Cath Staincliffe - Bleed Like Me

Rachel shivered, waiting for the briefing to conclude, eager to get out and on with the job.

When Janet went to see her, Lynn Garstang was at work. She was the friend who had exchanged texts with Pamela Cottam the previous night. The last person known to have communicated with Pamela before her death. In this age of social networking and camera phones, someone would soon be tweeting about the police activity at Journeys Inn, so the police press office were on the brink of releasing a statement rather than let rumours flourish over the ether. Local officers had informed immediate next of kin of the deaths – messengers bearing the worst possible news. It was terrible when the family heard about a loved one’s violent death on a news broadcast. The shock compounded by a sense of betrayal at the failure of the authorities, their appalling in sensitivity and disregard. Even if names weren’t made public, with a place so specific as a pub it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out who were the victims behind the headlines. But getting the news out into the public domain, alerting people and enlisting their help in an effort to save further lives, was paramount. If there was any comeback, Janet knew it was Gill who would face the music and explain to the relatives the very sound reasoning for the publicity.

The call centre was in a double industrial unit off the ring road. Janet showed her warrant card to the woman at the front office and asked for Lynn and whether there was anywhere private they could talk. The girl’s face went still with curiosity but she bit her tongue and showed Janet into a tiny meeting room the size of a lift, a bare round table, two chairs and a slim filing cabinet the only furniture. Presumably where staff were hired and fired.

Lynn was rake thin, her face hollowed at the cheeks, her dark skin dry-looking. Janet wondered if she had been ill or lost weight or normally looked like that.

‘Hello,’ Lynn said, looking a little puzzled but waiting for enlightenment.

‘Please sit down,’ Janet said. ‘I’m DC Janet Scott from Manchester Metropolitan Police. You’re a friend of Pamela Cottam?’

‘Yes.’ Her smile faded. Her eyes, dark eyes, locked on to Janet’s.

‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news,’ Janet said. ‘We were called to Journeys Inn earlier today and found the bodies of three people. We believe them to be Pamela, her daughter Penny and Pamela’s brother Michael.’

Lynn’s eyelids flickered and her mouth moved for a couple of seconds before she said, ‘Bodies?’

‘I’m very, very sorry,’ Janet said, talking slowly, for Lynn would need time to comprehend what was being said. ‘An investigation into the deaths is now under way.’ Important to use the word death. To make sure that there could be no misinterpretation.

‘I… I’m sorry.’ Lynn put her hand to her forehead. Her voice shook. ‘Pamela? And Penny and Michael?’

‘We think so. We have yet to complete the formal identification but we believe those are the victims.’

‘But how? Was there a fire?’

Lynn had finally found some explanation that half made sense but before she could elaborate on it, let it take wing and find some comfort – a fluke, an accident, a tragedy – Janet said, ‘No, we’re treating these deaths as suspicious. I’m afraid all the indications are that the victims died as a result of knife wounds.’ She couldn’t say for definite until the post-mortem results were in, and even then they’d have to be very careful in the wording of such information. That was something that was drilled into them throughout training. It got so it became second nature, qualifying statements with phrases that, if held up in court, made it clear that the police had not made assumptions but had been punctilious about facts, only making categorical statements where they had the hard evidence to prove them.

‘A knife?’ Lynn said.

‘We believe so,’ Janet said quietly.

Lynn sat for a full minute, her mouth slightly ajar. Then she spoke again. ‘The boys, Theo and Harry, they’re all right?’

‘They’re missing,’ Janet said. ‘So is Owen.’

There was another pause. Lynn covered her eyes with her hands. Janet could hear her breathing. Then Lynn moved, her face wet with tears. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Why would anyone do that? And then take Owen and the boys?’

‘We are still trying to establish what happened,’ Janet said, ‘but at this point there is nothing to suggest that an outside party was involved.’

A fraction of a second, then the shock fell through Lynn’s face and she recoiled. ‘You think… Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Oh my God,’ hands pressed to her cheeks.

‘I am sorry,’ Janet said again. ‘If you feel able I’d like to ask you some questions. We’re trying to find Owen and the little ones.’

‘Right,’ Lynn said huskily.

‘Pamela texted you last night?’

‘Yes, about Tuesday.’

‘You were going shopping?’

She halted, momentarily surprised that Janet knew this, but then said, ‘Yes.’

‘Was there anything unusual about the message, the time, or the content, anything at all?’ Nothing had been obvious to the police.

‘No.’ Lynn shuddered, losing control of her muscles. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘It’s the shock,’ Janet told her. ‘Let’s get you some tea.’ She went out and asked the receptionist if she could bring some sweet tea for Lynn as she had been the bearer of bad news. The girl paled and said of course. Once that was accomplished, Janet began again, not knowing how much longer Lynn would be capable of talking. ‘You’re close friends, you and Pamela?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘How long have you known each other?’

‘For ever. We met when she first came over from Ireland. Chambermaids. I was her chief bridesmaid. She was mine. I’m their godmother, all three of them.’ Her face contorted and she began to sob. Janet had some tissues in her bag. Always. Tissues, warrant card, alert alarm, pepper spray, radio, antiseptic spray (for scratches or bites – less exposure to that in serious crime than in uniform), phone, money and keys.

Lynn thanked her for the tissue and wiped her nose.

‘Did you see much of them?’

She cleared her throat. ‘More recently, with us being nearer. I moved to Manchester while they were still in the Lakes and then they went to Birkenhead then here, Oldham, and so we saw more of each other then.’

‘How was the marriage?’

Fresh tears ran to her chin; she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Sniffed hard. But didn’t reply straight away. Janet felt she was trying to frame her reply. ‘Fine. I think.’

‘Did Pamela talk about it, about Owen?’

‘Not often. But sometimes he could be a bit, well, I’d call it controlling.’ She made it sound like a question, as though seeing if Janet agreed. Janet made a neutral sound, encouraging her to say more.

‘Like he always wanted to know where she was, what her plans were. She didn’t have much privacy. Much life of her own. Maybe some marriages work like that.’

Janet thought of her own. She and Ade shared pretty much everything; the logistics of work and home made it crucial. Only now she had secrets, now she told lies and misled Ade if she wanted to catch half an hour with Andy.

‘Wouldn’t have suited me,’ Lynn said, ‘but then my bloke left as soon as a better offer showed up.’

‘You have any family?’

‘Twin boys, two years older than Penny. How am I going to-’ Emotion flickered over her face again.

‘Did either Owen or Pamela ever get involved with anyone else?’ Janet said.

‘No,’ Lynn said, ‘no, she loved him. And he thought the world of her.’