Ruthless (Cath Staincliffe)

by Cath Staincliffe

  Lee smiled. ‘Nothing I haven’t heard before. You want to put Pete in?’

  ‘No way! No lowlife tosser sits in my station and uses that sort of language against one of my officers then gets to call the shots. On the other hand you do not have to take that sort of abuse. Your shout. You go back in, if you’re happy to, and if he won’t play ball then move straight to charge.’ She had paused the video. It showed Noel Perry, eyes blazing, lips pulled back showing his teeth, the tendons in his neck taut like ropes. Every mother’s dream.

  ‘A pleasure,’ said Lee.

  Neil Perry had a sneaky, sly look to him from the start. Cat got the cream. Even the way he sat was cocky, legs wide apart like his balls were the size of grapefruits whereas Rachel knew that steroids made them shrivel. His were probably pea-sized. Like his brain.

  ‘Mr Perry,’ Rachel said, ‘I want to talk to you some more about the death of Richard Kavanagh. Yesterday you told me you were in Langley on Wednesday evening but we have several eyewitnesses who saw you in Manorclough. Can you explain that to me?’

  There was a light in his eyes, not intelligence, not even low cunning but some kind of twisted humour.

  ‘Must be seeing things. Tapped, probably mental.’ He gave a sickly grin. He’d not brushed his teeth and they were yellow, gummy around the edges.

  ‘You were also questioned about the presence of gunshot residue on your clothing. Residue which indicated you had fired a gun. How did that residue get on your clothes?’

  ‘No idea,’ he yawned.

  Rachel stifled the reflex to yawn herself. She spoke more quickly. ‘You were unable to account for petrol traces found on your clothing and footwear. Perhaps you could tell me how that got there?’

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ he said and smiled again. Almost like he was high. But he’d not be able to get drugs in the police station, it was more secure that way than prison, where the drug trade thrived. Half the saddos in jail were addicts and if they couldn’t get stuff smuggled in they’d try making mind-altering substances from cleaning fluids or anything else. She remembered the twins’ father had died from a lethal batch of prison hooch.

  ‘Mr Perry, have you anything to add?’ she said, wasting her breath but it was important for the record to extend the invitation.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Please wait a moment.’ She got to her feet.

  ‘You married?’ he said, grinning.

  Rachel glared at him. Tosser.

  ‘You got a ring on. That’s just for show, innit? You’re a muff muncher, i’nt you?’

  She wanted to slap his fat, smug face. As she reached the door, he said, ‘All right then, I did it, I shot him. And I set him on fire. I confess.’ The grin widened, showing his gums, and a bead of blood burst on the sore by his mouth.

  Fuck me! Perry’s lawyer looked as shocked as Rachel was but the turnaround accounted for why Perry had been smiling like a loon.

  ‘We would like to get a new statement from Mr Perry in the light of this admission of guilt,’ Rachel said to the solicitor.

  ‘Go for it,’ Neil Perry said.

  Rachel announced that they would begin again in half an hour. Which would just give her time for a fag, a very large coffee and a chance to talk to Godzilla and find out what the other twin was doing.

  Elise suggested taking flowers too but flowers didn’t seem right to Janet. They could send some for the funeral if that’s what Vivien and Ken wanted, the card would be enough for now. She said this to Elise, who answered, ‘Just a card?’

  ‘You could include a note, something personal about Olivia, your memories, what a good friend she was.’

  Elise’s face compressed and she turned away. They were in a café. Janet couldn’t get Elise to have anything to eat but she had drunk a milkshake and Janet had a coffee. She’d had far too much coffee in the last forty-eight hours, could feel her nerves singing with false energy. Hard to resist though. There was a television on in the corner, the sound muted, thank God, as the news began with Olivia as the top story. Pictures of Olivia were everywhere. Time and again Janet’s stomach turned over, still not desensitized to the image of the girl who’d been part of their lives in such a shocking context, still not ready to accept the reality of her death.

  ‘You don’t have to do it all today,’ Janet said. ‘We could drop a card round now and then you can send something more when you’ve had time to think about it.’

  ‘OK,’ Elise said quietly.

  She chose a card without a message, rejecting all the condolence cards with pictures of doves and crosses and phrases that she said were tacky. The card had a white background, embossed with shells, almost abstract. Janet had a pen in her bag.

  ‘What shall I put?’

  ‘Keep it simple,’ Janet said, ‘maybe that you’re thinking of them?’

  Elise wrote nothing for long enough and Janet was beginning to get impatient. ‘How about we send it from all of us?’ Janet said.

  Elise shook her head. She finally put pen to paper. ‘It’s not right.’ She showed Janet.

  I am so very sorry. Olivia was the best, most brilliant, loving and caring friend I ever had. I will miss her so much. And I am thinking of you all.

  ‘It’s fine, it’s lovely. Come on.’

  There were several cars on the road outside the house. More family, Janet assumed, come together in support. Janet pulled in across the driveway entrance.

  ‘Don’t knock, just post it,’ Janet said. ‘They’ll have all sorts going on right now.’

  Elise nodded. She got out of the car, leaving the door ajar, and ran up to the porch. At that moment the front door opened, Ken appeared, showing some visitors out. A couple, the man looked like Ken. His brother perhaps?

  Elise stood to one side. The pair left.

  ‘Elise,’ Ken said. He was white, drained.

  ‘I just brought this.’ Janet could hear Elise. Then she heard Vivien call from inside. ‘Ken?’ Then louder, ‘Ken? Is that Elise?’

  Vivien came to the door. Janet got out of the car, ready to explain they were passing, when Vivien said to Elise, ‘How dare you!’

  Elise recoiled as if she’d been slapped. ‘How dare you come to my house when you gave her … you. After what you’ve done.’

  Ken was talking, trying to restrain his wife. ‘Vivien, don’t. Just leave her, let’s go in.’ But Vivien was frantic with distress. ‘She wouldn’t have been there if—’

  ‘Elise.’ Janet reached her, took her arm.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Elise, her face bright red, said to Vivien.

  ‘You stupid little fool,’ Vivien cried.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Janet said, ‘it wasn’t Elise’s fault. It was nobody’s fault.’

  ‘Rubbish! If it hadn’t been for your bloody daughter, Olivia would still be here!’

  Other people, alerted by the noise, appeared behind Vivien and Ken in the hall. Ken took Vivien’s shoulder, she thrust his hand away angrily.

  Janet was trembling with adrenaline, anger bubbling inside but, determined to defuse rather than inflate the situation, she spoke slowly, emphatically. ‘What happened was an awful, awful tragedy. It was an accident. It could’ve been Elise who died, or anyone else at the party. The girls were there together, they thought the world of each other. You know that.’

  Vivien shook her head violently, not wanting to hear what Janet was saying. ‘I’ve lost my child. You have no idea what I’m going through.’

  The tiny body, unnaturally still, blue lips, their first baby, Joshua. That raw terror, the endless black grief. Janet said nothing. This wasn’t a competition. She just needed Vivien to stop persecuting Elise. To see how wrong she was. ‘No one forced Olivia to go there, to take what she did. That’s the awful thing about an accidental death, there is no one to blame.’

  Ken said, ‘I’m sorry,’ but Vivien did not relent. ‘Go away,’ she said, looking from Janet to Elise. ‘Get in your car and piss off and don’t come here again. You’re n
ot welcome.’

  Elise burst into tears and ran back to the car.

  ‘Vivien,’ Ken remonstrated.

  Janet, stung, turned and walked away.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ said Janet, ‘she’s mad with grief. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s just lashing out. Come on, I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Can we go to Gran’s?’

  ‘Gran’s?’

  ‘Please. I want to go there. You could go back to work.’

  ‘I’m going nowhere,’ Janet said.

  ‘I want you to.’ She turned her tear-stained face to her mother. ‘I want things to be normal again. There’s nothing you can do now anyway, is there?’

  ‘I can be around.’

  ‘I know but you don’t have to be around all the time. You’ll be home tonight.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Janet said.

  But Elise seemed set on it and Janet felt like a spare part after half an hour sitting with her mother and daughter. Finally she stood up, said maybe she would call into work, just for an hour or so, if Elise still felt OK about it.

  ‘I do,’ Elise said, ‘I want you to.’

  Dorothy arranged to take Elise home once Ade and Taisie were back.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Janet said as she was going. She kissed Elise’s head. ‘For all of it. Listen, it will get better. It might not seem like it now but it won’t always feel like this.’

  Janet rang and left a message for Ade, telling him that Vivien had lost it, that Elise had sent her back to work and that she’d be home later. ‘Be gentle with her,’ she added, still aching for her daughter.

  19

  Gill said two words when she saw Janet in the office: ‘Go home.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Janet said.

  ‘You’re on leave, go on.’ Gill tipped her hand towards the door. ‘You should be with Elise.’

  ‘It was Elise who sent me here, and I’ll be back there like a shot if she so much as whistles, but there’s no point in me sitting there twiddling my thumbs when she’s happier with her gran.’

  ‘How is she?’ Gill said.

  ‘Gutted, totally.’ Janet felt the pressure rise in her chest. ‘Vivien, Olivia’s mother, had a go at her. But this is what Elise wants.’

  ‘She’s made a statement?’ Gill asked.

  ‘Yes, this morning.’

  Gill looked at her, apparently coming to a decision. ‘We could do with you. We’ve a double murder now as well, two bodies from the warehouse fire, young couple from Nigeria shot.’

  ‘Good God! Just give me something to do,’ Janet said, ‘please. Where are we up to with Kavanagh, with the Perry twins?’

  ‘Mea culpa,’ Gill said.

  ‘Really! They confessed?’

  ‘Singing in harmony and all consistent with the forensics,’ the boss said. ‘We’re about to get full statements, if you’re up to another round with the delightful Noel?’

  Janet smiled.

  ‘Before you go down, get yourself up to speed.’ Gill nodded to the incident room where the latest reports were collated and displayed on the whiteboards.

  When Janet went in, the indexers were typing away, inputting material on the HOLMES system, a web of information covering every last detail of the lines of inquiry. Invaluable for finding connections. Other staff, the readers, were analysing what came in.

  Janet was familiarizing herself with the day’s developments, reading about Rachel’s encounter with Shirelle Young, when she felt a sting of recognition. She went to find Gill. ‘Where’s Rachel?’

  ‘In with Neil Perry, why?’

  ‘Shirelle Young, the description, that’s exactly how Elise described the dealer supplying drugs to the party.’

  Gill’s face was intent. ‘Right, you leave that with me. We still don’t know exactly what Shirelle can tell us about the murders but she had a previous close relationship with the male victim in the double shooting and she has apparently lied to us on a number of points. We’re about to execute a warrant for her place. You can’t go anywhere near her.’

  Janet was burning to find out more but had to distance herself. Anything related to Shirelle Young she must treat as though it had a great big No Entry sign slapped over it. That was the only way to ensure that further down the line there wouldn’t be any repercussions. ‘You don’t need to worry,’ Janet said, holding her hands up, ‘I don’t intend to.’

  ‘Better than monkey man, anyway,’ Noel Perry said once they were settled.

  Janet ignored the comment, focused on getting down to business.

  ‘Mr Perry, earlier today you confessed to the murder of Richard Kavanagh. What we wish to do now is get a full statement from you about the events of that night, Wednesday night. Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘We went to the chapel,’ he said.

  ‘You and—?’ She couldn’t put words into his mouth.

  ‘Our Neil. We went there and we shot him and then we set fire to him.’ His tone was gloating.

  They needed more detail and Janet set about gathering it. ‘What time did you go to the Old Chapel?’

  ‘Half seven,’ he said.

  ‘And how did you get in?’

  ‘There’s a gap in the fence and then you go down these steps, to the cellar door.’

  ‘Did you know Mr Kavanagh would be there?’ Janet said.

  ‘Yeah. We’ve seen him, we was watching him.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘’Cos we wanted to do him,’ he said.

  Janet felt a chill at the casual nature of his words. ‘Do him?’ she said.

  ‘Kill him.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Old wino, i’nt he. Vermin. Needed getting rid of.’

  Janet thought of the websites the twins had visited, the comments they posted, the twisted crap they espoused. Hate was what it boiled down to, hate and rage.

  She took a breath, said calmly, ‘When you entered the building, could you see Mr Kavanagh?’

  ‘Yeah. He was dossing down.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Told him we were gonna kill him,’ he smiled.

  ‘What did Mr Kavanagh do?’

  ‘He stood up, started gabbing.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I shot him,’ he gave a quick laugh, ‘and then I give the gun to Neil, and he shot him.’

  ‘You shot him where?’

  ‘In the chest, aim for the heart, head shot’s too risky,’ he said.

  ‘Then what happened?’ Janet said.

  ‘We chucked some petrol on him and round about and then we lit it.’

  ‘Who lit it?’

  ‘Neil.’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘Matches.’ He was grinning.

  ‘Then?’ Janet said.

  ‘We went up the shops, the precinct, could see from there, near enough.’ He made an explosive sound, gestured with his hands. ‘Didn’t take long to get going.’

  ‘Had you had any contact with Mr Kavanagh before this?’

  ‘No,’ he sneered.

  ‘Where did you get the gun?’

  His face stilled. ‘No comment,’ he said.

  ‘Where is the gun now?’

  ‘No comment.’ A complete change of attitude.

  ‘Does the name Greg Tandy mean anything to you?’ Janet said.

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘Even though we showed you film taken of you outside Bobbins on Tuesday, when your brother went in to meet with Mr Tandy? Do you remember now?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘We have reason to suspect you acquired a firearm from Greg Tandy on Tuesday, is that true?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Where did you get the petrol?’

  He scratched his side. ‘Petrol station.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Coupla weeks back,’ he said.

  ‘What did you carry it in?’

  ‘Petrol can,’ he sneered.

  ‘Which petrol statio
n?’ Janet said.

  ‘Shell, on the ring road.’

  ‘What were you wearing on Wednesday evening?’

  ‘Hoodie, jeans, trainers.’

  Janet produced the evidence bags. ‘Are these the items?’ She read the evidence log numbers for the tape.

  ‘Yeah, them’s mine.’

  Everything fitted. She saw no reason to prolong the interview.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You will now be formally charged and remanded in custody. You will appear before the magistrates’ court in the morning. Is there anything you wish to add?’

  He gave a slow smile, his gums showing. ‘One down.’ He raised his hand. Made a pistol shape, pointed it at Janet, mimed shooting and made an explosive noise. ‘A million to go.’

  While Lee and Kevin went to execute the warrant at Shirelle’s, Rachel paired up with Mitch for Stanley Keane’s. They took a couple of uniformed officers with them.

  Stanley Keane’s house was a new-build on an open-plan development. Tiny houses, big cars, 4x4s in several of the driveways, outsize satellite dishes on each house.

  The uniforms went round to guard the back and stop anyone trying to exit.

  Mitch knocked on the door and they waited for a response. When none came, he banged again, more loudly.

  Rachel saw movement out of the side of her eye, a woman next door peering out of the window, probably alerted by the police cars parked outside, blocking Keane’s driveway and his car.

  Sudden commotion from the back sent them both racing around the side of the house to the rear. Stanley Keane had apparently opened the back door, seen the welcome party and bolted back inside with the uniforms trying unsuccessfully to gain entry.

  Rachel rolled her eyes at Mitch and at that very moment realized the front of the property was now unprotected. Shit!

  She ran back round, vaulting over the little garden wall and scouring the street. There he was. Running. Perhaps two hundred yards ahead, just before the road bent to the right, an impression of bulk, dark clothing. Rachel gave chase, willing herself on, the houses passing in a blur, her footsteps loud on the paving stones, breath coming fast. He was soon out of sight. Reaching the T-junction, breathless and sweaty, she looked right and left, alert to any movement, but there was nothing save for the two or three cars travelling along it. She listened, tried to discern anything beyond the thud of her heart and the swoosh of blood in her ears. There was no sign of the man. Fuck!