You can’t hurry grief. Janet learned that in the years afterwards. Grief took its own sweet time, broke all the rules, there was no template. People talked of stages and milestones, but they were just clumsy labels that dissolved as the white-water roared around her. There was no map taking you from A to B, it was a whirlpool and you went round and round, got lost for ever. The bereavement counsellor gave them one piece of advice that made some sense: Whatever you feel, it’s all right for you to feel that. There is no right and wrong.
Oh, and she felt so many things, in amongst those heavy numb days. Anger hot enough to melt iron, jealousy, fury. For weeks she could not see a child, a parent, without an urge to hide or hurt them. Repugnance, at herself, at her weakness. Guilt.
The damp spot at the back of his neck, the way he threw back his head when he chortled. He would never grow another tooth, learn a new word, or wear school uniform, play an instrument or marry or mess up and get hooked on drugs or fail his exams or have children of his own, apply for a job, learn to swim, watch the sunrise, emigrate and leave her missing him. He’d never say mama again.
Denise had stood over her child’s cot and tried to smother her. Janet had stood over her own child’s cot and tried to bring him back to life. And now she had to go in there and do her job, indifferent to any such irony and with all the empathy she could muster.
48
THE FINAL INTERVIEW was a three-hour marathon with Janet teasing out every tiny little detail from Denise. All the stuff about how she’d got the bus down there and back, how she’d wrapped the knife in a tea towel and put it in a carrier bag to take home. How there had been a bit of blood on her coat sleeve so she had put it in the wash and it had come out fine. How she had known the door wouldn’t be locked, had just gone in and found Lisa in the living room. How Lisa’s robe had come apart when they were arguing and Denise had told her to cover herself up and Lisa had screamed at her to get out, to fuck off, she never wanted to see her again. How easily the knife slipped in. She only meant to frighten her into silence. How Lisa fell and Denise still held the knife. How Lisa had hit the edge of the coffee table, breaking one of the legs. Denise made no apology for blaming Sean for her daughter’s death. And even in the light of her own confession, seemed still to hold him accountable.
* * *
Rachel had gone with Janet to lay the charges. They’d done it! They’d got the bitch. Her first murder case solved. She felt like going dancing and getting hammered. Even the spurt of frustration and anger she felt every time she thought of James Raleigh and what he’d done to Rosie Vaughan didn’t diminish the sense of victory in the Lisa Finn case. When they left the custody suite and got back to the office, there was a round of applause. Her Maj was grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘Command are most impressed, as they should be.’ Andy popped a bottle of fizz, only enough for a thimbleful each, and then it was back to work.
Gill called Rachel into her office, stood arms folded, peering over her specs. ‘There’s always a process of adjustment when someone joins a syndicate,’ she began, ‘not officially a probation period, but a chance to test the waters, get to know each other …’
Like dogs sniffing bums.
‘… not exactly been a smooth ride, Rachel, has it?’
Her stomach dropped. She was going to kick her out. Oh, God.
‘More of a bull in a china shop. So, if you’ve any second thoughts …’
‘None,’ Rachel said quickly. Don’t do this to me.
‘Want to think about it?’
‘No.’ This is all I want to do, please, please!
Gill studied her for a moment. Rachel’s mouth was dry, her stomach knotted up. If you dump me, I will rip your fucking throat out.
Gill gave a curt nod. ‘Right, then. Make yourself useful.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Legs like water.
Outside, in the dark, she turned her back to the driving sleet and lit up, closed her eyes, let the relief crawl through her. She was in. Everything was going to be all right.
Rachel leaned across her desk to Janet. ‘Want to celebrate – us and the lads?’
‘No, ta. Could do with a night in, what’s left of it.’
She did look wiped out, Rachel thought. Am I missing something? That business of wanting to be alone – what was that about? ‘Where’d you go off to? Earlier?’
‘Anyone ever told you you’re a nosy cow?’ Janet said.
‘Blame the job,’ Rachel said, still wanting a proper answer. ‘Well?’
Janet tutted and looked up from her files. ‘Nowhere. Just needed some air, recharge.’ She smiled, blue eyes, clear and frank.
Rachel didn’t believe a word of it; there was something else going on, but obviously Janet wasn’t going to let her in on it.
‘Do you think she’ll get off on manslaughter?’ Rachel asked.
‘Could go either way,’ Janet said. ‘Depends if the defence can whip up enough sympathy for her. Less than a year since Nathan’s death, she’s still half-mad with grief. The provocation might well be grounds for a partial defence.’
Manslaughter on grounds of diminished responsibility, the act carried out while the balance of her mind was disturbed. Rachel shook her head. ‘I’d give her life, no parole. I said, didn’t I – wasn’t fit to be a mother. If people like that keep having kids—’
‘People like that?’ Janet raised an eyebrow. ‘What would you suggest, Rachel? Mass sterilization, camps, euthanasia?’
‘Don’t be soft.’
‘I am going home.’ Janet got to her feet. ‘Domestic duties to perform. If you fancy coming, it’s chicken korma tonight at ours. Meet the kids?’
‘No, you’re all right,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ll make a start on this.’
Janet smiled. ‘They don’t bite,’ she said.
‘No, they might drool though, or get snot all over me,’ Rachel said.
‘More likely to use up your phone credit and nick your lipstick.’
‘Some other time – century.’
‘Night, then. Don’t work too late.’
‘No, Mum.’
‘And Rachel …?’ Rachel looked up, Janet by the door. ‘Don’t forget to power down the computers and turn the lights off.’
Rachel nodded.
‘And drive carefully,’ Janet said.
Rachel flicked a V-sign.
‘And wash your cups up,’ Janet yelled from out in the corridor.
Rachel grinned, turned the page and began her report.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to Sally Wainwright, Diane Taylor and Red Productions for a great show whose wonderful characters were a joy to write about. Thanks also to Diane for generous help and advice about police work – any mistakes are mine; to Sarah Adams and Rachel Rayner at Transworld for the opportunity to write the novel and to my agent Sara Menguc for all her support and hard work.
About the Author
Cath Staincliffe is an established novelist, radio playwright and creator of ITV’s hit series, Blue Murder, starring Caroline Quentin as DCI Janine Lewis. Cath was shortlisted for the CWA best first novel award for her acclaimed Sal Kilkenny series and for the Dagger in the Library. Her latest stand-alone novels all focus on topical moral dilemmas. She is a founding member of Murder Squad, a group who promote crime fiction.
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DEAD TO ME
A CORGI BOOK: 9780552167154
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448125111
First publication in Great Britain
Corgi edition published 2012
Copyright © concept and text Transworld Publishers 2012, characters © Red Production Company 2012
Cath Staincliffe has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
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