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Authors: Cath Staincliffe
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crime scene. ‘Sorry about this,’ he wheezed. ‘Bloody printer’s on the blink.’
Grassmere and Richard helped to pin up the photo graphs. They depicted the allotments from various vantage points, as well as the nearby housing, Tulley’s plot, the shed inside and out, Matthew Tulley prone and on his back and close-ups of his wounds.
‘Death in all its glory,’ Janine said quietly.
She noted the way the squad settled, a shift in the atmosphere as each person saw what had been done to the man and as each adopted an image of the murder that would drive their work and, for some, haunt their dreams.
CHAPTER SIX
There was no bread left in the canteen when Janine called on her way out, but she managed to get a bottle of milk. She’d just got into her car, when Richard appeared. She wound down the window.
‘Fancy a drink?’
‘Can’t – kids.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe we could get a bite to eat some time?’
‘Be nice.’
‘Tomorrow – depending on …’
‘Yes. I’d like that.’
‘I’ll … erm .. .’ He waved his hand vaguely. She hadn’t got a clue what he was trying to say but she nodded anyway. He’d always had that quirky quality, as if his mind moved too quickly for his mouth to keep up. Richard would become inarticulate or his sentences trail off but it was often because he was distracted by some complex idea or insight.
He stepped away from the car and she gave him a farewell wave.
At her parents’ she felt a wave of exhaustion. The start of the second shift – so much to do before she could get any rest.
She was stunned when Pete opened the door to her. Knew immediately something must be wrong.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Someone has to pick up the pieces,’ Pete said.
Michael came into the hail. Oh, God. He was hurt, his face cut and bruised. ‘Michael! What’s happened?’
Tom ran out from the lounge. ‘Mum, Mum. He was mugged.’
He’d rung her, the Trafford Centre. He’d rung her and she’d practically ignored him. Her stomach lurched with guilt. She put an arm round Michael’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right? Why didn’t you say?’
He shrugged her off. ‘You were busy.’
That stung her.
Tom started fooling about, miming a hold-up.
‘What happened?’ she said again.
‘They tried to get his phone,’ Pete told her, his face set and anxious, ‘then they duffed him up.’
‘You should have just given them it,’ Janine told Michael.
‘I was going to,’ he shouted, ‘then they just ran off.’
She rounded on Pete. ‘You should have rung me.’ He glared back at her. She looked away. She didn’t want to start arguing in front of the kids. Michael had been through enough for one day.
They were halfway home, en route to the take-away pizza place, when Janine asked Michael what the police had said. In the rear-view mirror she saw him look away. There was an uncomfortable silence. He hadn’t reported it. She was shocked, he should report it, of course he should. She bit her tongue. Now wasn’t the time.
She got a chance later, after they’d eaten and she was in the middle of clearing up.
‘Michael …’
He guessed what was coming. ‘I don’t want to.’ He yelled at her and stormed out.
‘Bad time?’ Sarah, her neighbour and friend, was at the back door.
‘Depends.’ Janine said. ‘ If you came bearing gifts
‘Red or white?’
Janine gestured to her bump. She was on the wagon for the duration.
‘Milk or plain?’ Sarah amended. They shared a love of chocolate.
Half-an-hour later they were ensconced in front of the telly. Eleanor sat between Janine’s knees, a towel round her neck. Janine drew the comb through another swathe of slippery hair. Spotted the telltale grey blob on the comb. ‘Eleven. Other children bring home gerbils, hamsters.’
‘When I grow up I’ll invent a death ray for nits: one zap and they’re dead. And we’ll be dead rich and you’ll never have to work at the weekend.’
A little
Grassmere and Richard helped to pin up the photo graphs. They depicted the allotments from various vantage points, as well as the nearby housing, Tulley’s plot, the shed inside and out, Matthew Tulley prone and on his back and close-ups of his wounds.
‘Death in all its glory,’ Janine said quietly.
She noted the way the squad settled, a shift in the atmosphere as each person saw what had been done to the man and as each adopted an image of the murder that would drive their work and, for some, haunt their dreams.
CHAPTER SIX
There was no bread left in the canteen when Janine called on her way out, but she managed to get a bottle of milk. She’d just got into her car, when Richard appeared. She wound down the window.
‘Fancy a drink?’
‘Can’t – kids.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe we could get a bite to eat some time?’
‘Be nice.’
‘Tomorrow – depending on …’
‘Yes. I’d like that.’
‘I’ll … erm .. .’ He waved his hand vaguely. She hadn’t got a clue what he was trying to say but she nodded anyway. He’d always had that quirky quality, as if his mind moved too quickly for his mouth to keep up. Richard would become inarticulate or his sentences trail off but it was often because he was distracted by some complex idea or insight.
He stepped away from the car and she gave him a farewell wave.
At her parents’ she felt a wave of exhaustion. The start of the second shift – so much to do before she could get any rest.
She was stunned when Pete opened the door to her. Knew immediately something must be wrong.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Someone has to pick up the pieces,’ Pete said.
Michael came into the hail. Oh, God. He was hurt, his face cut and bruised. ‘Michael! What’s happened?’
Tom ran out from the lounge. ‘Mum, Mum. He was mugged.’
He’d rung her, the Trafford Centre. He’d rung her and she’d practically ignored him. Her stomach lurched with guilt. She put an arm round Michael’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right? Why didn’t you say?’
He shrugged her off. ‘You were busy.’
That stung her.
Tom started fooling about, miming a hold-up.
‘What happened?’ she said again.
‘They tried to get his phone,’ Pete told her, his face set and anxious, ‘then they duffed him up.’
‘You should have just given them it,’ Janine told Michael.
‘I was going to,’ he shouted, ‘then they just ran off.’
She rounded on Pete. ‘You should have rung me.’ He glared back at her. She looked away. She didn’t want to start arguing in front of the kids. Michael had been through enough for one day.
They were halfway home, en route to the take-away pizza place, when Janine asked Michael what the police had said. In the rear-view mirror she saw him look away. There was an uncomfortable silence. He hadn’t reported it. She was shocked, he should report it, of course he should. She bit her tongue. Now wasn’t the time.
She got a chance later, after they’d eaten and she was in the middle of clearing up.
‘Michael …’
He guessed what was coming. ‘I don’t want to.’ He yelled at her and stormed out.
‘Bad time?’ Sarah, her neighbour and friend, was at the back door.
‘Depends.’ Janine said. ‘ If you came bearing gifts
‘Red or white?’
Janine gestured to her bump. She was on the wagon for the duration.
‘Milk or plain?’ Sarah amended. They shared a love of chocolate.
Half-an-hour later they were ensconced in front of the telly. Eleanor sat between Janine’s knees, a towel round her neck. Janine drew the comb through another swathe of slippery hair. Spotted the telltale grey blob on the comb. ‘Eleven. Other children bring home gerbils, hamsters.’
‘When I grow up I’ll invent a death ray for nits: one zap and they’re dead. And we’ll be dead rich and you’ll never have to work at the weekend.’
A little
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