Cath Staincliffe - Ruthless

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘On Tuesday the eighth of May you met Neil Perry at Bobbins public house, can you confirm that?’

‘No comment,’ he said.

‘You know Mr Perry?’

‘No comment.’

So that was how it was going to be.

‘Did you supply Neil Perry with a handgun?’

‘No comment.’

And so it went. He offered no comment to all Rachel’s questions. It didn’t matter whether she asked him about his move from the marital home, or the weapons, or his movements over the last few days. In between the repetitive replies was the hiss and squeak of his breath.

Rachel wondered how Mrs Tandy put up with the sound. Sean snored when he’d had a skinful, but a sharp elbow was enough to get him to roll over and pack it in. But this chronic noise, it’d drive you barmy. Mind you, Mrs Tandy had had the bed to herself for the past few years. Maybe she kicked him out for disturbing her sleep.

Rachel kept going. ‘I am now showing Mr Tandy a CCTV recording, exhibit number JS18. This is you on the tape, is that correct?’

‘No comment.’

‘And here you leave the bar with Mr Perry and go into the men’s toilets. Can you tell me why?’

‘No comment.’ All that he said. On and on, with his clownish face and his toothy mouth and the rattling breath.

‘I’ll not keep you long,’ Gill told the team together, ‘but I want to make sure you’ve all got your eyes on the ball. One slip, one cock-up and we risk losing all the hours you put in, all the work you’ve done. Perrys have been charged for the Kavanagh murder, they’re up in court in the morning, we ask for them to be remanded in custody and then we arrest them on new charges for Victor and Lydia and begin interviews.’

‘The only thing we don’t have from the confessions is the gun,’ Janet said.

‘Protecting their source on that,’ the boss said. ‘What about motive for the double murder, any thoughts?’

‘If Victor and Lydia were dealing,’ said Pete, ‘maybe they were taking liberties, hands in the till and Williams wanted to teach them a lesson.’

‘Bit extreme,’ Gill said, ‘a rap over the knuckles would be enough. You think he put out a contract on the couple? We haven’t found any intelligence that links the Perry brothers to Williams.’

‘What about switching it round?’ said Lee. ‘A robbery, the twins decide to help themselves but Victor and Lydia resist. Bang. Bang.’

‘They were sitting down, weren’t they?’ Rachel said. ‘Not like there’d been a struggle, or either of them made a run for it.’

‘If someone is pointing a gun, you’re not going to run, that’s an invitation to open fire,’ Kevin said.

‘True,’ Gill nodded to Kevin, ‘but also true there was no sign of a fight.’

‘They could have been sleeping,’ said Mitch.

‘The Perrys are known racists. Kavanagh was a hate crime, this could be too,’ Lee said.

‘So… what? Noddy and Big Ears are on some cleanup-the-streets mission?’ Gill said.

‘One down, a million to go,’ said Janet, repeating Noel Perry’s sound bite.

Bragging or more than that?

‘Or they’re just dickheads,’ Rachel said, getting a laugh.

Gill’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the display, Dave, left it. ‘We have no formal proof of identity for Victor and Lydia?’ she asked, looking at Mitch.

‘No, but surnames used at the food bank are the same as those given when Lydia attended the walk-in clinic: Lydia Oluwaseyi and Victor Tosin.’

‘Refer to them as “known as” to be on the safe side,’ Gill said. ‘We don’t want some smart-arse defence lawyer down the line claiming that Lydia Oluwaseyi was actually Lydia Oluwa, and so the charges were inaccurate.’

Rachel nodded and Janet made a note in her book.

‘We are looking for Shirelle Young.’ Gill glanced over at Lee.

‘Not been back to the flat,’ he said.

‘Not with us crawling all over it,’ said Rachel.

‘Done a runner?’ Kevin said.

‘It’s possible,’ Gill said. ‘Local neighbourhood patrols will continue to be on the lookout. What have we got from house-to-house in the vicinity of the warehouse?’

‘Dead loss,’ Kevin said, ‘no one saw anything.’

‘Or they’re not willing to admit it,’ Rachel said.

‘The fire investigation officer tells me a fifth bullet has been recovered among the debris at the warehouse.’ Gill glanced at her watch. ‘Anything else? OK. Coffee run?’

Lee volunteered, raising his hand.

‘Double americano,’ Gill requested. She picked up her files and went to the office. Stretched to relieve some of the tension in her neck and shoulders. She checked her phone: missed call, no message. She was relieved Dave hadn’t left some rambling diatribe she’d have to listen to.

Gill thought of the phone call she had made earlier to Richard Kavanagh’s wife, now widow, who had not seen her husband for thirteen years but nevertheless was appalled and saddened by the manner of his death and the purported reason.

‘We have charged both men,’ Gill had told Judith Kavanagh, ‘and we have every expectation that they will be convicted as they have confessed to the crime.’

‘Why did they do it?’ Judith had said. ‘Was it a fight?’

More like an execution, Gill thought. The murder of Richard Kavanagh had not been carried out in the heat of a furious bust-up but as a calculated, cold-blooded killing of someone the men hated, simply because of his lifestyle.

‘Did they get into an argument?’ Judith went on. ‘Richard never argued. He used to walk away. He never even raised his voice. How many men can you say that about?’ She was talking too much; Gill recognized the behaviour – not ready for an answer to her question.

‘Mrs Kavanagh, I’m sorry to have to tell you that this is what we call a hate crime: when someone is targeted simply because of who they are, their identity, their membership of a group which the attacker hates.’

‘You mean like racists?’

‘Yes, exactly, but we also use this term for any group who can be singled out in this way, gay people or travellers for example,’ Gill said.

‘So what… because Richard was homeless?’ she said slowly.

‘Yes.’

‘I keep thinking about the fire-’

‘I can tell you that Richard was shot twice in the chest. He would have died very quickly from those injuries. He would not have been conscious when the fire was lit.’ Gill knew Rachel and Janet would have told her as much when they visited but it bore repeating – as often as was necessary.

Gill listened to the other woman breathe, heard her composing herself. ‘Thank you for letting me know,’ Mrs Kavanagh said eventually.

Now Gill wondered how on earth they might find the relatives of the young immigrants. Checks had confirmed no record of them entering the country legally, as asylum-seekers for example. With no dates of birth, no documents, it would be a long search. The Nigerian community in the UK might help get word out. Had they been sending money to their families? Immigrants often did, it could be a lifesaver for people back home. Or were Lydia and Victor orphans, or estranged from their families? Whoever they were, whatever they had done with their short lives, no one on earth deserved to die like that, shot then burned. No one deserved to die at the hand of another. Gill couldn’t do much to stop it happening but she would do her utmost to make those responsible pay.

She allowed herself a flush of pleasure at the thought of being able to solve all three murders and the prospect of taking Topsy and Turvy out of circulation for good.

Rachel’s phone went. She didn’t recognize the number. ‘DC Rachel Bailey,’ she answered.