Cath Staincliffe - Desperate Measures

‘Simon Carter died two years ago,’ Butchers said.

‘Not long after Matthews had sold him the gun,’ Shap said.

‘And dead men don’t shoot guns,’ Janine said.

‘Well, Carter must have given the gun to someone else, then,’ Richard said.

‘Christ!’ said Janine, ‘it’s like bloody pass-the-parcel.’ Frustration made her chest tight. She addressed the team, ‘Dig up everything on Simon Carter. Was he in one of the gangs? Who else did he know – the gun may have gone to an associate? Can we trace the family, are they still at the Wilbraham Estate house? What did he die of? Was he shot?’ She asked Butchers the last question but Butchers looked blank.

‘No bells ringing?’ Janine said, ‘No light-bulb moment?’

‘He uses low energy, boss,’ Shap said, ‘ten minutes to warm up and you still can’t see anything.’

‘Funny. Not,’ Janine said. ‘Can we get hold of the death certificate?

‘I’ll try the schools for Carter, boss,’ Lisa said.

‘Butchers – try calling the house, Carter’s last known residence,’ Janine said.

They hit the phones.

So near and yet so far, Janine thought. What had Simon Carter done with the gun? If they could just find that out.

‘Sarge,’ Lisa called to Shap, ‘you’re wanted in reception.’

Aaron Matthews was waiting for Shap.

‘What?’ Shap said.

The lad dithered, on the brink, not actually saying anything. Looked down at the carpet.

‘Someone nicked your bike?’ Shap said

‘I want to talk to someone about witness protection,’ Matthews said. ‘There’s stuff I know, going back a bit. But I’d need a new place, like, a new name and everything.’ Shap couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You sure about that?’ he said.

‘Yeah. I’ve no life here, have I?’ Matthews looked away from him, his jaw working.

‘Right,’ Shap said, ‘come this way.’ That sort of information could eviscerate the Wilson Crew, Shap thought, take them out of circulation for good. Did the lad have any idea of what he was letting himself in for? Cut off from everything he’d ever known, he’d have to leave the city and never return. Shap wasn’t about to enlighten him; scally might change his mind and that would be a great pity.

Richard printed off copies of the birth and death certificates for Simon Carter.

The team gathered round as he read aloud, ‘Cause of death: multiple injuries. Person reporting the death – Roy Gant, father.’

Silence fell in the room. Roy Gant? ‘What?’ Janine said.

Richard read out the birth certificate. ‘Simon Carter: mother Margaret Carter, clerical worker, father Roy Gant, warehouse manager.’

‘Fuck me,’ said Shap.

‘Margaret Carter, known as Peggy Gant,’ Butchers said and began typing. ‘She’s the one who just died.’

‘What’s with the names?’ Janine said.

‘Catholics,’ Butchers said, ‘can’t divorce, one of them must have been married before.’

‘Check that,’ Janine said. ‘And Simon was their son. Multiple injuries, what’s that mean? Car crash? Shooting? Was there any foul play? Lisa find out more about how Simon Carter died.’

Roy Gant, what had they missed? Dr Halliwell had seen Gant on the Tuesday lunchtime when the GP certified Peggy’s death. Janine recalled the man, vaguely, returning the oxygen canister on the Wednesday, swapping condolences with Ms Ling.

‘Got it, boss,’ Lisa shouted, ‘Newspaper reports.’

Janine bent over Lisa’s shoulder and read the headline: TRAGIC TEEN SUICIDE ON M60.

‘You remember this?’ Janine said to the others. Richard nodded.

‘Jumped off a motorway bridge,’ Shap said.

Lisa scrolled down, clicked on a second website, showing pictures of Simon and his parents, Roy and Peggy Gant.

Janine scanned the text, Being treated for depression by his GP. ‘Oh, Christ,’ she said.

Janine rattled through what they now knew. ‘Simon Carter is depressed, Dr Halliwell prescribes for him, and soon after the boy kills himself. But the Gants never complain. Peggy’s already ill, she has a bad heart and emphysema and Simon’s death makes it worse. They move house, Peggy deteriorates. Gant nurses her. Then she dies. Gant’s on his own. He’s lost them both.’

‘He blames Halliwell,’ Richard said.

‘Gant had Simon’s gun, he must have kept it after Simon died,’ Janine said. ‘We bring him in now. You three,’ she gestured to Richard, Shap and Butchers, ‘set off. We’ll co-ordinate armed response, get them to rendezvous with you at Gant’s, then we’ll follow on.’

Armed police were in position near to the house, and the area was already cordoned off, as Richard, Shap and Butchers emerged from their cars. One good thing you could say about the terrorist threat, Shap thought, people got their shit together far quicker these days.

‘Any sign of him?’ Richard asked the leader of the armed unit.

‘No. We’ll go in.’

Richard nodded.

The armed police moved into position and the pair at the front used a battering ram to break into the house. It only took two blows and the door swung open.

‘Clear.’

‘Clear.’

The shouts and the drumming of boots on the stairs came as the unit checked each room.

The leader of the armed unit came outside to them, then. ‘No one present.’

‘Thank you,’ Richard said, ‘we’ll take it from here.’

He turned to Shap and Butchers. ‘See if the neighbours know anything, I’ll start looking for the gun.’

Richard pulled on latex gloves. The living room was bare looking, almost monastic. Richard went through to the kitchen, it had an abandoned feel but it was tidy. He looked in the fridge and it was empty. Completely empty. Who had an empty fridge? Richard opened the back door and looked in the wheelie bin, it was almost full. On top of the rubbish were a tomato sauce bottle, a pack of butter and half a loaf of bread.

Shap struck lucky at the first house. ‘He’s not here,’ the neighbour said, ‘he’s at his wife’s funeral. The car left a couple of hours ago.’

‘Where’s the funeral?’ Shap said.

‘Southern Cemetery,’ she said.

Shap told Richard who rang and told the boss. The boss said she and Lisa would go to the cemetery and see if Gant was still there while the others continued the search for the weapon. It’s crucial, the boss told them, no gun and I’m not sure we can make a case.

On the way to the cemetery, Janine waited for word back from Richard that they had found the gun. She feared that Roy Gant might elude them. The case had been one lead after another turning to disappointment: Fraser McKee, Aaron Matthews, Neil Langan, Norma and now Gant. Was he really the one? Or would he turn out to be just like all the other suspects? It was like studying pictures made of sand, which disappeared when the wind changed direction. But this time it did all add up, she told herself, it did. And she pressed the accelerator down even further.

There were so many questions. Norma sat in an anteroom with a psychiatric social worker who went through the forms. Evaluation. Risk assessment. Care package. There was talk of a rehabilitation programme. Perhaps some people did turn their lives around, make a fresh start. For her it seemed like a fantasy. What would she do with her life? Even if she battled the addiction and won, her only work experience was teaching piano. Money wasn’t an issue, anyway, the mortgage was paid off and Don had life insurance. She’d be able to manage. And what was the point, really? There was no hunger in her for anything but oblivion. She’d no close friends or family to cheer her on. The pit was waiting, wider and deeper than ever.