Cath Staincliffe: Blue Murder

‘I don’t know how much there is left,’ Mam said.

‘I’ll look.’ Jade brought Mam’s purse.

‘Two twenties and a fifty and two tens.’

Mam gave her twenty pence.

‘Can I go to Megan’s?’

‘Come straight back if they’re not there.’

Jade got lollies, they lasted longest. There was no answer at Megan’s. When Jade got back she heard her mam being sick in the bathroom. Yeuch. Double yeuch. Jade waited for ages before she went upstairs. Mam was back in bed. Just a lump under the duvet. Sometimes Mam’s tablets made her sick and sometimes the vodka did and sometimes just a bug.

Janine took a bite of chocolate. ‘I hate this bit.’

‘Waiting to break the news?’ Richard asked, opening his packet of crisps.

They were sitting in Janine’s car outside the Tulleys’ house.

‘More the forked tongue. Weighing them up. What’s real grief supposed to look like anyway?’

‘You do it very well, as I remember.’

She tipped her head to acknowledge this. ‘A random attack? Or someone who knew him, knew the allotments? Think we can rule out aggravated burglary. Someone after his Flymo doesn’t quite cut it.’

‘Might be school not home, trouble in the staff room?’ Richard munched. ‘So you finally got it – your own investigation?’

‘Beat you! The Lemon didn’t like it.’

Richard frowned.

‘Hackett,’ she explained. ‘Suits him, don’t you think?’ She screwed up her mouth, wrinkled her face. ‘He’s still getting over my promotion to Chief Inspector. But we’re shorthanded and he’s being leaned on to meet his minority targets – and despite my size, I’m a minority.’

‘And O’Halloran’s still hanging on?’ They’d both worked with O’Halloran in the old days.

‘Bully Boy. Too right. Lemon won’t touch him.’

‘I heard,’ he hesitated, ‘you and Pete.’

She took a breath. ‘Tina. Latest home help. Helped herself all right.’

Richard shuffled in his seat. ‘Did he know… you were pregnant?’

‘Oh, yeah. We’d both been in deep shock for a few weeks already. First weekend alone, in Barcelona, for our sixteenth anniversary – big, romantic gesture: all a decoy.’

Richard looked puzzled.

‘He was sleeping with her way back then: bastard. Anyway, too much Rioja and bingo: our own special souvenir.’ She patted her stomach. ‘I’d have settled for a pair of castanets and a straw donkey.’

Richard laughed. She had always been able to make him laugh.

‘How are the kids?’

‘Tom’s six, now.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘Been rough on them. Pete’s still on air traffic control, shifts. They barely see him some weeks. They miss him.’

‘And you?’

She sighed. ‘Good days, bad days. It’s not been long. I gave him a second chance, with the baby and all. He moved in with her.’ And it still hurt. That he’d been willing to walk away from all they had, the kids, the marriage, their lives. For what?

‘What about you?’ She broke another square of chocolate off.

‘Single again.’

‘Really?’ She was surprised. Had assumed he’d moved back with his wife. ‘You and Wendy?’

Richard nodded and then they both heard the sound of a car slowing. Watched the silver Volvo turn into the driveway and park.

Janine observed the woman, slim, dark-haired, petite, laden with packages as she got out of the car and opened the door to Ashgrove. It wasn’t strictly her job to inform next of kin but in a case of murder the spouse was always a prime suspect and she wanted to scrutinise Mrs Tulley’s reaction to the news. She recorded the time in her notebook.

She turned to Richard. ‘Take notes while we’re in there.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Let’s go.’ She braced herself for the difficult task ahead.

Dean stood in the shadow of Oldham bus station and punched in Douggie’s number.

‘Douggie, yer dub brain, where’ve you been?’

‘An’ I love you too, Dean.’

‘Yer were switched off.’

‘It’s the moby. It’s rubbish. I got it off this bloke on the market and it only works half the time. So – what’s new?’

‘I was wondering, can you put us up for a bit?’

‘No worries. And is Paula coming too?’

‘Nah, just me.’

‘You’ll need directions, mate. Hang on.’ Dean could hear Douggie yelling to someone, something about milk and Frosties. Then he came back on the line. ‘Tosser,’ he volunteered, ‘thinks food grows in the dark while he’s sleeping, like mushrooms. Yeah, take the M66…’

‘No wheels.’

‘What?’

‘Starter motor’s gone. Give us directions from the bus station.’

Douggie told him which way to go, there was a bus or he could walk it in twenty minutes but it was all uphill.

Like bloody life, thought Dean. ‘See you in twenty minutes.’

‘You what?’

‘I’m in Oldham.’

‘Aw, right. Nice one. See yer mate.’

He wanted to be honest with Paula. He was honest with her. Well, some little things he hadn’t told her, things from the past. One or two big things maybe but he’d never lied about new stuff. Now all this going down. If he told her it all straight she wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t see why he had to run. She’d never had the sort of troubles he had.

Douggie would get it no messing. Douggie knew where he was coming from. He’d walked the same road. Been there, got the t-shirt. Dean turned to face the redbrick municipal building that marked his route up the hill to Douggie’s. God, he was thirsty. Freezing cold lager, drops of water beading the can, something with a bite to it, slipping down in long cold pulls. Christ, Douggie better have some dosh ‘cos he sure as hell couldn’t afford it.

‘Mrs Tulley?’

She nodded. Concern clouding her eyes.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Lewis and this is Detective Inspector Mayne; Greater Manchester Police, CID.’ They held up their identification cards. ‘Can we come in for a minute?’

‘Why?’

‘If we could talk inside.’

She lead them into the lounge. A large, high-ceilinged room with a white Adam-style fireplace and a contemporary, uncluttered feel. Like Mrs Tulley, thought Janine, the same simplicity in the woman’s dress; her long-sleeved, scoop neck top and calf-length skirt, as in the room design.

‘Matthew Tulley is your husband?’

‘Matthew?’ A note of surprise in her voice. ‘Yes. What about him?’

‘I’ve some bad news, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, God.’ Her face changed, fear flooding in. ‘What is it?’ Mrs Tulley whispered. ‘Has there been an accident?’

Janine noted the woman’s assumption. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Tulley,’ she paused, trying to be as gentle as she could with the terrible bombshell she held. ‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you that Matthew’s dead.’

‘No,’ Lesley Tulley covered her mouth with one hand and brought the other to join it. Rocked forward slightly. ‘No,’ she repeated and closed her eyes. She lifted her head a little to speak, ‘What happened?’

‘Please, Mrs Tulley, sit down.’

She complied and Janine sat down too. Lesley Tulley was gasping, shaking her head. Eyes wide and pained. Janine put one hand on her shoulder, a fleeting touch, some human contact in the middle of the horror. Janine waited, gave her time. Lesley stared at Janine then looked at Richard and apparently failing to make sense of the situation let her gaze slip away.

‘What happened?’

‘We’re not sure at the moment but we’re treating his death as suspicious.’

Lesley looked at her confused.