Ruthless (28 page)

The furnishings were practical, minimal. Industrial-style carpet, flecked so as to mask marks. Formica table and four dining chairs, a modest TV. Plain green curtains. No paintings or cushions, no touches to make it anything other than a place of transit. Rachel thought of a budget hotel crossed with a clinic or a dentist’s. Bland pretending to be homely and failing.

‘I’m starving,’ said Connor.

‘There’s bread and milk.’ Rachel held up the bag.

The kitchen smelled stale though the pedal bin and fridge were empty. The fridge was switched off so she turned it on. Gloria examined the central heating controls and set that going. ‘It’s freezing,’ she said.

‘You’ll be cold from the shock, too,’ Rachel said. ‘There’s a toaster,’ she showed Connor.

‘Don’t just want toast,’ he complained.

‘I saw a chippie down the way. I’ll go, give you a chance to try the intercom when I get back.’

‘Sound!’ He grinned like it was a game.

‘Change your clothes and shoes first, put everything you are wearing now in these.’ She gave each of them evidence sacks and passed them the bags of new gear.

‘I’m not going out like this,’ Connor moaned when he re-emerged. ‘What are these – Primark?’ He stuck out a foot in a blue and black trainer.

‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Rachel said.

Gloria didn’t want anything to eat, but Connor asked for chicken and chips, or sausage, chips and gravy. And Coke. Rachel wondered if she could claim it on expenses.

She let herself out, put the evidence bags in the car and walked along past the lawyers’ and accountants’ offices, shielding her cigarette from the wind and rain to light it.

She wondered if there was a link between the attack on Shirelle and this one. All three targets – Shirelle, Gloria and Connor – were on the fringes of the case, close to potential main players. Shirelle knew the murder victims and worked with Keane, who might be a suspect. Connor also knew the dead couple, well enough to tell Rachel that Shirelle had dated Victor. And Gloria was married to a man who was now a candidate for the killing of the two young people. A man with access to weapons and with accelerant on his gloves.

When she got back to the safe house she pressed the intercom.

‘Who is it?’ Connor’s voice crackled.

‘It’s me, you daft git, let me in.’

‘Not if you’re calling me names,’ he said.

‘I’ll eat your chips then, shall I?’

He buzzed her in.

While Connor ate in front of the telly, Gloria sat in the kitchen, smoking and drinking tea. Her earlier shock and exhaustion gave way to a burst of anger when she said to Rachel, ‘This is him, isn’t it? Greg, it’s because of him?’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘What else can it be?’ she hissed.

‘We’re trying to establish what Mr Tandy has been doing. If you can help—’

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head sharply. ‘All I know is he was shooting his fucking mouth off after that tramp got killed and I told him I didn’t want to hear it. He could go. So he did. No argument. We hadn’t been getting on since he came out, not for a long while before that.’

‘What was he saying about the tramp?’

‘How it was a good thing, people like that scrounging off the rest of us, scum of the earth. He’d like to shake the hand of whoever did it. He was pissed,’ she added. ‘Not like it was a Muslim, is it?’

‘Kavanagh?’ Rachel said.

‘Yeah. Not a terrorist, a Paki. I could understand that. Coming over here and blowing stuff up. Forced marriages. Grooming our kids. And they’re dirty.’

Rachel didn’t know where to start with that little lot. Didn’t even try. ‘So you argued?’

‘I’d had enough. He’d only been home a week and I knew he was up to something. I don’t want Connor going the same way.’

Rachel remembered Connor’s earlier comments, ‘T
hey all look the same to me, niggers.
’ A chip off the old block.

‘Connor wanted to go with him. They don’t get it at that age. You try and keep them steady but—’

‘You wouldn’t let him?’

‘No. To God knows where, and with the probation after Greg once they find out he’s not at home. Anyway …’ She ground out her cigarette and as if on automatic took the ashtray and emptied it into the bin. ‘… I said I wasn’t having it so then I’m in the doghouse with Connor, and Greg goes and makes it ten times worse by saying that he didn’t need a kid hanging round his neck, whining all day. And now this – whatever he’s done.’

Rachel didn’t give her anything. Better not to say.

‘That’s it,’ Gloria said. ‘If he’s brought this down on us, he can forget it. I’ll divorce him.’

‘What about Marcus Williams or Stanley Keane?’ Rachel said. ‘Did Greg say anything about them? Could they have been behind the attack?’

‘No, he never said anything about anybody,’ Gloria insisted.

Rachel went over the precautions with them one more time before she left. ‘You are not under house arrest, you are here for your own protection. You can go out, though I’d advise you to stay here as much as possible. Do not go anywhere you may be recognized. That means staying away from home, work, family, friends, school. Yes?’

‘Cool,’ Connor smiled.

Gloria rolled her eyes. ‘How long for?’

‘I don’t know. We need to identify the threat. If you do speak to anyone on the phone do not reveal your whereabouts.’

Rachel sat outside in her car and rang in. Godzilla answered.

‘Rachel. Everyone all right?’

‘Yes, boss, settled in for the night.’

‘Good. We’ve recovered several bullets from the scene.’

‘Any witnesses?’ Rachel said.

‘None. All too busy tucked up watching the soaps.’

‘I’ve got the clothes to log in,’ Rachel said. ‘Boss, I didn’t get to talk to the neighbours about Tandy’s recent movements.’

‘Briefing tomorrow, we’ll look at that then.’

Another inch, Rachel thought, a different angle of entry and they would have had another fatality on their hands, a scrappy, mouthy fourteen-year-old, shot watching TV.

27

Rachel had been brooding about Sean blabbing to her mother for twenty-four hours. It all came to a head as soon as she got in. He started wittering on about tomorrow’s football and where to watch it, like nothing was wrong. Even Sean must have noticed the god-awful atmosphere last night and her mother’s sudden departure from the pub.

‘How could you tell Sharon about Dom, about me turning him in?’ Rachel said. ‘That was private.’

‘But she’s your mam,’ Sean said, ‘Dom’s too.’

‘In name only. You had no right!’

‘Rachel, please, calm down.’

‘Don’t tell me to calm down.’

‘I thought she knew, knew he was in prison, I thought you’d have told her.’

‘That I fucking put him there? And now she’s playing the bloody martyr, the saint.
Blood is thicker than water. You look out for your own
. Fucking hypocrite.’

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but at least it’s out in the open.’

He really did not get it. He thought shoving people back together again meant they’d all play happy families. He did not see the Baileys were more your Jeremy Kyle-style family. Fractured and fucking hopeless. She should never have married him. The thought was like a knife, swift, lancing through her. Oh God. She felt awful, disloyal, and cruel. Don’t be daft, she told herself, give it time.

‘You know what she’s like,’ she was saying, ‘a bloody disaster.’

‘She’s not all bad,’ he said.

‘I can’t be doing with her, Sean, every time I turn round she’s here, wanting things, talking—’ She didn’t know how to make him see it.

‘She’s missed a lot,’ he said.

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘But it’s water under the bridge, isn’t it? Think of the future.’

She didn’t want to. ‘I need to take it more slowly,’ she said, ‘small doses, you know?’

‘OK.’ He sounded reluctant.

‘So don’t encourage her. If she comes round, tell her we’re busy or we’re going out.’

He looked pained. For all his street smarts Sean was rubbish at lying, at playing games.

‘Though we probably won’t see her for a bit, the way we left things. Least not till she’s running short,’ Rachel said.

Sean nodded, pulled her close, kissed her. Rachel felt uncomfortable, too hot, and twitchy. She drew away. ‘Think I’ll have a run,’ she said.

‘Now?’

‘Wind down.’

‘What’s wrong with the sofa, Thai chicken curry?’

‘Sean—’

‘All right,’ he said, ‘do what you got to do.’

He was so grateful to have her there he’d bend over backwards rather than say anything to challenge her. But instead of being thankful, that made her feel worse. She made an excuse: ‘Bitch of a day.’

‘Go,’ he said, ‘I’ll be here when you get back.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘course you will.’

‘Sammy, I need to talk to you,’ Gill said. ‘Turn that off.’

‘I cleared up the other day,’ he objected.

‘It’s not that.’

He looked at her, picking up on her serious tone, paused his game.

Gill crossed and sat in the armchair. She felt anxiety fluttering behind her breastbone. ‘It’s about your dad,’ she said. ‘He’s gone into rehab.’

‘Where?’ Sammy said.

‘A place in Cheshire. Like a hotel.’

‘Without a minibar.’

She smiled, ‘Exactly.’

‘How long will he be there?’ Sammy asked.

‘I don’t know, as long as he needs.’

‘OK.’

She rubbed at the cloth, the piping around the edge of the chair arm. They had picked the design together, her and Dave, argued about the colour scheme. She won. And later he admitted it worked, both comfortable and stylish at the same time. They had christened the couch the night it was delivered. Days when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Sammy sound asleep upstairs. They’d been so bright back then, nothing seemed too hard. Gill working all hours solving murders, Dave gaining promotion. Both ambitious. Both still on the way up, proud of each other. Good prospects. Good money. Enough to build this place, enough for good food and clothes and cars. And Sammy. The blessing of Sammy.

All that and now this.

She made a fist, tapped it on the chair a couple of times. ‘Your dad, he’s been – well, you know he’s been having problems for a while.’

‘Yeah,’ a hint of sarcasm there. She was stating the bleeding obvious. She kicked herself. ‘Well, he came here drunk last night, broke into the summerhouse, blacked out. And now he’s getting help, professional help.’

Sammy’s mouth twisted, he shook his head in disgust. Seeing this, his loss of respect for his dad, hurt more than anything.

‘It’s hard for us to understand,’ she said, ‘but it’s a disease, an illness. It’s not about you or me or anyone else. He still loves you, Sammy, whatever else. You know that?’

‘I suppose.’

‘He does. And so do I.’ She gave him a hug. ‘We’re going to be all right.’

‘I know,’ he said.

‘How’s Orla?’ She changed the subject.

‘Good, yeah.’

‘We should go out some time,’ she said, ‘the three of us, a meal.’

‘Right,’ he said, ‘before Christmas or after?’ Sarky. Sarky was OK.

‘I do have days off,’ she chided him. ‘I’ll tell you when and you can ask her.’

‘OK.’

‘She’s not vegan or anything?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘OK, that’s a date to be arranged.’

She expected him to return to his game but he switched it off and disappeared upstairs.

Gill closed her eyes, took a breath and let it out slowly. She looked outside where the cherry tree stood in shadow, the rain falling steadily against the windows. She closed the curtains.

It’s going to be all right, she told herself. Who knows what might have happened if she hadn’t found Dave when she did, if she hadn’t forced him to see what was so blindingly obvious, if she hadn’t finally got through to him. And now he was off her back, out of circulation and, she dearly hoped, was going to make a good recovery. She’d need to get the glass fixed in the summerhouse, clear out the mess in there. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight she meant to eat something decent and get a good sleep and try to feel halfway normal again. For her and her boy.

It was all going to be all right.

Day 7

Wednesday 16 May

28

‘What the fuck is going on out there? See this?’ Gill held up a copy of the
Sun
.
DEATH TOWN
screamed the headline. ‘We’ve got three murders, a high-profile drug death, and now people are running around beating up and shooting at potential witnesses. We know the same weapon was used in all three killings but we do not have that weapon.’ She took a breath. ‘What we do have is a man in custody, in possession of incriminating evidence. The clock’s ticking and we need more on him. Anyone?’

Rachel spoke up. ‘For the timeline, Tandy left the family home on Friday. He’d heard about the Kavanagh murder, reckoned it was good news. His missus had had enough. They argued. No contact between him and the family since, according to her.’

‘The lab has found his DNA on the gloves.’

‘Brilliant!’ Rachel said.

‘Hold your horses – there’s also another profile,’ Gill said.

‘On the system?’ Janet asked.

‘No,’ Gill said. It weakened their case. Tandy’s defence could always claim that someone else, identity unknown, wore the gloves, fired the gun and used the accelerant.

‘It’s not Stanley Keane, he is on the DNA database?’ Janet again.

‘Yes he is and it’s not him,’ Kevin said.

‘Where is Keane?’ Gill said.

‘No sign.’ This from Mitch.

‘Time we paid Marcus Williams a visit, maybe Keane is staying there,’ Gill said.

‘Are you thinking Keane might have shot Lydia and Victor?’ said Janet.

‘The items recovered, the gloves, were at his address, we can link him to Shirelle and the drug business, he’s a known associate of Williams but … the DNA doesn’t fit.’ Gill felt boxed in; the evidence they acquired kept weakening the case rather than supporting their suspicions. ‘Sticking with Tandy,’ she went on, ‘if he is our killer, what’s the likely sequence of events? Starting with his release.’