Cath Staincliffe - Looking for Trouble

‘I didn’t come about that,’ she said. ‘Not just that.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s Derek. They’re going to pin a murder on him, you know, that woman that was found on the motorway…’

‘Well, they’re looking for evidence.’

‘But he didn’t do it. He’d never do stuff like that.’

‘He was using crack, Leanne. You said yourself it was doing his head in. People get violent.’

‘He’d have used his shooter, his gun. He wasn’t a fighter.’

Oh God. Did all these kids have guns?

‘All I know is they’re waiting for forensic reports. If it wasn’t Derek, they won’t find anything.’

‘They’ll find what suits them. Be easy for them to set him up. He can’t prove them wrong now, can he?’ She pulled a crumpled packet of Benson and Hedges from the waistband of her skirt. Lit up.

‘Why would they want to do that?’

‘Tidies things up. They’ve got the killer. He’s black, he’s a user – everyone’s going to believe he done it, aren’t they?’

‘Can you give him an alibi? She was killed the Sunday night, the day before we went to JB’s funeral.’ Three weeks ago. And ten days after that, they’d pulled Derek from the Mersey. How long had he been there?

‘No,’ said Leanne. At least that was honest. ‘He wasn’t around. I was going to tell him about JB’s funeral, so he could come with me. But I didn’t see him. I never saw him after that.’ She pulled hard on the cigarette and I heard the soft rustle of it burning.

‘Did he know JB?’

‘Yeah, they was old mates. They grew up together.’

‘I thought JB was in care?’

‘He was. So was Derek. They were both at Hanley Court. That’s where I was for a bit. That’s where I met Derek.’

I had a sudden prickling at the nape of my neck.

‘Did you ever hear of a man called Sharrocks?’

She paused, the cigarette a few inches from her mouth. Looked me in the eyes. Was it a trick question? ‘Yeah.’ Cautious.

‘Bruce Sharrocks. He’s mixed up in all this, I think. He made a phoney appointment with me, kept me out of the way the day JB was killed.’

‘We called him Mr Bollocks,’ she said. She was gripping the edge of the table, her fingers pinched white. ‘He was the boss at Hanley Court – till he got promoted.’ There was more to come. I could see it in the dull glare of her eyes, as she looked beyond me to the past. ‘We thought it’d be alright then, him in the Town Hall. But he had to come and visit. It was like his brothel, see.’

The silence was shattered by the bleeping of the phone.

‘I’m sorry.’ I slid away and answered it. ‘Hello?’

A young, gruff voice asked to speak to me. I told him he already was.

‘It’s Max here, Max Ainsworth. You came and talked to us at St. Matthew’s, about Martin Hobbs.’ Oh yes, Max. Sitting on his own in the playground. The only one who had any concern for Martin.

‘It’s about Martin,’ he went on quickly. ‘He’s just rung us up. He’s in real bother. He wants me to meet him, take him some money and clothes and stuff. He was in a right state. Kept saying they were after him, that they’d kill him. I thought you’d want to know, want to come.’ Max’s voice was heavy with concern.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said I’d do what he said. He wanted to see us at Heaton Park. We went fishing there once. There’s this old monument, like an arch, near the boating lake. He said to meet there.’

‘Have you got a car?’

‘No, a bike, motor-bike.’

‘You better let me sort this out,’ I said. ‘If someone really is after him then it could get nasty. There’s no point in us all going.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said firmly. ‘I promised. I don’t let me mates down. I’m coming. I’m not chickening out now.’

I could tell he wouldn’t budge. I knew of a petrol station on one of the roads that skirted the park. We arranged to rendezvous there. My heart was fluttering when I put down the receiver.

Leanne was smoking, leaning up against the worktop, when I went back into the kitchen.

I made a clumsy attempt to thank her for telling me what she had. She brushed it away. ‘Forget it.’ ‘Did any of you ever complain?’

The drop-dead look said it all. ‘Who to? The boss?’

‘Well, social workers or…’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She launched herself away from the side.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go out,’ I said. ‘Martin’s in trouble.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I don’t know, but he’s running away from someone. I’ll drop you in town.’

‘I want to come with you.’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Martin knows me,’ she said. ‘He’s not going to trust you, is he?’

Maybe she’d got a point. But did I trust Leanne? Enough to let her come along?

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’ll think about it on the way.’

I told Ray where I was going and why.

‘You’re crazy.’ He flung down his chisel. ‘Your stitches aren’t even out and you’re off in the dark to find some kid who’s on the run. Ring the police, Sal.’ The temper he’d been holding onto finally slipped loose. ‘For Christ’s sake, grow up and think about what you’re doing.’

‘I will ring the bloody police,’ I shouted back, ‘and don’t talk to me like I’m deliberately courting danger. I’m not going to sit here and let some schoolboy play heroics all on his own. I’ll ring them now and, with any luck, they’ll be there before me.’ I stalked across the room and pulled the door to behind me. There were so many wood chippings littering the floor that the damn thing wouldn’t even slam properly.

‘Where’s the toilet?’ Leanne was waiting in the hall. I told her, then dialled the police.

The desk sergeant was less than helpful. I’d no crime to report, so he couldn’t squander police resources. In the end, I asked him to contact DI Miller as a matter of urgency and tell him where I was going and why.

‘Tell him someone is trying to kill Martin, that he’s got information of vital importance to the police.’ Okay, so I was being prodigal with the truth – but it was a pretty good hunch.

Leanne was quiet on the drive into town. That suited me. I was trying to grasp what the new information meant. Sharrocks had been abusing children in his care. JB and Derek were dead. Because of that? Leanne was still very much alive. Maybe she was next? Did Sharrocks know Smiley? How did any of that tie in to Janice’s murder?

It was still warm but damp too, a misty drizzle which turned the streetlamps into fuzzy, orange balls. We drove down Oxford Road. I turned right at the BBC studios and cut through UMIST and over to Piccadilly. I still wasn’t sure whether Leanne would be an asset or a liability. On balance, I thought I’d better leave her out of it. I pulled up outside the old warehouse. ‘I’ll drop you here,’ I said. ‘I don’t want too many of us chasing around after Martin.’

‘I want to come.’ Her voice was intense and she sat very still as she spoke. ‘Martin knows me. I won’t get in the way.’ In the pause that followed, I looked in the rear-view mirror, watched people walking towards town for a night in the clubs.

‘Please, it means a lot to me.’ That threw me and I let it affect my judgement. I agreed and made her promise that she’d do what I asked. I’d be calling the tune.

‘I just need to get something from the squat,’ she said.

‘What?’ I became suspicious.

‘I need to change my tampon,’ she retorted. I could hardly argue with that.

‘Get a move on, then.’

She was quick, I’ll give her that. She came back with a thin nylon jacket over the top of her T-shirt, all puce and lime-green. She brushed the beads of damp from her hair. Pulled out her cigarettes and lighter from her high-tops. I wound down my window, heard the snick of the flame and saw the flare of light.