Cath Staincliffe - Blue Murder

When they had asked him if there was anyone they should notify about him being nicked he said no. Pretty tight that. The world fit to bursting with overpopulation and there’s not one frigging person in the known universe who needs to know that Dean Hendrix is in trouble. He realised he was feeling sorry for himself but he reckoned he was entitled. He doesn’t – who will? Not exactly the best day of his life.

‘And the Gibson angle, the drugs?’ The Lemon’s eyes scrutinised her.

‘No link to Tulley, sir. Ferdie Gibson and friend Colin were behind the off-licence robberies. They used the cash to buy cocaine from a firm operating out of Oldham. There was a connection, though; Dean Hendrix chose the house in Oldham to hole up in.’

‘Two crimes for the price of one, eh? You’d never have got him without Oldham, would you?’

‘Hard to say, sir.’

‘Sheer fluke,’ he said dismissively. ‘Can’t claim any credit for that. And one of the suspects was killed in the course of the raid?’

‘Car drove over him, his accomplice.’ Poor kid.

‘Bloody mess, but that part’s Oldham’s problem. As for ours, I want a written report by the end of the day. Everything ready for O’Halloran. He’ll be taking over from you first thing tomorrow.’

He couldn’t take the case from her! Not after all this. A sign to one and all that he had no faith in her. ‘Please, sir.’ She’d beg if she had to.

He didn’t give her the chance. ‘You’ve run out of time, Lewis.’

She turned away, fists clenched, mouth set. Not trusting herself to say anything.

Butchers had traced Laura Belling, the first Mrs Matthew Tulley, to an address in Birkenhead and had used the directory to get a phone number. A child answered at the other end, burbling ‘hello, hello’ over and over down the line.

‘Is your mummy there?’

‘Who.’

‘Is your mummy there?’

‘Who is it?’

‘Get your mummy.’

‘Mummy. Hello.’

Shap, beside him, scrolling through records on the computer, sniggered.

‘I want to talk to your mummy.’

‘Who dat?’

‘Mr Butchers. Tell Mummy to come to the phone.’

‘No.’ The child slammed the phone down.

‘Hell,’ Butchers pressed re-dial. Laura Belling answered. ‘Ms Belling, I’m DS Butchers from Greater Manchester Police. You were previously married to Matthew Tulley?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are probably aware that Mr Tulley is the victim in a murder enquiry?’

‘I saw it on the television.’

He could hear the child beginning to kick up a fuss in the background. ‘I’ll try and be brief; we’re trying to establish what sort of man Mr Tulley was, build up a picture, talk to…’

‘He was a bastard.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You heard. They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but he deserves everything he got.’

For one crazed moment Butchers wondered if she was going to confess to having done it. ‘He was an out and out bastard.’

Butchers hesitated, uncertain as to how to frame the next question. The child was bawling now. ‘When you say that, in what respect…’

‘He was a pervert and a bully.’

‘Was he violent towards you?’

‘Oh, yes. That was the grounds for the divorce. Physical and mental cruelty.’

Dean Hendrix was on his way from Oldham and Janine was preparing to interview him later that morning.

‘Bag his clothes when he gets here,’ she told Chen, ‘and if the trainers look likely, put them through as a priority request.’

Richard raised his eyes – more spending?

‘I’m not going to see him walk for the sake of a few hundred pounds,’ she said. ‘Anything on Mrs Tulley’s bonfire?’

Chen shook her head.

Butchers came in, his face alert; well, as alert as it ever got. ‘The first wife, she cited cruelty in the divorce. Claimed he was physically violent.’

‘Was he now?’ Janine frowned.

‘Nothing from Tulley’s email addresses,’ Shap said, ‘but we did pick up something dodgy with one of the phone numbers in his diary. The guy, a Ronald Prosser, is no longer there, woman was very suspicious at first – turns out he’s doing time. Found in possession of a class A drug, sentenced in May last year.’

‘Connection with Tulley?’ she asked.

Shap shrugged.

‘Get some more on that Shap. I wouldn’t have figured Tulley for drugs, but there’s still the possibility that drugs could be the link between him and Dean Hendrix.’

‘Hendrix was associating with known dealers,’ Richard said. ‘Maybe a deal gone bad?’

She left them to carry on the painstaking work of sifting details and checking facts and set off for Ashgrove.

‘Come in,’ Lesley looked pale, weary. Janine followed her to the kitchen.

‘Would you like some tea? No milk I’m afraid. Emma’s gone shopping. Or toast?’

‘I’m fine. You go ahead. There’s been a new development, I wanted you to know.’

Lesley turned, pausing in the activity of getting the bread out.

‘We’ve arrested someone.’

Lesley’s mouth opened in surprise, her brow creased. ‘Who?’

‘Dean Hendrix. You know him?’ Janine stared at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

‘No, erm… no, I don’t.’ Lesley turned back to the worktop.

‘He lives locally, you may know him by sight. Matthew never mentioned a Dean to you?’

‘No,’ over her shoulder.

‘What about a Ronald Prosser?’

A tensing of the shoulders. ‘No.’ She began to cut the loaf.

Janine didn’t believe her. ‘We’ll be interviewing Dean Hendrix this morning. Is there anything you want to tell me, Lesley?’

Lesley stopped, turned, met her gaze. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you know.’

Lesley’s lip curled with disgust. ‘No.’ Her tone became more aggressive. ‘Do you enjoy this? Does it make you feel clever? Insulting me, trying to dirty my name?’ She faced Janine, the knife in her hand. ‘How would you like it? If someone kept on and on at you?’ Her eyes glittered with emotion. ‘On and on – nasty little minds.’

Janine’s phone broke the tension. She watched as Lesley steadied herself against the counter then returned to her preparations while Janine listened.

‘Janine? It’s Richard. Dean Hendrix, we made a mistake. We know he was there but he can’t have used the knife. He’s left-handed. It can’t possibly be him.’

She stared transfixed as Lesley Tulley sawed through the loaf. Richard went on, ‘Ferdie Gibson’s out of the picture, Dean Hendrix can’t have done it. Leaves us with one suspect.’

She heard the faint tick of the clock, felt the hairs on her neck prickle.

‘Janine?’ He sounded worried. ‘Where are you? Are you already at the Tulleys’?’

‘Yes.’ She tried to keep her voice level.

‘Can you talk?’

‘No,’ she spoke softly hoping that Richard would too, trying to prevent Lesley from hearing the call.’

‘Get out of there!’ He said urgently. ‘Janine? Janine?’

‘No,’ she said simply. She would not run away from this. There was a chance here, a chance to get a confession and then she’d show them all. The Lemon and all of them.

She pressed end call.

Lesley swung back her way, still holding the knife, an edge of instability in her manner. ‘Are you sure you don’t want some?’

Ambiguous. Janine felt a surge of vertigo but hid it. Shook her head.

‘Bad news?’ Lesley asked her.

Janine forced herself to ignore the knife. Resisted the urge to cover her stomach with her hands. ‘You and Matthew, you had problems?’