Dead Wrong

by Cath Staincliffe

  ‘Who is he?’ she asked simply.

  ‘He’s called Crowther, Gary Crowther. Ring any bells?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s living in Ayres Road, off Upper Chorlton Road, d’you know it?’

  ‘Near Alphabet Zoo?’

  ‘That’s right. He lives there next door to a charity shop. You ever been there?’

  ‘No.’

  Still no lead to what linked Crowther to Debbie or how he’d come to pick on her.

  ‘It’s best if you stay with your friend until you hear from Mrs Henderson that Crowther has been served with the papers.’

  ‘Right,’ she said. Plenty of monosyllables. Was she numb from her medication or stunned by my news?

  I wondered how to end the conversation.

  ‘If you’ve any questions about the injunction or you need any more information, you can talk to Mrs Henderson, you’ve got her number.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Goodbye then.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Well, we’d never been bosom pals, had we? It’d been a strange case. I’d never known what to make of Debbie Gosforth, though her situation had my every sympathy. And now I was getting my own taste of being hunted.

  Maddie was engrossed in her video. I collected dirty clothes from the children’s room and added them to the load in the wash basket. I put the lot in the washing machine and switched it on. While I was clearing up the kitchen I tried to think calmly through the situation I was in but fury – mixed with fear – kept bubbling up at Siddiq’s bald threat.

  What did Rashid want me to do? Clam up on what Joey had told me? It was too late for that, but I deduced that Siddiq didn’t know about the tape or my meeting with Pitt. They’d been keeping a watch on me but they wouldn’t expect me to be out and about on the job before school. Hah! I felt a little flame of victory at their mistake.

  I rang and spoke to Mr Pitt’s secretary, told her I’d been threatened and that I’d spoken to the police. I asked her to make sure Mr Pitt was informed, and for him to contact me immediately there was any news about the Luke Wallace case. My standing in her eyes had obviously shifted, due mainly I think to Pitt’s reassessment when I’d threatened to cry negligence to Luke. Now we seemed to be on the same side.

  Maddie had fallen asleep again, her face waxy and her eyelids translucent. She lay arms flung wide, leg hanging off the sofa. I stopped the tape and went to make myself more tea. I sat in the lounge and watched her while I drank it. I could just hear her breath, regular and shallow. I shook my head to drive away the fears that perched on my shoulders. I wanted to savour this peace. I was continually surprised at how this child enchanted me, and the endless breathtaking love she drew from me. For all our strife, and we certainly had our moments, she had transformed my world and my memories of life before I shared it with her were faded, shot in the half-light.

  She stirred as I gazed at her and opened her eyes. ‘Mummy?’ She frowned, raised herself on her elbows. I knew what was coming from her expression but there was no time to act. She pitched forward over the edge of the sofa and threw up exhaustively all over the carpet.

  Buckets and cloths, bicarb and disinfectant. A shower and shampoo for Maddie, clean clothes. I still had to finish my phone calls. Denise came round to say she could collect Tom when she went for Jade. Great. I thanked her and got back to work.

  I tried Mrs Deason, but there was still no reply.

  I started with Victor Wallace.

  ‘Mr Pitt has all the information now,’ I said. ‘I met with Joey Deason yesterday. He gave me a clear account of what happened. He was an eye-witness.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Two men attacked Ahktar; they started to rough him up and Joey protested. He pulled his knife and one of the men, who fits the description of Rashid Siddiq, took it from him. Ahktar lashed out, kicked Siddiq in the face. Siddiq promptly retaliated by stabbing Ahktar. Joey was threatened; they broke his fingers as a memento.’

  ‘And Luke?’ His voice was thick with emotion.

  ‘Nowhere near. I still don’t know how he got to Ahktar, and no one’s got a clue why they set upon Ahktar in the first place. It was some sort of warning apparently but Luke wasn’t there.’

  ‘Thank God. Oh, thank God.’ He sniffed loudly.

  ‘Mr Pitt says he’ll make an application for bail and in the course of that he’ll reveal the new evidence. But it’s not clear whether they’ll drop the charges against Luke and discontinue the case, or take it to trial and argue it all out there.’

  ‘But surely they need to go after Siddiq, for God’s sake!’ he shouted. ‘Luke’s innocent – this proves it.’

  ‘Yes, I agree. But it’s up to the CPS.’

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ he apologised for his outburst. ‘Thank you,’ he managed.

  ‘I’ll send you a final report with my invoice. You need to speak to Mr Pitt now about procedures and so on.’

  ‘When will he…how soon?’

  ‘I don’t know, I got the impression it would be days not weeks.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said huskily, ‘for all you’ve done.’ Naw! Now I was starting to fill up.

  ‘Give Luke my best wishes,’ I said. ‘I hope they do discontinue. They’d be mad to press ahead, they really would.’

  We said our goodbyes.

  I imagined him looking out at that lovely garden, the boulder by the pond, the phone in his hand, tears on his cheeks. His faith in his son vindicated. The end in sight after all the months of fighting. Though he would still need to be strong for Luke, who, no matter how soon he was released, would need much love and support to get back to the business of living.

  I kept checking outside. The van hadn’t come back but I felt stretched with tension. Would they leave it now – wait and see if I paid attention to their intimidation?

  Tom was dropped off and I made some baked potatoes with a cheese and broccoli sauce. Maddie was still sleeping; I let her be. There was plenty of food left and Sheila was back in time to share it.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘There’s loads, get a plate.’

  Ray was talking about his course to Sheila; the need to upgrade his computer here at home. Tom was enjoying the novelty of being the only child at the tea table, chipping into the conversation. I found it hard to concentrate. My mind kept creeping back to the white transit and Siddiq’s quiet voice with its ugly message.

  I waited until Tom had gone off to play, to alert the others.

  ‘I was threatened today,’ I said baldly as Ray handed coffee round, ‘by a witness on the case I’m covering.’

  ‘Sal!’ exclaimed Sheila. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was told to forget what I’d heard.’ I knew I had to tell them about his allusion to Maddie too, but I dare not say it. It was as though I’d give life to the danger if I spoke the words again. Denial, they call it.

  ‘Where was this?’ Ray’s face had gone peaky, concerned.

  ‘Here, in the drive.’

  ‘Shit. Tell the police.’

  ‘I have told the police, and the lawyer involved.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘I don’t think anything will come of it,’ I said, ‘but I’d feel safer if we used the chain on the door and checked on visitors. Keep a close eye on the children–’

  ‘The children?’ Ray’s mouth tightened. He stared at me.

  I swallowed. ‘He, the man, he mentioned Maddie.’

  ‘Christ!’ Ray hit the table. Hardly a useful contribution to the discussion. It made me jump. I knew what he was thinking. My job was too dangerous. I’d brought that danger home, into our lives, into our children’s lives.

  ‘It’s just words,’ I insisted. I wobbled, guilt and fear see-sawing inside.

  ‘Oh, Sal,’ Sheila put her hand on my arm.

  ‘Who is this guy?’ Ray demanded.

  I shook my head. ‘You don’t want to know. I’ve reported it to the police.’

  ‘
Yeah? And where are they? What are they doing about it?’ He was furious, his eyes hard and bright. ‘Sweet fuck all.’

  ‘It’ll be over soon,’ I tried to speak calmly, ‘it’s more than likely this bloke will be picked up by the police.’

  ‘And in the meantime, we worry ourselves sick about the children, yeah?’ He paced round the kitchen, his hands balled into fists. ‘Wait here like sitting ducks to see if anyone gets beaten up or–’

  ‘Ray!’ I shouted. ‘I need your support, not a bloody lecture. Don’t you think I haven’t been frantic with worry, you stupid…’ I broke down then, hot tears that made me crosser.

  ‘Perhaps the children could stay somewhere else for a while,’ Sheila suggested. ‘You said it would soon be over.’

  Debbie and her children, packing up, moving out. They’d soon be able to go back home. Had her children known what was going on; had they learned to be fearful or vigilant as a result?

  I wiped my eyes with my hands. ‘It should be. The lawyer will be meeting the prosecution and trying to get my client out on bail. They’ll probably drop the charges too. And they’ll decide whether to charge the man who’s been intimidating me.’

  ‘Why should the threats stop then?’ Ray asked.

  ‘Because either there’ll be no case to answer, so what I know is irrelevant, or there’ll be a new case and this guy will be behind bars,’ I said nothing about what might happen if the case against Luke Wallace continued to trial.

  ‘I really don’t think we need to send the kids away. There’s no point in blowing it out of proportion.’ I avoided looking at Ray. ‘I’ve been warned. Presumably they’ll want to see if the warning has worked. What they don’t realise is that I’ve already passed on the information that they want hushed up, and the rug’s going to be pulled out from underneath them.’ No response from Ray. ‘And I promise if there's anything else, any more approaches, anything, I’ll tell you and we’ll decide what to do then.’

  ‘I think you should tell us what this man looks like,’ said Sheila.

  I described Rashid Siddiq and the white van. And I repeated the fact that all this was me taking precautions and that it wouldn’t go on for long.

  Ray leant against the washer and listened, arms folded tight. When I’d finished he launched himself away from it and clicked his fingers for the dog. ‘I need a walk.’ Digger wriggled out from behind the easy chair and thumped his tail against it. He circled round Ray who was putting his denim jacket on.

  Sheila waited until they’d gone. ‘I’ve never seen him like that. I thought he was going to throw something.’

  ‘Remember that time just after you’d moved in,’ I replied, referring to a previous case, ‘when I’d been–’

  ‘Your nose, you’d been thumped.’

  And drugged and kidnapped. But my nose wore the visible damage. ‘He was like that then. He thinks I’m taking unnecessary risks, and maybe the violence freaks him out.’

  ‘He can’t protect you,’ she said. ‘It’s your job and you obviously love it, but sometimes you get hurt and he can’t do anything about it.’

  I looked at her. ‘We’ve never had that sort of relationship. I don’t need protecting.’

  ‘Precisely,’ she stood up and began to clear the cups, ‘and he just has to stand by and watch.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I washed up. Outside, sunshine streamed in oil-painting rays from beneath clouds dark as bruises. Rain on the way. I gave Maddie another dose of medicine and got her ready for bed. She had some colour in her cheeks and she no longer complained about her ear. Tom was happy to get ready too. I plugged in Maddie’s cassette player and put on a tape she’d picked from the library. Magnus Powermouse was about a giant baby mouse. It was full of jokes and puns in Latin which I could barely understand and were way above her head, but it still worked as a great story. It was also long enough to last until they fell asleep.

  A bath, that was what I needed. It had been a long, pig of a day, the triumphs of completing the stalker case and convincing Pitt to act, soured by the subsequent events. Yes, a bath. Deep, hot, scented. Followed by cocoa, something soothing on the radio, a few pages reading in bed and sleep. Eight hours. I held it out like a carrot on a stick while I dialled Mrs Deason’s.

  I heard Ray return from his walk, go upstairs.

  When she answered, her voice was breathy, almost a whisper. Had I woken her? Was she ill?

  ‘Mrs Deason, it’s Sal Kilkenny here. I promised to ring you after I’d seen Joey. I did try earlier but there was no answer.’

  She made a noise. Peculiar. It made my neck prickle.

  ‘Mrs Deason. Are you all right?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  A punch to my gut. ‘What?’

  ‘My grandson. He’s dead.’

  Oh, God. They’d killed him. I’d led them to Joey and they’d killed him.

  ‘No!’ I protested. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I had to go to Chester, this morning, to identify him. That’s where he was living. He would never tell me, you know, I always had to wait for him to ring me. But now…excuse me, I can’t talk anymore.’ Her voice was flat. I remembered the love for him brimming in her eyes as we’d talked that first time.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Please, Mrs Deason, how did he…? Did the police say?’ I had to know. ‘Was it an accident?’ It was my fault. My face felt cold. Gooseflesh crawled along my limbs.

  ‘An overdose,’ she said.

  The relief buckled my knees. He hadn’t been murdered. One trip too many, that’s all. I wasn’t to blame. Disgusted then at my selfish response.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. And hung up.

  I shivered. Tried to adjust to a new picture of Joey D, still, silent, dead. I heard the first spatter of rain against the window panes and went and ran my bath.

  Cocoa. Milky, rich, just a smidgeon of sugar to take the edge off the bitterness. Always too hot to drink at first. I’d scalded my tongue countless times with my impatience. The phone went. My mobile – in my bag. It was in the corner of the kitchen, underneath Digger. I shook him awake and pushed him out of the way.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Miss Kilkenny?’ A woman’s voice but I didn’t recognise it at first.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I should ring or–’ Debbie Gosforth.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s Ricky,’ she cried. ‘He’s gone. I shouldn’t have told him. I never should have told him.’

  ‘What? Gone where?’

  ‘He’s gone after him. He said he’s gonna kill him,’ her rising voice reached shrieking pitch.

  Oh, God.

  ‘Debbie,’ I said sharply, ‘stay there. I’ll try and stop him. When did he leave?’

  ‘Just now,’ she sobbed.

  I tipped half my cocoa down the sink, filled the cup with cold water and gulped it down. Sacrilege.

  I scribbled the Ayres Road address on a piece of paper and took it in to Ray, who was in his room, at his computer.

  ‘I’ve got to go out,’ I said.

  He looked at me as if I needed my head examining.

  ‘A different case,’ I said pointedly. ‘This is where I’m going. I may be a while but I’ll ring when I’ve an idea of how long. I’m taking my mobile.’

  ‘What’s the big hurry?’ he asked coldly.

  ‘Some guy playing vigilante. I’ve got my personal alarm, too. If he’s there I’ll call the police. I’ll be careful.’

  He nodded, turned back to the screen.

  ‘Ray?’ What did I need? His benediction?

  He looked at me then swung his eyes away. ‘I don’t have to like it.’

  ‘No. But you could wish me luck.’

  A pause. He looked back, his eyes softening. ‘Yeah.’ A small, rueful smile. ‘Good luck.’

  Of course I checked for the white van before leaving the house. Nothing
. I drove as fast as I could, breaking the speed limit when it looked safe to do so but retaining control of the car. It was twilight. The rain was steady – a summer downpour that would make mud puddles on parched lawns and bruise the petals of large flowers. The wind had dropped and it was quite warm.

  Adrenalin had me completely wired. Everything was clearer, brighter. The vermilion of the street-lamps, the patterns of headlights fractured by raindrops on the windscreen. I could smell the faint fruity scent of the sewers as they rose with the deluge.

  As soon as I drew near the house in Ayres Road I knew Ricky had beaten me to it. Light spilled from the open front door. I ran from the car into the house. There were thumps and a scream from the room to my left.

  ‘Ricky!’ I yelled. ‘Ricky!’

  I thrust the door open. The atmosphere of violence ran along my nerves, gripped my stomach.

  The man was on his knees, his back to me. Above him, staggering and panting hard stood Ricky. He had bloody fists and blood on his T-shirt.

  ‘Ricky, stop it!’ I shouted.

  He kicked out. There was a crunch, the man yelped and keeled over onto his side. Curled up into a ball. He was crying. I felt bile in my throat and a flame of rage leaping through me.

  ‘Stop it, you stupid prat, stop it,’ the anger in my voice was hard as granite. Primal. I had no fear. Ricky swayed, drunk on bloodlust, looked at me. ‘You stupid, fucking idiot!’ I bawled. ‘That’s not him. Do you understand? You stupid bastard, that’s not even Gary Crowther. It’s the wrong man. You’ve got the wrong man. Are you proud of yourself now?’

  He blinked.

  There was a noise behind me. It was Jules, the neighbour, without her silver lamé.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ she demanded. She peered round me to see the carnage. ‘Friggin’ ‘ell.’

  ‘Ring an ambulance and the police,’ I instructed her. She blinked at me. ‘Now!’ I barked.

  ‘All right, keep yer hair on!’ she retorted and went out.