Cath Staincliffe - Dead To Me

Rachel frowned.

‘Me, Janet…’

‘What about Janet?’ Rachel said.

‘She’d like to live long enough to collect her pension, see her daughters grown up.’

The car chase. But she’s over that, Rachel thought, she stood up for me on Friday. ‘But she-’

Gill glared. She jabbed a finger in her direction. ‘Out. Now. Go.’

Bet she’s going through the change, evil-tempered witch.

‘Maybe I made a mistake,’ Gill said to Janet.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I can ship her back to Sutton.’

‘Is that fair?’ Janet said.

‘Not five minutes ago you wanted her head on a platter. You begged me to get shot. Why are you batting for her now?’

‘Look at her, Gill; we were like that once, remember?’ Janet had joined the force not long after Gill. Still a man’s world back then, the training course at Bramshill an ordeal of sweaty men oozing testosterone, a minefield of sexist innuendo and harassment. Andy a higher life form among the Neanderthals. Janet felt a flare of heat in her cheeks. Bloody Andy. She avoided Gill’s eyes, not wanting her friend to read anything there that shouldn’t be. The hardest thing wasn’t going to be keeping it from Ade (he probably wouldn’t notice if she brought the Chippendales home for a group shag) but keeping it from Gill. Who would come down on them both like a ton of bricks, if she ever found out. Gill knew only too well what it was like to be cuckolded. She’d hate Janet for this. ‘We had it so hard, we fought every step of the way, we even made mistakes.’

‘I was never like that,’ Gill said disparagingly, arms crossed.

‘No, you sprang fully formed, tits, teeth and political savvy, detective chief inspector.’

‘She’s a mad bitch, she’s not house-trained. She’s out of control,’ said Gill.

‘She’s scared witless. You know that feeling, the sickness at the pit of your stomach. She reminds me of you.’

‘That’s ridiculous! Totally ridiculous!’ Gill flung her hands up.

‘Easy on the outrage. What’s the quote – the lady doth protest too much?’ said Janet.

‘We’ve the crass comment to the mother, now a complaint from a senior social worker-’

‘Hang on, the mother didn’t make a complaint. Rachel was trying to find her some support, just put her foot in it.’

‘She’s impetuous and she’s a crap communicator. One more incident and I’ll have to put her on efficiency proceedings.’

That morning Janet and Rachel divided up the names that Marlene sent through, cross-referencing them against the various databases. Janet took the boys and ran them through HOLMES, where all major incidents were catalogued. Rachel used the intelligence database to input the names of the girls who may have been logged as victims.

Janet’s neck was aching, her eyes feeling the strain. Perhaps she needed new glasses? The rest of the team were out throwing the net wider, digging deeper into Lisa Finn’s recent life. It was like panning for gold, Janet thought, sifting through the muck and mire for long enough until you caught sight of something that gleamed. A crumb, a grain to make it all worthwhile. At least it meant she wasn’t faced with Andy. A dream turned nightmare.

‘Lunch?’ Janet looked over to Rachel, who was sucking on her pen as she studied her screen.

‘Can do,’ she said, indifferently.

‘You don’t usually eat?’ Janet teased.

‘Course I eat. You sure you want to be seen eating with me?’ She flicked her eyes towards Gill’s office. Like it was the playground and friendships were always being tested, little cliques formed and broken.

‘I think I can cope,’ Janet said.

They went into the Old Grapes, the pub opposite that did bar food on a lunchtime. Janet chose hotpot and red cabbage, just the thing for a winter’s day. Rachel picked a spicy chicken dish. As they sat down, Rachel cast a glance at Janet, looking wary.

‘What?’

‘Well, I thought you might have something to say.’

‘About?’ said Janet.

‘Me. A talking to, a lecture.’

She was paranoid. ‘Lunch, Rachel, that’s all it is: lunch. Did they not do lunch in Sex Crimes?’

‘Worked through usually, butties on the job.’

‘And breakfast? Coffee and a cigarette?’

Rachel stared at her.

‘Sorry,’ Janet sat back, ‘it’s my mother act, that’s all.’ Obviously not appreciated.

The food arrived and they ate, Janet trying to make small talk. ‘Where you from then?’

‘Middleton. You?’

‘Chadderton, never left. My kids went to the same primary school as I did.’

‘That might be another place to try,’ Rachel said, ‘the school Lisa and Rosie went to, when they were in care.’ Back to the case, and suddenly Rachel was engaged again. Much more comfortable than with the personal stuff.

‘That’d be North Manchester High. Big school,’ Janet said.

‘But the teachers’d know if anyone had been in that sort of serious bother.’

‘Yes. Suggest it to Gill.’

‘You suggest it. If it comes from me, she’ll sack it.’ Rachel scooped another forkful of chicken, ate it.

‘No. She’s not daft – quite the opposite – and she’s not petty.’

‘Try standing where I am.’

‘Rachel, she has valid concerns about your conduct. You’ll end up on an action plan if you don’t watch your step. Look, if you want to stay in the syndicate-’

‘I do. More than anything.’ She met Janet’s eyes and all the guile, all the front peeled away. Janet saw how worried Rachel was at finding her future in the balance.

‘Well, think before you act and think before you react. You could go a long way under Gill Murray.’

‘You haven’t.’

Janet nearly choked on her hotpot. ‘You’re wrong,’ she said. ‘I don’t want promotion because I don’t want to be stuck sorting out budgets and managing people. I do want to be working major incidents and I do want to be catching killers and I am. I want to be one of the best, and this syndicate is.’

‘I know,’ Rachel said, pushing her empty plate to one side. ‘I knew there’d be a lecture.’ There was a glint of humour in her eye and Janet laughed. ‘I need a fag,’ Rachel got to her feet.

‘See you back there.’

By mid-afternoon they hadn’t found any of the ex-Ryelands residents as a complainant in a rape or assault case. Nor flagged up any ex-resident charged with such an offence in the same period.

‘You’d think, with this shower, there’d be one or two caught waving their willies about or jumping the local totty,’ Rachel complained.

‘They’re not all bad ’uns,’ Janet chided her. ‘Some of them are orphans, or their parents get ill. Kids end up in care for all sorts of reasons.’

‘Yeah, but most of them are pretty fucked up.’

‘Keen on generalizations, aren’t you?’ Janet said.

‘They’re generally true. Have you asked about school?’

‘Not yet. She’s been out. There are these girls that Marlene’s put on the email who are still at Ryelands. She says they knew Lisa, time coincided. Could be useful to talk to them.’

‘Different ages.’

‘Yes, but sometimes the young ones know more about what’s going on than anyone else. Mine certainly does,’ Janet said. ‘I’ll go myself.’

‘Why?’ said Rachel.

‘It’s called tact and diplomacy.’

Rachel shrugged. ‘’Kay. I could see Angela Hambley.’

‘Rosie’s friend?’

‘If I’m allowed?’ Rachel said.

‘Be my guest.’

‘She’s in Cheetham Hill.’

‘Wear your body armour, then.’

Rachel laughed, ‘Yes, Mam.’ Cheetham was one of the rougher parts of town, dirt poor, mixed ethnicity, still dominated by gang crime and the associated fallout.