This Little Piggy

by Bea Davenport

  “Where did Stevie go?”

  “Another cell. He says he was all cryin’ and shakin’ too. And he says the blood splashed on him and everything. He says when he went to the cell he was sick in a bucket.”

  “He got blood on his clothes? Has he still got them?”

  Liam shook his head. “Nah. Because he was wearing some sort of police thing. Like a jumpsuit made out of papery stuff, he said. Because they were doing tests on his real clothes. Then he got his things back when they let him go.”

  “What does Stevie think it was? The thing that was thrown down?”

  Liam pouted and made a ‘don’t know’ face. “He thought it was a baby. It was wrapped up in a blanket. And he said it was about the size of a baby too.”

  “When did he find out what had happened to Craigy?”

  “When they let him out. They just said, ‘By the way, son, your big mate’s topped himself’.” Liam poked at the bars of chocolate, deciding what to eat next. “And he’s just cryin’ now, all the time. So me mam’s gone to get him some more sleeping pills. And she says she’s gonna sue the coppers too.”

  Clare nodded. “Liam, do you know why the police arrested Stevie and Craigy?”

  “Aye. For the baby. Some crackpot’s been saying they saw them do it. But they never would, you know. Our Stevie won’t even kick the dog when it pees on the floor. He’s right soft, on the quiet.” Liam licked chocolate from the tips of his chubby fingers. “But if he ever finds out who grassed them up to the police he’ll kill ’em. I know he will. And all Craigy’s mates will help.”

  “Thanks, Liam.” Clare glanced at Amy, who was squatting on the floor trying to persuade Liam’s oily little terrier dog to come over to her. She didn’t react. “Hey, let’s not tell anyone about this, eh? I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”

  As her words came out, Clare’s stomach squirmed. This is how easy it is to get a kid to keep a secret, something you should never ask them to do. Just make them feel as if they’re in the wrong. After all, some kids grow up thinking they’re in the wrong anyway, just by being around, so it’s not difficult. It’s precisely why Amy thought she’d be the one in trouble when she saw someone murder baby Jamie.

  Liam shook his head. “Me mam’d kill me. You’re not going to put me in the paper, are you?”

  “No, I promise.” Clare raised her eyebrows at Amy, who jumped up from the floor. She pointed at the window. “That big fat reporter’s back,” she said. “He’s wandering round out there.”

  Clare made a face. “Can we go to yours for a bit, Amy? I don’t want to run into him.”

  “Do you not like him?”

  “Not very much, no.”

  “Why not?”

  Clare thought about it. “It’s a long story. But in a nutshell, he got a job I really wanted, even though he’s not very good. And now he’s trying to muscle in on my patch and do my stories.”

  Amy shook her head. “What a bastard.”

  Clare couldn’t help but smile, and followed Amy as she scuttled like a rat along some back fire escape stairs. The girl delved into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a Yale key. “Here,” she said. “Me mam’s not in, so you can go in and wait.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Amy grinned. “I’m going to talk to that fat reporter.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to make sure he goes off somewhere else.”

  “No, Amy, don’t…” But Amy had already started running down the steps.

  Clare shook her head. She felt too tired, achey and fuzzy-headed to argue. And she knew quite well that Amy had a mind of her own.

  She turned the key in Amy’s door and stepped inside. It smelled even worse than usual: a combination of dog and rotting rubbish and god knows what else. Clare found herself gagging and had to hold her breath, stick her head outside again and take a deep gulp of air. Max gave a single bark and got up slowly from the corner of the room.

  “Hi, Max.” Clare looked at him, her hand over her nose. Usually he almost deafened her with his barking and Amy would have to hold him back from leaping up at her. She braced herself to give him a pat on his large head. He whimpered but wagged his tail.

  Clare frowned. “Are you okay? You don’t seem right today.” She was talking to a dog. Maybe she did have mild brain damage after all.

  Clare stared around the sparsely-furnished room. In the corner where Max had been lying, on layers of free-sheet newspapers, there were pools of dog mess, and when Clare put her head around the kitchen door she found several overflowing bin bags of rubbish, with flies buzzing around their open tops. Bottles of soured milk sat on the bench and ants were scurrying all over the surfaces. The plastic bowls on the floor were empty apart from old, crusted chunks of dog food that had dried up. Clare leaned over the sink and wretched.

  There was a tap at the door and Amy’s voice called through the letterbox. “I’m ba-ack!” She bounced inside. “I told the stupid man that there’d been a big fight this morning and that the police had arrested about twenty people. He’s gone running off to the police station. He’s really dumb.”

  Clare looked at Amy, who didn’t seem at all fazed by the stench or the state of the flat. She didn’t know quite where to begin. “Is your mum around today, Amy? Has she gone off with her boyfriend again?”

  Amy shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “I don’t think your dog’s very well. Look at the mess he’s made on the floor. And he seems all floppy, doesn’t he?”

  Amy’s face fell. “I know he’s sick. I told me mam last night but she said she hasn’t got money for the vet so he’ll just have to get over it. And Mickey, that’s her boyfriend, he said there was nothing wrong with him. I was just hoping he’d get better.”

  “Okay, we’ll think about that in a minute. But what about all this mess? Rubbish and dirt and… I don’t know. You shouldn’t be living in this, you’ll get ill. When did your mum last do any cleaning around here?”

  Amy pouted. “She doesn’t like cleaning. I do it, usually. But we’ve run out of stuff to do it with. And Max getting ill made it worse.”

  Clare closed her eyes for a minute. “Right. Let’s start by getting Max to the vet. And then we’ll start cleaning up.”

  Together they half-dragged, half-pushed a whimpering Max down the stairs and onto a pile of newspapers on the back seat of Clare’s car. Amy squeezed in beside the dog and stroked him while Clare drove.

  “I don’t suppose you have a vet that you know? No. We’ll just go to this one here, then. I know nothing about vets either.”

  The session was an uncomfortable one. The vet said straight away that Max had picked up an infection, probably by scavenging through rubbish for food, and that he seemed dehydrated. “Stray, is he? Where’d you pick him up?”

  “Er, yes, that’s right,” said Clare, giving Amy a warning look. She guessed that Tina hadn’t bothered with a dog licence. “Near to Sweetmeadows.”

  “So you’re going to take him on? Remember to do all the paperwork. He’s going to take a bit of looking after, poor old invalid that he is. He’s got fleas too, you should know.”

  Clare sighed. Of course he did. Damn thing.

  When she paid the bill for a series of injections and several kinds of medication, Clare winced. She could quite understand why Tina hadn’t wanted to pay out for a vet. But Amy linked her arm on the way out and hugged it to her. “Thanks Clare.”

  “No problem,” Clare said.

  Then they called into the local Co-op for bin bags, rubber gloves, bottles of Jif and Domestos and a huge box of Flash powder. “Are you ready for this? If you’re going to go back home we want to make it fit for human habitation. Fit to live in, I mean,” Clare added, seeing Amy’s blank expression.

  “We can try,” said Amy, “though you can’t wash that black mould off the walls. I’ve tried.”

  They managed to clean up the living room and the kitchen, although by the end of it Clare had t
o sit down. She put her head in her hands. “Sorry, Amy, I’m beat. I’m still in a bit of pain from the other night.”

  “It’s okay. I can do the rest sometime. Told you, I like cleaning, when I’ve got all the gear.”

  “Your mum needs to be around more, though. It’s not right. I know I keep saying this.”

  “But she brings her horrible boyfriend. I hate him.”

  “Why do you hate him so much? Is it because your mum spends so much time with him?”

  Amy pursed her lips. “Worse than that.”

  “What, then? Tell me. Because I don’t understand.”

  “You won’t be cross with me?”

  “Of course not.”

  Amy swallowed hard. “He pinched my Walkman. He took it without asking and he sold it in the pub. And then he just laughed at me and said you could buy me another one sometime.” She sniffed. “That was the best present I’d ever had in my whole life. And he stole it.”

  “Oh, Amy. I’m sorry. That’s a horrible thing to do.” She echoed Amy’s earlier words. “What a bastard.”

  “I said I was going to ring you and tell you what he’d done. So he hit me.”

  Clare put her face in her hands for a minute. “Hang on. Was that last Sunday?”

  “I can’t remember. Maybe.”

  “You did call me, didn’t you? I could hear you crying on the end of the phone.”

  “Yeah. He mustn’t have put it down properly.” Amy brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. “You still can’t tell anyone though?”

  “Mmm. But I’m going to have to speak to your mum. Look, I want you to ring me up when she gets back so that I can come round and catch her. Will you do that?”

  Amy nodded. “Your flat was a right old rubbish tip too. I tidied it.”

  “It was, yes, but it wasn’t as bad as this. And I hadn’t been… well. I’d had a lot on at work.”

  Just then the door was pushed open and Tina stumbled in. She was followed by her boyfriend. Amy made a sulky face at him. Strong fumes of lager and cigarettes came off both of them.

  “Hiya, pet.” Tina ruffled Amy’s hair and the girl ducked out of the way. “Oh. Hello again,” Tina added, in Clare’s direction. “You can’t keep away, can you?”

  “Tina, I really need to talk to you. When I came here today, Amy had been left on her own again. There was nothing to eat and the dog had made a mess everywhere, in fact I’ve had to take him to the vet.”

  “Don’t expect any money from me,” Tina cut in.

  “They’re a rip-off, those vets,” Mickey said, switching on the TV and throwing himself down onto the sofa.

  “Never mind the bloody vet.” Clare felt her face going red. “The point is, Amy was left alone again. You can’t keep doing this, Tina. It’s not safe. She’s only ten.”

  “Nine,” Tina said, “since you think you know so much about her. But I still don’t see how this is any of your business.”

  Clare looked at Amy, who was sidling out towards her bedroom. So Tina still hadn’t remembered that her own daughter had had a birthday. “I don’t know what sort of a person knows that a little kid is being left on her own in a filthy house full of dog shit and then decides it isn’t their business.”

  Mickey got out his cigarettes and threw one across at Tina. “Fucking do-gooding posh bitch. I think you should go home, sweetheart.”

  Clare stood up. “If you like.”

  “Hang on.” Tina stepped in front of Clare, her fingers trembling as she lit her cigarette. “What are you going to do? You’re not going to tell the social services, are you?”

  “I should.” Clare was well aware that Amy was probably listening at the door. “I promised Amy I wouldn’t. But…” she dropped her voice and took a step closer to Tina. “If I come here one more time and find her on her own, that is exactly what I’ll do.”

  She was surprised to see Tina’s eyes fill up.

  “Don’t,” she said, still visibly shaking. “Give her some money for the vet, Mickey.”

  “I don’t want any money for the sodding vet. I want Amy to be safe. I don’t get it, Tina. She’s such a great kid.”

  “Yeah?” Tina blinked her tears back and Mickey gave a loud snort. “Try having her for more than a night and see how you get on. Try getting your head around her fairy stories and trying to work out what’s true and what isn’t. She’s a bloody handful.”

  Clare shook her head. “One more time, Tina. I mean it. Amy’s your responsibility. Do your job.”

  She walked quickly out of the flat and ran down the flight of steps, her heart thumping. She half expected Mickey to follow her down and threaten her.

  When a woman’s voice shouted, “Hey!” she jumped hard. Turning, she saw Annie Martin, carrying a shopping bag.

  “It’s you, isn’t it? The lass from the Post?”

  “Clare. Yes. How are you, Annie?”

  “You got a minute?”

  Clare nodded and followed Annie into the Donnellys’ flat. It was a little tidier than before. Becca and Bobbie were sitting on the floor, watching TV. Annie beckoned Clare into the kitchen and put the kettle on. “I need a word. We could use your help.”

  “Go on.”

  Annie clattered two mugs onto the kitchen bench. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Let me ask you, then. How are you coping?”

  “We’re not good.”

  “No. But I wondered if maybe it helped that there’d been some arrests?”

  “The arrests? Ridiculous. Disgraceful. A complete fit-up. Everyone knows it.”

  “How so?”

  Annie pursed her mouth. “That poor lad Jason Craig. He wouldn’t have done anything like that. The police are trying to say that he threw Jamie out of his pram and then did for our Deborah because she worked it out. It’s all rubbish. For one thing, Jason’s some cousin of Rob’s. Or second cousin, maybe. He was always a naughty lad, but never a violent one. And that daft mate of his, Stevie, he’s just the same.”

  “So why would the police arrest them in the first place?”

  Annie sipped her tea. “The word is, someone tipped them off. But it was clearly malicious. Or maybe the police just wanted to close the case and this seemed like an easy answer. I don’t know. But I’ve already been round to Stevie’s mum and said I don’t believe a word of it. And what the pigs must’ve done to young Jason to get him in that state, I don’t want to think.”

  Clare stared into the bubbles on the surface of her tea and blew gently onto them. “So you think the killer’s still out there?”

  “I know it.” Annie thumped her chest. “I know it right in here.”

  eleven

  Clare swallowed. She didn’t know how to answer Annie. “So how is the family coping?”

  “We’re not. Rob goes out to work, and that’s all wrong in my opinion, and then he goes off with the other scabs and drinks all night. The kids hardly see him. And I’m looking after them now, because I’m off the school dinner duties for the summer holidays.”

  Clare nodded. “It must be really hard.”

  “The thing is, we can’t…” Annie stopped and took a long breath. “They won’t let us have the bodies back. I still can’t bury my grandson and my daughter.”

  Clare shook her head. “Why’s that?”

  “They just won’t release them. I’ve asked and asked. We need a funeral. I need to put my daughter and her baby to rest in peace. The family needs to move on. And they won’t let us.”

  “What’s their excuse?”

  “It was ‘continuing inquiries’ and all that rubbish, although a fat lot of good their inquiries did. And then they claimed that Jason was the killer, so although I don’t believe that, I asked them for my family back. So that I could sort out the funeral. But they’re still saying no. I can’t stand…” Annie’s voice cracked. “I can’t stand thinking of them still lying in a mortuary somewhere. All cold and on their own and with a label round their feet, or whatever it is they do
. I want my daughter and her bairn put to rest.”

  “How can I help?”

  “You work for the paper. They don’t like it when they get criticised in the press. If you do a story about it, that might make them change their minds.”

  Clare sighed. “I can try. We don’t always have the clout people think we do. But I’ll give it a go.”

  Annie nodded. “Thank you. You’ve been good to us. Thank you.” She looked at Clare. “What happened to your face?”

  Clare smiled. “Long story. My own fault. You don’t want to hear about it.”

  “It wasn’t a fella, was it? If it was, get the hell away from him.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. I got on the wrong side of some kids here on the estate, the night all the trouble happened. That’s all.”

  Annie folded her arms. “I heard you were seeing that Finn McKenna.”

  Clare raised her eyebrows. “On and off, yes.”

  Annie put her head on one side.

  “No, Annie, I promise you it wasn’t him. I don’t know why you would say that. He’s very kind to me.”

  “Rob says there’s something not right about him.”

  Clare sighed. “Well, Rob’s got a reason not to get on with the union men, hasn’t he? You’re wrong, Annie, truly.” She slipped off the kitchen stool and picked up her bag. “Look. If you’re sure the two lads had nothing to do with Jamie’s death – and Deborah’s – who do you think did it?”

  “I already told you. It was revenge. Because Rob was a scab.”

  “You still think that?”

  “I’m sure of it.” Annie glanced around, almost as if she thought the real killer might be nearby. “Listen. McKenna? Even some of the miners say he’s a funny character. He came from nowhere and he’s taken over and there’s something I can’t put my finger on.”

  “But his mother lives around the corner, Annie. That’s not exactly coming from nowhere, is it?”

  “Aye, I know the family. That’s not what I meant. This Finn lad was working away, by all accounts, before the strike happened, but none of the miners can find anyone who knows what he was actually doing. And now nothing happens without his say-so. They call him Stalin, down in the union offices, did you know that?”