Ruthless (32 page)

Godzilla took a breath then spoke slowly. ‘If someone is running around with a knife, someone who has already shown a predilection for violence, you do not pursue them. You run the other way. You alert people to the danger. You minimize the risk. Mi-ni-mize. Three syllables. Do I need to carve it on your forehead?’

There was a long pause. Rachel broke the silence. ‘Connor Tandy?’

‘You’re going nowhere near him, lady. Too much history. Too involved. Get someone to transcribe that confession,’ she pointed at Rachel’s phone, ‘and sod off home. Janet, you prep for the interview. His mother will act as an appropriate adult. Solicitor is ready, with him now. But at his medical he declared he’s taken amphetamines so we can’t interview him until he’s clean. Doc reckons another couple of hours. Now go,’ she said.

‘You reckon Greg Tandy knew it was Connor?’ Rachel asked Janet.

Janet thought back to the interviews. The fleeting reaction to the physical evidence, that moment when he’d faltered. ‘I’m not sure, I think at first he thought he was being framed, thought it was a fit-up. But maybe he worked it out. Figured out who had access to his gloves. He was carrying the bag when the neighbour saw him on the Saturday but not on the Friday.’

‘Been to fetch it on the Saturday?’ Rachel said. ‘He left the family home on the Friday after the argument.’

‘You walk out,’ Janet said, ‘you don’t necessarily take everything with you.’

‘He’d take the guns, keep them close. Maybe some clothes.’ Rachel coughed and winced.

‘Should you be here?’

‘Don’t you start,’ Rachel said. ‘So you’ll ask Connor about the gloves and the accelerant?’

Janet nodded. ‘We have the twins and Greg Tandy meeting at the Bulldog Army malarkey on Sunday. Maybe they’ve heard he’s the go-to man for firearms. They get his number, rendezvous at Bobbins on the Tuesday and buy the gun.’

‘Not hired,’ Rachel said. ‘If they’d hired it, they’d have given Tandy it back but according to Connor they sold it to Victor in exchange for some gear.’

‘Which we found in their bedroom,’ Janet said. ‘So, the twins kill Richard Kavanagh and burn the Old Chapel. They go to the warehouse, sell the gun and get the drugs.’

‘On the Thursday!’ Rachel said. ‘Shirelle saw them leaving that day when she was on her way with new merchandise. She takes the money Victor and Lydia have made, stocks them up and calls at Keane’s on the Friday to give him the takings and get more drugs. Once the murder is made public, Greg Tandy’s cheering about it and his missus chucks him out but he won’t take Connor, in fact he slags him off and the stupid lad decides he’ll prove himself by committing a double murder.’

‘It fits,’ Janet said, ‘it all works.’

‘Don’t mess it up,’ Rachel said.

What the …?
Janet stared at her. ‘Me, mess it up? I’m not the one you want to worry about. Did you listen to a word—’

‘Just saying,’ Rachel retorted, ‘we’re nearly there. If you—’

‘Zip it,’ Janet said.

‘I only meant we’re so close—’

‘The hole’s deep enough. Stop digging.’

Unlike his father, Connor Tandy was prepared to answer questions. If only his mother would let him get a word in edgeways. She’d interrupted twice already, running him down, and Janet had to ask her to be quiet and let him talk.

‘You had your knife,’ Janet prompted him.

‘Yes. And we had some fuel for the barbie out the back. I took that and an old wine bottle and a bit of cloth. My lighter.’

‘Anything else?’ Janet said.

He thought. ‘A bag to carry it all and some gloves. In case of fingerprints.’

Janet nodded, non-judgemental, as if they were discussing the weather or bus timetables. She placed a photograph of Greg Tandy’s holdall on the desk and the gloves in their protective bag.

‘I am now showing Connor exhibit MG10 and exhibit MG16. Are these the gloves and the bag?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Your dad’s?’ Mrs Tandy said. ‘You stupid little idiot. What the fuck did you use his for?’

‘Mrs Tandy,’ Janet said sharply, ‘please. Just let Connor speak. Go on.’

‘I went down there when it was getting dark.’

‘To the warehouse?’

‘Yes. They were just chilling.’

‘Victor and Lydia. Had they taken any drugs?’ Janet said.

‘Yes, and I had some weed … I was working out what to do, who to do first …’ His voice trembled slightly, the first emotion he had betrayed. ‘… then Victor, he says, “Check this out.” And he’s got a gun. I says, “Where’d you get it?” and he says, “The Perry boys,” and if he sells it on how much will he get? Or maybe he’ll keep it for protection, right? In case of trouble. Lydia, she wants him to sell it though. They’re arguing but not shouting and I says, “Can I see it?” And he says sure. And I take it and I shoot him, two pops and she’s screaming, trying to get up, and I do her, three, ’cos the first one misses.’

‘Oh God, Connor.’ His mother covered her eyes.

‘Then I get the bottle ready and light it and chuck it by them and it works. Starts the fire.’

‘What were you, what in God’s … Jesus, Connor.’ Mrs Tandy sputtered to a halt.

‘What then?’ Janet said.

‘I went home,’ he said.

‘The bag and the gloves?’

‘Put them back under the stairs.’

‘And do you know what happened to them?’ Janet said.

‘My dad must have taken them.’

‘He did.’ Gloria shook her head. ‘He came round and got his stuff on the Saturday.’

‘You didn’t see him?’ Janet said to Connor.

He gave a shrug. ‘I was in bed.’

‘And the gun?’ Janet said.

‘Kept it in my room.’

‘We searched your house,’ she said.

‘Yeah, I had it on me. You weren’t going to strip-search us,’ he said. A light in his eyes, some cheek, pleasure in tricking the police.

‘And yesterday when shots were fired into your house …’

‘I did that. You had me dad but you didn’t have the gun, so if the gun was used you’d know it wasn’t him that done it.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ Gloria Tandy said, ‘I don’t bleeding believe it. What did you think would happen?’

‘They’d let him go,’ he retorted.

‘He’d broken his terms,’ she yelled, ‘let alone he’d a bagful of shooters.’

‘But that’s not murder,’ he said, ‘he wouldn’t go down for murder.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Janet intervened.

‘But you will, you stupid fucker!’ Gloria Tandy shouted.

‘Mrs Tandy, if you interrupt again I’m going to request that we find an alternative appropriate adult. Do you understand?’

Gloria Tandy crimped her mouth shut, tears standing in her eyes. She was heartbroken, Janet could tell, beneath the swearing and shouting she was devastated that she was losing her son.

Janet spoke to Connor. ‘Earlier today you shot and injured a serving police officer. Why did you do that?’

‘She lied to me, she was messing with me.’

‘And you admit to killing Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi?’

‘Yes.’

‘And can you tell me why you did that?’

‘To show him, my dad, to show him and everyone. He wouldn’t let me go with him, said I was still a little kid, no guts, no balls, probably a fucking pansy. Get back in touch again when my balls had dropped. And he hated them, coons, Pakis, immigrants. I’m not scared,’ Connor said. ‘I proved it.’

By killing two young people in cold blood? Two kids who fled God knows what horrors at home to eke out a living squatting in the unforgiving cold of a damp and desolate northern warehouse. Clinging to survival. Janet’s eyes burned. She blinked and took a breath, then thanked him for his cooperation. His solicitor would be informed of any further developments but in all likelihood they would be moving to press charges.

‘What about me dad?’ he said.

‘I can’t discuss that,’ said Janet.

‘He’ll be back inside, that’s right, isn’t it?’ Gloria Tandy said. ‘And none of this need have happened but for you. He’ll be inside and so will you, won’t he?’ she said to Janet.

Janet didn’t answer. Her silence said it all.

Gill was giving a speech to the press and media. She had rehearsed it until near word perfect so she could look at the cameras for most of the time.

‘This afternoon Manchester Metropolitan Police charged a fourteen-year-old boy, who cannot be named for legal reasons, with the murders of Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi. I would like to thank the community of Manorclough for their help and to thank my officers for their dedication and persistence’
but not their pigheaded reckless fuckwittery
‘in pursuing this case. The recent murders of Richard Kavanagh and Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi we believe to be hate crimes and if those charged are convicted they can expect to face longer sentences as a result. We all have the right to live safely in our community. Attacking another person for no other reason than a dislike of that person’s ethnicity, sexuality, subculture or lifestyle is an appalling crime and will be investigated with the utmost rigour and determination – as will any murder in our town. Our thoughts are with the relatives and friends of the victims. Thank you.’

Back inside the police station, the incident room was deserted. Plenty more to be done but nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. A wave of exhaustion made Gill dizzy. A good night’s sleep, that was what she needed, something decent to eat, an hour of telly, a chat with Sammy. Some routine. The team would be in the pub. She’d show her face, important to be there celebrating their success, to be part of it.

32

Just Rachel and Janet left now. The lads had stayed for a drink then gone to a pub down the road to watch the match. Mitch had gone home after showing his face. He had a young family and his work meant he missed out on a lot of the domestic stuff. He made up for it whenever he could.

‘He wasn’t thick, was he?’ Janet said. ‘Connor. Not like Noel and Neil Perry. He can’t have thought he’d get away with it.’

‘Search me,’ Rachel said. You could drive yourself mad trying to work out why people did the stupid stuff they did.

‘That hatred, living with it day in day out. It’s easier to fix on that, to blame other people, outsiders, isn’t it?’ Janet said.

‘What for?’

‘For everything that you hate about your miserable little life. But it’s like a split, isn’t it?’ Janet said. ‘He’s matey enough with Victor and Lydia, hangs around there. Probably likes the attention, he’s only fourteen, they’re dealing. Victor trusts him enough to hand him the gun, then it’s like someone’s flipped a switch. Bang bang. What did he think would happen? His dad pats him on the head and trains him up in the family business. No comeback, no repercussions. Did he think we wouldn’t catch him?’

Rachel thought of Dom – it was the same, doing idiotic stuff, no thought of the consequences. Decisions that ended with you banged up with the other lowlifes and hard men, the nutters and the knob-heads. Going slowly demented staring at the walls of a cell twenty-three hours a day.

‘He made a decision, a bad one. He pays the price. We all have to live with what we’ve done.’ Rachel drained her glass.

‘You should go,’ Janet said. ‘Sean’ll forget what you look like.’

‘He’ll be watching the game. No rush. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at home with Elise and everything?’

‘I should. I will. Soon.’

The door flew open and there stood Godzilla, a raptor waiting to pounce.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Rachel murmured, ‘now what’ve we done?’

She came over to them, stopped by the table. ‘The others gone?’

‘Yes,’ Janet said.

‘You’re still here?’ She fixed her beady eyes on Rachel. ‘Could have sworn I sent you home. So, you’ll have another?’

‘Maybe I should get going …’ Rachel reached for her bag, felt the tug of pain in her arm.

‘You’ll not have me drinking alone?’ Her Maj said brightly.

‘Course not,’ Janet said, ‘mine’s a white.’

‘Red, ta,’ said Rachel, giving in.

Godzilla nodded. ‘Chief super’s calmed down,’ she said. ‘Violent crime stats are through the roof, our place in the league tables may be shot to buggery but our clear-up rate is, as of today, bloody amazing.’

Rachel waited for the sting in the tail; it didn’t come. Instead the boss said, ‘You all right mixing red wine with whatever the hospital’s pumped you full of?’

‘Constitution of an ox,’ Janet said.

‘What is an ox anyway?’ said Rachel.

‘Half horse, half donkey?’ Janet said, like she wasn’t sure.

‘That’s an ass,’ the boss said, ‘which is more like it. Not known for their forward planning and risk assessment.’

Bingo
.

‘An ox,’ Her Maj went on, ‘is cattle, a castrated adult male. Peanuts?’

They both shook their heads and she made for the bar.

Rachel turned to look at Janet, whose eyes were twinkling.

‘Cheeky bitch,’ Rachel said. Janet laughed and that set Rachel off. It hurt to laugh.

‘Do you think we’re forgiven?’ Janet said.

‘You, maybe. Me? Never.’

‘Oh, go on, look at how she stood up for you when all that stuff with Dominic went down. She knows you’re a good copper, could be great. Just need some fine tuning …’

‘I’d kick you if I wasn’t in such bloody agony,’ Rachel said.

Godzilla came back in no time, tray in hand. Deposited the drinks and sat herself down. Raised her glass. Rachel and Janet did the same.

‘To us,’ she said.

‘To us,’ they echoed.

‘And sod the lot of them.’

‘Sod the lot of them.’

The cab took Rachel back past the hulk of the warehouse, spotlit as the process of demolition began. She saw a shadow in a doorway at the shops. Someone up to no good? Someone with no place to sleep? She wondered what Shirelle would do after her stint inside, bound to be sent down as far as Rachel could see. Would she go back to the old life or turn her life around? Rachel knew the rehabilitation rates for prisoners were pitiful.

Information had reached them that Stanley Keane was in Spain, could take months to get him back to answer charges even if they could track him down. Some other person would move up the hierarchy of Williams’s business. What would Shirelle think when she realized it was Connor who’d killed Victor and Lydia? Killed them because of the colour of their skin, to earn a few Brownie points with his father. A scrawny kid on a stunt bike who could have made something of his life, with the right support. Now the pinnacle of his life, the defining moment, a double murder.