Blue Murder (19 page)

She hesitated. He nodded again. She thought of Tom, her Tom, struggling to breathe. Took a gulp of air herself and shifted into gear as the siren began its wail. Prayers already tumbling through her head fast as her heartbeat.

She was breathless herself when she arrived in the ward. Tom in the bed, so small and fragile against the solid metal-framed bed, a mask over his nose and mouth. Pete was there, he stood and immediately reassured her. ‘He’s all right. He responded well.’

Janine sat down, unsteady, giddy with relief. She closed her eyes, put her hands over her mouth and took a minute. Then she reached out a hand to stroke Tom’s hair.

Pete cleared his throat. ‘It was–’ he faltered. She could read in his eyes how scared he had been. ‘They want to keep him in overnight.’

She nodded.

‘You thought he was okay for school?’ he asked.

She paused. Not knowing what to say. Yes, she had doubts but he’d seemed fit enough. Was it her fault?

Pete shot her a look of disgust. Stood up and moved away.

She tried to explain. ‘Pete – it’s not. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.’

‘And the job comes first?’

‘That’s not fair,’ she said quietly.

‘Really?’ He was angry, the edge of his nostrils were flared and white, his jaw set. ‘Michael’s going off the rails, he’ll be pulling some stupid stunt that lands him in court before long, Tom’s left to fend for himself–’

Janine stood then, a flash of anger dislodging the guilt. ‘Oh, come on. You can’t say that. They’re your kids as well. I can’t do it all on my own though I’m having a bloody good try. You walked out on them, that has a lot more to do with it–’

‘Oh, yeah. Back to that,’ he spat the words out.

‘Pete, you left them. It hurts.’

They stood, a few yards apart, the wreckage of their marriage all too apparent. Janine sighed and went back to Tom, cradled his hand in her own. She sat for a while and watched his chest rise and fall with the apparatus. He’d need pyjamas, some of his favourite toys.

‘Can you stay till teatime?’ Already thinking about the practicalities, who could cover when. Pete looked at her in horror. What did he expect? ‘Or would you rather do overnight?’ she continued.

He had the sense to look abashed and shook his head.

‘Okay. I’ll get Sarah to bring Eleanor home, stay at ours. I’ll bring Tom’s things.’ She kissed Tom and told him she’d be back later. He slept on.

‘If anything happens. Anything. Ring me.’

Pete nodded. He looked desolate. For a moment she wanted to hug him, to be back to before when they weren’t on different sides, when everything wasn’t a battle for the moral high ground.

*****

Colin wasn’t sure if he could go through with it. Ferdie should be here. If Ferdie didn’t come soon he didn’t know what he’d do. What if it was a trap? A set-up?

He wished he’d never got into it, any of it. Ferdie – all the drama, he got a buzz off of it, but Colin just felt like the stress was going to kill him. Must have a weak heart or something. If the police had still got Ferdie at the station … if they charged him with the murder … if he got sent down.

Colin had a glimpse of life after Ferdie Gibson and it was sweet. He’d better try Ferdie’s mobile. If there was no answer then maybe he was still at the nick, ‘cos they wouldn’t let him take calls there, would they?

‘Ferdie?’

‘Colin.’

‘Where are you? It’s after two.’

There was knocking at Colin ’s door. His knees went weak. ‘Shit! There’s someone at the door, Ferdie.’

‘It’s me, Colin.’

‘What?’

‘Open the effin’ door.’

He did. Ferdie stood there scowling with impatience.

‘They let you out?’ Colin said.

‘They been here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Same as before. They didn’t believe me though. Kept going on, threatening me with being an accessory and obstruction and that. Perverting the course of justice.’

‘They always do that. You didn’t tell them anything?’

‘No, honest.’

‘They reckon someone seen me near Tulley’s allotment. They wanted me in a line-up. Voluntary. So I went and they sent me home. Couldn’t identify me, could they. Obvious innit?’

Colin nodded, no longer trying to figure it all out. Just wanting it to be over.

‘Where’s the money?’

‘Bog,’ said Colin.

Ferdie followed him to the minute bathroom compartment. Colin removed the floor panel from the peach-coloured shower which hadn’t ever worked since he’d had the place and fished out a canvas shoe bag.

He handed it to Ferdie who grinned like a demon and swore softly with pleasure.

They counted twenties and tens into piles.

‘There,’ Ferdie set the piles aside. ‘Two grand. And a bit left over for me pension.’

*****

Dean heard Douggie and Gary leave. Knew it was Douggie by the whistling. Whistle like a bird, Douggie could. Do bird songs too and sound effects with his mouth; water pouring from a bottle, creaking doors and footsteps, MetroLink tram hooting. Brilliant. Hardly a career option though. Dean reckoned they must have used people like Douggie on the radio years back, when they still called it the wireless. Be all computers now. No need for a bloke in the corner knocking two coconut shells together or chugging like a steam train.

Douggie used to do his sounds when they were in Hegley together. Party trick. Douggie would play the fool, he got spared ‘cos he entertained people. Even the

British National Party nutters appreciated Douggie’s talents.

Some of the lads in there had scared the life out of Dean. Hard men. Wound up tight, always ready to snap. Getting or giving a kicking on a daily basis. Violence the only language they spoke. Second nature. First nature. Only nature. Others, equally scary, got off on it. Sick. Not talking kinky sex, weekend S&M, hit me harder, baby. No. Not that at all. Talking some guy screaming, blood all over his face, bubbling from his nose, broken bone making his elbow hang all wrong. Battery and rape. It happened. He knew all about it.

One time, Dean had only been in there three weeks, he’s in the bog and one of them comes in. McGowan they call him. Dean hears his voice. Then McGowan’s climbing up the next cubicle, leaning over, looking down on him. ‘Well, what have we got here then? Open the door. C’mon, open the fucking door.’

Dean, dread flooding his mouth, hand reaching for the door. Fumbling, pulling it open.

‘Boo!’

Jesus! One of McGowan’s stooges on sentry duty. Dean slams the door shut. Dean, flying on fear; everything sharp as razors, can hear a distant footfall: the squeak of rubber soles on the hard vinyl floor. He knows that squeak.

‘Douggie,’ he screams.

Footsteps. Squeak, squeak, squeak. ‘Dean?’ Douggie shouting.

‘Douggie. Douggie.’ No missing the need for help.

Glass breaking and then mayhem as the bell starts ringing and the sprinklers come on. McGowan disappears.

Later, sitting quiet with Douggie, he’s amazed they haven’t disciplined Douggie for setting off the alarm, not that anyone saw him but that didn’t usually stop them. Douggie, sitting on the floor, his back to the bed. Dean lying curled on the mattress, arms wrapped round his belly, telling Douggie about what happened. What brought him to Hegley. Why he’d knifed the guy. Different from the statement he’d signed, the one they read out in court and different too from the story his victim had given. The first, last and the only time, that Dean ever told anyone the truth about it.

Dean finished and it’s quiet. Douggie turns round puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, face tight with emotion, holding on. ‘’S all right, mate,’ Douggie says, husky throat. ‘All right, Dean.’

He had the nous to go then, leave Dean on his own, door shut, so no one could see him weep.

*****

Lesley heard someone at the door and then Emma’s voice. Emma was asking them in. He was here! Lesley stood, ready to bolt, to plead illness, anything.

‘Lesley, it’s a friend of yours? I don’t know if you feel up to it.’

Lesley froze then realised it wasn’t him – it was another man. From the car park. Saturday, the man who’d stopped his blue van.

‘Such an awful thing,’ he was saying. ‘I wanted to come and see how you were. If I’m not intruding.’

‘No,’ she said. All smiles. On the brink of tears. ‘This is my sister, Emma. This is … John.’ Very original. ‘I’m pretty wobbly,’ she said. ‘Come through.’

He sat down on the sofa, stretching his arms wide across the back. She closed the door. Stood with her back to it.

He was sizing the place up. ‘Very nice. Not the best area, though. Place like this in, Didsbury, you’d be looking at least 300K.’ He sat forward. ‘You were very good on the telly. Your appeal for information. I have some.’

She stared at him in confusion, then Emma interrupted them, ‘Inspector Mayne on the phone.’

John got up. ‘ I’ll be in touch.’ She watched him leave, her heart thudding in her chest.

*****

There was knocking at Colin’s door.

‘And that’ll be our man.’ Ferdie said

Colin felt sick. He went and opened the door.

‘All right, mate,’ Douggie said and nodded a greeting.

‘Right.’ Colin swallowed. ‘Erm, come in … in here.’

‘All right, mate,’ Douggie greeted Ferdie. He sat down and slid the rucksack from his back, retrieved two bags of cocaine wrapped in cling-film. ‘Like a sample?’

Ferdie nodded.

‘Help yourself.’

Ferdie opened one of the parcels, licked his finger, dipped it into the powder and rubbed it onto his gums. Nodded. Repeated the process and smiled broadly. ‘Nice one.’ He slid the money over the table. ‘Two grand.’

‘You don’t mind if I–’ Douggie pointed at the notes.

‘No, best be sure,’ said Colin hastily. ‘Think it’s right.’

Douggie counted the bundles. ‘Cool. I’ll be on my way. You’ve got the number if you want to place any more orders.’

‘Yep,’ said Ferdie, grinning inanely now.

Colin followed the lad to the door. ‘See you, mate.’

‘See you.’

*****

DC Chen, parked in an unmarked car, watching Ferdie and Colin, noted the arrival and departure of the young man in the Nissan Sunny. She ran the number plate for identification. It was registered to an Oldham address, to one Douglas Connor. After talking to Oldham she established that they had Douglas Connor, aka Douggie, in their sights. He was allegedly shifting substantial amounts of stuff. There was an operation on and they were expecting some action soon. Chen reckoned Ferdie Gibson and chum were buying. But how did someone living in a dump like that caravan get that sort of cash? Oldham promised to keep them informed as and when.

*****

On the way back to the station, Janine rang and left Michael a message, wherever he was, so he would know what was going on with Tom. She met Sarah at the house to give her the keys and to reassure Eleanor.

When she walked into the murder room the team gathered round her. Word had travelled fast and they wanted to know how Tom was.

‘He should be fine,’ she told them. ‘But it’s a horrible thing.’ She could recall so clearly Tom’s first bad attack. The feeling of helplessness. Tom, his face red with effort, the fear in his eyes. Her terror because although it was down-played she knew children could die from this disease. Every year the numbers of sufferers rose yet no one agreed about the causes. ‘Terrible,’ she shook her head.

She raised her eyes, braving a smile and caught sight of The Lemon looking through the glass room divider.

‘Don’t look now,’ she told them, ‘but we are not alone. Okay, Butchers is already knocking doors,’ she nodded at Shap. ‘You’re back to Ferdie.’

She gathered up her things. The Lemon strolled into the room.

‘Janine.’

‘Sir?’

‘Problems with the family?’ She was suspicious, anyone else and she’d take the comment at face value, but she still didn’t trust him.

She misinterpreted him deliberately. ‘Skeletons in the wardrobe, sir. Tulley was married before and his dead parents are alive and well and living in Lymm.’

He didn’t like that, a little flare in his eyes. Knowing her game. ‘Your family,’ he said crisply.

‘Nothing I can’t handle, sir. But thanks for asking.’

*****

The tent had gone. Jade could see from her bedroom. All gone. The body must have gone too. And the police. She changed out of her uniform. Megan was coming round. Megan had a Top 40 cassette and a karaoke machine that you could carry around. Not with a screen or anything but there was a mike and you could sing while the tape was on. They could work out a routine.

It’d be brilliant to be a pop star. Jade was going to be one. She was growing her hair. It was nearly down to the bottom of her shoulder blades. She and Megan wanted their hair to look the same. When it was really long they could do it in plaits sometimes or up on top. It would depend if they were doing a concert or a video or what. She was going to do mainly the dancing and Megan would sing.

There was a knock at the door and Jade ran down to let Megan in. She pulled open the door. There was the policeman again. She slammed it shut and ran upstairs, went in the bathroom.

Rat a tat tat.

‘Jade?’ Her mam called from the back room. ‘Jade?’

She heard Mam go down the hall and the rumble of voices. She was letting him in. She could hear them talking but not what they said.

‘Jade,’ Mam calling her, ‘come here.’

‘I’m on the toilet.’

‘Well, hurry up and get down here.’

Jade had a wee and washed her hands. She looked in the mirror. There was all specks of toothpaste on the mirror, if you closed your eyes nearly shut and looked it was like you had white spots growing on you.

‘Jade!’ Her mother’s shout made her jump. ‘Get down here, now.’

She came slowly downstairs, her mam scolding her. ‘It’s the police. He’s a nice man and he’s not going to eat you. Just wants to ask you a couple of questions, then he’ll be on his way.’