Cath Staincliffe - Hit and Run

Richard gestured behind them to the old building. ‘Let’s have a look in the shed.’

‘Tyre prints,’ one of the technicians told them. She was photographing the marks. ‘One set’s clearly recent. We should be able to get you a make, maybe a match.’

‘I know what my money’s on.’ Janine hunched her shoulders up. It was cold by the riverside and even colder in the dingy warehouse. ‘The Merc.’

As they walked back to his car Richard spoke. ‘So supposing Stone kills her. What’s his motive?’

‘Maybe she won’t have sex with him?’

‘Bit of an overreaction.’

‘Andrea said she could stand up for herself. Maybe he tries it on, rapes her even, but Rosa threatens to report him. We’ve no way of knowing if the sex was consensual. He realises she is serious. He has to stop her so he strangles her,’ Janine suggested.

‘Or Gleason. We know Gleason was here. He could have killed her?’

‘Not got the same reputation, though. I can’t see Gleason doing it. Let’s stick with Stone. But he ropes Gleason in to help him get rid of the evidence.’

‘Yes. Ditch the body, torch the car. But then the hit and run blows the thing wide open.’

Janine stopped, put a hand up to stop her hair blowing in her eyes. ‘We know the car was nicked Monday night, why didn’t they dump it sooner?’

‘Enjoying the ride?’

‘Could be – or maybe it was the other way around. What if they took the car, planning to flog it? As long as Harper never twigged they could clear what, ten, twelve grand?’

Richard nodded.

‘Then while they’ve got it, later that night, early morning, Rosa comes into the picture. Stone tries it on, she tells him where to go, he throttles her. They bring her here, get rid. Sometime after that they hit Ann-Marie.’

‘Then we pull them in but they walk, vanish as soon as they get a chance,’ Richard said.

‘And things go sour between them. Stone kills Gleason. Gleason knows far too much. Stone can’t trust him to keep quiet; Gleason’s a bag of nerves, a walking time bomb.’

‘So Stone spins him some story, takes him to the tunnel and shoots him.’

They reached Richard’s car. Janine looked back to the riverside, narrowing her eyes against the cold wind. ‘If the tyre prints match we need to see if forensics have got anything for us from the car.’

She got the news by five that afternoon. Blood in the boot. She’d expected it but the confirmation made her back crawl. Now they just needed to see if it was Rosa’s.

When Marta had told the others that Rosa was dead, that she’d been murdered, Zofia crossed herself and Petra swore.

‘I knew it was something awful,’ Petra announced.

‘But why,’ Zofia asked, horror vivid in her eyes, ‘why would anyone do that?’

‘She wanted to leave,’ Marta said.

‘But who…’ Zofia was never very bright.

‘Someone stopped her.’

‘You think the boss…?’ Petra caught on.

Marta raise her eyebrows a fraction. ‘It makes most sense to me.’

‘The bastard, the lousy prick.’

‘What are we going to do?’ Zofia looked nervously at them.

‘What can we do? Nothing. Keep our traps shut and carry on.’ Inside, Marta felt sick with fear.

‘There must be something…’ Zofia carried on.

‘And end up like she did?’ Marta shouted.

Zofia shrank back, her eyes filling. She was only seventeen and emotionally even younger. A soft egg, as her babka would say. The men liked that, the schoolgirl looks, the naivety. The sadists liked her best of all, her cries were so real, her pleas rang so true.

Marta put her arm around her, pulled her close.

‘I want my mama,’ the girl wailed. The sentiment was so direct and unexpected that Marta felt her own eyes sting with emotion, a sudden ache inside and the memory of flinging herself into her mother’s arms.

A flash of rage scorched through her. It was so unfair. Was it so wrong to want a better life? Clothes that looked halfway decent, a home and a telly, something to play music on, food in the fridge? They were all working, not thieving, working bloody hard, opening their legs for men who’d spit at them as soon as smile.

‘Shush,’ she told Zofia. ‘It’ll be OK.’ It had to be and that was that.

Chris Chinley was less than appreciative of Janine’s courtesy call. His hostility clear in every gesture, each word. He had opened the door a few inches – just enough to allow conversation. Janine noticed the reek of alcohol, his bloodshot eyes.

‘What do you want?’

‘I thought you’d like to know. The tests are clear.’

‘I’m supposed to be grateful, am I?’

She tried to explain. ‘Chris, you didn’t give me any option. What was I supposed to do?’

He turned and walked away, leaving the door ajar and Janine on the doorstep, feeling like a right idiot.

Debbie came out.

‘It’s all OK.’ Janine told her. ‘The tests.’

‘Would you like some tea?’

Janine was embarrassed by the kindness. ‘I best get back.’

Horrified, she watched Debbie’s face crumple. ‘Janine, Chris… this… we’re not going to make it.’

Janine stepped into the house, ushering Debbie with her.

‘Everything’s gone. Everything.’ She began to cry.

Janine put her arm around her, blinking hard, breathing though her nose, tricks to control her own responses. To stop her from joining in.

Janine could smell food when she walked in home and her mouth began to water. When had she last eaten? Pete was testing Eleanor on her German, the two of them obviously having fun with it. Michael was getting a pizza out of the oven. No sign of Charlotte which meant Pete had managed to get her down. Hallelujah!

Scattering hellos and shucking off her coat she watched Tom. He was sitting alone at the table, an empty chair pulled up close to his and on the table he had laid out two lots of pens and paper and beside each a cup of milk and a saucer with slices of apple.

‘Something smells good,’ she said to Michael.

‘Ham and pineapple.’

‘You going to eat all that?’

‘I was till you got here.’

‘Go on,’ she chided him, ‘cut us a slice. You should be in bed,’ she told Tom, gently.

‘He’s been twice,’ Pete looked at her. ‘And… er… Frank is back.’ He jerked his head at the empty chair.

Oh, brilliant, Janine thought, suddenly understanding the duplicate snacks. That’s all we need. It had been years since Tom’s imaginary friend had disappeared. She was surprised he could even remember Frank well enough to recreate him.

‘I wonder why,’ she murmured to Pete. It was a rhetorical question.

Once the kids were all sorted she collapsed on the sofa. Her neck was stiff, she was still hungry – the pizza had barely dulled her appetite – she felt gritty and grimy from the day at work and bone tired. Had she the energy to run a bath? Would a shower do the trick? Pete was gathering his things together.

‘He’s not mentioned Ann-Marie today. When you told him – what did he say?’

Janine kept her face straight. ‘Could he have his next party at Laser Quest?’

Pete laughed and she joined in. Kids.

‘Charlotte’s started the bubble thing,’ Pete demonstrated, blowing a raspberry. ‘I’d forgotten that bit.’

Janine gave a gasp.

‘What?’ Pete said.

‘She’s due at the clinic tomorrow – her check – I meant to ring today. I’ll do it first thing. Though it wouldn’t matter if we missed it, she’s coming on fine – just needs to distinguish day from night.’

‘Connie could take her.’

Janine wrinkled her nose. ‘I’d rather go myself. I’ll rearrange.’