Blue Murder (20 page)

She steered Jade into the room.

‘Hello, Jade.’ He had a blue shirt on and a tie with Tweety Pie all over it. He was a bit fat. He looked like Megan’s dad without the tattoos.

‘Your mum says you’re a bit shy of the police?’

Jade gave her mam a sulky look.

‘There’s no need. We’re here to help. We have a motto. Do you know what a motto is, Jade?’

She thought it sounded like one of the Instants you got at the shop. She shook her head.

‘It’s a saying, like a promise. Our motto is to serve and protect. That’s our job and people like you can help us do that. Now, you know a man’s been hurt, been killed over on the allotments on Saturday?’

Jade found a scab on her knuckle that was nearly ready to pick. She pushed at it.

‘What I want to know is whether you saw anyone on Saturday morning, anyone going to the allotments or coming away, anyone near there?’

‘She’s not allowed down there,’ Mam said.

The policeman looked at Mam.

‘There’s been fires set and all sorts in the past. There’s lads messing by the railway line, sniffing glue and I don’t know what. All these perverts about it’s not safe.’

He nodded. ‘You don’t play down there?’

Jade shook her head.

‘But you might have seen something from your window or the yard. You could probably see quite a lot from upstairs.’

‘No, I didn’t see anyone. I was watching telly,’ said Jade. Lying. One of the sins. Jade imagined her soul, a big satin cushion, all white and shiny with a mark on now. A black mark. Like where Mam burnt the hole in the duvet but a sin would be more like a smudge, more splotchy. There was another mark for breaking her promise and going onto the allotments.

‘Thank you,’ the policeman stood up.

‘Can I go now?’

Mam nodded.

Jade ran up to her room. Everyone did wrong things. That’s why Jesus had come, that’s why they had confession to make it all right again. When you went to confession if you were truly, truly sorry your sins were wiped away. And your soul was made all clean again. Like Flash.

*****

‘What did Matthew tell you about his family, Lesley?’ Janine was asking the questions.

‘Well, he hadn’t any. His parents had died in a car crash when he was at college; he was an only child. Why?’

‘We’ve spoken to Matthew’s parents today.’ Lesley looked stunned. ‘Oh, my god.’

‘Have you any idea why he would tell you they were dead?’

‘No, none.’

‘And they have a daughter, Matthew’s sister, married with children.’

‘I don’t know what to say, I don’t … Did they know about me?’

‘No. Matthew had been married before.’

‘No!’ she cried.

‘We’ve verified the records, Lesley. Matthew was married in 1979. They separated a year later.’

‘No!’ She sniffed hard, shielded her eyes with one hand.

‘Laura, she was called. He never told you?’ Lesley didn’t speak.

‘Emma said you’d not had an easy time. What did she mean?’

‘Nothing, just …’

Janine waited for her to fill the silence.

‘… sometimes, I get depressed.’

‘Yet you claim the marriage was a happy one? Did either of you have affairs?’

‘No.’ Lesley looked furious, appalled to be asked.

‘What time did you leave your house on Saturday?’ Richard took over.

‘About nine o’ clock. You know this.’

‘So, you arrived in town at what time?’

‘About twenty past.’

‘Where did you get the parking ticket?’

She frowned, apparently puzzled at their interest.

‘From the machine, in the car park.’

‘The ticket doesn’t correspond to the actual time of your arrival at the car park,’ he said, his eyes intent on her. ‘The ticket you gave us is for 9.22.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Where did you get it, Lesley?’ Janine said.

‘From the machine.’

‘What did you do with the clothes in the washing machine?’

Lesley shook her head, gave a hollow laugh as if to say this was ridiculous.

‘We’ll find them.’ Janine told her. ‘We can recover traceable fibres even from ashes.’ Janine pulled out a diary. ‘This is Matthew’s diary, last year. Turn to March 17th. You see the asterix there, the time eight o’clock. Do you know what that meant?’

Lesley shook her head.

‘St Patrick’s Day. Can you remember what your husband did that evening?’

‘No, probably something with school or the church.’

‘No, we’ve checked. June 7th, an asterix again, 8.30. September 6th, November 29th. And this year,’ she picked up a second book. ‘This coming Friday. Did your husband have plans for this Friday evening?’

‘Perhaps he didn’t want you to know?’

Janine studied Lesley. She was shaking slightly, her mouth closed tight with irritation or feat ‘We found condoms among Matthew’s things. Why would he need condoms?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You can’t have children?’

‘Was Matthew having an affair?’

‘No,’ she insisted.

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ A spark of anger in her response echoed by the flickering in her dark eyes.

‘After all, he lied to you about his first wife.’

‘So what!’ she snapped.

‘Perhaps he lied to you about this too.’

‘I wouldn’t know then, would I?’ she shouted vehemently.

Paula wasn’t there. It was quarter past three and Dean sat on the bench and watched people parade by. Maybe she wouldn’t show? He could tell she was well pissed off but she’d kept asking to see him.

He hadn’t worked out what to say. Hadn’t worked anything out. Didn’t want to lose her but he didn’t know what would be worse; telling her the truth and losing her or lying and losing her anyway. Maybe go for something in-between. Like before.

She knew he had been in Hegley. He’d told her that not long after they first got together; three missing years not easy to hide. They had been for a meal, a busy Italian place on Deansgate. Lots of chatter and clatter, office party in the corner. Giant pepper mills that made Dean want to laugh, the size of them.

Afterwards they had walked along the canal. It was quiet there. Lights reflected in the oily water. It had been done up and there were bridges and places to sit, bits of sculpture dotted about. They found a bench and stopped for a while. She leant against him, easy and he felt warm and a bit scared because he had promised himself he would tell her tonight.

He spoke haltingly. ‘Paula, there’s something I want to tell you about … when I was younger I was a bit wild made some mistakes. I got sent down; Young Offenders Institution. I was there three years.’

She sat very still. She didn’t pull away. He kept looking at the water, the lights dancing and stretching in there, and the shadows from the old railway arches that towered over them. ‘I learnt my lesson. Places like that you grow up fast. I know what I want now, what’s important.’

He had waited for the question that he didn’t want her to ask. The question he didn’t know how to answer.

‘What did you do, Dean?’

A train rattled by overhead, the noise drowning any other sound. Dean listened as it died away. He took a breath. ‘I hurt someone. Knifed him. It was stupid, I was pissed and he threatened me, acting the hard man and I just lost it.’

Telling her the same as he told everyone. Telling her lies.

‘You had a knife?’

‘I did back in those days. Paula, I was all over the place. Straight out of care, sixteen, hadn’t a clue. I messed up but it’s behind me now.’ He paused. ‘Thought you should know.’

‘The guy?’ she asked softly.

He had nearly died. They said it was a miracle that he had survived such a savage attack. ‘He had surgery. He was all right.’ He heard her release a breath.

‘Since then?’

‘What?’

‘You ever hurt anyone?’

‘No, never. I’m not like that. Paula, honest, it was a one-off. Anything happens I walk away.’

‘Dean.’

He turned to her, his hands sweating, wound up like a corkscrew. Looked at her. Wanting to beg but knowing that it was down to her. Begging wouldn’t help. She looked at him a long time, the light was dim but there was enough to see her eyes, gleaming in the dark, glinting with the reflections from the water. He held her gaze. Breathed in her perfume, smelling of hay and oranges. Then she had smiled and put her face close to his. ‘Let’s go home.’

She had trusted him then.

A bus swung into the station its brakes squealing, scattering pigeons. Dean watched them wheel up and round before landing on the surrounding roofs. He saw her then, crossing the road; long limbs, white coat and black pedal-pushers. He stood, foolish with excitement until the reason for their meeting came slamming back into his mind, squashing everything flat and leaving him stranded.

*****

Ferdie and Colin had just started dividing the stuff, spooning it onto the little scales and then into baggies when there was loud knocking at the door.

Colin’s eyes went round like marbles. ‘Bleedin’ ‘ell,’ he shrieked sotto voce, ‘who’s that, Ferdie?’

‘I dunno, do I?’

Colin darted down to the cupboard under the sink and came back with a biscuit tin.

They crammed everything into it and he put it back under the sink, kicking the cupboard door shut with his foot.

The knocking came again. Ferdie nodded at Colin to answer it, stood beside him.

‘Ferdie,’ DS Shap gave a wide grin, ‘thought I’d find you here. You must be Colin. DS Shap,’ he flashed his ID. ‘Just a couple of questions, Ferdie.’ Shap stepped up into the caravan.

‘Harassment, innit, that’s what this is. Next time you’ll have to arrest me, I’ll want a brief and everything,’ Ferdie complained.

‘Fair enough.’

Inside Shap gave the place a once over and motioned for Ferdie to sit down in the living area. ‘Colin?’ He nodded to the sleeping quarters.

There was a slight delay, then Colin grasped he was being asked to leave. ‘Oh,’ he mouthed and went; though there was precious little privacy in the confined space.

‘Now, Ferdie,’ Shap gave another bright, insincere grin and leant carefully against the side wall. ‘First off, what size feet have you got?’

‘Ten. Why?’

‘Those got the size on?’ Shap nodded at his trainers. Ferdie slid low in his seat and lifted a foot. Shap crouched and peered closer. ‘Forty-four, that a ten in English money, is it? Dunlop.’ He straightened up. ‘Got any other trainers?’

‘Not made of money, am I?’

‘How well do you know Mrs Tulley, Ferdie?’

‘I don’t know her.’

‘Sure about that? Lovely looking woman. Out of your league, is she? Got a girlfriend, Ferdie?’

Ferdie sneered.

‘That a no? You may know her as Lesley if you were on first name terms.’

‘I don’t know her.’

‘Bumped into her at school perhaps?’ Shap persisted. ‘Open day, whatever?’

Ferdie shook his head, his fingers kneading at the blurred tattoo on his neck.

‘She ask you for anything, Ferdie? Ask you to do her a favour, money in it?’

‘You’re off your head, you.’ Ferdie retorted.

‘And are you off yours?’ Shap sniffed pointedly, rubbed at his nose. ‘Colin.’ Shap called the lad back.

Colin appeared, gnawing at his lower lip.

‘What size feet you got, Colin?’

He stood there like a frozen rabbit.

‘Hard question, I know. Phone a friend?’

‘Nines,’ Colin blinked.

Shap sighed. Stood up. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day, won’t you?’ Giving two very distinct sniffs, he beamed at them and left.

‘He knows we’ve got some stuff.’ Colin hissed as soon as Shap had gone.

‘He was taking the mick.’

‘Why didn’t he do us?’

Ferdie shrugged. Deciding to get on with the job anyhow. Biscuit tin out again, scales, roll of baggies.

‘But that’s a good sign, isn’t it?’ Colin said.

‘Are you mental? He knows we’ve got some stuff. He’ll probably be back again after his share. That’s all we need. A dodgy copper wanting a cut.’

‘He never said …’

‘They don’t have to. That’s how they work, innit. They do it more by what they don’t say.’

Colin didn’t understand. ‘I meant about the murder, though,’ he tried, ‘if he was windin’ you up then maybe they’ve stopped looking at you for the murder. I thought he was going to arrest you when he sat you down in here.’

Ferdie stared at Colin. Watched his friend go pale with unease. ‘You think I did it, don’t you?’

‘No, I don’t,’ he said quickly.

‘I was with you all morning. How could I do Tulley?’

‘Not till half-ten you weren’t,’ Colin said resentfully.

‘’Kin’ brilliant,’ said Ferdie, shaking his head.

‘That’s it! Bag this and that’s it. And I’m telling you Colin this is the last time I pull anything with you. Crappin’ your pants half the time and dissin’ your mates the rest. Forget it right? Divvy this up and I’m out of here. For good.’

*****

Paula didn’t touch him. Stopped just far enough away. No smile, no kiss.

‘Dean.’

‘D’ya get lost?’

‘One-way system. Parked miles away.’

‘Go for a drink?’

She shrugged. An awkward moment like they’d lost the script. There was a pub round the corner.

Douggie had given him fifty quid to tide him over. He bought himself a pint of lager, a sparkling water for Paula. The pub was dead. Just a couple of guys drinking alone, wishing the afternoon away. One of them had a thin cigar, the rich smell mixed with the yeasty aroma of beer. The barmaid was bored rigid, eyes locked on the TV.

Dean and Paula sat in an alcove, out of sight and earshot of the other customers. Dean took a long swallow of his drink. Placed it carefully on the beer mat. Licked his lips. His throat felt tight. Like someone was squeezing it.

‘Have you rung the police?’ She kept her voice low, looking sideways at him. Straight for the balls.

‘Why not?’

He rubbed at the back of his neck. Groped for words. ‘I can’t.’

She turned on the bench seat, swivelled round till she was facing him. ‘But if you don’t talk to the police they’ll come after you Dean, it makes you look guilty, dunnit?’