Yet another parent convinced their little angels never lied. Siobhan sensed a hardening in the girl’s attitude and realised she would stick to her story. She ended the interview and with a warning they might want to speak to Jenna again, they left.
As they drove away, Eddy spoke first. “I wouldn’t mind betting that phone call was from lover boy, telling her what to say to us.”
Siobhan agreed, considering her next move. “I want to break Philip’s alibi tonight. If we can get just one of them to contradict him, the others will fold.”
“Okay, Boss. Who do you want to see next?”
Siobhan didn’t need to consider. “Matthew Walcott.”
Eddy knew the address. The Walcott house, in contrast to the two they’d just visited, occupied a less affluent part of the city. They drove into a narrow street lined with red brick semis, small front gardens separating them from the road. The owners had concreted over most to make parking spaces for their cars. Eddy pulled up halfway along, outside one of the few houses retaining a garden.
As they waited for someone to answer the door, Siobhan checked her surroundings. A profusion of evergreen shrubs enclosed a tiny patch of manicured lawn. A light came on and a chain rattled. The door opened six inches and Siobhan took out her wallet to let the occupant read her ID.
“Hello. Mrs Walcott?”
“Uh huh.” The woman peered at the picture as Siobhan introduced herself. She closed the door and removed the chain. The door opened to reveal a large middle-aged woman wearing a floral housecoat and a pair of colourful, plastic-framed reading glasses resting on her head.
“Sorry, Chief Inspector, but you can’t be too careful.”
Siobhan agreed and introduced Eddy, adding, “We’d like a word with Matthew.”
“Oh, I’m sorry but he’s not in. What’s this about?”
Siobhan tried to hide her disappointment. “We need to speak to him about one of his friends from college.”
Mrs Walcott smiled. “He’s with a friend from college now; Philip Mason.”
Siobhan pulse quickened. “When did he go there?”
“He went straight from college; I think he’s having his tea there.”
They left and returned to the car.
“Do you want us to return to the Mason’s house, Boss? See if he is there?” Eddy didn’t sound convinced.
“I think these lads make a point of lying to their parents about where they are. I’d love to find out where they really go.”
“Do you want to call it a night?” Eddy checked the time.
Although frustrated at missing Matthew, Siobhan fizzed with energy and wanted to press on. “Let’s see if Ryan Collins is home. Who questioned him?”
Eddy checked his list. “Stefan and Debbie. I’ll give them a bell. Find out if they got anything out of him.”
Ten minutes later, they pulled up outside the home of Ryan Collins, a terraced house with a blue door. A large red-faced man snatched it open. He wore a lumberjack shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of creased brown trousers. No security precautions for Mr Collins, Siobhan noted and, looking at his ham-like forearms, she wasn’t surprised. It would take a brave intruder to try to get past him.
“Have you forgotten something?” he demanded in a pronounced Connemara accent.
The voice transported Siobhan to her childhood. “Mr Collins?” she asked, finding her accent growing more pronounced.
He dismissed her open wallet. “No need, I can tell what you are.” His breath carried the hint of alcohol.
“Can I have a word with Ryan?”
His smile faded. “The other two spoke to him. Now, why do you want to speak to the lad again?”
“I need to ask him about yesterday evening.”
“That’s what they asked.” He crossed his arms.
“I appreciate that, Mr Collins.”
Eddy moved closer, reacting to the man’s increasing hostility.
“Look, the lad’s done nothing wrong. I won’t have him harassed. You lot think all youngsters are up to no good.”
“I can assure you that’s not the case, Mr Collins.” Siobhan kept her voice level. “We need five minutes with your son to clarify something.”
She watched the play of emotions across his face as he came to a decision. “Sorry officers. The lad’s had a nasty shock, what with his friend being killed.”
The door slammed shut before Siobhan realised what was happening and the click of a mortice lock confirmed Mr Collins’ decision. She wanted to kick the door.
Philip took the last of the plates off the drainer and wiped it with the damp tea towel. His parents had maintained the semblance of normality during the meal, parrying his sisters’ inquisitive questions about the police. The murder of one of their brother’s friends had excited them and even the normally placid Cecily grew animated. His disdain for their childishness faded as he realised he’d have felt the same if this happened to one of them before yesterday.
The doorbell rang, making him jump. Had the police returned with a warrant? Then he realised it must be Uncle Byron, here at last.
Rebecca put down the wine glass she’d just rinsed and dried her hands but Samuel, already by the kitchen door, said, “I’ll get it. It’s probably Jehovah’s witnesses.”
“It’s all right, Dad,” Cecily called from the hall. “I’ve got it.”
The door opened and Cecily screamed. Philip froze. Angry voices shouted. Rebecca gave a cry and grabbing a knife from the block by the cooker, rushed into the hall.
By the time Philip roused himself the door had slammed behind her. Something told him to be careful, and he eased it open, peering through the gap. A large figure had forced his way into the hall, two more stood behind him in the doorway. Philip’s insides constricted. Samuel faced them in his chair, grim determination etched on his features. Beside him Rebecca held the ten-inch butcher’s knife, pointing it at the men.
Cecily sat on the floor, shocked but thankfully unhurt. He studied the intruders. All three wore masks. He’d wait to see what happened, then pile in, catch them by surprise. He needed a weapon and remembered his mum’s wooden rolling pin. One man waved a stick at Samuel and Philip recognised the shotgun with a start. His stomach did a somersault.
“Nobody move.” A rough voice with a Salford accent ordered.
The biggest of the three invaders looked at the knife and laughed. The shotgun moved away from Samuel and pointed at Rebecca. Silence reigned as the two sides stared at each other.
“Where’s the boy?” the voice demanded.
Philip looked at the back door. Could he get out without the men hearing him? But if he escaped, they’d hurt his family.
CHAPTER 8
Although his sister’s eyes remained open, she would see no more. Beautiful, loving and gentle, she was the star around which their lives revolved. Big, hot tears fell and splashed onto her cooling body. Numbed by grief, The Boy didn’t at first hear the sounds from the next room.
Guttural grunts overlaid the low moans coming through the open doorway. Unable to think, instinct told him to investigate. He struggled to his feet and, wiping away his tears, he staggered to the doorway. His eyes, now accustomed to the gloom, could make out the scene, almost a replica of the one in the outer room. This time his mother was the victim, and she was still alive.
As she became aware of his presence, she arched her neck to look at him. Her eyes met his with an expression he’d never seen in them. Soft brown irises, which had daily looked into his with love and kindness, reflected her pain and shame. Transfixed, he didn’t notice his assailant until a muscular arm snaked round his neck and dragged him out. It was the last he ever saw of his mother.
The taxi dropped Byron on the main road and, already late, he hurried down the uneven pavement, almost tripping over a bulge created by an errant root. The most expensive houses in the city and he had to stumble along in the dark to reach them. He recognised the gateway to his brother’s hou
se and beyond it a scruffy car with someone sitting in the driver’s seat. Not only did the car look out of place, but from what he remembered, the houses had plenty of off-road parking round here. He checked for a taxi plate but didn’t see one.
He considered investigating it, but the imminent reunion with Samuel, and Rebecca, concerned him far more. They’d met up at Dad’s, the Christmas before last, and Rebecca didn’t even speak to him, barely acknowledging Louisa. Even Philip and his sisters had looked embarrassed. He paused at the entrance to their drive. Despite the cold they’d left the front door open and people stood in the opening. With a growing sense of unease he strode towards the house. A horn blast sounded and without thinking, he understood what was happening. He dropped his bag and ran, hoping the horn would cover up the sound of his footsteps. Two men filled the doorway, with a third further in the house. Byron would have to do this right; otherwise it could end in disaster. Three feet from his target one of the men reacted. But far too late.
Byron’s shoulder caught him under the ribs and slammed the man, face first, into the doorframe. The impact made the frame shudder and deflected Byron into the second man. The man’s skull hit the edge of the door and he fell. Byron’s momentum took him on to his target, the third man inside the house.
Byron smashed into him, his head making first contact. The impact propelled the man forward towards a smaller figure beyond him. They landed in a heap. Byron fell to his knees, stunned by the impact. He shook his head and surveyed the room.
A girl sat on the floor beside the door. She stared at the man he’d hit in the kidney and screamed. A ribbon of blood emerged from under him, seeming to come from whoever he’d hit. A woman, it must be Rebecca. The girl’s screams took on a hysterical edge.
Byron scrambled to his feet. He must make sure the three intruders no longer presented a threat. He checked the two men in the doorway: both unconscious.
Samuel had wheeled himself to the woman’s side and struggled to disentangle her from the third man. Byron stepped across and dragged the groaning figure off her. Blood saturated her right hand and forearm; Samuel examined her and Byron could tell from his reaction she wasn’t hurt.
The girl, who he now realised must be one of his nieces, had gone to her mother and knelt over her, sobbing. Byron rolled the figure over and saw at once the source of the blood. The knife Rebecca held had removed most of the man’s left ear and blood saturated his torn ski mask. Samuel stared at Byron, not appearing to recognise him. Byron realised his brother was going into shock.
“Samuel,” Byron said. “Can you see to this?” He pointed at the man’s ruined ear.
Once he noticed the wounded man, Samuel gathered himself and examined the injury. “Philip,” he called.
The kitchen door opened, and a dazed Philip stood there. The young man had grown since Byron last saw him and now stood almost the same height as his uncle.
“Go to my study and get my bag.”
Philip didn’t react for a few moments then disappeared into Samuel’s study.
“Cecily.” The girl didn’t respond. “Cecily,” Samuel repeated louder, but she just looked at him blankly.
“Come on darling.” Rebecca stroked her daughter with her clean hand. “I’m fine. Now let me up. The man needs our help.”
Rebecca struggled to her feet, and Byron offered his hand but she ignored him and rushed into the kitchen. Cecily, seeing him for the first time, gave a tentative smile. He held out an arm and she clutched it. She sobbed, making her thin body tremble, and he made soothing noises.
He checked the two men by the door, but they hadn’t regained consciousness. Philip returned with a bag which he handed to his father. Samuel took out a pair of scissors, leant over the side of his chair, and cut off the rest of the mask to expose the wound. Byron recognised Ritchie McLaughlin straight away. Conflicting emotions passed through him as he recalled the fear McLaughlin had prompted during so much of his school life.
Rebecca returned with a large first aid kit and examined McLaughlin, appearing to recognise him. How would she know a lowlife like him? She shook herself and with practised efficiency, tended to the man’s wounds. McLaughlin groaned and began to struggle but Samuel restrained him.
“Calm down,” he said. “We’re trying to help you. You’ve got a nasty cut and you need to keep still.”
The doctor’s reassuring tone calmed the injured man and McLaughlin subsided. A sound by the door reminded Byron he hadn’t checked the other two for weapons. One of them groaned.
Byron took two paces towards him then stopped. The barrels of a sawn-off shotgun appeared in the open doorway. Two small, perfect circles pointing at him. Only from this distance they didn’t look so small. Behind them, a masked newcomer stared at him from the doorstep. He should have remembered the driver and Byron cursed himself for his carelessness: I’m too rusty for this.
Siobhan locked her car and retrieved the keys to her flat. The frustration of the encounter with Mr Collins had made her more determined to press on until Eddy persuaded her to call it a day. He looked exhausted, and she realised it had been over eighteen hours since she’d met him in the fire-blackened house. She recognised her propensity to push too hard. Not everyone shared her stamina.
She reached her flat and let herself in. She’d gone beyond hunger; maybe she’d just have a bath and go to bed. Tomorrow promised to be another long day. She entered the bathroom and a damp cold seeped into her. As she fetched the heater from her bedroom, her phone rang, making her jump. Few people had her number, and work would use her mobile. It must be her mother, wishing her goodnight.
“Hi, Mammy.”
“Hello, Siobhan.”
Her heart shrank, and she didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Hello, Niall,” she said through gritted teeth. “Who gave you this number?”
“That’s not a very friendly greeting.”
“You haven’t answered my question.” I bet Mammy gave it to him, she’s still hoping we get back together.
“I didn’t realise I was being interrogated.”
She could picture his petulant expression. “What do you want?”
“I just wanted to say welcome to Manchester. How’s the new place?”
She had no wish to chat to her ex. “Well, now you’ve said it.” His words sank in. “And what do you mean welcome to Manchester?”
“Just what I said. I thought we could meet for a drink.”
Her jaw muscles clenched. “That will not happen, Niall.”
“Siobhan, I’m sure we can work things out. Why don’t we just—”
“No, Niall.” She lowered her voice. “We both agreed when we split up, to give each other space, and following me to Manchester isn’t—”
“No. We didn’t agree. You decided when you dumped me.” He paused, and she heard him crying.
“Niall.” She took a deep breath. “It’s late and I’ve work tomorrow…”
“Yeah sure, work,” he snorted. “When did you become a hard-hearted bitch Siobhan?”
“Don’t swear at me, Niall, and don’t ring me again.”
She slammed down the handset and stared at the phone for several seconds. Thoughts of a relaxing sleep vanished under a surge of anger. Why the hell couldn’t he accept it was over? She unplugged the phone, changed into her tracksuit and, within ten minutes, she set off running on a route she’d picked out on the day she moved in. With every step she took, the worries and stresses of the day melted away.
Siobhan ran fast, her pulse over 180 but her breathing steady. Her leg muscles tightened as her feet flew over the pavement but she’d almost reached home. She passed her car and froze at the sight of a figure fumbling with the lock of her front door. Eddy had warned her of the area’s reputation for crime.
Adam wore a bright yellow chemical suit and breathing apparatus. The thought of letting Byron down made him tense. He and Mal reported to the BA control point set up outside the entrance to the building containing the research lab.
A line of black hose-reel and a fatter red hose disappeared through the open door. Half an hour of running about, setting into the water supplies and preparing the decontamination unit had made both of them hot. They now formed one of two relief crews. The other team stood by a low wall, a big bulky figure and beside him a petite companion.
“Uh, oh, look who’s here,” Mal said, grinning at him.
Adam stifled a curse, he’d not spoken to Julie since their intense year-long relationship ended at the start of the summer. He reported to the BA control officer while Mal joined the other team.
“How are they doing?” Adam gestured at the board which contained six tags, three teams of two.
“The first lot should be out in ten.” The officer gestured at Julie. “They’re due to relieve them and you two will take over as emergency team.” His radio crackled, and he responded, leaving Adam with no option but to join the others.
“Hi Adam,” Julie’s bright greeting surprised him.
Wayne, her companion, stood and clasped his hand. “Hey, Adam, good to see you, mate.”
The contrast to their first meeting, when Wayne tried to bully, then humiliate him, made Adam smile. They’d never be friends but shared a mutual respect after saving each other’s lives. With a sense of relief he relaxed and joined in the conversation, enjoying chatting to Julie. In a subconscious gesture, she reached for Wayne’s hand and entwined their fingers.
A jolt passed through Adam’s insides. But she’d always hated Wayne, making fun of his macho posturing. What the hell was she doing with a bozo like him? Although he’d instigated the break-up he recognised the signs of jealousy.
A summon from the control officer broke into his thoughts. The four of them rushed to the entry point.
“We’ve got a problem, go under air and I’ll brief you,” he said.
Adam’s pulse jerked, and he hooked the facemask harness over his head. Whistles shrilled and regulators hissed as four BA sets started up.
“Team one’s gone missing,” the control officer continued, naming the crewmembers. “Last seen firefighting on the first floor of block B2.” He tapped the plans of the site; a copy of which Adam had studied on their way. “The hose-reel should lead straight to it. Be careful, the lab’s full of nasties, and if possible, avoid this cabinet.” He held up a picture of a metal cupboard with a chemical hazard sign on it. “That’s where the hydrofluoric acid is kept. Don’t get anywhere near it, as it will pass through your suit and fire kit.”
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