Bleed Like Me (20 page)

Rachel wanted them to just leave her alone. To leave her alone and let her go. But they wouldn’t. She had to give her account when she could barely string two words together and she kept drifting off, her mind wandering all over the shop.

She knew she looked a right mess if she was anything like the rest of them, oily black smears on their faces, cuts and burns. A car bomb, in effect, that’s what Cottam had made of his vehicle. Mind you, he couldn’t have relied on it going up in flames – though as a former mechanic he must have known
there was a chance of that. All he would have been thinking about was that brick wall. Oblivion.

‘Is he dead?’ she kept asking. But no one knew, or if they did they wouldn’t tell her. Put her off, said, ‘If we can just complete your statement first, while it’s fresh in your mind.’

Fresh? It wasn’t fresh, more like frazzled, bitty, broken. She could smell his blood on her. Blood and smoke. The burning rubber fumes caught at the back of her throat. He hadn’t responded after she pulled him from the wreck. Not a flicker.

‘He drove straight into the wall?’ the officer taking her statement repeated, as though he couldn’t quite believe her. Christ, he only had to look at the scene. At the wreckage.

An ambulance had taken Cottam away, a second one had left with a uniformed police officer who had broken his leg in the explosion and an ambulance car had transferred another officer with cuts to his face.

Rachel had been checked over and almost got carted off as well. One of the paramedics said her responses were a little slow and there might be some concussion.
I fell down the stairs
. The lie she’d told Gill yesterday.
Banged my head.

‘I’m not going in,’ she said, ‘I refuse. That clear enough for you? I’m fine.’

Someone had wrapped a space blanket round her and she caught snippets of words from the other officers,
who is she
,
disaster
,
firearms unit were late
,
total cock-up
. Ben Cragg wasn’t talking to her, his face white with tension, a little sneer of disgust each time he looked her way. For what, for fuck’s sake? Showing some initiative?

She saw the elderly couple and the kid being escorted into a squad car. Her hands were hot and sore, the heels of her thumbs, the edges of her palms and her fingertips scraped raw. She flexed her fingers, hoping the stinging pain might cut
through the fog and jumble in her mind and help her concentrate.

‘You pulled him from the vehicle,’ the officer said, ‘and tried to revive him.’

The slap. The blows.
‘I tried to get him to talk.’

‘How did you try to revive him?’

‘Smacked his face, hit his chest.’

‘CPR?’ He frowned. ‘Had you checked for signs of life?’

Rachel shook her head. She’d skipped that bit, checking the airway, looking for the rise and fall of the chest, feeling for his pulse. Jumped straight in. She’d wanted to pound the truth out of him. She’d lost it, deserted procedure, but the guy probably knew that.

‘Not exactly. I wanted him to wake up, to tell me what he’d done with the kids, where they were.’

‘Did he respond?’

‘No,’ she said, feeling flat. She looked away to the burnt-out car where CSIs were examining the ground. A bird, a big black bird, a crow, landed on the brick wall close by. She felt unsteady, the same feeling as before, when she had almost been run over and had realized she was the target. Then her stomach had lurched with this same sick feeling, revulsion and a dreadful fear.

‘And what happened next?’ the guy said.

She wrenched her attention back. ‘Sorry?’

He repeated, ‘What happened next?’

‘They pulled us clear,’ she said, nodding to the other officers. ‘Then it blew.’

He wrote it down. ‘Anything you want to add?’

‘No. I need a lift back,’ she remembered, ‘to Manchester. Could you sort something out?’

They put plastic on the back seat of the car, the way they did
when someone was likely to vomit or worse. The driver hadn’t been at the retail park and knew no more than Rachel about the fate of Owen Cottam.

The boss would know, wouldn’t she? Rachel got out her phone, saw the screen was cracked, the display milky. She pressed at it, trying to get some response, but nothing worked. The thing was buggered.

She got dropped off at her flat, peeled off her clothes and showered as quickly as she could manage with her stinging hands. Towelled off her hair but didn’t bother drying it, just pulled it back into a ponytail. Under the layer of grease and soot her hands and face were pockmarked with cuts and burns. On the back of her left hand a smear of something blue had melted on to the skin. She rubbed antiseptic cream on it, found some co-codamol in the kitchen drawer and took two of those. She opened the window, lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke in a steady stream. The wind blew it back into the room.

She called a cab and got it to stop at a mobile phone shop on the way so she could replace her phone. Luckily the SIM still worked fine. Several missed calls. The boss. One from Janet. With a swooping sensation Rachel realized that she hadn’t thought about Janet and her mum at all. Hadn’t thought about anything but Cottam. If he hadn’t survived how would they ever find the kids? She thought of them starving, growing listless. Thirst would kill them in the end. Dehydration. But maybe they were dead already. Smothered and left down some mine shaft or strangled and buried. Gallows Wood was still being searched. With Cottam dead how would they ever find them, dead or alive? They could be left undiscovered for years.

She didn’t ring the boss. What was there to say? Best to face the music in person. She could imagine it already, a ferocious
tongue-lashing, occasional dollops of sarcasm.
And you physically assaulted a man we need to speak to? Repeated blows? How does that help us, DC Bailey? Accusations of police brutality could undermine charges against a man who we believe has killed three people. Are you out of your tiny little mind?

The boss was a stickler for rules and regulations and it wouldn’t be the first time Rachel had had a strip torn off her, but she did worry that this might be one time too many. She didn’t know if there were cameras covering the delivery area, if they’d captured her actions on film. She imagined that clip being played at inquiries and special committees, leaking on to
YouTube
. Joining the ranks of all the infamous examples of heavy-handed police tactics. But this wasn’t some innocent caught up in a sweep and detained by mistake, or a student kettled or someone in the wrong place in a riot. This was a multiple murderer and Rachel had after all been trying to get him to give her information that might prevent further loss of life. She had! She turned deaf ears to the little voice inside mocking her.
Not that clear cut, Rachel. You lost control. You’d have beaten him to a pulp if they’d not dragged you off. If he had sat up and spoken, told you what you wanted to hear, would you have been able to stop? No way. You wanted to hurt him. Because he was a murdering bastard. Because he’d nearly run you over, like before; because your own father had lain rotting for two weeks in a dosshouse and you didn’t even give a shit.

‘Fuck it,’ Rachel said aloud and the taxi driver glanced into the rear-view mirror at her, probably thinking he’d picked up a nutter. She caught his eye, gave him a look, a cold stare that she hoped would make him think twice about trying to get shot of her, and then turned to look out of the side window.

The desks in the main office were empty, as was the boss’s lair
in the corner. And the door to the briefing room was closed. Should she interrupt? Join in as though all was well? Or wait out here for them to finish? She put her bag on her desk, then picked it up again, but before she had a chance to move the door to the briefing room swung open and they came out. Andy first, then Pete and Mitch, Lee, Kevin and finally Her Maj, a pile of reports under one arm, phone in the other hand.

A quiet descended as people moved to their desks. Lee looked over at her and seemed to be about to speak, but Godzilla’s voice cut through the air. ‘Rachel.’ Cold, taut. ‘My office.’

Rachel complied. The boss put her folders down and shut the door, drew the blinds. Rachel’s hands itched, and she felt a buzz of static in the back of her skull.

The boss stood behind her desk. She wasn’t as tall as Rachel but still had the ability to make Rachel feel small just by the way she stared at her.

‘Where do I start?’ she said. ‘With you charging at a moving car as if you’re a fucking rhinoceros instead of a serving police officer? Or should that be with you diving into a road traffic incident without a second’s hesitation or giving a flying fuck for your own safety?’

‘Ma’am—’

‘Don’t ma’am me, lady. Don’t you say a word, not a word, until I am done.’

Rachel swallowed, looked at her shoes.

‘Force guidelines,’ the boss went on, ‘at any incident – safety first. Remember that, DC Bailey? Say it.’

Rachel said it.

‘Drummed into every recruit, reiterated at every opportunity. There for a fucking reason,’ she thundered. She had a loud voice for such a petite woman, and her face was red with exertion.

Rachel looked back to her shoes.

‘I cannot imagine a situation where any officer would disregard such a basic principle of police work. One designed to protect them and their colleagues and the wider community. An unbreakable golden rule.’ Thumping her fist on her palm with each phrase. ‘Have you got a death wish?’ She cocked her head to one side.

Rachel didn’t know if she was expected to reply, but the boss carried on. ‘Not satisfied with the real and present danger inherent in all our work, with the scumbags and tosspots we have to deal with, you go off like a high wire act without a safety net. Some sick thrill, is it? Or are you just suicidal? Because if that is the case you are out on your ear for the duration.’

She still hadn’t got round to Rachel thumping Cottam. Rachel knew that when that was added to all the personal safety stuff the boss would probably have no choice but to discipline her.

‘Your actions not only endangered yourself but put your fellow officers in harm’s way. Two of them had to attend hospital, yes? Ben Cragg is livid. Would you have behaved as you did if Janet had been there? Or is it only officers that you’ve not worked with before that you have no loyalty to? No basic human concern for? No professional respect for?’ Ducking her head as if she was pecking at the questions.

‘I never meant—’

‘Quiet!’ she barked. ‘You expect to progress to your sergeant’s exam when your behaviour is that of an irresponsible child. You expect to stay in this team when you don’t know the meaning of the word? If you want to be the Lone Ranger, DC Bailey, buy a mask and a pony and fuck off to the wild west, but don’t do it here. Not in my syndicate, not on my watch.’

Rachel’s face was burning; she could feel sweat under her arms. She couldn’t bear not knowing any longer. She was obviously fucked any which way even before Godzilla got to the assault. ‘Is he alive? Cottam? Please, boss? No one has told me.’

The boss laughed, a nasty, humourless sound. ‘If you think that in any way mitigates your cavalier—’

‘Is he alive?’ Rachel shouted.

‘Yes!’ Godzilla matched her.

Oh, thank fuck!
Rachel felt something inside fly from her. If he was alive they might get him to talk. If he talked they might save the children. And see him punished for the murders he’d committed.

‘Thanks to your stupid stunt dragging him out of that vehicle and your CPR routine, his heart, which failed in the collision, restarted. He is conscious, being monitored, and we are waiting to talk to him as soon as he’s anywhere close to fit.’

CPR? She had been belting the prick, not trying to start his heart. Hadn’t even known his heart wasn’t beating. Only that he wasn’t responding.

‘But that is not a trump card.’ Her Maj poked a finger towards her. ‘Your primary duty was to ensure your safety and that of your fellow officers and the general public. Saving Owen Cottam was way down the list. You know that. Now get out.’

‘But—’

‘Go write your report, hook, line and sinker, while I consider what action to take. And it won’t just be down to me, I’ll be taking Ben Cragg’s view into account.’

‘The kids?’ Rachel said.

‘Out!’

Rachel left.

In the main office, only Lee and Mitch were at their desks. Both of them looked up at her, though neither said anything. She broke the silence. ‘The kids?’

Lee shrugged. ‘Nothing in Gallows Wood,’ he said. ‘They may be calling it off. Appeal’s gone out for the county as a whole.’

‘They could be anywhere,’ Mitch said. ‘Andy’s done the map and timeline. You’ve only got to look at it.’

‘But he’d not much petrol,’ Rachel reminded them.

‘Unless he talks to us . . .’ Lee said, letting the sentence hang.

Rachel sighed. Then the thought struck her. ‘What did he buy?’ Remembering the carrier bag clutched in one hand as Cottam had come out of the shop, wearing Mr Wesley’s hat, in an attempt at disguise. ‘At B&Q?’

‘Rope,’ Lee said. ‘Nylon rope.’

Oh, God. He meant to string himself up. She rubbed at the blue plastic that had burnt her hand.

‘And bin liners, heavy duty,’ Lee added.

Oh, Christ. Bin liners were not good. Bin liners were bodies or body parts, they were the ghastly plastic shrouds of murder victims, the makeshift coverings for the abominations found in hastily dug woodland graves or landfill sites, in skips and on wasteland. In car boots and cellars and storm drains.

As far as Rachel was concerned, the prospect for the kids had just got a whole lot bleaker.

Janet reached the Oldham exit, thankful that the rain was slackening off. She was close to making bargains with some higher power that she didn’t even believe in: let Mum be all right and I will be good, I’ll raise my kids and rub along with Ade and do my best to forget about Andy.

She’d had a message from Ade. He had arrived just in time to stop the paramedics asking the police to force entry. ‘Your mum’s in the Royal,’ he said. ‘They’re assessing her, still no clue what it is. I’ll wait for you here. Drive carefully.’