Cath Staincliffe - Ruthless

‘Near the door.’ The nurse pointed to the entrance to the ward.

‘When was she last seen?’ Rachel said.

‘She got her meds ten minutes ago.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Call security. She’s a potential witness as well as a victim, she could be at risk. She mustn’t leave the hospital. You can describe her?’

‘Yes, sure,’ the nurse said defensively.

‘Then do it.’

The woman blinked and Rachel ran. She took the stairs, judging it would be quicker than the lift. The stairwell was empty apart from a bloke in scrubs running up. At the bottom Rachel looked about. The place wasn’t too busy out of visiting hours but there were still patients heading into consultations and clinics and others being moved between departments by porters.

Rachel waited, focusing to catch any movement that seemed too swift, out of synch with the slow flow of people. There was only one way in and out, the main entrance. Rachel ran to the automatic doors, skirting past the woman pushing an old bloke in a wheelchair. From the top of the ramp she had a good view of the grounds, across the lawned slopes to the car parks and bus stops below, either side of the road.

She scrutinized people systematically, eyes roving over faces, body shapes and clothing, looking for a match. Her gaze snagged on a figure leaning on a low wall, half turned away from her about eighty yards from where she stood. The white jacket, her size, the shape of her head, the dark hair all fitted. Rachel was halfway there when Shirelle looked round, sensing her approach, and began to move, running in an uneven gait down towards the road.

Not this time, matey . Losing Keane yesterday had been bad enough. Rachel pelted down the slope, gaining on the girl. Ahead Shirelle stumbled and Rachel would’ve got to her but for a family group, five adults with two buggies, who chose that moment to cross the road and block the pavement.

Swerving around them, Rachel cut into the traffic. A taxi braked hard, blaring its horn, the driver mouthing outrage when Rachel’s hand glanced off the bonnet. She felt sweat break across her neck and back, the thunder of her heart in her head. Rachel regained the pavement, Shirelle veered right and back up the grass slope towards the hospital outbuildings, perhaps looking for cover. Rachel followed, chest aching, legs straining, heat in her face.

Shirelle was slowing, Rachel could hear her panting as she closed the distance between them. When she was near enough, Rachel lunged, grabbed Shirelle in a flying tackle that sent them both on to the grass with a thump. Shirelle screamed. The impact forced the air from Rachel’s lungs, jolting her elbows, reawakening the tenderness where Neil Perry had throttled her and the bruises from Tandy’s arrest.

‘What you doing?’ A scandalized voice, an Asian bloke. ‘Get off her, leave her alone.’

Other people drifted their way, adding their own comments.

‘Twice her size, she is.’

‘Probably pissed.’

‘Let her alone.’

Rachel could smell the grass and earth and some faint perfume on Shirelle’s hair and a whiff of antiseptic.

‘Nasty bitch.’

‘Cat fight, is it?’

‘Get security guards,’ some man yelled.

‘What have you done to her?’ a woman said, face like a whippet. ‘That’s brutality, that is.’

‘I’m calling the police,’ the good Samaritan yelled at Rachel, phone at the ready. ‘Get off her now.’

For fuck’s sake. Rachel rolled off Shirelle and planted one hand between her shoulder blades to keep her prone.

‘I am the police,’ Rachel said.

‘Yeah, right, and I’m the Queen of Sheba.’ The guy looked around, inviting the clot of onlookers to share his derision. The Whippet was using her phone camera.

‘If you want a witness,’ she said loudly to Shirelle, ‘it’s all on here, darling.’

Oh, frigging perfect, Rachel thought, be all over YouTube.

Rachel reached for her warrant card and swung it around with her free hand. ‘Satisfied?’

Some of the crowd melted away but most stayed for the sideshow while Rachel dragged Shirelle to her feet and said, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the possession of banned substances with intent to supply. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence against you.’

The Asian guy stood his ground, face still like a smacked arse, mouth pursed, shaking his head as if deeply disappointed in Rachel and how she’d conducted herself.

Shirelle looked worse in the clear light of day, her face more swollen. Stitches ran across the deeper cuts over her eyelid and cheek and lip. She had lost teeth too, gaps at the front. Livid bruises on her forearms and hands. Rachel imagined the blows, smashing the girl against the hard ground. Boots or fists or bats?

Nevertheless Shirelle had been examined by the police doctor and found fit for interview. A duty solicitor was present. Rachel stated the grounds under which Shirelle had been arrested, and cautioned her.

‘You know we searched your flat,’ Rachel said. ‘We found a number of items banned under the Misuse of Drugs Act.’

Shirelle gave a small sigh.

‘Can you tell me why you had these drugs in your possession?’

‘No.’ Her voice painfully hoarse.

‘What were you doing at Stanley Keane’s? Getting stocked up?’

‘No,’ Shirelle said quickly.

‘Is he responsible for your injuries?’

‘No.’

‘We can help, you know. You don’t have to deal with it on your own. And we can keep you safe, if that’s what you’re worried about. Keane works with Marcus Williams, doesn’t he? The Williamses of this world, they sit up there, king of the shit heap, raking in the money, calling the shots, but it’s people like you always pay the price. I don’t think that’s fair.’

The girl was unmoved.

Rachel said, ‘I want to talk to you again about Victor and Lydia. We know they were dealing, I think you were supplying them. Is that the case?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘You’re not in work – is that true?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Claiming Jobseeker’s?’ Rachel said.

‘So?’

‘Can you explain to me how you’ve furnished your flat and paid for a new kitchen on sixty quid a week?’

Shirelle gave a little snort, said nothing.

‘From the proceeds of drug-dealing perhaps?’

‘No way.’

‘We have a witness saw Noel and Neil Perry near the warehouse on the Friday evening. Did the Perrys visit the squat?’

‘Maybe.’ Which meant yes.

‘Did you see them there recently?’ Shirelle hesitated. She must realize, Rachel thought, that she’d be incriminating herself to some extent if she admitted regular visits to Victor and Lydia, even if she stopped short of saying they were buying drugs from her.

‘We’ve got enough to do you for supply,’ Rachel said, putting a bit of pressure on. ‘Well, did you see them?’

The girl didn’t reply.

‘Come on, Shirelle. He was a friend, wasn’t he? Victor. Or are you protecting someone. Was this beating to keep you quiet?’

‘No. Thursday, I seen them,’ she said.

‘The Perrys. What time?’

‘About four, I was leaving the squat.’

‘Not Friday?’ Rachel said.

Shirelle shook her head slowly to the right then left.

‘You see Victor on Friday?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time?’

A pause. ‘Same,’ she said.

‘But not the twins?’

‘No.’

Rachel thought of the stash that the Perry brothers had, more than personal use. ‘Were they dealing, the Perrys?’

‘No,’ she said.