Cath Staincliffe - Blue Murder

Michael was staring out of the side window. Saying nothing.

‘How was your review?’

A shrug.

‘Mr Corkland said your work was suffering. You’re a bright boy, you’ve worked hard and now… these so-called mates, where’ve they sprung from?’

‘We have a laugh, that’s all.’

‘What? Stealing, pushing people about, sending nasty text messages. As a family we’ve tried…’

‘What family? You expect me to be like you, don’t you? Master Plod the policeman’s son. Know what my nickname is? The Bill. They all think I’m a grass because of you.’

The strength of his outburst surprised her. She’d never imagined he got stick because of her job. But she wasn’t going to start feeling guilty about her work. ‘I’m proud of what I do, Michael. I’m not going to apologise for it.’

‘And you ram it down my throat all the time. It is so uncool.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, grow up. It pays the bills, it puts food on the table-’

He turned, about to challenge that claim.

‘Takeaways! Whatever! People kill, I catch them. I don’t care how deeply uncool it might be, it’s a bloody important job.’

‘And it’s all you care about.’

That cut her to the quick. She pulled in to the side of the road and stopped the car. ‘That’s not true. I care about you. I want you to be safe. I want you be happy.’ She struggled, feeling her chest tighten and not wanting to get upset in front of him. ‘You’re not a bully, Michael; I know you’re not. I can’t bear…’ Tears sprang into her eyes. She sniffed them away. Cleared her throat. ‘What made you do it?’

‘It was meant to be a joke,’ his voice was small. ‘The messages – seeing how people would react. I didn’t know they’d… just went a bit too far.’

‘And the thefts?’

‘Sort of a dare.’

‘These lads. Do you like them? Really?’

He shrugged.

‘Think they’ll be good friends?’ He didn’t reply. ‘They’re not doing you any favours, are they? What will they be doing in five years time, ten years? Picture yourself there.’

‘Sorry,’ he managed.

Janine put an arm round him. ‘It’s been a rotten year, I know. With your dad and all. But we both love you. Nothing can change that.’

He nodded. She pulled her arm back. ‘We’ve a meeting with Mr Corkland on Friday. Think about what you’re going to say. And I want you to write a letter.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not me you need to say sorry to. Write a letter for the lad on Saturday. Tell him you’re sorry.’

He looked aghast.

Janine started the car. Gave him a rueful smile.

‘Turning it round, Michael. It starts here – putting things right.’

Jade was next. Megan was just coming out, she’d been dead quick.

‘What did you get?’ Jade asked as she passed her.

‘Two Hail Marys.’

What would Jade get? A decade of the rosary? She hadn’t any beads. The one she got for her communion had broken and she had saved them to try and fix the little wire back together but then they’d got lost.

She pulled aside the curtain and knelt on the small hassock next to the screen. The confession booths were dark with wooden walls and they smelt of Mr Sheen and when you knelt down it was red velvet. She could see Father Donovan a bit through the mesh, his head tipped towards her and his eyes closed. She looked away, you weren’t meant to look at the priest, you had to look into your soul.

‘It’s four weeks since my last confession, Father.’

‘I see. Will you say the confession prayer now?’

‘I confess to almighty God that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do; and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin, and all the angels and saints, to pray for me to the lord our God.’

‘Now you can start your confession.’

Jade felt a bump in her chest. ‘I promised my mam that I wouldn’t play down the back and I went one day. Only for a bit, though.’

‘Now, why does your mum not want you down there playing?’

‘Not safe.’

‘It’s very important to keep those rules, the ones that keep us safe. Are you sorry for what you did?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘And you won’t be doing it again now, will you?’

‘No, Father.’

‘Good. Is there anything else?’

‘And I told lies,’ Jade said, then very fast so maybe he wouldn’t catch it all, ‘to the policeman. I said I didn’t see anyone and I did.’

‘See anybody?’

‘On the allotments, on Saturday, you know.’

‘Do you mean where that man was… found.’

‘Yes, Father.’ Jade’s eyes had gone all hot now.

‘But you did see somebody?’

‘Yes. I saw someone running away. I’m sorry I was so scared!’

‘Now, I’m glad you’ve told me, God is proud of us when we tell the truth, even if that means we have to be very brave about it. And I think it would be a big help for the police if you told them as well.’

‘But…’

‘I can have a word with your mum and make sure everything’s all right on that score. What do you say?’

Jade knew she couldn’t say no. Now she’d be in trouble. Big trouble. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘Nothing, boss,’ Butchers shook his head. ‘They’ve taken the place apart. Search completed.’

Janine felt like kicking someone. The clothes couldn't have disappeared, but without a break she could not hold Lesley Tulley any longer.

‘Let her go.’

She was so disheartened. A few hours and her chance for a result would be over, passed on to O’Halloran. The Lemon would have something to gloat about.

Dean was remembering. Couldn’t stop remembering, like someone scratching, the same sample over and over.

His first thought when the guy had shoved him was a mugging. Dean putting his hands up: ‘Hang on, mate.’ Saw the knife. Then the guy was holding it under his neck. A cool slice of metal against his throat. Dean was thinking please don’t cut me, trying to keep his eyes calm so the guy wouldn’t get more manic and top him.

‘I’ve got money,’ Dean had said to buy time but it came out quiet because he daren’t move too much with the knife there.

‘Turn round.’

Still not getting it. Turning, keeping his hands away so the guy can pat him down and take the bit of cash he’s got left. Hand on him, pulling at his joggers, one swift yank, then his pants. The guy slammed him against the wall, he turned his face to the left to save his nose. The knife was by his chin, against the brick. Dean could smell the damp mortar, feel the moisture from the stone on his right cheek. He heard traffic and a girl laughing and a boom-box passing by and blood rushing through his ears.

Then Dean was crying with shock and pain, knowing what the guy was doing to him. The guy pulled away. His right hand on Dean’s shoulder, left grasping the knife. Dean could smell the stink of the guy’s deodorant and the grease on the air from some take-away. He felt this wildness in him, coming up, like something he couldn’t stop. A roll of anger surfing away the fear. He didn’t plan it, there was no time for that, he just moved.

He had swung round and threw his own body back against the guy, using the wall to wind him. Dean smacked the man’s wrist against the brick until he dropped the knife. Breathing hard, Dean went for it. In slow motion, he watched his own fingers curl around the handle and lift it from the ground. The ground speckled with drops of light, a rainbow circle of oil and fragments of glass. The handle was warm. He was straightening up, saw the guy’s fist come at him from the corner of his eye. Stabbed the knife in and pulled up. Easy motion, like ripping rotten cloth. Up and up till he hit bone.