’d faltered. ‘I’m not sure, I think at first he thought he was being framed, thought it was a fit-up. But maybe he worked it out. Figured out who had access to his gloves. He was carrying the bag when the neighbour saw him on the Saturday but not on the Friday.’

‘Been to fetch it on the Saturday?’ Rachel said. ‘He left the family home on the Friday after the argument.’

‘You walk out,’ Janet said, ‘you don’t necessarily take everything with you.’

‘He’d take the guns, keep them close. Maybe some clothes.’ Rachel coughed and winced.

‘Should you be here?’

‘Don’t you start,’ Rachel said. ‘So you’ll ask Connor about the gloves and the accelerant?’

Janet nodded. ‘We have the twins and Greg Tandy meeting at the Bulldog Army malarkey on Sunday. Maybe they’ve heard he’s the go-to man for firearms. They get his number, rendezvous at Bobbins on the Tuesday and buy the gun.’

‘Not hired,’ Rachel said. ‘If they’d hired it, they’d have given Tandy it back but according to Connor they sold it to Victor in exchange for some gear.’

‘Which we found in their bedroom,’ Janet said. ‘So, the twins kill Richard Kavanagh and burn the Old Chapel. They go to the warehouse, sell the gun and get the drugs.’

‘On the Thursday!’ Rachel said. ‘Shirelle saw them leaving that day when she was on her way with new merchandise. She takes the money Victor and Lydia have made, stocks them up and calls at Keane’s on the Friday to give him the takings and get more drugs. Once the murder is made public, Greg Tandy’s cheering about it and his missus chucks him out but he won’t take Connor, in fact he slags him off and the stupid lad decides he’ll prove himself by committing a double murder.’

‘It fits,’ Janet said, ‘it all works.’

‘Don’t mess it up,’ Rachel said.

What the…? Janet stared at her. ‘Me, mess it up? I’m not the one you want to worry about. Did you listen to a word-’

‘Just saying,’ Rachel retorted, ‘we’re nearly there. If you-’

‘Zip it,’ Janet said.

‘I only meant we’re so close-’

‘The hole’s deep enough. Stop digging.’

Unlike his father, Connor Tandy was prepared to answer questions. If only his mother would let him get a word in edgeways. She’d interrupted twice already, running him down, and Janet had to ask her to be quiet and let him talk.

‘You had your knife,’ Janet prompted him.

‘Yes. And we had some fuel for the barbie out the back. I took that and an old wine bottle and a bit of cloth. My lighter.’

‘Anything else?’ Janet said.

He thought. ‘A bag to carry it all and some gloves. In case of fingerprints.’

Janet nodded, non-judgemental, as if they were discussing the weather or bus timetables. She placed a photograph of Greg Tandy’s holdall on the desk and the gloves in their protective bag.

‘I am now showing Connor exhibit MG10 and exhibit MG16. Are these the gloves and the bag?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Your dad’s?’ Mrs Tandy said. ‘You stupid little idiot. What the fuck did you use his for?’

‘Mrs Tandy,’ Janet said sharply, ‘please. Just let Connor speak. Go on.’

‘I went down there when it was getting dark.’

‘To the warehouse?’

‘Yes. They were just chilling.’

‘Victor and Lydia. Had they taken any drugs?’ Janet said.

‘Yes, and I had some weed… I was working out what to do, who to do first…’ His voice trembled slightly, the first emotion he had betrayed. ‘… then Victor, he says, “Check this out.” And he’s got a gun. I says, “Where’d you get it?” and he says, “The Perry boys,” and if he sells it on how much will he get? Or maybe he’ll keep it for protection, right? In case of trouble. Lydia, she wants him to sell it though. They’re arguing but not shouting and I says, “Can I see it?” And he says sure. And I take it and I shoot him, two pops and she’s screaming, trying to get up, and I do her, three, ’cos the first one misses.’

‘Oh God, Connor.’ His mother covered her eyes.

‘Then I get the bottle ready and light it and chuck it by them and it works. Starts the fire.’

‘What were you, what in God’s… Jesus, Connor.’ Mrs Tandy sputtered to a halt.

‘What then?’ Janet said.

‘I went home,’ he said.

‘The bag and the gloves?’

‘Put them back under the stairs.’

‘And do you know what happened to them?’ Janet said.

‘My dad must have taken them.’

‘He did.’ Gloria shook her head. ‘He came round and got his stuff on the Saturday.’

‘You didn’t see him?’ Janet said to Connor.

He gave a shrug. ‘I was in bed.’

‘And the gun?’ Janet said.

‘Kept it in my room.’

‘We searched your house,’ she said.

‘Yeah, I had it on me. You weren’t going to strip-search us,’ he said. A light in his eyes, some cheek, pleasure in tricking the police.

‘And yesterday when shots were fired into your house…’

‘I did that. You had me dad but you didn’t have the gun, so if the gun was used you’d know it wasn’t him that done it.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ Gloria Tandy said, ‘I don’t bleeding believe it. What did you think would happen?’

‘They’d let him go,’ he retorted.

‘He’d broken his terms,’ she yelled, ‘let alone he’d a bagful of shooters.’

‘But that’s not murder,’ he said, ‘he wouldn’t go down for murder.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Janet intervened.

‘But you will, you stupid fucker!’ Gloria Tandy shouted.

‘Mrs Tandy, if you interrupt again I’m going to request that we find an alternative appropriate adult. Do you understand?’

Gloria Tandy crimped her mouth shut, tears standing in her eyes. She was heartbroken, Janet could tell, beneath the swearing and shouting she was devastated that she was losing her son.

Janet spoke to Connor. ‘Earlier today you shot and injured a serving police officer. Why did you do that?’

‘She lied to me, she was messing with me.’

‘And you admit to killing Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi?’

‘Yes.’

‘And can you tell me why you did that?’

‘To show him, my dad, to show him and everyone. He wouldn’t let me go with him, said I was still a little kid, no guts, no balls, probably a fucking pansy. Get back in touch again when my balls had dropped. And he hated them, coons, Pakis, immigrants. I’m not scared,’ Connor said. ‘I proved it.’

By killing two young people in cold blood? Two kids who fled God knows what horrors at home to eke out a living squatting in the unforgiving cold of a damp and desolate northern warehouse. Clinging to survival. Janet’s eyes burned. She blinked and took a breath, then thanked him for his cooperation. His solicitor would be informed of any further developments but in all likelihood they would be moving to press charges.

‘What about me dad?’ he said.

‘I can’t discuss that,’ said Janet.

‘He’ll be back inside, that’s right, isn’t it?’ Gloria Tandy said. ‘And none of this need have happened but for you. He’ll be inside and so will you, won’t he?’ she said to Janet.

Janet didn’t answer. Her silence said it all.

Gill was giving a speech to the press and media. She had rehearsed it until near word perfect so she could look at the cameras for most of the time.

‘This afternoon Manchester Metropolitan Police charged a fourteen-year-old boy, who cannot be named for legal reasons, with the murders of Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi. I would like to thank the community of Manorclough for their help and to thank my officers for their dedication and persistence’ but not their pigheaded reckless fuckwittery ‘in pursuing this case. The recent murders of Richard Kavanagh and Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi we believe to be hate crimes and if those charged are convicted they can expect to face longer sentences as a result. We all have the right to live safely in our community. Attacking another person for no other reason than a dislike of that person’s ethnicity, sexuality, subculture or lifestyle is an appalling crime and will be investigated with the utmost rigour and determination – as will any murder in our town. Our thoughts are with the relatives and friends of the victims. Thank you.’

Back inside the police station, the incident room was deserted. Plenty more to be done but nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. A wave of exhaustion made Gill dizzy. A good night’s sleep, that was what she needed, something decent to eat, an hour of telly, a chat with Sammy. Some routine. The team would be in the pub. She’d show her face, important to be there celebrating their success, to be part of it.

32

Just Rachel and Janet left now. The lads had stayed for a drink then gone to a pub down the road to watch the match. Mitch had gone home after showing his face. He had a young family and his work meant he missed out on a lot of the domestic stuff. He made up for it whenever he could.

‘He wasn’t thick, was he?’ Janet said. ‘Connor. Not like Noel and Neil Perry. He can’t have thought he’d get away with it.’

‘Search me,’ Rachel said. You could drive yourself mad trying to work out why people did the stupid stuff they did.

‘That hatred, living with it day in day out. It’s easier to fix on that, to blame other people, outsiders, isn’t it?’ Janet said.

‘What for?’

‘For everything that you hate about your miserable little life. But it’s like a split, isn’t it?’ Janet said. ‘He’s matey enough with Victor and Lydia, hangs around there. Probably likes the attention, he’s only fourteen, they’re dealing. Victor trusts him enough to hand him the gun, then it’s like someone’s flipped a switch. Bang bang. What did he think would happen? His dad pats him on the head and trains him up in the family business. No comeback, no repercussions. Did he think we wouldn’t catch him?’

Rachel thought of Dom – it was the same, doing idiotic stuff, no thought of the consequences. Decisions that ended with you banged up with the other lowlifes and hard men, the nutters and the knob-heads. Going slowly demented staring at the walls of a cell twenty-three hours a day.

‘He made a decision, a bad one. He pays the price. We all have to live with what we’ve done.’ Rachel drained her glass.

‘You should go,’ Janet said. ‘Sean’ll forget what you look like.’

‘He’ll be watching the game. No rush. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at home with Elise and everything?’

‘I should. I will. Soon.’

The door flew open and there stood Godzilla, a raptor waiting to pounce.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Rachel murmured, ‘now what’ve we done?’

She came over to them, stopped by the table. ‘The others gone?’

‘Yes,’ Janet said.

‘You’re still here?’ She fixed her beady eyes on Rachel. ‘Could have sworn I sent you home. So, you’ll have another?’

‘Maybe I should get going…’ Rachel reached for her bag, felt the tug of pain in her arm.

‘You’ll not have me drinking alone?’ Her Maj said brightly.

‘Course not,’ Janet said, ‘mine’s a white.’

‘Red, ta,’ said Rachel, giving in.

Godzilla nodded. ‘Chief super’s calmed down,’ she said. ‘Violent crime stats are through the roof, our place in the league tables may be shot to buggery but our clear-up rate is, as of today, bloody amazing.’

Rachel waited for the sting in the tail; it didn’t come. Instead the boss said, ‘You all right mixing red wine with whatever the hospital’s pumped you full of?’

‘Constitution of an ox,’ Janet said.

‘What is an ox anyway?’ said Rachel.

‘Half horse, half donkey?’ Janet said, like she wasn’t sure.

‘That’s an ass,’ the boss said, ‘which is more like it. Not known for their forward planning and risk assessment.’

Bingo.

‘An ox,’ Her Maj went on, ‘is cattle, a castrated adult male. Peanuts?’

They both shook their heads and she made for the bar.

Rachel turned to look at Janet, whose eyes were twinkling.

‘Cheeky bitch,’ Rachel said. Janet laughed and that set Rachel off. It hurt to laugh.

‘Do you think we’re forgiven?’ Janet said.

‘You, maybe. Me? Never.’

‘Oh, go on, look at how she stood up for you when all that stuff with Dominic went down. She knows you’re a good copper, could be great. Just need some fine tuning…’

‘I’d kick you if I wasn’t in such bloody agony,’ Rachel said.

Godzilla came back in no time, tray in hand. Deposited the drinks and sat herself down. Raised her glass. Rachel and Janet did the same.

‘To us,’ she said.

‘To us,’ they echoed.

‘And sod the lot of them.’

‘Sod the lot of them.’

The cab took Rachel back past the hulk of the warehouse, spotlit as the process of demolition began. She saw a shadow in a doorway at the shops. Someone up to no good? Someone with no place to sleep? She wondered what Shirelle would do after her stint inside, bound to be sent down as far as Rachel could see. Would she go back to the old life or turn her life around? Rachel knew the rehabilitation rates for prisoners were pitiful.

Information had reached them that Stanley Keane was in Spain, could take months to get him back to answer charges even if they could track him down. Some other person would move up the hierarchy of Williams’s business. What would Shirelle think when she realized it was Connor who’d killed Victor and Lydia? Killed them because of the colour of their skin, to earn a few Brownie points with his father. A scrawny kid on a stunt bike who could have made something of his life, with the right support. Now the pinnacle of his life, the defining moment, a double murder.

Rachel tensed as the taxi swung left, not wanting to jar her arm.

Janet had waited outside the pub with her for the car. Godzilla had gone.

‘She’s a bit hot and cold,’ Rachel said.

Janet looked then said, ‘She’s got a lot on.’

‘Such as?’

Janet had given half a laugh but not said anything else. Just looked at Rachel, her big eyes smiling, then pulled a soppy face. ‘If you’d-’

‘Don’t,’ Rachel said.

‘It’s just-’

‘Don’t. I know.’

‘It’s going to be all right,’ Janet said after a moment.

And Rachel didn’t really know what she meant. Stuff at work or what had happened with Elise or whatever mystery trauma was going on with Her Majesty or if she was on about Dom and Rachel’s mother.

Rachel said yes anyway. ‘Yes, course it is.’ Even though inside she didn’t know. She really didn’t know. Because anything might happen. Anything did happen. Day after day. Year after year. A lot of it messy and shitty and wasteful and sad. But that was life. You got on with it.

What the fuck else could you do?