Ruthless (19 page)

‘No.’

Shirelle’s phone rang, a polyphonic burst of music, a snatch of vocals and heavy bass. She froze.

‘Answer it, if you like,’ Rachel said.

Shirelle shook her head. ‘You’re fine.’

I might be
, Rachel thought,
but you’re far from
. ‘Had they made any enemies, was anyone threatening them?’

‘No,’ Shirelle said, ‘I’ve not seen them for a while anyway.’

‘You broke up with Victor when exactly?’

‘End of January.’

Shirelle’s phone blared again and the girl started.

‘Answer it,’ said Rachel.

‘S’OK, I’ll text,’ she said. Her fingers flew over the screen, tapping lightly, then a trill of birdsong signalled the text had been sent.

‘Work?’ Rachel hazarded a guess.

‘No,’ she shook her head.

‘You got a job?’

‘Signing on,’ Shirelle said, taking a drag on her rollie.

‘So you can see, we’re concerned to try and find out who would have cause to harm Victor and Lydia. You sure you can’t think of anything?’

Shirelle pressed her lips together, puffed out her cheeks a little. ‘No. Sorry.’

‘They were living in the warehouse,’ Rachel said. ‘What was that like?’

‘Pretty grim,’ Shirelle said, ‘the place was in a state.’

‘They were downstairs?’

‘Yes, they had some old chairs and milk crates and pallets to put stuff on.’

‘How long had they been there when you met them?’ Rachel said.

‘Not sure, a few weeks.’

‘I hope you understand, as a matter of routine I have to ask you where you were on Friday evening,’ Rachel said.

Shirelle stared at her, a look of incredulity spread across her face. ‘What— you are not serious?’

‘Where were you?’

‘Here,’ she said emphatically. She took a final pull on the fag and crushed it out in the cut-glass ashtray.

‘Anyone verify that?’

‘No. Yes. Pizza delivery.’

‘What time?’ Rachel said.

Shirelle shrugged. ‘Can’t remember. Some time around eight.’

‘Which takeaway?’ Rachel said.

‘Gino’s.’

Rachel made a note. ‘Noel and Neil Perry,’ she said, ‘you know them?’

A look of dislike crossed Shirelle’s face. ‘A bit.’

‘Did they know Victor and Lydia?’

‘Was it them?’ she said.

‘Did they know Victor and Lydia?’ Rachel repeated.

‘Don’t know.’

There was a sound from outside the flat, Shirelle glanced quickly at the door. Was she expecting somebody? She pulled her attention back to Rachel and said, ‘If that’s it …’ Putting a brave face on but Rachel could tell she was shocked and upset. If Shirelle knew the couple squatted in the warehouse she must have realized they could have been killed in the fire, even if she hadn’t known about the shooting. But she had not contacted anyone in authority to share her fears. All weekend she must have lived with that dreadful suspicion.

‘Almost done. When the warehouse went up in smoke, why didn’t you tell anyone there could be people inside?’ Rachel said.

‘I didn’t know they were still there,’ she said, her eyes darting round the room. ‘Like I said, I’ve not been for ages.’

‘Do you know whereabouts in Nigeria they came from?’ Rachel said.

‘Just Nigeria,’ she said.

‘Any relatives over there?’

‘No idea.’

‘Did Victor talk about Nigeria, why he’d come?’

‘No. Just said it was a nightmare, horror show and that was that. This was his life now. He was getting by. He wanted to go back to school, get an apprenticeship, but he was illegal.’

Rachel thought of the post-mortem report, the historic injuries. She knew fuck all about Nigeria but imagined war, rival factions, chaos. Sound reasons to get out, run and hide.

‘Were either of them religious?’ Rachel said. ‘For the funerals?’

Shirelle swallowed. ‘Christian,’ she said, blinking quickly, ‘both of them.’

‘Shirelle Young, that’s your full name?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your date of birth?’ Rachel said.

‘Why?’

‘I need all your details. There’s a chance you may need to give a witness statement, be prepared to come to court.’

‘No way,’ she said abruptly, ‘I’m not a witness. I don’t know anything about it.’

‘You’ve been very helpful, you’ve given us their identity, you knew them and even if you’ve not been in touch recently I’m sure you want us to catch who did this,’ Rachel said. ‘Date of birth?’

Shirelle still hesitated. Finally, ‘May third, 1992.’ Making her twenty.

As she stepped out into the fresh air, Rachel considered what she’d learned. There were plenty of questions in her head. Not least how someone on Jobseeker’s Allowance paid for designer furniture, a new kitchen and a state-of-the-art TV.

Rachel, in the car outside Hawkins House, called in the ID information on their latest victims. She also requested someone check out the pizza delivery and establish whether the courier from Gino’s could confirm seeing Shirelle Young on Friday and what time that had been.

Rachel didn’t have to wait long before Shirelle came out of the tower, wearing fancy neon trainers and with a small rucksack on her back. A minicab drew into the side of the road and the girl climbed in. Rachel followed as the cab drove out on to Shuttling Way and headed left away from Oldham town centre. They crossed the ring road and drove into Werneth. Rachel slowed down and allowed a people carrier to overtake her, putting it between her and the taxi so as not to arouse suspicion.

When the taxi stopped outside a house on Crescent Drive, Rachel drove past, noting the number, and parked further down the road outside a barber’s.

The taxi didn’t leave and five minutes later Shirelle came out of the house and got back into the car, which took her home. Shirelle went into Hawkins House again and twenty minutes later she came out and went on foot to the other tower block.

Another fifteen minutes and she reappeared and then headed off into the estate. Rachel couldn’t follow her unless she was on foot.

18

Rachel Bailey looked very pleased with herself, Gill thought. Fair dos. The DC had got them names for the dead couple and identified an associate.

‘She’s got the place kitted out like Ideal Home,’ Rachel was saying. ‘She swore blind that Victor and Lydia didn’t do drugs, but the word on the street is just the opposite.’ She glanced at Mitch, who nodded his agreement.

‘I’m sure she was making house calls after she’d picked the stuff up in Werneth and I’m not talking Avon.’ Rachel’s eyes were dancing, exhilarated by the progress they’d made.

Kevin yawned noisily, arching back in his chair and stretching his arms up and out.

‘Keeping you up, Kevin? Late night?’ Gill said.

‘Bit late,’ Kevin grinned, ‘couple of pints after here then—’

‘Not boring you then?’

‘No, boss.’ Oblivious.

‘Hate to bore you. What with this being a murder inquiry and everything. Keeping you up late an’ all.’

‘It’s fine, boss,’ said Kevin.

‘Is it? Fine?’ She saw his face alter. Light dawning. Dimly but there. ‘Let me tell you, what is far from fine is you sitting here in my syndicate yawning with a mouth like the Mersey Tunnel. That is not fine, that is rude and disrespectful. You want to yawn or fart or belch or scratch your arse, you do it in your own time. Clear?’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Now where were we. Oh, murder.’

‘The address in Werneth is for Stanley Keane,’ said Pete.

‘Williams’s muscle man?’ Gill said.

‘That’s right. Previous convictions for assault, GBH, dangerous driving, handling stolen goods and possession with intent.’

‘Mr Nice Guy,’ Gill said.

Pete swung his laptop around so they could see Keane’s charge sheet. The picture showed him to be a bulky man with a bushy beard.

‘Looks to match,’ Gill said. ‘I think we have reasonable grounds for a search of Keane’s house and the same for Shirelle Young’s place ASAP.’

‘Her alibi for Friday is solid,’ Rachel said. ‘Doesn’t necessarily cover the whole of the time frame for the double murder but comes slap bang in the middle of when we estimate it was kicking off, going by when the fire took hold. And when I told her they’d been shot, well, I don’t think she’d any idea.’

Gill looked round the rest of the team. ‘What else do we have? Greg Tandy?’

‘Still no trace,’ Mitch said.

‘Has he got a passport?’ Gill said.

‘Nothing current,’ Kevin said.

‘He could have fled using a false one,’ Rachel said.

Gill’s phone rang and she dragged it out.
Dave
. She killed it. ‘OK, let’s deal with the Richard Kavanagh charges first. Kevin with Rachel and Mitch in with Lee, hold their hands, walk them through the case, point out the crater-sized holes in their accounts and see if they have anything to add. Then charge them. Happy?’

They were.

Except it wasn’t that simple. Noel Perry, on being brought into the interview room with his lawyer, saw Lee and performed in true knuckle-dragging style. ‘I’m not talking to him.’

The solicitor tried to intervene but Noel wasn’t having it. ‘I’m not talking to some fucking ape in a suit.’

‘Mr Perry,’ Mitch said, ‘abusive language is not acceptable.’

‘So fucking sue me, I ain’t talking to any niggers.’

Gill was watching the unsavoury display, on playback. Lee and Mitch beside her.

‘You OK?’ Gill said.

Lee smiled. ‘Nothing I haven’t heard before. You want to put Pete in?’

‘No way! No lowlife tosser sits in my station and uses that sort of language against one of my officers then gets to call the shots. On the other hand you do not have to take that sort of abuse. Your shout. You go back in, if you’re happy to, and if he won’t play ball then move straight to charge.’ She had paused the video. It showed Noel Perry, eyes blazing, lips pulled back showing his teeth, the tendons in his neck taut like ropes.
Every mother’s dream
.

‘A pleasure,’ said Lee.

Neil Perry had a sneaky, sly look to him from the start. Cat got the cream. Even the way he sat was cocky, legs wide apart like his balls were the size of grapefruits whereas Rachel knew that steroids made them shrivel. His were probably pea-sized. Like his brain.

‘Mr Perry,’ Rachel said, ‘I want to talk to you some more about the death of Richard Kavanagh. Yesterday you told me you were in Langley on Wednesday evening but we have several eyewitnesses who saw you in Manorclough. Can you explain that to me?’

There was a light in his eyes, not intelligence, not even low cunning but some kind of twisted humour.

‘Must be seeing things. Tapped, probably mental.’ He gave a sickly grin. He’d not brushed his teeth and they were yellow, gummy around the edges.

‘You were also questioned about the presence of gunshot residue on your clothing. Residue which indicated you had fired a gun. How did that residue get on your clothes?’

‘No idea,’ he yawned.

Rachel stifled the reflex to yawn herself. She spoke more quickly. ‘You were unable to account for petrol traces found on your clothing and footwear. Perhaps you could tell me how that got there?’

‘It’s a mystery,’ he said and smiled again. Almost like he was high. But he’d not be able to get drugs in the police station, it was more secure that way than prison, where the drug trade thrived. Half the saddos in jail were addicts and if they couldn’t get stuff smuggled in they’d try making mind-altering substances from cleaning fluids or anything else. She remembered the twins’ father had died from a lethal batch of prison hooch.

‘Mr Perry, have you anything to add?’ she said, wasting her breath but it was important for the record to extend the invitation.

He shook his head.

‘Please wait a moment.’ She got to her feet.

‘You married?’ he said, grinning.

Rachel glared at him. Tosser.

‘You got a ring on. That’s just for show, innit? You’re a muff muncher, i’nt you?’

She wanted to slap his fat, smug face. As she reached the door, he said, ‘All right then, I did it, I shot him. And I set him on fire. I confess.’ The grin widened, showing his gums, and a bead of blood burst on the sore by his mouth.

Fuck me!
Perry’s lawyer looked as shocked as Rachel was but the turnaround accounted for why Perry had been smiling like a loon.

‘We would like to get a new statement from Mr Perry in the light of this admission of guilt,’ Rachel said to the solicitor.

‘Go for it,’ Neil Perry said.

Rachel announced that they would begin again in half an hour. Which would just give her time for a fag, a very large coffee and a chance to talk to Godzilla and find out what the other twin was doing.

Elise suggested taking flowers too but flowers didn’t seem right to Janet. They could send some for the funeral if that’s what Vivien and Ken wanted, the card would be enough for now. She said this to Elise, who answered, ‘Just a card?’

‘You could include a note, something personal about Olivia, your memories, what a good friend she was.’

Elise’s face compressed and she turned away. They were in a café. Janet couldn’t get Elise to have anything to eat but she had drunk a milkshake and Janet had a coffee. She’d had far too much coffee in the last forty-eight hours, could feel her nerves singing with false energy. Hard to resist though. There was a television on in the corner, the sound muted, thank God, as the news began with Olivia as the top story. Pictures of Olivia were everywhere. Time and again Janet’s stomach turned over, still not desensitized to the image of the girl who’d been part of their lives in such a shocking context, still not ready to accept the reality of her death.

‘You don’t have to do it all today,’ Janet said. ‘We could drop a card round now and then you can send something more when you’ve had time to think about it.’

‘OK,’ Elise said quietly.

She chose a card without a message, rejecting all the condolence cards with pictures of doves and crosses and phrases that she said were tacky. The card had a white background, embossed with shells, almost abstract. Janet had a pen in her bag.