Cath Staincliffe - Ruthless

Rachel followed and they scanned each room upstairs and down, finding no other occupants.

‘Look, I have to get to work,’ Gloria Tandy said.

‘Thanks, we’re done here,’ Rachel said.

‘There’s pizza in the freezer,’ his mother told Connor. ‘Here,’ she got money from her purse, ‘get some milk.’

She dithered for a moment, uneasy about leaving them with the boy. So Rachel nodded to Mitch and they made a move outside. Mrs Tandy got into her own car, a tatty-looking Ford, and turned the engine over several times before it started.

Connor emerged on his bike. He hesitated for a moment at the pavement’s edge then bounced his front wheel up and down.

‘What do you want him for anyway?’ he said, squinting a little. The sky was bright, the sun struggling to break through the clouds.

‘Just want to talk,’ Mitch said.

‘He might be able to help us,’ Rachel said.

‘About that murder?’

‘You heard anything about that?’ Rachel said.

‘I’m not a grass,’ the boy said quickly.

‘So you have?’ He looked down at his bike, twisted the handlebars this way and that. ‘You picked someone up, it said on the telly. Is it the Perrys?’

The names had not been disclosed but it must have been easy enough for Connor to guess the ‘two twenty-two-year-old men’ were the twins, given their reputations and previous conviction for arson.

‘Why would you think that?’ Rachel said, seeing if he’d let something slip.

‘A friend of mine, she seen them being arrested. Everyone knows it was them. It is, isn’t it?’

Neither Mitch nor Rachel replied.

Connor sniffed, ducked his head and hawked on the pavement. Nice .

‘How come people think the Perrys are involved?’ Rachel said.

He jerked his shoulders up and down in a quick shrug. ‘My dad goes up the King’s on Wednesdays.’

When he’s not inside?

‘Right,’ Rachel said. Was he trying to give his dad an alibi? Did he think he needed one? Did he imagine they wanted Tandy for the murder itself? ‘We just want to talk to him, you tell him when he gets back.’

As they watched Connor speed off over the cobbles, Rachel said to Mitch, ‘Greg Tandy, he’s only been out nine days and already he’s back in the life.’

‘Doesn’t know anything else,’ Mitch said.

‘That lad’ll go the same way most likely, in his father’s footsteps.’

‘That’s it, look on the bright side,’ Mitch joked.

She looked over to the ruined warehouse, across the strip of canal with junk floating on the surface.

What bright side? she thought. Buggered if I can spot it.

Close to dawn, Janet had gone back with Elise to Vivien and Ken’s. Ken, in the kitchen on the phone, had begun to alert the wider family to the tragedy. His deep voice rumbled in the background.

Vivien was agitated, exhausted too. Circles under her eyes, hands shaking. Her mother was on her way, their son, away at uni, was getting the first train.

We all want our mothers, Janet thought, when something like this happens. That comfort, that unconditional love.

‘She just collapsed?’ Vivien said, uncomprehending.

Elise looked at Janet. Janet nodded – tell her.

‘Like she had a fit,’ said Elise. ‘Her eyes… went back in her head and she was jerking about.’

‘You were out?’ Vivien asked Janet. Her face crumpled with incomprehension.

Out? ‘Still at work,’ Janet said, ‘Elise rang me at ten thirty.’

‘What about Adrian?’ Vivien said.

‘He was with Taisie at home,’ Janet said.

‘And the girls? Olivia was sleeping over.’

Janet’s heart sank. Elise closed her eyes, tensed her mouth, fighting tears.

‘We thought Elise was staying at yours after the party,’ Janet said. ‘We didn’t know you were away.’

‘What party?’ Vivien said.

Oh Christ. It just gets worse and worse. She should’ve checked, she should have rung and spoken to Vivien, she should not have taken Elise’s word for it. I trusted her. I trusted her and now this.

‘I’m sorry,’ Elise said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

It was mid-morning when Janet finally got Elise home and rang Gill.

‘All right,’ Gill answered breezily, ‘it’d better be good.’

A beat of silence, Janet thinking, Oh God. ‘Elise’s friend, Olivia, there was a party last night. Olivia died.’

‘Middleton Road,’ Gill said, quick as a flash, ‘drug-related.’

‘You heard?’

‘Division’s got it. Oh, Janet, I am so sorry. How’s Elise?’

‘You can imagine. So I probably need to stay with-’

‘Of course. Don’t even think about doing anything else. High profile,’ Gill said, ‘could get kicked up to MIT.’

‘I know,’ said Janet.

‘We couldn’t take it, I don’t think,’ Gill added, ‘not on top of everything else. If we did you wouldn’t be anywhere near it.’

‘I know that.’ A conflict of interest. With Elise a potential witness and Janet being close to the victim and family, any official involvement by Janet could prejudice the inquiry.

‘Legal high apparently. Fucking drugs, eh?’ Gill said. ‘The family have been informed?’

‘Her parents, yes, still people to contact,’ Janet said.

‘OK. I’ll let everyone know the situation.’

‘Thanks, Gill.’

Gill put the phone down, thinking of Elise, of the dead girl. All that promise, a whole life snuffed out. She thought of the lectures she herself had given Sammy. People equated legal with safe. But the drugs were anything but. Horse tranquillizers, plant food. A cocktail of chemicals untested and with unpredictable effects. The police, the law, were constantly playing catch-up, banning those substances linked to death or serious side effects, but it was always too little, too late. The manufacturers could take the same recipe, tweak it, alter one ingredient or the proportion of others and hey presto it was legal again. Potentially deadly.

Her phone rang. She sat up straighter and answered, ‘Gill Murray.’

‘Rita in forensics. Good news.’

‘Go on.’

‘As you know, there was no gunshot residue on the swabs from the two suspects, however-’

‘I love that word, however ,’ Gill said.

‘However,’ Rita laughed, ‘we did find gunshot residue particles on the right-hand wrist cuff and sleeve seam of Neil Perry’s hooded jacket and on the right wrist cuff of Noel Perry’s jacket. The wrist is ribbed and particles were trapped there.’

Gill knew the physics. The act of firing a gun generated a powerful cloud of dust that settled on the hands, forearm and front of the person using it, but the residue was heavy and soon dropped off unless the structure or design trapped it. For that reason cuffs, pockets, seams, zips and buttons were all places worth examining. And if the suspects put their hands in their pockets they could transfer GSR there from the hands.

‘Of course, we can’t give you a time frame,’ the forensics woman said. ‘But it tells you they each fired a weapon at some point recently.’

‘Perfect,’ Gill said, ‘absolutely bloody perfect.’

Rachel began with the weapon. ‘Do you own a gun?’

‘No.’ The sore by Neil Perry’s mouth was bigger, more inflamed. She imagined him picking away at it all night in his cell.

‘Have you ever fired a gun?’ she said.

‘No.’

‘Think carefully,’ she said.

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘You sure about that?’ Rachel said.

‘Yes.’

‘I am now showing the suspect document 15. This is a report from the forensic science lab. Tests were carried out on your clothing. The report notes gunshot residue on your hoodie. Can you explain that to me?’