Cath Staincliffe - Ruthless

‘What?’ said Alison.

‘Nothing,’ said Rachel, ‘stiff neck.’

‘You coming in?’

‘Five minutes,’ Rachel said.

‘He waiting for you?’

‘No, he’s away.’

‘Away?’

‘I’ve not got him chained to the house,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s taking Haydn off, skiing and that.’

‘Skiing?’

‘Snow, slopes, long shiny planks strapped to your feet?’

Alison rolled her eyes. ‘Tea?’

‘No, ta.’

‘How come you’ve not gone?’ Alison said.

‘Work – that man who was shot and set on fire on Manorclough.’

‘In that order, I hope,’ Alison said and shuddered. ‘So, skiing.’

‘And WaterWorld,’ Rachel added, ‘staying at a Travelodge.’

‘WaterWorld!’

‘Why are you doing that?’ Rachel said.

‘What?’

‘Repeating everything.’

Alison swallowed, set down the kettle. ‘I went to see Dom yesterday.’

‘Oh.’ Rachel’s guts turned cold.

‘I know you don’t want to go and I understand why, I really do, but I need to be able to talk about him. I can’t be minding what I say.’

‘All right,’ Rachel said. Though it felt a long way from that. ‘How is he?’ she managed. She could imagine. All too clearly. Last stretch he’d done, he’d been a bum boy for the older, more powerful cons. Had to be to get by. It wouldn’t be any different this time. Except he’d gradually turn from a twenty-nine-year-old to a fifty-seven-year-old in the course of his sentence. If he lasted that long. She couldn’t bear to think about it.

‘Doing his best,’ Alison said. ‘It’s hard, of course. He’s a bit down. He’s asked to see the psychiatrist, see if he can get some medication.’

Rachel stared at the fridge, kids’ drawings up there, houses, rainbows and stick figures with smiley faces. Happy fucking families.

‘He understands,’ Alison said. ‘Your job, when you knew what he’d done, where he was going, you had to report him, he gets it.’

The room was airless, the space too small. If he’d only understood in the first place that beating someone so badly he broke their back and they died was totally wrong.

‘Why he ever thought, even for a second, even in his wildest dreams that I’d want that-’ Rachel’s eyes hurt.

Alison looked as wretched as she felt. ‘He doesn’t think,’ Alison said, ‘he never has.’ She turned back and made her drink. The clock on the wall ticked. Rachel rubbed at the back of her neck, the tension there making her head ache.

‘Maybe in time, when you’re ready,’ Alison said, ‘you could go see him. That’d help.’

‘Help who?’ Rachel snapped.

‘Both of you,’ Alison said. ‘You’re not settled with this, even if it was the only choice you had, and you’re bound to feel guilty about it.’

‘Am I?’ Rachel said. ‘You know, do you?’

‘Rachel, don’t,’ Alison said wearily.

‘Like he’s gonna want to see me.’

‘He does, he said, he always… Oh, never mind.’ Alison shook her head, picked up her cup.

‘What about Sharon?’ Rachel said. ‘Will he want to see her?’

Alison snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Even if he did, why would she go? He’s no use to her in there, no money, no possessions, she wouldn’t even be able to tap fags off him.’

‘Maybe she’d just like to see him, like she did me, you if you’d let her,’ Rachel said.

‘Bollocks.’ Alison was not giving an inch where their prodigal mother was concerned.

‘I’m off.’ Rachel picked up her car keys.

‘Thanks for the bag.’

‘No problem.’

‘You’ll have to come round,’ Alison said at the door, ‘you and Sean and Haydn. When you’re off work.’

‘Sure,’ Rachel said, trying to sound vaguely enthusiastic.

It was raining hard now and she hurried to the car. Heaved a sigh of relief at escaping without getting into a full-on barney with her sister. She’d go home, have a drink and watch whatever she could find on the box. Please herself. No Sean. Her heart lifted at the prospect. Just miss my own company, time on my own, she told herself, that’s all.

She thought of the Perry twins, always together, like having a clone, someone to reflect your every thought, share your every deed, understand you completely. Weird, really weird. Having someone in her flat day in, day out was strange enough but to understand another person so completely – Rachel couldn’t imagine it.

‘Forensics have a present for us,’ Gill began, then broke off. ‘Where’s Janet?’

Rachel shook her head.

Peculiar. If Janet was ill or delayed she always let Gill know.

‘Rachel, you brief her when she’s in. So – chemical analysis of trace material on the footwear of Noel and Neil Perry shows the presence of an accelerant.’

Mitch grinned, Kevin raised a fist and Lee nodded, smiling.

‘And it gets better – the composition of the accelerant is compatible with the accelerant used in the Old Chapel. Petrol, and specifically Shell petrol as established by an analysis of the additives in the composition. Traces on all four items. So, Rachel, we go after them for that. Yes?’

‘Yes, boss.’

Gill hoped that by acting as though nothing untoward had happened the previous evening, in effect burying the fact that her knobhead ex-husband had come crashing into her incident room, as welcome as a fart at a funeral, Lee and Kevin would share her amnesia.

‘Superintendent review at nine and I’m optimistic we’ll get our next twelve hours’ detention, given the new evidence. More to talk to our suspects about. You all right, Rachel? Up for another bout or you want reassigning?’

‘He’s not getting shot of me that easy.’

‘A testing situation and, having seen the recording, I don’t think we’ll have any problems though you could have been more careful with your language. Might be construed as verbal abuse.’

Rachel’s mouth dropped open.

‘Fucking ridiculous,’ Gill added, ‘don’t know what the twats were thinking of but you know the rules.’

‘Pillocks,’ Kevin said. From somewhere Kevin had acquired an old-fashioned maths compass and was using the point to pick at his nails.

Gill stared at him, stopped speaking. Gradually the rest of them followed suit.

Kevin continued his efforts, head down, mining away for several seconds until he noticed the shift in atmosphere. He looked up quickly at Gill then his eyes flickered round the room. ‘Boss,’ he said weakly, perhaps thinking Gill had asked a question and was waiting for the reply.

‘Good of you to rejoin us, Kevin.’

‘I was just-’ He dried up.

‘Away with the fairies?’ Gill said. ‘Listen, Slack Alice, you want a French manicure and polish you do it in your own time.’

‘I was listening.’

‘I’m not arguing the toss with you, sunshine. I expect your undivided attention. Got it?’

‘Yes, boss.’

Kevin set the compass down then pushed it slightly further away, which Gill reckoned was a wise move. With the attention span of a gnat he would soon forget and if the thing was in reach it wouldn’t be long before he picked it up and started chiselling away at his nails again.

‘Meanwhile,’ she said, ‘I want Greg Tandy. Rachel, you go with Mitch.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘What more have we got on Richard Kavanagh?’

‘More of the same,’ said Lee. ‘No reports of him ever causing bother and no reported connection with criminals or criminal activity. People in the area generally tolerant. He spent some time in the hostel in town, they tried to get him into a programme with the Big Issue but he didn’t take it up. Hospitalized last winter with pneumonia, discharged himself before treatment was completed.’