Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) (6 page)

like her.’ Jessica picked up a Post-it note and held it in the air. ‘Anyway, what about Debbie

Callaghan’s dad?’

Izzy shuffled through a stack of papers on her lap. ‘Ivor Callaghan died in Strangeways almost

exactly twenty years ago. He got life after confessing to robbing a post office with a sawn-off shotgun.

He got away with fifty grand – money never recovered. String of other minor offences; mainly drink-

related. The usual.’

‘He confessed?’

‘That’s what it says.’

‘Funny, Debbie reckons he always protested his innocence. Perhaps that’s just what he told her?

Anyway, what else?’

‘I’ve got you an address for Luke’s former business partner, Michael Cowell.’

Jessica picked up the relevant note, relieved that Izzy had written it as it meant it was actually

readable. ‘I’ll take him. I’m going to see the AA guy who’s giving Debbie an alibi too. I’m always

nervous when someone gets hurt who has a long line of people gunning for them. Too many suspects.’

‘I got you some stuff on Debbie but not much. There’s nothing formal to say she and Luke have

separated; no divorce application, no DV complaints – just that 999 call. Her parents are both dead,

no children. They’ve got a joint bank account but she’s got one of her own too. Nothing suspicious has

gone in or out – she’s got less in hers than I’ve got in mine.’

‘Next-door neighbour?’

‘Works as a nurse, nothing special there.’

‘Election rival?’

Izzy half-laughed, half-sighed. ‘There’s a bunch about him on the Internet – he sodded off to the

south of France after the election. It looks like the poor bastard got stitched right up. He’d been on the council for a couple of decades and then all these leaflets went around about him touching kiddies up

because he used to work for the scouts. Callaghan was suspected but he denied it, turning things

around to say that someone was trying to frame him. I’ve got someone digging but it doesn’t make

much sense. If this guy wanted revenge on Callaghan, why would he wait until now when he’s off in

France? Why would he get someone else to do it in public?’

‘The public thing’s bugging me too. It sounds like Callaghan’s a bit of a shite but why not hit him

when he’s on the way back from the council after some late-night circle-jerk? Or knock on his door

and throw the acid in his face? It’s either someone who wants the attention, or a person who doesn’t

care. Bad news either way.’

‘It could still be a botched attack on the Home Secretary.’

‘True but we’ve not had any witnesses say our hoody made any move towards the stage. He might

have abandoned his plan when he saw the security but all we can work from is that we’ve got one guy

in surgery and a list of people who have it in for him. What about this Anarky lot?’

Izzy shuffled through her papers and handed over another Post-it note with a web address on. ‘It’s a

private forum where some of our known nutters post their plans. Although it’s not public, people can

sign up easily, so it’s not exactly hidden either. It’s mostly harmless – conspiracy theories, planning

their meetings, some football stuff. In your email, you’ve got the exact post. Our geeks are tracing the IP. All it said was, “Nice work at Picc. Get out OK?” Only one reply, which just said “Eh?” and then

it got deleted. One of our monitoring lot picked up on it but there’s no major chatter, so it could be a hoax or something else entirely.’

‘Does the Guv know?’

‘He’s been talking to your mates at Serious Crime—’

‘Pfft.’

‘I knew you’d like that but it’s their thing because of the gangs. SCD say there’s no specific intel

that Anarky or any similar groups were planning anything. It might be someone trying to talk the group

up, or even a rival trying to smear. They say that even if they get the IP, they’ll have to tread carefully because they don’t want the forum to be shut down. I’ll leave it to you and the Guv but he didn’t seem

convinced you’d get much backing.’

‘All right, great stuff – as ever.’

Izzy stood, ready to leave, but turned as she got to the office door. ‘DSI Hambleton’s in today, if

you didn’t know.’

‘Niall?’

Izzy giggled. ‘Ooooh,
Niall
is it. Very cosy.’

Jessica balled up the messages and threw them towards the bin, missing again. ‘What else am I

supposed to call him? He’s not a superintendent any longer – and he’s twice my age.’

‘Sugar daddy then. He’s nice – and he’s got a thing for you. When he spotted me, he specifically

asked where you were.’

Jessica untied her hair, flicking it behind her shoulders. ‘He’s good to talk to – full of stories plus

he gives good advice. Perhaps if these miserable bastards stopped gossiping for half an hour they’d

get a decent CCTV shot of our hoody.’

Izzy grinned. ‘Getting defensive too – very suspicious.’

‘All right, sod off. There’s fingertip search duties going if you fancy it?’

‘Who’s going to run all your errands then?’

‘Dave – if he ever gets back from holiday.’

Jessica’s attempt at not giving the station’s gossiping bastards anything to talk about immediately

came crashing down when she ran into Niall Hambleton as she was heading through reception. The

former DSI had retired almost a decade previously but was working voluntarily for a day or two a

month looking into cold cases where they hadn’t managed to find the culprit for a certain crime. It fell under the current policy of ‘let’s see how many people we can get to work for free’. Jessica was sure

it wouldn’t be long before they had someone doing a CID job for nothing, probably under the guise

that as enough people watched police shows on TV it couldn’t be that hard.

Izzy was right that Niall had a soft spot for Jessica but what she hadn’t said was that it was mutual.

There was a little of Jessica’s father in Niall – the quick, wicked humour, the fact he didn’t seem to

miss anything. Jessica knew it was probably the type of thing psychologists had wet dreams about –

that her father had died less than a year ago and now an older man wanted to take her under his wing

– but she didn’t care.

As she was heading out of the front door into the car park, she heard Niall calling her name as he

came down the stairs. When she turned, he hugged her, much to the amusement of desk sergeant Fat

Pat, who got a middle finger behind Niall’s back and a mouthed obscenity. Not that it bothered him as

he carried on tucking into the remains of the steak and kidney pie he was hiding under the counter.

What a fine example they set to the unsuspecting public. ‘Your son’s gone missing? Give us a minute

because Fat Pat’s still chomping on a pie.’ Still, he was pretty much the only person in the station who actually knew what everyone else was up to, so staying on his good side was essential. Even if he did

eat everything put in front of him.

Niall eventually released Jessica, grinning down at her. Although he was in his late sixties, he had

aged well and, if anything, looked younger than DCI Cole. He still had a full head of white hair, with

sharp eyes and a trim physique. Aside from the traditional red-and-white striped grandpa jumper,

which Jessica assumed was compulsory once you hit a certain age, he could have been twenty years

younger and still working. He probably weighed ten stone less than Fat Pat, too.

The older man was beaming, using both his hands to get the words out as if he couldn’t contain

himself: ‘Been quite the day, hasn’t it? The attack and everything. These are the days I miss the most,

where everyone’s running around and the media are going crazy.’

Before Jessica could reply, her phone started to ring. She checked the caller and refused it. ‘Sorry,

it was my mum. She knows I work . . .’

Niall nodded: ‘Aah, but when you get to an age like mine, you can’t do much else but wonder what

your pride and joys are up to.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure it’s that. Anyway, I’m on my way out . . .’

‘Oh, right, of course. Busy day and all that. I’m working upstairs – just came down to get a tea from

the machine.’

That couldn’t be a good thing at his age.

‘The constables have a kettle squirrelled away – I’m sure someone will make you one.’

‘I can’t find a pen either. Is there some sort of stationery cupboard?’

Yeah, he’s called PC Pen-Thief.

‘Check with Fa— Patrick on the desk. He’ll sort you out.’

Niall moved his weight from one foot to the other, clearly wanting to ask something. Eventually, as

Jessica motioned towards the door, he got to the point. ‘I was wondering if you fancied going to the

pub at the bottom of the road later? I’m here until six and the roads are blocked. It would be nice to

pick your brain.’

Fat Pat coughed but it might have been to disguise a snigger. Either way, this was going to be all

around the station within half an hour. Thinking she could probably do with a drink after the afternoon

she had planned, Jessica surprised herself: ‘All right, I’ve got a couple of people to visit but then I’m coming back anyway. See you at six.’

6

Jessica signed out a pool car and used the sirens to skim through the gridlocked streets towards

Ancoats. If anyone asked, someone had tried to attack the Home Secretary and she had witnesses to

talk to.

As she walked through the back door of the church hall, Jessica couldn’t help remembering the gym

from her primary school: a stage at one end, varnished strips of wood running diagonally across the

floor, a climbing frame folded onto the wall and a general sense that no one had done the place up in

twenty years. The high windows were misted with condensation and it was bloody cold too, even by

Manchester’s standards.

Shane Donovan was everything Jessica expected from someone who did social work for the

council – he looked directly into her eyes, nodded when she spoke, tilted his head slightly to the side

to show he was listening and sat with his fingers interlocked on his lap. In fact, he did everything

which would usually make Jessica take an instant dislike to someone. She figured she must be getting

old if she couldn’t bring herself to make rash judgements about a person. He even wore jeans tucked

into a pair of Rockports and a plaid shirt over a T-shirt with a bird pattern on it, despite being in his mid-thirties. He looked like a teenager who couldn’t quite accept he wasn’t eighteen any longer – but

he did at least have the boyish grin to match.

He apologised for the length of time that the heating took to turn itself on and offered her his coat,

which she didn’t take. After that, he explained that he worked on an outreach programme for the

council, which involved going into schools to host workshops and provide a little one-on-one

counselling. Other days, he would help with rehabilitation programmes. Despite what Debbie had

said, it wasn’t an official Alcoholics Anonymous setup, instead a session run by the council for

people who didn’t want the stigma of actually visiting something called AA. He ran two sessions, one

in the morning, one in the early evening. He’d returned to the empty hall to set it up for the later

session.

From everything he said, it wasn’t just the police who were having their budgets crapped on; he

explained that he was doing the job of what used to be four individually trained people. Perhaps it

was the fact he was still smiling that made Jessica like him. Well, not like – tolerate.

After the explanation, Jessica finally got to the reason she was there. ‘Debbie Callaghan’s husband

was attacked this morning a little after ten. She told us she was here with you and the rest of the

group.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Is there anyone else who can verify that?’

Shane licked his lips, his eyes flickering away from Jessica momentarily. He had shoulder-length,

slightly greasy dark blond hair, not entirely unlike hers but a little shorter. ‘Anyone that comes here is offered complete discretion. If Debbie admitted she was here then I don’t mind confirming that. I’ll

sign anything you want, or make a formal statement, but I won’t pass on the names of any of the other

participants who were here – not without a court order. Even then, I’d want to make sure they didn’t

object. The anonymity we offer is priceless, both to them and me.’

He even had morals. If he liked shopping, some woman somewhere was going to fall head over

heels for this guy.

Jessica’s reply echoed gently around the empty space, her breath following it. ‘I can’t promise I

won’t be back with a warrant at some point but there’s no need to come down to the station at the

moment. Debbie’s not suspected of anything.’

‘Was that her husband who’s been on the news all day? I knew he was a councillor.’

‘Yes.’

‘You can’t think she’d do that, I know she’s had problems but—’

Jessica saw her way in. ‘What exactly do you know about her problems?’

Shane began stumbling over his words. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say I know that much – only that she’s

here for a reason. I can’t tell you what she talks about within these walls. The news has been saying

the person was after the Home Secretary anyway.’

‘They’d probably report the earth was flat if someone sent them a press release about it. I wouldn’t

believe everything you hear.’

‘It’s just I’m interested in the people who come here. It’s always nice when someone gets better

and beats their demons.’

‘What brought you into this?’