‘Nearly done,’ Rachel said. She skimmed back over her notes. ‘And when did you last see her?’
‘The twenty-fifth of November.’
‘And how was she then?’
‘I had no particular concerns – nothing new, anyway,’ he amended. ‘I’ve tried talking to her about rehab, but it’s got to come from them.’
‘Was anyone threatening her? Did she have any enemies?’
‘No.’
‘Thanks. If anything else occurs, just give us a ring.’ Rachel passed him a card, the MIT number. It didn’t have her name on yet, something she’d have to ask Gill about – or Andy. As sergeant, he might be more approachable.
Raleigh got up to show her out. His phone was bleating and she signalled that she could make her own way and left him to his work.
Rachel was still out when the mobile phone company came back to say they had just emailed the data the team were waiting on, so Janet printed off all the details, waded through it and relayed the crucial bits to Gill. Incoming text at half past twelve, from a number not yet known to the inquiry. Outgoing text to that number immediately after. No way of knowing the content of the texts. Outgoing call at twelve fifty-five p.m. to a local landline number. Two incoming calls, the first at thirteen ten from Sean Broughton.
‘As he told us, backed up by his phone log,’ said Gill.
‘And the second, thirteen fourteen from Denise. Which also fits,’ Janet said. The FLO, true to his word, had got Denise’s mobile charged and then checked the calls she’d made.
‘Who’s the landline?’
Janet shrugged. Gill picked up the office phone and dialled.
‘Taxi?’ came the answer. Janet could hear from where she was standing.
‘Bingo,’ Gill mouthed. She handed the receiver to Janet so she could get details from the dispatcher and locate the driver who had picked up Lisa.
When she came off the phone, Gill nodded: ‘Put Kevin out of his misery.’
Janet looked, Do I have to? Kevin still working his way through the directory – T for taxi.
‘Be nice,’ Gill warned. ‘What about cell site location?’
‘Later today, maybe first thing tomorrow,’ Janet said. ‘Right, I’m off to see a man about a cab.’
‘Rachel still out?’ Gill looked at her watch.
‘Still with the personal advisor,’ Janet guessed.
‘If she’s done, take her with you,’ Gill said.
Oh, bloody marvellous. Gill was determined to force them together at every opportunity. Janet phoned Rachel: ‘Where are you?’ Hoping she’d be busy.
‘On my way back,’ Rachel said, an edge to her voice, as though she thought Janet didn’t trust her.
‘Meet me at Speedy Cabs.’
‘We got the taxi!’ Rachel suddenly alive and excited.
11
SPEEDY CABS OPERATED out of a railway arch close to the canal in Ardwick. Either side were a welding outfit and a pallets store. Janet wondered if the curved roof caused a headache for the pallets firm, space they paid for and couldn’t use, not ideally suited to the square shape of the stock.
Rachel was there already having a fag by the railings. ‘Kevin came through?’ She sounded surprised.
Janet shook her head. ‘’Fraid not. Cell-phone provider.’
Rachel dropped her cig and ground it out. They crossed the cobbled street to the front of the archway, went in through a steel door that led in turn to the dispatcher’s office and a small rest area where a couple of drivers were having lunch. The telly in the corner was showing a rerun of the latest Manchester derby.
‘Ladies,’ said the dispatcher.
Janet and Rachel showed their warrant cards.
‘Kasim will be back any minute,’ he said. Then ‘Yes!’ to the screen as a shot bounced off the crossbar. ‘Up the Blues,’ he said, sniffing out their affiliation. A city of two teams. Sporting rivalry passed down from one generation to the next.
Rachel shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
Disappointed, he looked at Janet. ‘Me neither,’ she said. Ade used to follow Oldham Athletic, a suicide mission if ever there was one; went to a few matches when he was younger. Janet never fancied it.
They heard a car trundle over the cobbles and a cab pulled up in front of the office.
‘Kasim,’ the man confirmed.
‘Thanks, we’ll talk outside,’ Janet said. More privacy there.
Kasim was curious, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He had done that thing with his eyebrows, Janet noticed, lines cut through. Looked as though his hand slipped shaving. She didn’t get it. I’m getting old, she thought. The taxi drivers look younger every day.
‘She the girl that was murdered?’ Kasim asked them when they told him what they were there for.
‘That’s right,’ Janet said. ‘You picked her up, when?’
‘Just after one.’
‘Where from?’
‘Shudehill, near the Printworks,’ he said.
‘Where did you drop her?’
‘Fairland Avenue.’
‘She was on her own?’ Janet said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Dispatch says she’s a regular fare?’
He shrugged. ‘We’re reliable. People stick with you if they know you’re gonna turn up.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘No, just, maybe the weather?’ Like he was guessing. Janet didn’t want guesses.
‘Can you remember what she was wearing?’ Rachel said.
He exhaled noisily, indicating that was a really hard task. ‘To be honest’ – he shook his head – ‘don’t even notice what the girlfriend’s wearing half the time.’
‘Anything about the trip, about the girl? How was she?’ said Janet.
‘Quiet,’ he ventured.
An unmemorable passenger had turned out to be front-page news, but Kasim had no juicy story to dine off. He could barely remember the fare.
‘What time did you drop her?’ Janet said.
He considered, rubbing his chin with one hand. ‘Maybe quarter past one, no later.’
‘She make or receive any calls?’ Rachel said.
‘A couple. I think her phone went.’
‘And what was she saying?’
‘Sorry. You zone out, you know? Eye on the road, the traffic. Nothing sticks.’ He gave a shrug.
If Kasim’s timing was accurate, and he wouldn’t be far out, given the relatively short distance of the journey, then the calls between Sean and Lisa and Denise and Lisa would have taken place while she was on the way home.
There wasn’t much more they could learn from Kasim, but he had given them a last sighting.
‘We know she was still alive at quarter past one and that she was dead by half three. That’s a pretty tight window,’ said Janet once they were back at the station, eating sandwiches from the deli. Janet was ravenous, had gone for a double-decker BLT and a flapjack.
Rachel didn’t answer. Janet turned to look at her. She was staring into space, miles away. Dolly daydream now, thought Janet. Wonder what she has to daydream about?
Suddenly Rachel said, ‘Why get a cab? Any number of buses go up that way, and she was opposite the bus station. She’s on the dole. Why get a cab?’
Janet swallowed her mouthful. ‘Lazy, feckless, spending her benefits on taxis. Only cost her four or five quid, anyway.’
‘Buy twenty fags for that,’ Rachel said, scowling, seemingly crushed that she couldn’t make sense of it.
She remained preoccupied over lunch, the cab business obviously bugging her. But Janet didn’t know that there was anything in it. Some folk had weird ways of budgeting. They saw it all the time: people with no carpets or curtains and a TV the size of a small car.
Gill had left instructions for Andy and Janet to co-ordinate reports for a case update and pull everyone in for early evening. Janet felt the familiar trip of her heart when she joined Andy in the meeting room.
‘Made a start,’ he said. ‘Furt
her forensics’ – he pointed to a pile of printouts – ‘witness statements, Sean Broughton and’ – he indicated another pile – ‘Denise Finn.’
‘Fine.’ Janet nodded to the piles. ‘Rachel’s typing up the info from the personal advisor and I’ve adjusted the timeline. Cabbie set her down at quarter past one.’
‘You want to start collating and I’ll get Rachel?’ He gave her a quick smile. The way he looked at her sometimes, she wondered if he could tell the old attraction hadn’t gone away completely, could sense that she occasionally daydreamed about him. Like a lovesick teenager. Way back in training, that’s when Janet first met Andy, had a fling – until she came to her senses and married Ade. The men were physically very different, Ade stouter, shorter; Andy leaner, taller. Andy had quick, bright eyes. These days there was an energy about Andy quite unlike Ade. It was as if Ade’s batteries had worn down somewhere along the way and he couldn’t be bothered to recharge them. Not that Andy was hyper or anything, but he was engaged, sharp, keen. It was a bonus, having him there in the syndicate – one she kept to herself – enjoying the chance to work with him, have the occasional flirtatious thought. Harmless, she told herself.
Janet sat at the desk, pulling reports from each pile into sets for the team. The arguments between her and Ade seemed to erupt with increasing frequency. Any exchange about the house or the cars or the girls suddenly exploding into a blame game over who was supposed to be sorting what out. Her overtime was unpredictable, her hours out of the house often longer than his, and Ade flung this back at her every chance he got. In the middle of their most recent row, he’d accused her of preferring being at work to being at home. ‘I’m sick of living like a single parent,’ he said. ‘I do the lot and I get no thanks for it.’ Trying to make her feel guilty – and succeeding, though she would not let it show, would not give him the satisfaction. And even after the rows were over, the atmosphere lingered. Ade could man the barricades for days, his bitter silence like a chemical weapon. Janet always crumbled first, said sorry. Which allowed him to do likewise … till next time.
She must have sighed out loud as Andy came back in because he said, ‘Problem?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘If you need me to have a word with Rachel …’ he volunteered. As sergeant, he had a different relationship to the DCs, could make use of his rank. Either to admonish or advise.
‘No, that’s fine, thanks.’
He was still watching her and Janet felt her skin glow warm, hated that she was blushing. He seemed to be thinking, hesitant. ‘You really all right?’ He sounded genuinely concerned.
She had a sudden urge to confide in him. Bad idea. Instead, she generalized: ‘Oh, you know, kids, work – sometimes there’s just not enough hours in the day.’ She should be happy, counting her blessings: great job, kids safe, roof over her head, food on the table. Ade there to man the lifeboats, even if he wasn’t a red-hot rocking Romeo any more (was he ever?) But the shine had gone. Some days felt like a grind.
‘And we pick one up right in time for Christmas.’
‘Oh, we’ll have cracked it by then,’ Janet joked.
She had all that to do as well: Christmas presents. Most of it she’d do online, spend more than she intended because it was so easy to push a button. Taisie wanted money, but Janet baulked at that. Seemed so empty. Compromise maybe: half money, half gift. Inline skates? And what to get Ade? Nothing he needed. Some book? Janet groaned inwardly. She could suggest a weekend away – treat themselves. Mum’d watch the girls. A place with a spa and nice woodland walks, up in the Lakes maybe. It all sounded great, but the prospect of forty-eight hours alone together without demands and distractions, without work and domestic chores … She’d go mad.
How did it come to this? she thought sadly. What do I do? Let it drift on until … what? The kids leave home and we go our separate ways? Her stomach turned cold at the thought.
‘Can’t find Rachel,’ Andy said.
‘Did you try outside? She’s probably having a fag. I’ll see.’ She set off. Elise, what did Elise want? Apart from an iPad, which was more than a few quid too far.
12
GILL WAS READY, the team were assembled round the table. All except one.
‘Where’s Rachel?’ Gill demanded.
Janet shrugged.
‘Anyone?’ Gill said.
They sat there like a load of muppets. No one missed the briefing. Not without Gill’s express permission. The team relied on everyone carrying their weight. Absent staff led to gaps in the shared knowledge that was crucial to a well-run investigation. ‘We got her report?’
‘No,’ Andy said.
Gill shook her head, annoyed, considered sending someone to see if Rachel was having a fag, or in the canteen, but dismissed the idea. She wasn’t running a nursery. If Rachel didn’t exhibit the professionalism Gill required of her DCs then she’d be out on her ear. Gill thought the girl had more sense. Was Janet right? Was Rachel a bad fit?
‘Lads,’ Gill clapped her hands and began, ‘good work. Timeline shaping up nicely. Look at the first page. Texts and calls made and received. Now this …’ Gill pressed the remote and played part of the video recording of Sean Broughton’s witness statements.
Janet asking, When was the last time you heard from her?
Sean’s reply, I rang her just after one. She said she’d be back about half three. That’s how I knew to go round, like.
Gill paused the tape. ‘The phone records show us the call from Sean was made at ten past one when Lisa was practically home.’
‘We haven’t got cell-site location through yet,’ Mitch pointed out.
‘Accepted, but if they confirm that this call happened somewhere along the taxi route or even once she reached home, then we have an anomaly. Sean’s telling us Lisa said she’ll not be home for another hour and twenty minutes, so he bides his time and shows up at half three. Was Lisa lying to him because she wanted a bit of time to herself for some reason?’
‘Or is he lying to us?’ Janet said. ‘Maybe he was at the flat earlier.’
‘He found the body,’ Lee said. Lee had been a psychiatric nurse in his previous life. He was well qualified, both in academic terms and in experience. Gill knew he had a keen interest in the way people’s minds worked, in human behaviour.
‘Which makes him of special interest,’ Gill noted. A significant proportion of killers actually ‘discovered the body’ and reported it to the police. Assumption being, in their tiny brains, that if they did this it put them above suspicion.
‘We’ve got the domestic violence too,’ Andy said.
‘Agreed. Janet, your report flags up two areas—’ Gill pointed the remote at her.
‘Yes,’ Janet said. ‘Could be nothing, but at one point Sean hesitated more than I’d have expected and couldn’t make eye contact. Then later he’s anticipating a question and again he’s tense, he won’t look at me. I know we can’t rely on body language, but …’
Gill nodded. It was notoriously difficult to spot lies from a person’s gestures. The old saws of licking lips and eye movements (up and left for recall, up and right for invention), of sweaty brows and hands covering mouths had all been discredited in study after study. There was one rock-solid way to tell whether someone was lying: by proving what they said was untrue. Nevertheless, Gill trusted Janet’s intuition.
Janet carried on speaking, ‘First time was with the shopping, then when I asked if he’d taken anything—’
Rachel Bailey burst through the doors, a clutch of papers in her hands, breathless. ‘Sorry, I’m late, it’s just that I—’
‘Sit.’ Gill pointed to a chair.
‘When I was going over the—’
‘And shut it,’ Gill said sharply.
Rachel sat down, placed the reports on the table. Gill turned back to Janet: ‘Go on.’ She passed the remote to Janet.
‘This bit – when he says she was going shopping – he was reluctant to talk about it.’ Janet play
ed them the sequence. ‘And this is where I ask him about taking anything.’ She skipped the tape forward to the next excerpt. When it had finished, Janet froze the image. ‘Then we’ve the unaccounted for thirty-five minutes. It doesn’t take that long to cover somebody with a duvet. Could’ve been his chance to clean up, get rid of the knife.’
‘Boss,’ Rachel interrupted again.
‘Hey, madam!’ Gill hated having her concentration broken. ‘You swan in here late, you fail to provide a report on time – we’ve still not got cell-site location, which was on your slate. So stop bloody interrupting.’
‘But the shopping …’ Rachel ploughed on regardless. Gill was gobsmacked. Had she no sense of self-preservation? ‘She’s been in town all morning,’ Rachel said urgently, ‘but there was nothing in the exhibits. Where was the shopping?’
Gill froze. Valid point.
‘Window shopping?’ Mitch said. ‘My missus does it all the time.’
‘Only ’cos you’re too tight to give her any spends,’ Pete teased.
‘Ask the taxi driver,’ Gill said.
‘I did,’ Rachel said. ‘He can’t remember.’
‘What about cards? Bank statements?’ Gill asked.
‘Debit card only, overdrawn. No activity yesterday,’ Andy said.
‘She could have used cash to buy stuff.’
‘Or nicked it,’ Rachel said. ‘Her mother said she’d shoplifted stuff before.’
Janet chipped in: ‘If Lisa was shoplifting, then maybe Sean took the “shopping”.’
‘And her phone,’ said Lee.
And her life?
‘For starters,’ Gill replied, a tickle at the back of her neck, the case growing wings, the scent of a quarry, the excitement of identifying a potential suspect – caution, though; softly, softly, catchee monkey – ‘I think we should get to know Sean a whole lot better.’
So, the girl done good, Gill thought. But she needs taming, follow the rules, cover the mundane stuff. No room on the team for a lone flyer. No prima donnas wanting to dance their own steps.
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