Cath Staincliffe - Blue Murder

‘We believe someone else was involved.’

‘Someone hurt him?’

‘I’m sorry, I realise how difficult this must be.’

‘How…?’

‘We believe some sort of weapon was used.’

Lesley shook her head, trying to wake up from the nightmare.

‘Is there someone you can call? Someone who can be with you?’

‘My sister, Emma.’

‘We’ll ring Emma in a minute. Have you other family close by?’

‘No one. Just Emma and me.’

‘We should notify Matthew’s family, his parents…’

‘They’re both dead. There isn’t anybody.’

‘Lesley,’ Janine spoke slowly, as gently as she could. ‘I’m afraid we will need a family member to identify him but if you don’t feel able to-’

‘I’ll do it.’ Tears started in her eyes. ‘I want to see him.’

‘It’s just a formality. We’re sure that it’s Matthew.’ Janine didn’t want to leave any false hope lingering. ‘I realise this is an awful, terrible shock, but I do need to ask you one or two questions? Can we get you a cup of tea?’

Lesley Tulley nodded as if in a trance. Janine glanced at Richard, he went to make the tea.

‘Just tell me if you need to stop at any time,’ Janine said.

‘Yo, Dean.’

‘All right, Douggie.’

The friends hugged, a swift strong embrace, then parted.

‘Come in.’

In the kitchen at the end of the hail a lad sat at the table taking apart a car radio. Dean judged him to be sixteen or so.

‘This is my cousin,’ said Douggie, ‘Gary. It’s his dad’s house, he’s got a few round here. This is Dean what I told you about.’

Gary grunted but continued to work away with the screwdriver.

‘So, how goes it?’ Douggie pulled out a chair, pulled Rizzla papers and a pack of cigarettes from his hip pocket. ‘What’s the story, Dean?’

Dean remained standing. ‘Douggie, a word?’ Nodded towards the hall. Douggie looked a bit narked at that but followed Dean all the same.

‘This the lounge?’

‘Yeah, you’ll have to kip in here.’

Dean went in. Sat down, waited till Douggie joined him. Spoke quietly, looking Douggie in the eye all the while. ‘Me being here, and my reasons for being here, I don’t want no one to know, right?’

Douggie bobbed his head in agreement.

‘Not even family,’ Dean gestured back towards the kitchen. ‘Far as he’s concerned I’m here for a friendly visit. Yeah? No whisper of trouble. Not a word. Right?’

‘Course,’ Douggie replied, an edge of irritation in his tone, denying he’d ever have thought otherwise.

‘I’ll tell you about it later,’ Dean told him. He knew he could trust Douggie once he’d made things plain. Douggie’s only problem was he never thought things through, you had to do his thinking for him. Keep it simple and he was fine.

‘Toilet upstairs?’

‘Can’t miss it.’

‘Watch me.’

‘Har har.’

‘And I’m parched, you got any drink in to go with that smoke?’

‘Tea?’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of something export strength,’ Dean raised his eyebrows.

‘Nah,’ said Douggie.

Dean felt a surge of frustration. He didn’t want to be here. He was tired and thirsty, he was bleedin’ ravenous and now Douggie was going to tell him there was naff all till his Giro came.

‘But it can be arranged,’ Douggie, grinning, pulled a large roll of notes from his trousers. ‘How about an Indian, an’ all?’

Dean smiled, ran his hands through his hair it back from his face. ‘What yer waiting for? Mine’s Lamb Rogan Josh, extra naan, fried rice, couple of pakoras.’

Richard filled and switched on the jug kettle and found mugs, tea bags and milk. The fridge was well-stocked with a variety of dairy produce and salad vegetables. The kitchen was tidy, everything tucked out of sight bar the toaster and kettle. Tastefully decorated with pale yellow walls, blond wood counters, grey slate floor tiles. He peered into the door of the washing machine and saw that a very small load had been washed. Something dark, with a white piping stripe, running pants or something similar.

He wondered where they kept the knives. Hunting for a teaspoon he found the cutlery, the deep basket drawer included a block of fancy French kitchen knives, all present and correct. He made the tea and returned to the lounge.

Jade got her pencil case and her colouring book. She sat at the kitchen table and she did three pages. Didn’t go over the lines, not once. Then she did a drawing for Mam. It was loads of flowers and butterflies and a fairy, except one of the fairy’s legs went wrong and was too thin and bent the wrong way. She couldn’t rub it out because it was felt pen. So she covered it up by giving the fairy a long dress with pointy bits. She had to use dark blue to hide the legs and it was a bit dark so the fairy wasn’t so good in the end. She put get better soon love from Jade at the bottom and a row of kisses right across, there were eighteen kisses.

A bit later on there was a knock at the door. Not Megan. Megan always did a special knock, it was their code, it was like a horse galloping. This knock was loud and slow. Four bangs. She thought it might be the man who sells potatoes or the gypsy woman with her lucky charms but when she peered out through the nets she guessed it was a policeman, he had a clipboard and he was a bit fat with ginger hair. She crouched down and kept very still. Jade wasn’t allowed to answer the door if Mam wasn’t there, anyway.

When she heard them move away and knock on next-door’s, Jade crept up to that side of the window on her hands and knees and she heard him say police when next-door answered. She felt sick. Maybe she was getting what Mam had. She didn’t want to be sick. It was the worst thing in the world. She’d rather have a nosebleed than be sick. Being sick was totally totally gross. Megan said you had to lie on your back and breathe through your nose if you felt sick. Jade lay on the carpet. It smelt hairy and it tickled the back of her knees.

She lay there for ages. She could see fairy dust swirling in the sun and it moved faster if she waved her hand at it. After a while she stopped the breathing bit and started singing. Just softly. She sang every song she could think of and then she practised doing a crab and she managed to walk like that from the middle of the room to the door without collapsing. Then at last she heard Mam getting up again, which was good because by then Jade was about to die from hunger.

Richard had handed round tea and sat poised to take notes. Janine had already established the basic facts: names and dates of birth. Married nine years. Fourteen years age difference between them.

‘How did… you said he was attacked?’ Lesley Tulley’s eyes conveyed how hard this was to take in.

‘We believe it was some sort of knife. There will be a post mortem and that will determine the exact cause of death. He lost a great deal of blood.’

A tiny movement, a nod. ‘I can’t believe it.’ Mrs Tulley looked over to Janine, her face wide with misery.

Janine gave her a moment. And began. ‘When did you last see Matthew?’

‘This morning. He went off to the allotment.’

‘What time was that?’

‘About nine, I think.’

‘Was that usual, for a Saturday morning?’

She nodded, her lips clenching as she battled tears.

‘And you went out?’

‘Yes, to town.’

‘Can you think of anyone who had a grudge against Matthew? Anything like that?’

Lesley shook her head.

The doorbell rang, the sound shrilling through the house.