Cath Staincliffe - Dead To Me

‘Who lives on the same estate.’

‘Yes. That’s his job, neighbourhood social worker. Half of Collyhurst is probably on his books. We treat him as a witness, all nice and friendly, we don’t ruffle his feathers, we don’t tip him off.’

‘How can we ask him his whereabouts on Monday without tipping him off?’

‘We have ways,’ said Janet, a glint in her eye. ‘But we need to see what Gill thinks.’

‘Got him coming and going, boss.’ Rachel was champing at the bit, ‘Not so desperate now, eh?’

‘Oy! Don’t you get cocky.’

‘No, boss.’

‘So what do you want to do next?’

‘Arrest him,’ Rachel said immediately. ‘Failing that, cut his balls off.’

‘Question him as a witness, see if he’s got a reasonable explanation,’ Janet said.

‘Is the right answer.’ Gill pointed to Janet with both her index fingers. Rachel wondered if she did her nails every night; the polish was never chipped.

‘If we arrest too soon, we put him on guard, he clams up, won’t cooperate, even goes no comment. Plus the small matter of not having strong grounds,’ Gill said. ‘But if we talk to him as witness first, there’s a chance we’ll get information we can use in a subsequent interview under caution. Yeah?’

Rachel nodded her agreement. It did make sense, even if it was frustrating.

She rang and asked James Raleigh if he could call into the police station: they had a few more questions about Lisa and hoped he could help. He made excuses and Rachel pressed him, ‘Perhaps in the morning?’ Keeping her voice sweet. He dithered a bit, but finally settled on an appointment in between two client visits.

On the way home, Gill thought about Rachel, about what Janet had said: She reminds me of you . But Gill knew she had never had that reckless impetuosity. Like a puppy after a ball – any ball would do. And if that couldn’t be reined in, Rachel wouldn’t be able to progress, she’d quickly be regarded as a loose cannon, not fit for promotion. Gill’s options in dealing with the problem were limited: she could do nothing, bide her time and see if the detective had the smarts to learn from her mistakes and seriously tackle those areas needing improvement; put her on an action plan and if necessary institute efficiency proceedings; she could cut her loose and shuffle her back to Sutton; or she could play bad cop, keep Rachel on a short lead, punish her with the most tedious of tasks. But she hadn’t recruited the girl to see her prospects narrowed, her potential squashed. Gill wasn’t that sort of leader, or manager. She wanted to see Rachel fly.

Sammy was on the sofa. He’d found a way to operate his console with only one set of working fingers.

Gill watched him manipulate a footballer into a scoring position. The soundtrack commentary set her teeth on edge. ‘You eaten?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your dad make you something?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Sammy?’

He let his head fall back against the top of the sofa cushion. ‘Emma,’ he said.

Gill tensed. ‘Emma fed you. Where?’

‘At their place.’

‘Who took you to college?’

‘Mum,’ he complained.

‘Who picked you up at lunch?’

‘Emma.’

‘And this morning?’

‘Emma. Dad was busy.’

Busy? Fuck that! One day, two car rides and he sent his slaggy whore to be chauffeur. And cook! Gill was tempted to ask Sammy what he’d been fed, but she wouldn’t lower herself.

She went into the kitchen and shut the door. When Dave answered she piled straight in: ‘Couldn’t you have bloody done it yourself? He’s your son.’

‘You’re being petty.’

‘I don’t want that cow near him.’

‘Gill! Have you listened to yourself?’

‘No. Zip it, fuckwit. If I ask you to do something for Sammy, I’m asking you. You do precious bloody little as it is.’

‘Gill, you need to grow up and move on.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Her blood boiling, that red mist behind her eyes. ‘Like you have? Who is it you’ve moved on to now? Saturday night? Bigger tits, has she? Fresher uniform? Emma not twigged yet? Slow on the uptake, eh?’

‘Took you long enough.’ Hit her like a slap. Bastard.

‘I knew,’ she said. ‘I knew back when Sammy was in nursery and you were so pally with Sally the sergeant. But I thought Sammy was more important than hanging your dick out to dry. You were the one who fucked this family up, Dave, and there is no way that your tart is going to play stepmother to my son. He needs a father, not a stepmother!’ She ended the call, her whole body shaking, cursing under her breath. How dare he! How dare he still make her feel this way. How long would it take before she could think of him without feeling the spite in her mouth when she said his name, the hurt when she thought of him and Emma in their cramped little house with their snotty little kid.

She flung open the fridge door and got out a bottle of gin, there since the summer. No tonic, but Sammy’s lemonade would do. She mixed the drink and added ice and a chunk of lemon. Stuck an Amy Winehouse CD in the player and turned the volume up. She made herself a stir-fry, prawns and veg, oyster sauce and noodles, slugging the gin as she cooked and doing the odd dance step to the music. She had double her chocolate ration to follow. Fuck it.

She thought about Matthew. Nice bloke on first acquaintance, nice place, good taste, not afraid to roll up his sleeves and get stuck in, money to splash about. Good job, people person like herself. She had been flattered by his interest – delighted, if she was honest – to be seen as a woman and not a boss or a mother or a pal. As a woman, a potential lover, mate, partner. So long since she had been that. But how could she even entertain him when she was still so… She struggled to explain it to herself. So… What? Hurt? Damaged? Distrustful? All three.

He was only talking about a meal, though, when she had time. Could be weeks away, months. But I’d be leading him on, she thought sadly, because I’m not ready. Because I’m scared of someone hurting me like that all over again.

RACHEL WAS DESPERATE to interview Raleigh, but Gill was unsure about it. The girl had too much invested in it, seemed convinced that Raleigh was responsible for the rape of Rosie Vaughan as well as the murder of Lisa Finn. Conviction could hamper her performance in interview, prevent her really listening. How capable was she of being objective? The track record so far told against her. But should Gill give her a chance to make amends, up her game? She discussed it with Andy over a quick breakfast in the canteen: ‘Do you think she could rise to the challenge?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve not had much time with her. If she doesn’t, we could be in a right mess.’

He sounded flat, not like Andy. OK, he usually kept things to himself, never one to prattle on, but he generally had more of a spark. Gill hadn’t heard of any problems on the domestic front. His work had been exemplary. Was he just tired, some minor health problem? She’d keep an eye on him; if he didn’t buck up, she’d have a quiet word.

‘I could use it as part of her training development plan. She wants to go for tier three. Make sure she does a full prep with Janet.’

He pulled a face.

‘You’re not sure?’

‘Like you say, this one’s got personal for her. Is it the best place for her to start?’

‘I’ll ask her. Treat her like a grown-up, see how she responds.’

Rachel had a sulky look on her face until she grasped what Gill was actually saying. ‘And you treat it like a witness interview, all smiles and sympathy. Can you do that?’

‘I can, yes.’ Rachel nodded her head.