Cath Staincliffe - Witness

At the loading bay, Mike checked off his delivery sheet and packed the van so he’d got the parcels in the right sequence Most of it was short-run stuff, within ten miles of the depot. But he’d one delivery out into Cheshire, beyond Bollington. That’d make a change. The winding lanes instead of city bottlenecks. A bit of scenery. He’d aim for that in the middle of the day, have his butties in a lay-by somewhere. It was shaping up to be fine: a few clouds but no rain forecast.

Ian was prowling around looking for an argument so Mike got his stuff packed and didn’t hang about.

It took him forever to make his first two drops. Extensions to the tram network meant diversions and road closures, forcing the heavy traffic into a smaller number of routes. He made a stop in Ancoats where the process of converting crumbling warehouses from the rag trade into luxury gaffs for professionals continued even in the teeth of the recession. Then he crossed town to Salford Quays, where the BBC’s Media City was nearing completion.

Coming back into Manchester took him along Princess Road and past the recreation ground. There was a mobile cop shop there now and placards on the lamp-posts: Witness Appeal, Serious Incident . That’s when he saw the car.

Up ahead of him, taking a right, a silver BMW X5. He felt his guts clench and a jolt travel the length of his forearms. He checked his mirrors, indicated and nipped out. If he could just get the number plate. There were two other cars between him and his quarry, waiting for the lights to change.

He could get a picture. He rooted for his phone and pulled it out, switched the camera on. The traffic lights went red-and-amber then green. The Beemer moved at speed into the side road. One guy inside, but the angle of the sunlight cast reflections on the driver’s window and Mike couldn’t make the man out.

Halfway down the side street one of the other cars slowed to park. No indicator. Mike swore at him and swung out to overtake, his pulse jumping, just in time to register the Beemer perform a U-turn. Heading back towards him. Mike jammed on his brakes and grabbed the phone. Suddenly he was slammed forward, his head glancing off the windscreen, the seat belt biting into his shoulder, head snapping back and a burning at his wrists. He heard the sound of metal and glass and the whoomp of the impact, as the car behind him rear-ended his van. Then the whoop of an alarm, fast and urgent, howling in his ears, matching his heartbeat.

Zak

He’d watched the taller girl get some money from a hole-in-the-wall and reckoned it was worth a shot.

‘D’you wanna buy a dog?’

‘Why, what’s wrong with it?’ The smaller one had mean eyes, little slits all suspicion. He had ’em pegged as sisters.

‘Nothing. But I can’t look after her any more. Just been chucked out my flat, I haven’t got anywhere to stay. I hate to let her go.’ He shuffled, stuck his hands in his pockets, swung his head to the side and down.

The taller one was stooping down, patting Bess on the head. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Bess. She’s a lovely nature. Lab cross.’ He’d no idea what with but she was big and golden. ‘She’s had all her jabs,’ he added. ‘She was my dad’s then he died and I took her.’

‘Aw.’ The taller one straightened up, her eyes soft,

‘I want her to go to a good home.’

‘How much?’ demanded the little one. Then she cast an eye at her sister. ‘Mum’d die.’

‘She’d come round,’ the taller one said, smitten.

‘She’s a good guard dog,’ Zak put in. ‘She’ll bark if you want her to. Better than an alarm.’

‘She’s lovely, Shiv.’ She grinned at her little sister. ‘What’s she eat?’

‘She’s not fussy but lamb’s her favourite, any brand.’

‘How much?’ repeated Shiv.

‘Twenty-five.’ It was nothing. You’d pay ten for a rabbit in the pet shops. Zak hoped he’d get twenty.

‘How old is she?’ Shiv asked.

‘Nearly five.’

‘What’s that in dog years?’ The tall one was petting Bess again.

‘Thirty-five,’ said Zak. ‘You times it by seven. Labradors, they live to fourteen or fifteen so she’s only a young one.’ Zak was aware of a pair of CSOs strolling up the precinct in their high vis jackets and dark caps. He wanted to make the sale before they got too close. ‘She’s well trained, tell her to stay and she won’t budge. Sit there all night, she would.’

‘What do you think, Shiv?’ Her voice was bubbly with excitement, a smile flickered round her lips.

‘Mum’d kill us.’

‘Go over there,’ Zak suggested to the tall one, ‘then call her.’ The CSOs had stopped, were talking to one of the African lads flogging brollies.

The girl walked over to the shop doorway. Bent down. ‘Come on, Bess.’ Bess ran over and stood at her feet. The girl clapped her hands. She walked back, Bess at her heels.

‘Twenty,’ Shiv said to Zak.

Zak made out he was torn for a moment. Looked at Bess then back to the girl. Nodded. The taller one burst out laughing. She took a fresh note out of her purse and Zak thanked her. He knelt down, hugged Bess, ruffled her head.

‘You’ll want her lead.’ He pulled the coil of rope from his pocket. ‘She’s fine without but some places you have to put them on the lead. You’re meant to round the shops.’ He hooked the lead into the ring on Bess’s collar.

‘When’s her birthday?’ Shiv asked.

‘Next week, August 10th. She’ll be five then.’

‘She’s a Leo,’ the tall girl said. ‘Sociable, outgoing.’

‘Sounds right,’ Zak smiled. The CSOs were on the move again. ‘Look after her, won’t you?’

‘We will,’ chorused the sisters.

Zak left them and walked up the tram platform. In the reflection of the glass he saw them set off towards Boots. Shiv went in the shop, the other girl waited outside with Bess.

A few minutes later, Shiv came out and they linked arms and walked further along. Then they went into the market. Zak slipped down from the tram stop and ran along the road to the alley that led into the middle of the market. He stopped at the bottom of the alley. The stalls were close together and the aisles between them narrow. He couldn’t see the girls. Had no idea where they were but that was okay. Better in fact.

He whistled once, three shrill notes, and within seconds Bess was hurtling into the alley, no lead attached to her collar, not any more. Zak always made sure to fix the lead on with a soft, thin wire ring, little more than fuse wire that would open with the slightest tug, let alone the frantic yank when Bess heard him whistle for her.

He and the dog walked smartly up the alley and then down the steps to the canal. Out of sight, together again, and twenty quid richer.

Zak wondered if they’d put out a reward for information about the murder. If it was big enough, really really big, then it might be worth him coming forward but he’d want guarantees as well. Carlton saw him, he was sure of that, would know him by Bess down there barking when it all kicked off if nothing else. Zak tried to steer clear of Carlton and his like but they made a point of knowing who was doing what on their turf. Zak was small-time, no threat to them. But if the cops did offer a reward, like they did when no one snitched, then he’d need a new identity, a place to live, somewhere for his mam and Bess. If the reward money was a lot, and it’d have to be a lot to break the silence, then maybe they’d go abroad, somewhere nice like Ibiza. Party all the time. Have a place by the beach and a pool. He could be a DJ, just for the fun, wouldn’t need to work if the reward was big enough. He was imagining this when he saw the lads. Four of them on bikes, hoods up, circling round the end of the street like hyenas waiting for carrion. There was no way he was going past them, even with the dog at his side.