Cath Staincliffe - Dead Wrong

I waited until Tom had gone off to play, to alert the others.

‘I was threatened today,’ I said baldly as Ray handed coffee round, ‘by a witness on the case I’m covering.’

‘Sal!’ exclaimed Sheila. ‘What happened?’

‘I was told to forget what I’d heard.’ I knew I had to tell them about his allusion to Maddie too, but I dare not say it. It was as though I’d give life to the danger if I spoke the words again. Denial, they call it.

‘Where was this?’ Ray’s face had gone peaky, concerned.

‘Here, in the drive.’

‘Shit. Tell the police.’

‘I have told the police, and the lawyer involved.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Sheila.

‘I don’t think anything will come of it,’ I said, ‘but I’d feel safer if we used the chain on the door and checked on visitors. Keep a close eye on the children-’

‘The children?’ Ray’s mouth tightened. He stared at me.

I swallowed. ‘He, the man, he mentioned Maddie.’

‘Christ!’ Ray hit the table. Hardly a useful contribution to the discussion. It made me jump. I knew what he was thinking. My job was too dangerous. I’d brought that danger home, into our lives, into our children’s lives.

‘It’s just words,’ I insisted. I wobbled, guilt and fear see-sawing inside.

‘Oh, Sal,’ Sheila put her hand on my arm.

‘Who is this guy?’ Ray demanded.

I shook my head. ‘You don’t want to know. I’ve reported it to the police.’

‘Yeah? And where are they? What are they doing about it?’ He was furious, his eyes hard and bright. ‘Sweet fuck all.’

‘It’ll be over soon,’ I tried to speak calmly, ‘it’s more than likely this bloke will be picked up by the police.’

‘And in the meantime, we worry ourselves sick about the children, yeah?’ He paced round the kitchen, his hands balled into fists. ‘Wait here like sitting ducks to see if anyone gets beaten up or-’

‘Ray!’ I shouted. ‘I need your support, not a bloody lecture. Don’t you think I haven’t been frantic with worry, you stupid…’ I broke down then, hot tears that made me crosser.

‘Perhaps the children could stay somewhere else for a while,’ Sheila suggested. ‘You said it would soon be over.’

Debbie and her children, packing up, moving out. They’d soon be able to go back home. Had her children known what was going on; had they learned to be fearful or vigilant as a result?

I wiped my eyes with my hands. ‘It should be. The lawyer will be meeting the prosecution and trying to get my client out on bail. They’ll probably drop the charges too. And they’ll decide whether to charge the man who’s been intimidating me.’

‘Why should the threats stop then?’ Ray asked.

‘Because either there’ll be no case to answer, so what I know is irrelevant, or there’ll be a new case and this guy will be behind bars,’ I said nothing about what might happen if the case against Luke Wallace continued to trial.

‘I really don’t think we need to send the kids away. There’s no point in blowing it out of proportion.’ I avoided looking at Ray. ‘I’ve been warned. Presumably they’ll want to see if the warning has worked. What they don’t realise is that I’ve already passed on the information that they want hushed up, and the rug’s going to be pulled out from underneath them.’ No response from Ray. ‘And I promise if there's anything else, any more approaches, anything, I’ll tell you and we’ll decide what to do then.’

‘I think you should tell us what this man looks like,’ said Sheila.

I described Rashid Siddiq and the white van. And I repeated the fact that all this was me taking precautions and that it wouldn’t go on for long.

Ray leant against the washer and listened, arms folded tight. When I’d finished he launched himself away from it and clicked his fingers for the dog. ‘I need a walk.’ Digger wriggled out from behind the easy chair and thumped his tail against it. He circled round Ray who was putting his denim jacket on.

Sheila waited until they’d gone. ‘I’ve never seen him like that. I thought he was going to throw something.’

‘Remember that time just after you’d moved in,’ I replied, referring to a previous case, ‘when I’d been-’

‘Your nose, you’d been thumped.’

And drugged and kidnapped. But my nose wore the visible damage. ‘He was like that then. He thinks I’m taking unnecessary risks, and maybe the violence freaks him out.’

‘He can’t protect you,’ she said. ‘It’s your job and you obviously love it, but sometimes you get hurt and he can’t do anything about it.’

I looked at her. ‘We’ve never had that sort of relationship. I don’t need protecting.’

‘Precisely,’ she stood up and began to clear the cups, ‘and he just has to stand by and watch.’

I washed up. Outside, sunshine streamed in oil-painting rays from beneath clouds dark as bruises. Rain on the way. I gave Maddie another dose of medicine and got her ready for bed. She had some colour in her cheeks and she no longer complained about her ear. Tom was happy to get ready too. I plugged in Maddie’s cassette player and put on a tape she’d picked from the library. Magnus Powermouse was about a giant baby mouse. It was full of jokes and puns in Latin which I could barely understand and were way above her head, but it still worked as a great story. It was also long enough to last until they fell asleep.

A bath, that was what I needed. It had been a long, pig of a day, the triumphs of completing the stalker case and convincing Pitt to act, soured by the subsequent events. Yes, a bath. Deep, hot, scented. Followed by cocoa, something soothing on the radio, a few pages reading in bed and sleep. Eight hours. I held it out like a carrot on a stick while I dialled Mrs Deason’s.

I heard Ray return from his walk, go upstairs.

When she answered, her voice was breathy, almost a whisper. Had I woken her? Was she ill?

‘Mrs Deason, it’s Sal Kilkenny here. I promised to ring you after I’d seen Joey. I did try earlier but there was no answer.’

She made a noise. Peculiar. It made my neck prickle.

‘Mrs Deason. Are you all right?’

‘He’s dead.’

A punch to my gut. ‘What?’

‘My grandson. He’s dead.’

Oh, God. They’d killed him. I’d led them to Joey and they’d killed him.

‘No!’ I protested. ‘What happened?’

‘I had to go to Chester, this morning, to identify him. That’s where he was living. He would never tell me, you know, I always had to wait for him to ring me. But now…excuse me, I can’t talk anymore.’ Her voice was flat. I remembered the love for him brimming in her eyes as we’d talked that first time.

‘I’m so sorry. Please, Mrs Deason, how did he…? Did the police say?’ I had to know. ‘Was it an accident?’ It was my fault. My face felt cold. Gooseflesh crawled along my limbs.

‘An overdose,’ she said.

The relief buckled my knees. He hadn’t been murdered. One trip too many, that’s all. I wasn’t to blame. Disgusted then at my selfish response.

‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Yes,’ she said. And hung up.

I shivered. Tried to adjust to a new picture of Joey D, still, silent, dead. I heard the first spatter of rain against the window panes and went and ran my bath.

Cocoa. Milky, rich, just a smidgeon of sugar to take the edge off the bitterness. Always too hot to drink at first. I’d scalded my tongue countless times with my impatience. The phone went. My mobile – in my bag. It was in the corner of the kitchen, underneath Digger. I shook him awake and pushed him out of the way.