Cath Staincliffe - Ruthless

‘Did you see him after that?’

‘Well, I didn’t surface until the Saturday afternoon. Serious hangover, well trollied,’ she laughed. ‘Saw him coming in. He’d a bag then,’ she smiled, ‘probably been to the gym. No way was I going to make it, I tell you. I usually go Saturday.’

‘A gym bag?’ Janet’s heart gave a kick in her chest.

‘Well, holdall.’

‘What colour?’

‘Blue.’ The girl laughed. ‘The things you remember!’

‘And after that?’

‘Didn’t see him until the police came.’ She lowered her voice, leaned closer. ‘What’s he done?’ Janet caught a whiff of fake tan.

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Janet said. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘The bag he had his gloves in,’ Rachel said as they crossed the road.

‘Sounds the same.’

‘But she reckons it was the Saturday and he didn’t have the bag on the Friday.’

‘That would have been too perfect,’ Janet said.

‘Maybe he left the bag somewhere on the Friday after the murders and went to fetch it on the Saturday.’

‘Why? Where?’

‘His house? Though I don’t know that Gloria would have let him over the threshold.’

At the house opposite Stanley Keane’s, a Polish man answered. He explained his nationality when he spelled out his name, which consisted mainly of consonants. His English was excellent and barely accented. He too had noticed Tandy, the new resident, but found it harder to recall dates and times. He worked twelve-hour shifts in a call centre and when he was home he was usually in bed or half asleep.

He thought some more and then said, ‘I did see him going into Wetherspoon’s. That would have been about eight o’clock, on my way home from the bus.’

‘Which day?’

‘Thursday or Friday.’

‘It would be a great help if you could remember which,’ Janet said.

‘Sorry,’ he apologized. ‘I’d done twenty days in a row. Saturday was a day off so I know it wasn’t Saturday but before that.’

‘If you remember,’ Janet said, ‘please get in touch.’ She gave him her card.

The man knew Stanley Keane by sight but they had never spoken. He’d last seen him on Sunday evening, putting the bins out.

The manager at Wetherspoon’s didn’t recall Greg Tandy but the girl who was chalking up meals on the blackboard did. ‘Friday,’ she said, ‘it’s the only night I work here. He reminded me of Jimmy Carr, the comedian, but an older version. You know, the black hair and the big eyes. He sat over there, by the slot machines, on his own at first.’

‘Someone joined him?’ Janet said.

‘Yes, about half nine. Bigger bloke, beard and biker’s jacket, comes in here sometimes.’

Stanley Keane.

‘How long did they stay?’

‘Till closing,’ she said.

Janet felt her heart sink. The girl seemed to be on the ball and if her sighting was accurate then there was no way Greg Tandy could have been ten miles away shooting Victor and Lydia.

Rachel and Janet followed Gill into the meeting room.

‘The Wetherspoon’s sighting gives Tandy an alibi but Keane could have done it,’ said Rachel. ‘Keane didn’t get to the pub till later and the gloves were at his house.’

‘He fitted Tandy up for the murder?’ Gill said. ‘Wouldn’t Tandy shop him? The man’s only just been released. And why would Keane want to kill the Nigerians?’

‘Why would anyone?’ Janet said.

‘It doesn’t work,’ Gill shook her head, ‘because if Keane was behind it we’d have his DNA on those gloves and we’ve not. And we’ve nothing at his house that points to him bar the gloves.’

‘We could find out if he bought lighter fuel?’ Rachel suggested.

‘Doesn’t get us very far,’ Gill said. ‘You can buy it anywhere: petrol stations, supermarkets, DIY stores. People have it at home, everyone’s got a barbecue.’

‘I’ve not,’ Rachel said.

‘Sean will soon see to that, I bet you,’ Janet said.

‘What is it with men and barbecues?’

‘Throwback,’ said Gill, ‘they like to imagine they’ve just caught the animal, killed it and dressed it. Proud hunters all. Bringing home the bacon.’

‘When it’s actually a value party pack of quarter pounders or sausages from the farm shop,’ Janet said.

Rachel pulled a face.

‘A shop, attached to a farm,’ Janet spelled out.

‘I know! Behave.’

‘We questioned Tandy about his movements on the Friday night,’ Gill said. ‘He told us nothing. Now we find he has an alibi? Strong?’ She looked at Janet.

‘An independent witness.’

‘So why didn’t he give us it?’ Gill said.

‘He’s frightened? Protecting someone?’ said Rachel.

Gill sighed. They had seemed to be getting closer but first they’d eliminated Noel Perry and now Tandy was in the clear. It felt like they were back at square one. ‘Charge Tandy with the firearms offences and ship him back to prison.’

The search at Marcus Williams’s house revealed nothing. No Keane, no gun, no drugs.

‘Teflon as per usual,’ said Mitch as Kevin handed out the sandwich orders. Not only did Williams keep well away from the merchandise and the illicit activities of his network, he also drove within the speed limit, paid his council tax on time and had obviously found a way to launder his money.

‘Think about it from Marcus Williams’s point of view,’ said Gill. ‘Suppose he wants to get rid of Victor and Lydia, motive unknown for now. How might that play out?’

‘Well, Williams won’t be anywhere near,’ said Mitch.

‘So he finds someone to do the deed,’ Lee said.

‘Stanley Keane,’ Rachel said, taking the baguette Kevin passed her. ‘Keane gets the gun off Tandy-’

‘Who must have got it back from the Perry brothers after the Kavanagh shooting,’ Gill said, ‘some time between Wednesday and Friday evening.’

‘Keane borrows or steals the gloves too,’ said Janet. ‘He gets lighter fuel and goes to the warehouse, shoots Victor and Lydia, torches the place. Then joins Greg Tandy for a couple of pints in his local.’

‘An attempt at an alibi?’ Gill said.

‘Keane gets rid of the gun,’ said Janet, ‘why keep the gloves? Why not dump them?’

‘Unless he’s trying to frame Tandy,’ Mitch said.

‘Boss,’ Pete had answered his phone and now interrupted. ‘We’ve found something on CCTV for Monday night. Shirelle Young and Stanley Keane.’

‘I want it here, now,’ Gill said.

The CCTV, in grainy black and white, was from the cameras at the green man crossing near the shopping parade. Shirelle, in her white jacket, could be seen walking briskly. Then she stops in her tracks. Gill peered, holding her breath. A man approaches, grabs her wrists and kicks her legs from under her. He picks her up and at that moment his bearded face is clearly visible, livid with anger.

‘Stanley Keane,’ said Mitch.

‘What’s he so mad about?’ Gill said.

‘She led us to his house earlier, we found Tandy, we found the drugs,’ Rachel said.

‘This is five past eight,’ Janet said.

‘And Shirelle was found fifteen minutes later,’ said Rachel.

‘So,’ Gill said, ‘he beats up Shirelle and then he targets the Tandy house. He’d know we are holding Tandy so either that is a warning to Tandy to keep quiet or a warning to the family.’

‘It could’ve been a lot more than a warning,’ Rachel said. ‘The curtains were closed, they could both have been in the line of fire.’

‘Reckless,’ Lee agreed.

‘Someone must be sheltering him, someone must know where he is. Lee, Mitch, dig out family, old connections. We can assume he is still armed,’ Gill said. ‘I’ll discuss it with the chief superintendent. Much of what we have is circumstantial but erring on the side of caution, as far as public safety is concerned, I think we should be plastering his pretty little face all over the shop.’