Hit and Run (8 page)

Butchers nodded and set off, looking a little happier now he had a mission.

‘Boss,’ one of the DCs approached and handed her a document with a note attached. These told her that dental records in Poland matched their victim. The dead woman was one Rosa Milicz, believed to be living with family members on the outskirts of Krakow. Least we know we’re talking about the right person now, she thought. She told the officer to arrange for the Polish authorities to make sure any family were formally notified.

Shap came out of interview room two, where he’d been talking to Gleason. He looked fed up.

‘Well?’ Janine asked him.

‘Off-pat but he’s shaking. Yours?’

‘Cocky. Can I?’

Inside the room Shap updated the tape and sat back with his arms folded, happy to let Janine have a crack.

‘I’ve just been having a very interesting talk with Lee Stone,’ she told Gleason, who was rubbing at his long face repeatedly and whose body odour tainted the air. ‘He’s been very helpful.’

Gleason kept quiet.

‘Bit of a chequered past, Lee Stone. Now you, you’ve never been in prison: suspended sentence, community service order. We see that a lot, you know, associates who get dragged into things, get out of their depth. What can you tell us about yesterday morning?’

‘Nothing,’ he said urgently.

‘The car, the little girl?’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’ He bit at his thumb nail.

Janine waited a moment, studying him. ‘That little girl died last night. We won’t stop till we’ve got a conviction. Case like this – feelings run high.’

Gleason swallowed, his Adam’s apple large on his scrawny neck.

‘Half eight, nine a.m. where were you?’ Shap asked.

‘Home.’

‘We’ve already got one witness,’ Janine pointed out, ‘saw you and Lee Stone running from the car. And there’ll be others. Evidence too, on the car, in the car.’

‘People make that mistake: fire, think it all goes up in smoke but the technology we’ve got now – fantastic.’ Shap sounded positively delirious.

Gleason’s eyes swerved between the pair of them, he brought his arms across his chest. Defensive, Janine thought, hiding, protecting. He scratched at his forearm.

‘Who was driving?’ Janine said sharply.

The scratching stopped. ‘No comment,’ Gleason said, a waver in his voice.

Sod it. Janine rolled her eyes at Shap. The ‘no comment’ told her two things: Gleason had something to hide and they would not get anything else out of him now.

*****

Butchers stared at the woman. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this. It was all arranged, she was their best hope, and now she was standing there, her eyes shifty, face twitching, telling him she was pulling out.

‘All you have to do is look through the glass. See if the men you saw are there.’

She shook her head, moved as if to go inside.

‘You were happy to help us yesterday. Has someone been getting at you?’

She blinked rapidly, locked him with a defiant stare. ‘No. I just don’t want to get involved.’

‘But the little girl …’ He could barely contain the sense of righteous anger mounting inside him. She had to help them. She had to.

She shook her head, refusing to listen and shut the door.

Butchers stood there, his jaw tight, his hands clenched, his breathing ragged. Across the waste ground the sky arced, a canvas of heavy clouds interrupted here and there by shafts of vibrant sunlight. She’d seen it all from here, Butchers thought, a clear view across to where the car had been left. And now? Had she got kids? He wanted to bray on the door again, drag her out and force her into his car. He waited long enough and then, feeling sick, turned to go.

‘I had to release them,’ Janine told him when he reported to her office. ‘Without that witness …’

‘Changed her mind,’ he laughed harshly. ‘Had it changed for her, more like.’

Shap nodded in agreement.

‘But they’re good for it,’ Butchers insisted. ‘They were seen leaving the car.’ He was agitated, reluctant to accept the situation.

‘By a witness who won’t stand up,’ she said emphatically. ‘We need something stronger. We’ll keep tabs on them, a couple of DCs round the clock, and keep digging. Pull them back in as soon as we’ve a stronger case. We’re getting wall to wall press coverage and I’m sure we’ll get more people coming forward.’

‘But, Boss …’

‘That’s the way it is, Butchers. Deal with it.’ She was surprised at his pushing it. He knew the rules.

‘Now I’m going to pay a call on the Chinleys, later.’ She paused, looking from one of them to the other by way of invitation. Shap avoided eye contact, Butchers showed willing. ‘’Bout five thirty,’ she told him. ‘Come and find me.’

The remaining couple of hours flew by as she read reports from the teams on the cases and double checked that she’d recorded everything she had to in her case-book.

She was almost ready to leave when Richard arrived back from the Topcat Club.

‘Harper wasn’t best pleased to learn Stone is down for nicking his car,’ he said.

‘But he didn’t put Rosa and Stone together?’

Richard shook head. ‘And no one else did either.’

Janine groaned. ‘It’s like juggling soot.’

‘Welcome back.’

She rocked her head from side to ride, trying to ease the tension in her neck. ‘I’ve done a day’s work before I clock on. I knew I’d be stretched but I didn’t expect it to be quite so full on so soon.’

He smiled. ‘How about dinner,’ he said, ‘my treat? Next evening we get free.’

Oh, God. She hadn’t the energy. Any free evenings were for chores and kids and collapsing – not sparkling conversation and long, leisurely meals.

‘Richard, thanks. But … you’d have to stab me with a fork just to keep me awake. My biggest ambition is eight hours unbroken sleep … six,’ she amended. ‘I’ll let you know when she starts sleeping through.’ She smiled as she opened her office door. ‘Took Tom three years.’ She laughed at the ripple of exasperation that crossed his face.

The Chinleys lived in a neat brick terraced house a few minutes walk from Oak Lane school. They were attractive properties with generous sized rooms, stained glass in the windows, wooden porches overhanging the front door and small gardens back and front. Janine and Pete had almost bought one on the adjoining street but the sale had fallen through and they’d ended up buying something bigger a few months later when the death of Pete’s father meant they could afford a bigger deposit. These terraces were selling for a small ransom nowadays as more and more professionals looked for housing in the area.

Debbie and Chris Chinley both came to the door. Debbie seemed tinier than ever, made frail by grief, like a damaged bird. Chris looked remote, his eyes never really focusing on the here and now.

Their living room was adorned with photos of Ann Marie. Their only child.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Janine said. You could never say it enough. Not for something like this. Butchers nodded his own condolences.

‘Thanks for your flowers,’ Debbie said, her voice light, brittle. ‘Everybody’s been brilliant – really. And school …’ she struggled.

There was an awkward pause.

‘You got the car?’ Chris Chinley asked.

‘Yes,’ Janine replied, ‘it’s with forensics now. We’re talking to people who saw the vehicle and I think we’re making progress.’

‘Meaning?’ he asked bitterly.

‘Chris, don’t,’ Debbie said.

‘We have some very promising leads,’ Janine tried to reassure him.

‘You know who it was?’ he demanded. His broad, swarthy face darkening, his short, dark lashes flickering rapidly over his eyes.

Janine held up her hands, shaking her head. ‘I can’t talk to you about that,’ she said gently.

‘It doesn’t change anything,’ Debbie said simply. ‘If you convict them – she’s still …’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want something good to come from this …’

Chris sprang to his feet, headed out of the room. Janine signalled for Butchers to follow. ‘I keep forgetting,’ Debbie said. ‘How daft is that? I keep thinking where’s Ann-Marie, is she in her room, or I’d better get her dance kit ready and then I remember. Over and over.’

Janine nodded. All she could do was listen, sit there and listen and thank God that she wasn’t Debbie Chinley.

*****

Chris Chinley paced the kitchen looking out of place. Too raw for the neat white and jade units, the grey marble worktop and the fridge with its assortment of magnets.

‘Something good,’ he mimicked, ‘what possible good … that bastard is out there … drawing breath.’ He paused rubbing his large hands over his face, over the stubble and the shadows that made his eyes appear sunken.

The dog under the table raised its head and gave a whine. Chinley ignored it.

He spoke again. ‘You lot talk about promising leads and making progress.’

‘It’s not just talk,’ Butchers insisted.

‘You’ve got him?’ Butchers saw the hope flare in Chinley’s eyes. ‘Where is he? At the station?’

If only! Butchers looked away, his jaw clenched, betraying his own frustration. Stone should have been locked up tight and waiting for due process to kick in. There were times when he loathed the constraints of the job, the way the scallies played the system and won. Times when he felt screwed by the rules and regulations and the cowardice of the great British public who banged on endlessly about crime but ran a mile if they were asked to help do anything about it.

Chinley rounded on him, appalled. ‘Still out there?’ Almost a whisper, his arm pointing, his face vivid with disbelief. ‘Still out there?’ he repeated.

Butchers swallowed, felt a wave of shame. This man deserved better.

‘Who is he?’ Chinley moved closer to Butchers. ‘Who is it? Who killed my Ann-Marie?’

Butchers shook his head; he felt the sweat break out on his upper body, his heartbeat sprint.

‘Please?’ Chinley whispered, his eyes locked onto Butchers’, eyes spiked with pain.

*****

Janine wriggled out of her coat in the hall. Eleanor appeared from the front room.

‘How was school?’ Janine asked as they went along the hallway.

‘’Kay. I got an A in geography.’

‘Well done, Ellie.’

‘And Naomi’s having a sleepover – can I go?’

‘Yes, ‘course you can.’

‘Cool.’ Eleanor produced her mobile phone and turned, heading upstairs accompanied by bleats and beeps as she called her friend.

In the kitchen-cum-living room, Pete was flying Charlotte around like a plane; she was shrieking with glee. ‘Approaching runway two. Clear for landing Charlie Lima.’

‘Don’t you get enough of that at work?’ Janine said.

‘Give me a go,’ Tom yelled. ‘It’s my turn.’

Janine held out her hands and took the baby, settled her on one hip. ‘Have you been flying? Clever girl.’

Pete bent to lift Tom. And raised him up.

Michael came in with a pile of dirty pots which he began to put in the dishwasher. Another year and a half and Michael would be off to university, leaving home maybe. Though more of them seemed to stay put than they had in Janine’s time; chose courses close to the family nest. Money perhaps. She and Pete should be able to help him out with fees and the like so if he wanted to go further afield then the opportunity would be there.

‘Parents’ evening.’ Michael took a bite of an apple and handed Janine a letter from his sixth form college. ‘Next week.’

‘Going all right?’ Sometimes she felt she barely saw him these days. Probably healthy, growing up, gaining his independence.

‘Yes, good.’

‘Great. Don’t know whether it’ll be me or your Dad but one of us will be there.’

Charlotte began to grizzle. ‘You hungry?’ Janine took a bottle from the fridge and put it in the warmer. Charlotte screeched.

‘Did you get them Mum?’ Tom held his arms out rigid as Pete placed him back on the floor. ‘Did you put them in jail?’

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Doing my best, though.’

*****

The streets were slick with rain, reflecting light from the lamp-posts and car headlights. Chris’s chest felt tight, hard. As though he had swallowed cement and it had gradually set, swelling and stiffening. His heart was a boulder, lodged like a weight in the centre of him.

He imagined the bastards’ faces, the surprise when they clocked who he was. His grief releasing him to do whatever he chose. A rock smashing into them, crushing the fingers that had steered the wheel, the feet that had gunned the accelerator, blowing them away … He braked sharply. No point being caught for speeding before he’d had his chance.

Chris had never been much of a fighter. At school, his big build and his easygoing nature had spared him the attention of the hard cases. The one time he had got mixed up in a playground brawl, he’d decked one of the ringleaders and received a broken nose for his pains.

Later, as a man, the only fights he’d known were times he’d intervened in drunken mêlées. One time, three lads were kicking seven shades of shit out of another man. Chris had pulled them off, yelling that the police were coming. He got a shove or two and a load of abuse but the trio legged it. The broken nose helped. Made Chris look like a boxer. Another time, he’d got mixed up in a lovers’ fight. The man had been slapping the woman about the head, hard enough to break her jaw. ‘Leave her be,’ Chris had told him, one hand raised in warning. ‘That’s way out of order.’

The man had turned to Chris and let go of the girl. Released, she flew at Chris. ‘Get off him,’ she shrieked, oblivious to the fact that Chris hadn’t laid a finger on the guy, ‘yer wanker, eff off.’ And she had clouted Chris with her handbag then kicked out at him with one vicious looking stiletto which raked a neat quarter-inch furrow down his shin.

Now he wasn’t frightened or agitated because it was like he was on automatic. He imagined that soldiers maybe felt like that before battle or someone jumping out of a plane.

He knew the way. He’d done a few jobs on one of the estates on the fringe of Wythenshawe. Sort of places people bought because it was near the airport and the motorways. They wouldn’t be there more than a few years and they could buy it newly built and sell it for a neat profit and it even came painted, carpeted and fully fitted. Move in a couch and a bed and you were in business.