Ruthless (26 page)

Rachel said, ‘I want to talk to you again about Victor and Lydia. We know they were dealing, I think you were supplying them. Is that the case?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘You’re not in work – is that true?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Claiming Jobseeker’s?’ Rachel said.

‘So?’

‘Can you explain to me how you’ve furnished your flat and paid for a new kitchen on sixty quid a week?’

Shirelle gave a little snort, said nothing.

‘From the proceeds of drug-dealing perhaps?’

‘No way.’

‘We have a witness saw Noel and Neil Perry near the warehouse on the Friday evening. Did the Perrys visit the squat?’

‘Maybe.’
Which meant yes.

‘Did you see them there recently?’ Shirelle hesitated. She must realize, Rachel thought, that she’d be incriminating herself to some extent if she admitted regular visits to Victor and Lydia, even if she stopped short of saying they were buying drugs from her.

‘We’ve got enough to do you for supply,’ Rachel said, putting a bit of pressure on. ‘Well, did you see them?’

The girl didn’t reply.

‘Come on, Shirelle. He was a friend, wasn’t he? Victor. Or are you protecting someone. Was this beating to keep you quiet?’

‘No. Thursday, I seen them,’ she said.

‘The Perrys. What time?’

‘About four, I was leaving the squat.’

‘Not Friday?’ Rachel said.

Shirelle shook her head slowly to the right then left.

‘You see Victor on Friday?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time?’

A pause. ‘Same,’ she said.

‘But not the twins?’

‘No.’

Rachel thought of the stash that the Perry brothers had, more than personal use. ‘Were they dealing, the Perrys?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘Heavy users?’

‘Dunno. Ain’t exactly mates.’

‘They’re racist tossers but they’re happy enough to deal with Victor?’ Rachel said.

‘Hypocrites, in’t they.’

‘And on Saturday you were up on Middleton Road, with a bagful of party poppers. You heard the girl died?’

Shirelle closed her good eye.

‘Not your week, is it?’ Rachel said.

‘It was legal.’

‘That might have been, the rest isn’t. Class As, Shirelle, you can get life for that. You going to do that for Williams? Reckon he’ll thank you for it? Even if it’s accepted you played a lesser role, you’re looking at seven years. What’s keeping you here? Family? We heard you’re on your own. Think about it: new name, new flat, new chance. This all goes away.’

‘I i’nt a grass.’

Rachel had an image of Sharon, the night before, the disgust on her face, disgust at Rachel. The rotten ache of it inside her.

‘They could have killed you,’ Rachel said. ‘You don’t matter, you’re disposable.’

Shirelle didn’t speak.

‘It’s one of the lines of our investigation, whether associates of Williams were behind the murders, Victor’s murder.’

Shirelle’s expression hardened. ‘They weren’t, no way.’

‘You liked Victor, you went out with him, and I thought you’d at least want to see whoever killed him pay for it. Perhaps Victor double-crossed Williams, perhaps he was cutting the product?’

‘No,’ she repeated, ‘he never. It wasn’t any of them.’ Shirelle was adamant.

‘You know who, then?’

‘No.’

Rachel held her gaze, tried to see beyond the cuts and the bloodshot eye.

‘That’s the truth,’ she said, ‘I swear.’

‘What do you know about Greg Tandy?’ Rachel asked.

‘Who?’ But there was a false note to the question.

‘He was staying at Keane’s. Connor’s dad. You know Connor?’

‘I know Connor,’ she said, ‘I don’t know his dad.’

Rachel wasn’t sure she believed her. Aware that when any probing came close to Williams or his grubby little empire, Shirelle watched her step.

‘What was he like, Victor?’ With no family, no records, any information on the man was patchy to say the least. They probably knew more about Richard Kavanagh. Didn’t even have any photographs.

‘He was a big kid.’ She paused, but the temptation to talk about him must have won her over. ‘Like when we were together, he was still friendly with Lydia and I said, “I don’t share,” but he just fooled about, like it was a joke. He never grew up.’ For the first time, behind the words blunted by her injuries, Rachel heard grief in what Shirelle was saying.

Most of them don’t grow up, Rachel thought. Would Sean? Had he? This, the marriage, pushing Rachel to meet her mother, was that grown-up behaviour? He still found farting and cock jokes totally hilarious.

‘Is there anything else you wish to add?’ Rachel was ready to wind things up, they had enough to charge her with possession with intent to supply.

‘The Paradise,’ Shirelle said, ‘it’s been OK.’ A sliver of remorse.

‘I know,’ Rachel said, ‘and then it wasn’t.’

25

The café, self-service, was cheap and cheerful, not too greasy, ideal for a quick lunch.

‘What are you getting?’ Rachel said.

Janet looked at her watch, they hadn’t long but she needed something hot and filling. ‘Macaroni cheese.’ Rachel ordered the pasta and a steak and mushroom pie. They took their meals to an empty table in the corner.

‘So, what’s wrong with Her Majesty?’ Rachel said.

Janet shook her head. ‘None of your business.’

Rachel gave a heavy sigh.

Janet didn’t care, there was no way she was going to betray Gill’s confidence. Friendship was rooted in trust. Sometimes she wasn’t sure whether Rachel understood that.

‘How’s Elise?’

Janet told Rachel the same she’d told Gill earlier, including the fact that Ade blamed Janet and Olivia’s mother had turned on Elise.

‘You want to tell her what’s what,’ Rachel said. ‘If it was Olivia egging Elise on, Olivia lying about the party, then …’

‘There’s a time and a place,’ Janet said. ‘She’s mad with shock.’

‘But for Elise—’

‘I’ve explained it to Elise, she sort of gets it. She just feels bloody awful. It certainly hasn’t helped.’

‘What about Taisie?’ Rachel said.

‘She’s completely confused. She’s meant to be the awkward one. Elise never puts a foot wrong. And Taisie really liked Olivia so she’s in bits. Of course she’s still at the “why-would-anyone-want-to-take-drugs” age so she can’t understand it.’

Taisie had sought Janet out the previous evening, in tears. She sat on Janet’s knee, something she hadn’t done for years, as she asked her questions. Why did they buy the drugs? Was it like heroin? Why did only Olivia die?

Then Elise had woken her in the night, saying her heart was beating too fast and she daren’t go to sleep because she might dream about Olivia. Janet had felt her own body pick up on the panic in her daughter, echoing the same physical sensation.

She had coaxed her daughter back to bed after a milky drink and a talk. Told her to breathe very slowly and deliberately, that it was harder for anxiety to overwhelm you if your breathing was steady and regular. That what you did with your body could help soothe your mind, your emotions. But today Janet herself found it hard to breathe deeply. Her guts were in knots.

She ate some food, hoping it would help settle the jittery feeling she’d had ever since Saturday’s phone call from Elise. What if she was losing it again? Twice she’d been mentally ill, the spectacular breakdown in her teens that had come from nowhere, then the depression and anxiety that followed Joshua’s death. Both times Ade had been a rock, helping her cope, waiting for her to heal, believing she would recover, that they had a future. That wouldn’t happen if she cracked up now, and what effect would it have on the girls?

‘Oy, Dolly Daydream,’ Rachel broke into her thoughts, ‘did you hear me?’

‘What?’

‘Forget it,’ Rachel said.

‘No, go on, what?’

‘I was just saying it could have been worse. She won’t have a criminal record—’

‘Somebody died,’ Janet said, ‘I call that worse.’

‘But if she’d been prosecuted for supplying, had to go through the courts—’

‘She’ll have to go to the coroner’s inquest.’ That would be an ordeal in itself. Janet had attended inquests as a police officer, for sudden deaths that the police determined to be accidental or suicide.

‘All I’m saying—’

‘Leave it, please. I know you’re only looking for a bright side but honestly it doesn’t help,’ she said sharply.

Rachel looked taken aback. She’d get over it. Janet was in no mood to start tip-toeing around, worrying about Rachel. Rachel could look after herself.

Janet stared at her plate and felt her appetite drain away. She’d eaten half of it. That would have to do.

‘You coming?’ she said to Rachel, who had polished off her meal.

‘Well, I’m not staying here, am I?’ Rachel snapped, her bolshie side showing again.

Dave had found a place in a rehab clinic. He could use some of his private health insurance to pay for it, and didn’t have to wait. Gill had arranged to drive him there because she didn’t quite trust him to go.

She asked Janet to keep an eye on things at work and if anyone asked to just tell them she had a hospital appointment. Noel and Neil Perry were awaiting transfer to prison. The vans did their rounds at the beginning and end of the day, delivering suspects to court, bringing defendants back to prison after their time in the dock. If further investigation led the police back to either of the Perrys in relation to Victor and Lydia, the police could apply to the prison to have them produced for interview. Gill thought there was little chance of this happening. They hadn’t been involved in the double murder, she was sure of it.

The chief superintendent was happy to give them a twelve-hour extension to continue questioning Greg Tandy, given that the evidence now pointed to his possible involvement in those killings.

‘Or I could ask Lee,’ Gill said to Janet, ‘in case Elise wants—’

‘It’ll be fine but if I am needed I’ll hand things over to Lee. You won’t be all that long, will you, anyway?’

‘You’re right.’ Gill shuddered, wishing it could all be over.

She picked him up from his mother’s. His mother answered the door and didn’t seem to know what to say. Gill had no idea whether Dave had spoken to her in any detail about it all. Anyway his mother settled for, ‘It’s very good of you. He just needs a bit of breathing space.’ It must have been a nightmare for her, her middle-aged son suddenly going into a 40 per cent proof meltdown in her spare room, after years of independence.

Dave came downstairs carrying a suitcase, said hello with no warmth, flat and resigned. He gave his mother a brief hug then took his case outside. Gill followed, popped the boot. Once he’d stowed it away, he got in beside her.

The first part of the journey was in silence, the atmosphere strained.

‘My car,’ he said, as she reached the motorway heading south.

‘Don’t worry, I put it in the garage. It can stay there for now.’

‘Emma …’

The whore.

‘I’d rather she didn’t know I was—’ He nodded in their direction of travel.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Gill said. She’d no idea where things were up to with Dave and the whore. Had presumed that with his drinking and general fuckwittery he had queered his pitch and burned his bridges and hence the move back to his mother’s. Did Dave really imagine there might be life in that relationship? If he was hiding his treatment from the woman then it really didn’t sound like a match made in heaven. In sickness and in health. And what was all the bollocks about starting again with Gill? She didn’t care any more. They could fuck off into the sunset together if that’s what they wanted.

Gill pulled out into the fast lane, overtaking a trio of Morrison’s lorries. Tired of the silence, she switched on the radio, caught the news. ‘Manchester Metropolitan Police have announced there will be no criminal proceedings following the death of fifteen-year-old Olivia Canning at a party in Oldham on Saturday. Olivia is believed to have died from complications after taking the legal high known as Paradise. A spokesman for the police said, “We continue to caution the public against the use of any drug that is untested and can, as in this case, be potentially fatal. Policing the trade in so-called legal highs remains a minefield as small changes to the composition of the drug when a substance is banned means producers are able to avoid prosecution and continue to sell to the public. It’s a game of catch-up,” said Sergeant Phillip Whitaker, “we’ll never be able to identify and proscribe the drugs as fast as the chemists invent new ones.”’

‘Janet’s daughter Elise was with that girl,’ Gill said.

Dave grunted, stared ahead out of the window.

She made no further attempts at small talk. Part of her longed to confront him, to stop the car and drag him out and berate him for his thoughtless, selfish behaviour. But she bit her tongue. Letting rip wouldn’t help beyond getting rid of some of the tension wound up inside her. He was sick, raddled with alcohol. Bawling him out would probably serve to confirm whatever shitty thoughts he had running around his brain. Best to keep quiet, and later she would thump her pillows or break something or weep. Alone, with no one to worry about.

He needed support, in her head she understood that. At least he’d get it where he was going, she hoped. Taking him there was the most she could muster.

Another twenty minutes and they arrived. Gill pressed an intercom at the gates and gave his name before the barrier lifted. She parked and turned off the engine. He sighed then said, ‘Thanks,’ still with that level, unemotional tone. She watched as he dragged his case across the paving to the doors marked Reception. A tall man, broad-shouldered, the hair on his crown beginning to thin.

When he had disappeared inside, swallowed up by the automatic doors, she turned the engine on and reversed out of the parking space. Relief that he was gone, off her hands, washed over her, mingling with a deep sadness that it had come to this.

‘Janet,’ her mother sounded weird, ‘Elise has gone.’

‘Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?’

‘She was going home, but Taisie’s just rung up asking for her. She should be there by now.’