This Little Piggy

by Bea Davenport

  Max had to be dragged down the steps. The shouting and the smell of burning were terrifying the animal. His loud whining was upsetting, even for Clare, who had no patience with dogs. On the ground, Amy squeezed herself up against Clare as they walked across the square, watched by all the teenagers. They had to stop again and again because Max kept sitting down and would only move with the combined pushing and pulling efforts of Clare and Amy.

  As they rounded the corner, Clare saw that Joe was there, talking to the firemen. “There you are,” he said. “You are a bloody liability. These guys told you not to go in there, didn’t they?” He looked at Amy. “It’s you. I might’ve known. What’s going on?”

  Clare paused. She couldn’t say that Amy was on her own, not in front of anyone official. The firemen might talk to the police… “What are you doing here, anyway?” she fired back at Joe. “I thought you were getting your beauty sleep.”

  “Yeah, well.” Joe shifted from foot to foot. “Once you woke me up, I couldn’t drop off again.”

  Clare made a snorting noise. “Had to come and see what was happening, more like. I don’t suppose you called a photographer out?”

  “I did, as a matter of fact.” Joe scratched his unshaven chin and looked down at Amy, who was half-hiding behind Clare. “So where are you two going?”

  “I’m just giving Amy a lift,” said Clare, carefully.

  “Where to? Where’s her mum?”

  Clare was conscious of Amy tensing. “At an auntie’s. Amy’s mum went out and missed her last bus, so I’m just dropping her round there.” Clare nodded back towards the estate. “Obviously Amy can’t stay there tonight.”

  “Right.” Joe didn’t sound convinced. “When you’ve done that, do you want to swap some notes?”

  Clare hesitated. “It’ll have to wait until the morning. I’m worn out.”

  They tugged Max around the corner to Clare’s car and pushed him into the back seat. He made a low whining sound as they drove away.

  “He’s really hungry.” Amy said. “I gave him some Frosties but I don’t think he liked that very much. It was all there was in the house.”

  “I don’t suppose he did.” Clare thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ve had an idea.”

  Clare parked outside Jai’s newsagents and, as Amy waited in the car, used her office key to get inside. She picked up some cans of dog food and left the money on the counter. She’d come up with some sort of explanation to Jai the next day.

  Then they drove back to Clare’s flat and dragged Max inside. When Clare mashed the dog food into a bowl, the animal gobbled at it until the plate was clean.

  “I’ve never seen a dog eat so fast,” Clare said. “I think he’d better have another tin. He’s a big beast, after all.”

  “Can he come into my room? Otherwise he might feel strange, in a new place all night,” Amy said.

  “I suppose so. Amy, we are not making a habit of this, okay? And you look pale. Go on, get into bed and take that brute in the room with you. Don’t let him chew anything.”

  “Thanks, Clare.”

  Clare shook her head at Amy’s back view as she headed for the spare room. This couldn’t go on, she knew. If Amy was regularly being abandoned – for days on end, it seemed – then Clare was going to have to do something about it, or at the very least tell someone who could step in. She just wasn’t sure what would happen to Amy after that.

  Sunday 29th July

  Clare managed to grab a couple of hours’ sleep, but thoughts of all the writing up she would have to do prodded her awake at around six in the morning and wouldn’t let her rest any longer.

  She made breakfast for Amy while the little girl took the dog outside for a quick walk and then fed him again. Clare was glad she’d picked up several cans of dog food.

  “Now then. I have to go into work to write up what happened at Sweetmeadows last night. We’ll call your home, but I’m guessing your mum won’t be back yet. So how about you wait here for a couple of hours, until I get back?”

  “Yeah, great.”

  “You’ll be sensible? Promise you won’t go wandering off or anything?”

  “Promise.”

  “Right. I’ll go into head office.” Clare scribbled the number on a piece of notepaper. “You can call here if you need me. I should be back around lunchtime. I’ll bring something to eat.”

  And when I get back, Clare thought, we need to decide what we’re going to do about you. I’m supposed to be the grown-up around here but somehow I’ve ended up helping keep your secret.

  Joe pounced as soon as she walked into the office, shortly after eight. “Right. What the heck went on last night with you and that weird kid?”

  “I told you. She phoned me and told me there was all this trouble going on. I went to do the story and then I thought I ought to take her to…”

  “Her auntie? Yes, you said that. So where does this aunt live?”

  Clare grabbed a sheaf of copy paper and slipped two sheets of carbon paper in between the leaves. “Not far from me, as it happens. That’s why I thought it would be okay to give her a lift. I could hardly leave her there, could I?”

  “How many times? That kid is not yours to sort out. You’re going to end up in trouble yourself at this rate.”

  Clare fed the paper into the typewriter. “Want to share my notes? Or do you just want to go on and on like a poor man’s policeman or something?”

  Joe pulled a chair up next to her desk. “I’ll share your notes.”

  “Good.”

  “For now.”

  Clare filled Joe in with the details of the teenagers and their friend’s arrest.

  “You get writing and I’ll find you a police comment,” he told her. “I’ll even get you a coffee.”

  Clare gave him a quick smile as she started typing. She’d written around half of the story when Sharon Catt came in, followed by Chris Barber. Catt stopped dead and stared at Clare. “What are you doing in here? It’s not your weekend on rota, is it?”

  Clare shook her head, her fingers continuing to tap rapidly at the typewriter keys. “I was out at Sweetmeadows last night. I’m writing it up for tomorrow’s first edition.”

  Chris Barber swore.

  Catt shot a look at him, then turned back to stand over Clare, reading over her shoulder. Clare stopped typing and looked up. “Something wrong?”

  “Yes, Clare, there is. I picked up the stuff about the Sweetmeadows disorder on my calls this morning and I dragged Chris in on his day off to cover it. I really think you could have let someone know what you were doing.”

  Joe walked up to the desk, a plastic cup of vending machine coffee in each hand. “The picture desks knew we’d covered it,” he interrupted. “And we were out until the small hours of the morning, as it was all going on. You can’t blame Clare.”

  “Don’t tell me how to manage my news team, Joe.”

  “I’m only saying that…”

  “Haven’t you got your own stories to write?” Catt swept towards her desk and threw herself into her chair. She started to flick fast through the Sunday papers. Clare made a face at Joe, who turned and started to stroll, deliberately slowly, to the other end of the office.

  “Looks like I’m a spare part,” Chris said. “Again.”

  Clare stuck out her lower lip and mimed crying. She stopped before Catt looked up again. “You must have better things to do, then. When does the Olympic coverage start?”

  “Not until late,” Chris said.

  “Yes, off you go,” Catt interrupted. “There’s no point in paying for extra reporters on a Sunday. And Clare’s jumped in yet again, without being asked. I haven’t agreed this with you, Clare, so don’t expect any overtime.”

  Clare bit back a reply and carried on writing. Joe came back when Catt left her desk and handed Clare a piece of paper with a typed police comment about the disorder.

  The police say Jason Craig is still helping them with their enquiries into a range of offences. Th
ey urge young people on the estate to calm down and warn that anyone involved in any further disorder will be arrested and charged.

  Joe had written PTO on the slip of paper. Clare flicked it over to read: Seaton says he has something interesting to tell us. Come and see me when you’ve finished writing up.

  Clare raised her eyebrows, finished her final sentence and typed ‘Ends’. She handed the copy to Catt and asked: “Okay if I go now?”

  “I’m sure we’ll manage without you. Hard as that is to believe.”

  Clare signalled to Joe and he followed her out to the car park at the back of the newspaper office. “Seaton wouldn’t say what it was about over the phone. Just that we’d be interested.”

  At the police station, Seaton called for tea and it arrived with biscuits.

  “This is the VIP treatment,” Clare said. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, officer, she’s a terrible cynic,” Joe added.

  “She is.” Seaton dunked a digestive into his cup. “And here’s me giving you a tip-off.”

  They waited as Seaton sucked at the soggy remains of his biscuit. “Inquest re-opening tomorrow morning on Deborah Donnelly.”

  “Only re-opening? I’d have thought you would be able to give a full report by now.” Clare sat forward. “I’d assumed she’d taken too many sleeping pills.”

  “That’s what everyone thought had happened. Who’d have blamed a mother who’d lost a baby for overdosing, accidentally or on purpose? Turns out there were pills in her mouth, not swallowed. There’s been a bit of a delay with the lab reports. But we talked to Annie Martin again and there are a few odd things about how Debs was found.”

  “What do you mean, odd?”

  “The front door was left open, for a start. Annie Martin says they don’t leave their door open, especially since the family was targeted for breaking the strike. And there are signs that she struggled with someone. We’re getting the pathologist to look at the case again. There’s just a possibility she might have been suffocated.”

  nine

  Clare and Joe looked at each other. “You’re saying Debs Donnelly was murdered?”

  “It’s bloody difficult to suffocate yourself, I’d imagine.”

  Clare gave a quick smile. “Okay, but have you made any arrests?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Any leads?” Joe was scribbling fast in his notebook. “Debs died on the evening of the protest outside your station, didn’t she?”

  “Annie Martin was there. Debs’ mum. At the protest, I mean,” Clare chipped in.

  “And Rob Donnelly was at some meeting about work,” Seaton carried on. “Nine or ten men can vouch for the fact that he was there till late. Until the police called to tell him about Deborah, in fact. His kiddies were with a relative who takes care of them sometimes when Rob’s at work.”

  “So have the police got any thoughts?”

  “We’re talking again to the person who called the ambulance, just to see if we can piece together what might have happened. It was a friend of yours, in fact, Miss Jackson.”

  “Who?”

  “The ambulance was called by young Amy Hedley’s mother. It was the kiddie who raised the alarm. Apparently she looked in their window and noticed that Deborah Donnelly was lying on the floor. But then I thought you would know all that, seeing as how you and young Amy are thick as thieves.”

  Clare shifted in her seat, aware that Joe was looking at her. “I didn’t know she’d been the one who actually found Debs Donnelly, no.”

  She thought back to the conversation on the night of the protest. All Amy and Tina had said was that Debs had been taken away in the ambulance. Poor Amy. That was probably something else she had nightmares about.

  “So the police are nowhere near making any arrests?” Joe was saying. “I’m guessing you think there’s a connection with what happened to Jamie, though?”

  “We’re working on those lines, obviously.”

  “Is it too late for any forensic evidence to be left at the scene?”

  “We’re looking for anything we can get.”

  “But most of it won’t be there any more?”

  Seaton coughed. “Do you watch a lot of detective shows on the TV?”

  “All of them,” Joe said, cheerfully. “So I’m guessing you’ll be asking why no one took evidence straight away? Will there be another internal inquiry?”

  “Our officers will have done what they thought was correct procedure at the time. We didn’t seriously anticipate there being any other persons involved in Mrs Donnelly’s death. I wish you lot would just do one story at a time.”

  Clare almost felt sorry for Seaton. He was doing a good impression of a man who was doing his best but being thwarted at every turn.

  “And she definitely didn’t take an overdose?”

  Seaton reached for another biscuit and broke it in half. He mopped the crumbs into a small pile with his index finger. “We’re still waiting for a report on what medicine was in her system.”

  “That’s taking a long time, isn’t it?”

  “Cutbacks, Miss Jackson.”

  Clare frowned. “All the same…”

  Seaton interrupted. “Not for publication, the original report got lost. Do not ask me to make a comment on that because it wouldn’t be printable.”

  Joe gave a short laugh and tried, badly, to turn it into a cough. “You’re really not having much luck with this whole thing, are you?”

  Clare winced. “So will some of this, about the possible murder inquiry, will that come out tomorrow?”

  Seaton nodded. “We’ve informed the family that we’re working on a new line of inquiry. You can imagine their distress, given what they have already been through after the loss of young Jamie. So I don’t have to tell you to respect their feelings when you go knocking on their door, which I am sure you’re about to do.”

  “Just out of interest,” Joe said, as they stood up to leave. “Any reason for the tip-off?”

  Seaton gave an exaggerated shrug. “You know I like to keep my friends in the press happy. It would be nice if they paid me back with some friendlier pieces about the police, for a change.”

  Clare waited until they got back out to the car before saying anything. “I can’t promise that,” she said. “Seems to me the police are making an almighty cock-up of everything to do with Sweetmeadows at the moment.”

  “I’d say that’s a fair comment,” said Joe. “Shit. So another death-knock at the Donnellys. There must be better ways to spend a Sunday afternoon.”

  “Joe.”

  Joe turned to her, his hand on the car door. “What? Let me guess. The name ‘Amy’ is heading my way, isn’t it?”

  “She stayed at my flat last night.”

  Joe’s mouth opened and closed. “Tell me you are kidding.”

  Clare shook her head. “She had nowhere to go. It was late and she was scared. I couldn’t just leave her alone in the middle of all that stuff, could I?”

  “I knew you weren’t telling the truth last night. You’re a pathetic liar. Don’t give me those big eyes.” Joe breathed out hard and swore. “Okay, listen to me. We’ll go back and get her and take her home, on the way to door-stepping the Donnellys. And then listen to me, just for a change, and back off.”

  “But what if there’s no one home again? I can’t just leave her all on her own.”

  “If there’s still no one home, that’s neglect. We’ll call the council.”

  “But I promised I wouldn’t do that, Joe. She’s terrified about being taken into care.”

  “That’s tough. You’d still be doing the right thing.”

  Clare found her stomach churning as they drove back to her flat. As she turned the key in the door, Max gave one of the low barks that always made her shiver. The first thing that hit her as she pushed open the door was a smell of bleach. She held her breath.

  “Amy?”

  Amy bounced out of the kitchen. “Hi! You were ages. Can we go
and eat? I am starving.”

  “What’s that smell?”

  Amy spread her arms wide. “I’ve been cleaning!”

  “You have, haven’t you?” Clare looked around. The place looked quite frighteningly tidy. “What’s happened to - er - all my stuff?”

  “I’ve cut all the by-lines out of the newspapers and thrown the rest of the papers away. I put your letters in a pile, over there. I took some stuff out of carrier bags and put it in your wardrobe. I never took the labels off though, in case you want to take anything back. My mam does that with clothes all the time. And then I dusted and I cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen. It was a right old mess, you know.”

  Clare stared around. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Still standing on the doorstep, Joe gave a loud and meaningful cough.

  “Sorry. Come in, Joe. You remember Joe, who works on the morning paper?”

  Amy looked at him and widened her mouth into a smile, but Clare could tell she’d rather he wasn’t there. She suddenly felt the same.

  “I’ve got an idea. Joe, why don’t you head off to Sweetmeadows and see how far you get with the Donnellys? It might be better if there’s just one of us. I think I owe Amy some lunch after she’s done all this. And then I’ll catch up with you, okay?”

  Joe paused. “Fine. I’ll wait for you in the square.”

  In other words, he was going to make sure that Clare took Amy home and came back without her. But at least she would have a chance to chat to Amy and, with any luck, to Tina, without Joe watching and butting in.

  Once she was sure Amy had had her fill of fried chicken, chips and ice cream, Clare drove her back to the estate. On the way, she asked the question that had nagged her since leaving the police station. “You never mentioned it was you who found Debs Donnelly? And your mum called the ambulance?”

  Amy’s brow wrinkled up into tiny lines. “I thought I told you.”

  “Nope.” As she drove, Clare glanced at Amy out of the corner of her eye. “That must have been very upsetting.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Amy breathed onto the car window and started drawing a pattern on the clouded glass.

  “So what happened, exactly? How come you found her?”