Cath Staincliffe - Ruthless

‘They were living in the warehouse,’ Rachel said. ‘What was that like?’

‘Pretty grim,’ Shirelle said, ‘the place was in a state.’

‘They were downstairs?’

‘Yes, they had some old chairs and milk crates and pallets to put stuff on.’

‘How long had they been there when you met them?’ Rachel said.

‘Not sure, a few weeks.’

‘I hope you understand, as a matter of routine I have to ask you where you were on Friday evening,’ Rachel said.

Shirelle stared at her, a look of incredulity spread across her face. ‘What- you are not serious?’

‘Where were you?’

‘Here,’ she said emphatically. She took a final pull on the fag and crushed it out in the cut-glass ashtray.

‘Anyone verify that?’

‘No. Yes. Pizza delivery.’

‘What time?’ Rachel said.

Shirelle shrugged. ‘Can’t remember. Some time around eight.’

‘Which takeaway?’ Rachel said.

‘Gino’s.’

Rachel made a note. ‘Noel and Neil Perry,’ she said, ‘you know them?’

A look of dislike crossed Shirelle’s face. ‘A bit.’

‘Did they know Victor and Lydia?’

‘Was it them?’ she said.

‘Did they know Victor and Lydia?’ Rachel repeated.

‘Don’t know.’

There was a sound from outside the flat, Shirelle glanced quickly at the door. Was she expecting somebody? She pulled her attention back to Rachel and said, ‘If that’s it…’ Putting a brave face on but Rachel could tell she was shocked and upset. If Shirelle knew the couple squatted in the warehouse she must have realized they could have been killed in the fire, even if she hadn’t known about the shooting. But she had not contacted anyone in authority to share her fears. All weekend she must have lived with that dreadful suspicion.

‘Almost done. When the warehouse went up in smoke, why didn’t you tell anyone there could be people inside?’ Rachel said.

‘I didn’t know they were still there,’ she said, her eyes darting round the room. ‘Like I said, I’ve not been for ages.’

‘Do you know whereabouts in Nigeria they came from?’ Rachel said.

‘Just Nigeria,’ she said.

‘Any relatives over there?’

‘No idea.’

‘Did Victor talk about Nigeria, why he’d come?’

‘No. Just said it was a nightmare, horror show and that was that. This was his life now. He was getting by. He wanted to go back to school, get an apprenticeship, but he was illegal.’

Rachel thought of the post-mortem report, the historic injuries. She knew fuck all about Nigeria but imagined war, rival factions, chaos. Sound reasons to get out, run and hide.

‘Were either of them religious?’ Rachel said. ‘For the funerals?’

Shirelle swallowed. ‘Christian,’ she said, blinking quickly, ‘both of them.’

‘Shirelle Young, that’s your full name?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your date of birth?’ Rachel said.

‘Why?’

‘I need all your details. There’s a chance you may need to give a witness statement, be prepared to come to court.’

‘No way,’ she said abruptly, ‘I’m not a witness. I don’t know anything about it.’

‘You’ve been very helpful, you’ve given us their identity, you knew them and even if you’ve not been in touch recently I’m sure you want us to catch who did this,’ Rachel said. ‘Date of birth?’

Shirelle still hesitated. Finally, ‘May third, 1992.’ Making her twenty.

As she stepped out into the fresh air, Rachel considered what she’d learned. There were plenty of questions in her head. Not least how someone on Jobseeker’s Allowance paid for designer furniture, a new kitchen and a state-of-the-art TV.

Rachel, in the car outside Hawkins House, called in the ID information on their latest victims. She also requested someone check out the pizza delivery and establish whether the courier from Gino’s could confirm seeing Shirelle Young on Friday and what time that had been.

Rachel didn’t have to wait long before Shirelle came out of the tower, wearing fancy neon trainers and with a small rucksack on her back. A minicab drew into the side of the road and the girl climbed in. Rachel followed as the cab drove out on to Shuttling Way and headed left away from Oldham town centre. They crossed the ring road and drove into Werneth. Rachel slowed down and allowed a people carrier to overtake her, putting it between her and the taxi so as not to arouse suspicion.

When the taxi stopped outside a house on Crescent Drive, Rachel drove past, noting the number, and parked further down the road outside a barber’s.

The taxi didn’t leave and five minutes later Shirelle came out of the house and got back into the car, which took her home. Shirelle went into Hawkins House again and twenty minutes later she came out and went on foot to the other tower block.

Another fifteen minutes and she reappeared and then headed off into the estate. Rachel couldn’t follow her unless she was on foot.

Rachel Bailey looked very pleased with herself, Gill thought. Fair dos. The DC had got them names for the dead couple and identified an associate.

‘She’s got the place kitted out like Ideal Home,’ Rachel was saying. ‘She swore blind that Victor and Lydia didn’t do drugs, but the word on the street is just the opposite.’ She glanced at Mitch, who nodded his agreement.

‘I’m sure she was making house calls after she’d picked the stuff up in Werneth and I’m not talking Avon.’ Rachel’s eyes were dancing, exhilarated by the progress they’d made.

Kevin yawned noisily, arching back in his chair and stretching his arms up and out.

‘Keeping you up, Kevin? Late night?’ Gill said.

‘Bit late,’ Kevin grinned, ‘couple of pints after here then-’

‘Not boring you then?’

‘No, boss.’ Oblivious.

‘Hate to bore you. What with this being a murder inquiry and everything. Keeping you up late an’ all.’

‘It’s fine, boss,’ said Kevin.

‘Is it? Fine?’ She saw his face alter. Light dawning. Dimly but there. ‘Let me tell you, what is far from fine is you sitting here in my syndicate yawning with a mouth like the Mersey Tunnel. That is not fine, that is rude and disrespectful. You want to yawn or fart or belch or scratch your arse, you do it in your own time. Clear?’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Now where were we. Oh, murder.’

‘The address in Werneth is for Stanley Keane,’ said Pete.

‘Williams’s muscle man?’ Gill said.

‘That’s right. Previous convictions for assault, GBH, dangerous driving, handling stolen goods and possession with intent.’

‘Mr Nice Guy,’ Gill said.

Pete swung his laptop around so they could see Keane’s charge sheet. The picture showed him to be a bulky man with a bushy beard.

‘Looks to match,’ Gill said. ‘I think we have reasonable grounds for a search of Keane’s house and the same for Shirelle Young’s place ASAP.’

‘Her alibi for Friday is solid,’ Rachel said. ‘Doesn’t necessarily cover the whole of the time frame for the double murder but comes slap bang in the middle of when we estimate it was kicking off, going by when the fire took hold. And when I told her they’d been shot, well, I don’t think she’d any idea.’

Gill looked round the rest of the team. ‘What else do we have? Greg Tandy?’

‘Still no trace,’ Mitch said.

‘Has he got a passport?’ Gill said.

‘Nothing current,’ Kevin said.

‘He could have fled using a false one,’ Rachel said.

Gill’s phone rang and she dragged it out. Dave . She killed it. ‘OK, let’s deal with the Richard Kavanagh charges first. Kevin with Rachel and Mitch in with Lee, hold their hands, walk them through the case, point out the crater-sized holes in their accounts and see if they have anything to add. Then charge them. Happy?’