Dead To Me

by Staincliffe, Cath

  Janet moved. Rachel knew she was about to interrupt, to talk about cautions and procedure. Rachel couldn’t let her. ‘I know,’ Rachel whispered. ‘Terrible things. She shouldn’t have done that.’ She could feel the tick of blood in her temples, hear the click of saliva in Denise’s mouth. ‘Where’s the knife, Denise?’

  Slowly, Denise turned her head. Her eyes were heavy and dull, a frown marked her brow.

  Rachel’s heart beat too fast. ‘We need to sort this out now.’ She tried to sound calm, like Janet would: ‘Where’s the knife?’ Rachel heard the intake of breath as Janet prepared to speak. Hand still behind her, Rachel splayed her fingers, moved her hand down in a patting motion: Quiet! She waited, every muscle taut, not daring to move, to speak, willing Denise to answer.

  ‘Under the sink,’ Denise said simply. ‘Behind the bin bags.’

  Rachel’s stomach clenched and there was a whining in her ears. She looked at Janet then inclined her head a fraction: Go look.

  Janet turned, still holding the coffee. Rachel listened to her footsteps recede. Denise had her eyes closed, brow still furrowed. Her glass with a little drink left in it, pressed to her chest. There was the rustle and clatter of Janet moving things about, then a pause. Footsteps. Janet came back in, her face stark. She gave a nod.

  For the second time that week, Rachel Bailey arrested someone for the murder of Lisa Finn. This time it was her mother. This time they had the murder weapon.

  ‘She just confessed?’ Gill had them all in the meeting room.

  ‘Not straight out,’ Rachel said. ‘She was raving, you know, going on about Sean then Lisa. Then she said this stuff about how she died like a tart, half naked. We never told her that.’

  ‘Right,’ Gill agreed.

  ‘Then when I told her we were testing the chain, it was as though she knew the game was up. She was saying how Lisa had slagged her off and said stuff about Nathan. That’s when I asked her where the knife was.’

  ‘You jammy sod,’ Gill said.

  ‘She doesn’t even like you,’ said Janet.

  ‘She was that drunk, she could barely work out who I was,’ Rachel said.

  ‘None of it’s under caution,’ Andy pointed out.

  ‘No,’ Rachel said, ‘but it’s on record in my daybook and it’s on the custody record and she signed both those and that’s after caution. With the knife, the phone call, the fingerprint on the cross – even if she goes not guilty, we’ll have her.’

  ‘Got to wait till she’s sober,’ Gill said. ‘Then, Janet, you interview her.’

  What the fuck! ‘Why can’t I?’ Rachel said. ‘I got the confession.’

  ‘Janet’s doing it,’ Gill said.

  ‘But I want—’

  Gill glared. ‘Shut it, Sherlock.’

  ‘It was me she told,’ Rachel said. This is way out of order.

  ‘Listen, I don’t have to explain my decision to you. But, for the record, Janet is my best interviewer, she has years of experience and this will be an interview requiring a high degree of sensitivity, empathy and neutrality. Qualities you’re well short of. This woman killed her daughter. How can you possibly imagine what that’s like?’

  Everyone listening. Rachel felt her cheeks burn. Bitch. ‘And Janet can? Why’s that then, she kill someone an’ all, did she?’

  Janet rolled her eyes and Lee put his hand to his head. Rachel felt embattled, knew she was making things worse.

  ‘No, but she has life experience and skills, the ability to communicate with Denise as though she is a human being deserving of humane treatment, whatever she has done.’

  ‘I did that with Raleigh,’ Rachel objected.

  ‘Barely,’ Gill spat the word. ‘You are the wrong person for Denise Finn. Grow up. This is not a debate.’

  Smarting, Rachel forced herself to sit there while the discussion continued.

  ‘We have traces of blood on the knife, matching Lisa,’ Gill said.

  ‘What did Christopher say?’ Andy asked.

  ‘Gobsmacked,’ Gill said. ‘She’d not let anything slip to him, just kept on about how difficult Lisa was, how Sean had ruined her.’

  ‘She’d have let him take the fall,’ said Pete, ‘if we’d charged him.’

  ‘Could be,’ Gill replied. ‘Shifting the blame: “If he hadn’t been feeding her the drugs, I wouldn’t have got into a barney with her.” Justification. Was the row about drugs?’ Gill asked Rachel.

  ‘She didn’t say, just that Lisa said evil things about her and Nathan.’

  ‘Who was also on drugs before he killed himself,’ Mitch said.

  ‘Families, eh? Who’d have ’em? Right, we’re aiming for five p.m. for interview, and I’m not issuing a press release as yet, so no blabbing about it to all and sundry. Get cracking.’

  ‘Grab a bite?’ Janet asked Rachel as she stood up.

  Rachel hesitated.

  ‘Don’t sulk,’ Janet chided her. ‘It’ll give you frown lines.’

  ‘Like I care.’

  ‘Grapes in ten?’

  They were doing Christmas dinner on offer. Two for nine ninety-nine.

  ‘It’s what we do as a team that counts,’ Janet said, ‘we’re not in competition.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s just … I got nowhere with Raleigh.’

  ‘Not true; you established his involvement with the victim and eliminated him from the inquiry.’

  ‘But Rosie—’

  ‘I know,’ Janet said. ‘We don’t always win, Rachel.’

  It’s just not fair. ‘And she’s so bossy,’ Rachel added, ‘she really gets on my tits.’

  ‘She’s the boss, it’s her job to be bossy,’ Janet said.

  ‘Nothing ever gets to you, does it?’ Rachel said. ‘All water off a duck’s back. How do you do that?’

  ‘Underneath I’m paddling like buggery. Besides – our little car crash? I lost it then, you forgotten already?’

  Rachel let her have it. She looked across for the waitress, starving now. Thought of Denise, carrying the knife home on the bus, sitting in and waiting for the police to come knocking. ‘Why do you think she did it?’

  Janet shrugged. ‘Don’t know, but I’m aiming to find out.’

  47

  ‘YOU UNDERSTAND THE allegation against you?’ Janet began, having done all the preliminaries for the video recording.

  ‘Yes,’ Denise said. Her fingers were knotted. She was shivering occasionally, though the room was an even temperature.

  ‘Will you tell me what happened?’ Janet asked. Leaving the territory wide open for her.

  Denise took a breath and released it. She held her head in her hands. Janet guessed that the enormity of the story, the task of telling it, defeated her. She didn’t know where to start.

  ‘You rang Lisa on Monday the thirteenth, at lunchtime,’ Janet prompted.

  ‘Yes,’ Denise said with a sigh. ‘I wanted to ask her if she’d done anything about getting into rehab, but she bit my head off.’

  Janet imagined it: Lisa in the cab, almost home, craving a fix, having scored the drugs she needed, and expecting a visit from James Raleigh. She lied to Sean, needing to keep the coast clear, and next thing her mother’s on the phone. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She went off on one, didn’t want me telling her what to do, sick of me interfering. I wasn’t interfering.’ She raised her eyes to meet Janet’s. ‘I wanted to help her. I wanted her to get help.’

  Janet nodded slowly, giving her the space to continue.

  ‘She said she didn’t want to see me any more, that was it, she didn’t want me in her life.’ Denise closed her eyes briefly. ‘I was in a state, really upset. She’s all I have—’ She broke off. ‘I tried to put it … to forget … in my head … thinking of Nathan … I’d done … and she …’ Denise was almost incoherent until she said, ‘She was always pushing me away. I wasn’t going to sit back and let her ruin her life. Find her dead from an overdose, or sent to prison. She was all I had l
eft—’ She broke off again, coughed and cleared her throat. ‘I couldn’t settle. I had a drink, a couple, but it didn’t touch me. In the end I went round there.’

  How? On foot? On the bus? In a taxi? Janet knew her questions would wait. The fine-grain detail would come later. For now, Denise needed to tell her story without interruption or qualification. Janet trusted Rachel would be making notes of any gaps in the narrative or any inconsistencies. There would be plenty of time to return to them later.

  Denise was picking at her nails, her face drawn with misery and fatigue. ‘She was off her head,’ she said, ‘swanning around with just this scrap of a negligee thing on. She wouldn’t listen. Soon as she saw me, she’s effing and blinding, telling me I’m crap this and crap that.’ Her face crumpled, and Janet saw tears in her eyes. ‘I did love her,’ she said, appealing to Janet. ‘I always loved her, even when …’ Unable to continue, she stopped, covering her eyes with her hand.

  ‘You all right to carry on?’ Janet said softly.

  Denise sniffed, reached for a tissue from the box on the low table and wiped at her face. ‘So, she was shouting and screaming because I told her to sort herself out, that Sean was a loser, that he was dragging her down with him. And her brother—’ Again she halted, as if a switch had been thrown, cutting the supply of words. Her hand to her mouth, a fist stopping her lips.

  ‘Take your time,’ Janet said. She could feel Denise’s anxiety, taut as cheese-wire in the atmosphere. She could hear the sound of the machines, the tape recorder, the camcorder, the high-pitched hum of the central heating, the breathing of the people in the room. Her mouth was dry.

  When Denise began speaking again, it was almost a whisper: ‘I said, look at Nathan, look at what the drugs did to him,’ she gulped. ‘She said, she screamed at me, “It wasn’t the drugs, it was you, you’re the reason he fucking killed himself. It’s your fault he was a junkie, ’cos you never gave a shit for him or for me.” ’ Denise was weeping as she spoke, her words choppy, her breathing laboured and uneven, her chest rising and falling as if she was having an asthma attack. ‘She grabbed at her chain and said, “You can have this, I don’t want anything from you,” and she yanked it off and threw it at me. It landed in the kitchen and I went to pick it up. I was going to go then. She was off her head. When she got like that there was no dealing with her.’ Denise gave a shuddering breath, ‘But then she said, “Why do you think Nathan strung himself up outside your house? Because he wanted you to know it was your fault.” ’

  Oh, God. Janet could imagine how that would have cut Denise to the core.

  Denise glanced at Janet. Her lips were chapped, Janet could see a tiny thread of red blood in one of the cracks. ‘I just wanted to shut her up,’ Denise said, ‘stop her saying those lies, those evil things.’ Denise fell quiet, only the rattle of her breath accompanying the play of her emotions.

  Janet heard Rachel clear her throat.

  ‘The knife,’ Denise said, ‘the knife.’ She swallowed, hit at her temples with the heels of her hands, a swift and violent gesture that made Janet flinch, though she restricted her reaction to a blink. ‘The knife was on the sink. I just wanted to stop her saying those things. I never—’ she broke off, distressed.

  ‘Yes,’ Janet said. She had pain in her stomach now, deep and twisting.

  Denise was sweating around her hairline, little beads of liquid visible. ‘I can’t—’ she said.

  ‘Have a drink of water,’ Janet suggested. It was vital not to break the interview now, so close to a full confession. Denise didn’t want to tell her what she had done, did not want to admit the awful truth of it. Janet could tell she was finding the pressure of the situation intolerable, but it was her job to keep her here, keep her talking, build her story to its climax.

  Denise lifted the cup, her hands shaking so badly that drops of water spilled over the side and dripped on to her overalls. She sipped some water and put the cup back down.

  ‘OK,’ said Janet, meaning, Carry on, keep going.

  ‘She was still shouting, screaming, “Why did you ever even have me? Just dumped me, first chance you got. You either fucking me over or …” she said it … I couldn’t … she said it.’ Denise shook her head slowly, bowed forwards, her hands over her nose.

  Said what?

  ‘I don’t know how she knew. How did she know? She was a new baby. I never told anyone. She couldn’t remember, not that young.’ She sounded bewildered.

  Janet was confused. ‘What did Lisa say?’ She kept her voice soft.

  ‘“Smothering me.” She was only a baby, how did she know? No one knew. “Smothering me”, she said that, straight out.’ She stared at Janet, and her brow creased, eyes questioning, avid with pain.

  Janet felt pressure squeezing in her chest, felt her skin tighten and chill. ‘That’s why you put Lisa into care, back then?’ she said.

  There was a beat or two, Janet counted the thump of her own heart. ‘I thought I might do it again,’ Denise said in a whisper. ‘I was so tired and Lisa was a terrible baby.’ Denise raised her hand as if to cup it over her own face. ‘I didn’t want to hurt her. I couldn’t trust … She were better off in care.’

  Janet understood. She had put Lisa in care to protect her from harm, from Denise herself. Who had tried to smother her once already.

  Silence hung in the room, Janet waited, resisting the images that danced just out of sight, ghosts and grief. Concentrating only on the here and now, the woman in front of her, her face ruined by drink and tragedy.

  Finally Denise stirred. ‘When she said that, and the knife, I had the knife, and she came at me, she’s shouting, “Do it, go on, do it. You killed him, you gonna kill me as well now? Go on then, you shitbag, you bitch!” On and on, and I wanted her to stop. And I—’ Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripped from her nose.

  Janet sat without moving, waiting for the final act.

  ‘She just kept coming and I pushed the knife and she fell.’ Denise closed her eyes. When she opened them she stared unseeing at the floor. ‘She didn’t move or anything. I went home,’ she added.

  ‘Thank you,’ Janet said. They had the confession. ‘We’re going to have a break now. And then I’d like to talk to you again and your solicitor will probably want to talk to you some more before that. OK?’

  As Janet emerged, her head spinning, shaky, acid burning behind her breastbone, she found Gill in the corridor. Gill didn’t say anything, but signalled understanding in the look she gave her. Janet needed fresh air, she needed to be outside, away from the building, from the violence of Denise’s life, from the pity and revulsion she felt.

  ‘Janet,’ Rachel called, her voice bright, animated.

  ‘Leave her,’ Gill said. ‘Just leave her be.’ A serious undertone that must have got through because Rachel didn’t come swinging out after her.

  Janet walked round the block, only dimly aware of the traffic and the fierce easterly wind coming down off the Pennines, and let the memories flood back.

  That moment never left her: calling his name, amused that, after his usual fussy night, he was now so soundly asleep. Joshua. Putting out her hand, cupping his cheek. Lukewarm. His lips, the faintest kiss of blue feathering the pink. And her heart climbing in her throat, a wave of terror rippling up her spine, clawing at the back of her skull, robbing her of breath, turning her bowels to water.

  ‘Joshua—’ Shaking his shoulder.

  Then screaming for Ade. Screaming as she lifted him up. Baby baby please wake up please wake up Mummy’s here wake up wake up Joshua.

  They wanted to take him, but it was too soon, she wasn’t ready. How could she ever be ready? With his soft blond hair and his tiny teeth, his eyes the same colour as hers. My babe. My boy. She could not relinquish him.

  The other police officer, Gill, kept coming in, with tea, with offers of help. What help? Anyone she could ring?

  The thought broke Janet’s heart afresh: her mum, her dad, her mates. All the people who loved Joshua.
Who didn’t yet know …

  Ade lay at the other side of the bed, the baby between them. He was caressing Joshua’s back, the tears dry on his face. He spoke occasionally, sounds more than words, groans of sorrow.

  Gill came in again. They had to take Joshua’s feeding things from the kitchen, his bedding, to try and help them understand why he had died. Though usually there was no explanation. ‘We have to try our best,’ she said.

  Did Janet cry? Hard to remember now.

  Afterwards there were tears. A vale of tears, but then the shock and grief seemed too deep, any sobs buried under the weight of them, deep in the core of her.

  They wanted to take him. Her arms pulled him close. Another night. Another day. A few more hours.

  She would die herself, she would lie down and die. Or go mad. Already she could feel a tsunami of guilt and blame swelling. Ready to smash her sanity, the ability to function. Send her howling in the wilderness, pursued by demons.

  They said that she and Ade should choose some clothes for him, change him. One last time. They needed to take his clothes. The clothes he was wearing. She cried then. Yes. She remembers that. Hot tears dripping on to the babygros and little outfits as they tried to choose.

  When they took him it was as if they had torn her skin away, her skin and the soul of her. Leaving her raw and damaged.

  Ade had held her all night long. The doctor had given them both something to take. But Janet had not wanted to sleep. Because sleep felt like an abandonment, a travesty. And if she slept she might forget. And wake up to fresh horror. And she feared her dreams.

  They couldn’t account for his death. Janet and Ade had done everything right, kept the room at a reasonable temperature, not too hot, not too much bedding, baby on his back, though he was old enough to roll over by then, mattress passed all the required safety tests. Joshua had no infection, no hidden heart problems, no problems of any sort. He was a healthy baby. He was dead.