Ruthless (18 page)

‘You ever done any boxing?’ Rachel said.

‘What?’ He was thrown by the change of topic.

‘Boxing. The gym in town. They do boxing, self-defence.’

‘I can look after myself.’ He bristled, probably thought she was calling him a weed.

‘Not saying you can’t. Bet you’d be a good bantamweight with the right training.’

‘What’s this? Olympics crap?’

The country was awash with promotional stuff for the London Olympics. ‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘You should give it a go. There’s five-a-side too, table football. What else you going to do? Hang around here and end up getting into trouble?’

‘You a social worker?’ he said scornfully.

‘Try it,’ Rachel said.

‘Fuck off.’

‘I dare you.’

He looked askance.

‘Bring the bike, we’re building a stunt circuit. You can do stunts, can’t you?’

He glared at her.

‘Open three till ten every day. Doesn’t have to be like this,’ she said. Cursing herself as the words left her mouth, sounding all touchy-feely like Alison. He looked at her, raised eyebrows, a hint of humour in his eyes. Why did she bother? She’d tried this sort of thing with Dom and that had worked out really well, hadn’t it?

17

Janet sat with Elise and two detectives from division in the soft interview room at Middleton police station.

DC Goodman was doing most of the questioning. Young – well, young in Janet’s eyes – and mild-mannered with a slight stutter, he had explained to Elise her rights, why she was there and that she was free to leave at any time.

His colleague, DC Khan, spoke to introduce herself, then kept notes and listened intently to Elise’s answers.

So far Elise herself had been subdued, cooperative. No tears today, though she sometimes came close. There were tissues on the table, water and glasses.

‘Then we went to get a drink in the kitchen,’ Elise said.

‘What did you have?’

‘Cider,’ she said.

‘And Olivia?’

‘Same.’

‘And then?’

‘We talked to some people there and then went in the living room. Someone was playing music, on decks,’ she said. ‘We got another drink, more people came and then this girl was going round, talking to people and selling things, drugs.’ Her voice wavered. ‘Olivia said we should try some, to have a laugh. The girl stopped by us and she said, “What are you after?” Olivia said, “Something for the party,” and the girl held up some pills with smileys on. “Es,” she said. I said, “No, it’s all right.” I didn’t want to get them but then she said, “How about some Paradise?” We didn’t know what she meant. Then she showed us these tablets, said it was legal, there was no law against taking it or buying or selling it. And that it would put a smile on our faces like E. I thought maybe she was making it up, but she said check it online if you want to, everyone’s selling it, you go into Headspace in town and you can get it there. It just sounded better. So we said yes.’

‘How much did you get?’ DC Goodman asked.

‘Two each, ten pounds altogether,’ Elise said.

‘And who paid?’

‘Me, I did,’ she said, glancing at Janet, her face clouded with misery.

‘Can you describe the person who sold you the drugs?’ DC Goodman said.

‘She wasn’t as tall as me, she had black hair, wavy. I think she was mixed race. I don’t remember anything else.’

‘Did you hear anyone use a name?’ DC Goodman said.

‘No.’

‘What did she do after you bought the drugs?’ he said.

‘She carried on into the other room. Then she went,’ Elise said.

‘You saw her leave?’

‘Yes.’

Home delivery, someone at the party knew a dealer to call on for the occasion.

‘What happened then?’ DC Goodman said.

‘We took the stuff and we sat on the stairs for a bit, just hanging out and erm … Olivia said she felt dizzy, and I said …’ Elise gulped.

Janet could feel the mounting tension in her.

‘… “Isn’t that the point?” We thought it was really funny and laughed but then she said she felt worse. She said she was cold but when I felt her head she was really hot so I said to get a drink of water. We went in the kitchen and erm …’ a wobble in her voice, ‘then she, then she had the fit. Some people thought she was messing about but she wasn’t and then she wasn’t talking or answering. And I rang Mum and then the ambulance.’

‘You both took the drugs?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t expect there’d be any harmful effects?’ DC Goodman said.

‘No. We thought it would be fun.’

‘Thank you. We’re going to get your statement written up and then you’ll be asked to check it, tell us if anything isn’t correct or if you’d forgotten anything, and then you’ll sign it. If you do that you are also agreeing to testify in court, if required.’

Janet had lost count of the number of times she’d said the very same words. Elise nodded vigorously. Janet felt a flicker of fear. If charges were brought against the dealer, Elise could be in a vulnerable position, people might try to prevent her from giving evidence. Elise, naïve, sheltered, was unaware of this.

It might not get that far, Janet told herself, and they might not need Elise as a witness. Charges would focus on drugs banned by law, there must be other youngsters from the party who had bought illegal drugs, who would be witnesses to that. If it did come to a trial and they wanted Elise for some reason, they could ask for special measures, so she could give evidence anonymously from a video link or from behind screens.

‘Mum,’ Elise said, while they were waiting, ‘could we get a card for Vivien and Ken, is that what people do?’

‘Yes, if you’d like to.’

Elise gave a nod.

DC Goodman returned and Elise read through the statement and signed it.

‘What happens now?’ Janet asked him, for Elise’s benefit rather than her own.

‘We’ve some more inquiries to make. When those are completed, we consult with the Crown Prosecution Service as to whether there are any grounds for bringing charges.’

‘Like what?’ Elise said.

‘That would be up to them but in your situation, you didn’t break the law buying the Paradise or giving some to your friend. You had no reason to expect that the substance would cause harm, you took some yourself. So I really can’t see that any crime has been committed.’

Janet agreed and was very grateful that the man had tried to reassure Elise. But the irony kept hitting home; if Elise had bought weed or cocaine then she’d be liable for prosecution and in all likelihood Olivia would still be alive. The law-abiding option had proved the most deadly.

Rachel called at the newsagent’s first – to see if Liam Kelly knew the girl Shirelle’s address.

He shook his head. ‘I know who you mean but I’ve no idea which flat she’s in, sorry.’

Rachel was leaving when he said, ‘I hear you’ve arrested the Perrys.’

‘No names at this stage,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘That poor bloke.’ Word had yet to reach the public that another two victims had been found.

Hawkins House was just across the way from the shops, beside Beaumont House, home to the Perry twins. A concrete pile with a buzzer entry system.

Rachel pressed a few buttons, a disembodied voice answered, ‘What?’

‘DC Rachel Bailey, Manchester Metropolitan Police.’

‘He’s not here,’ the voice said, ‘he’s still in Strangeways. Don’t they tell you anything?’

‘Who am I speaking to?’ Rachel said.

‘The Wizard of Oz,’ the woman said and the line went dead.

Rachel peered inside through the safety glass and could see the lights on the lift shaft changing, someone coming down.

Rachel waited and watched as a young woman emerged dragging a buggy. She swung it round and headed for the door. The child in the pram was huge, fat-faced. Could babies be obese? Rachel had no idea.

As the girl came out, Rachel held the door, showed her warrant card. ‘I’m looking for Shirelle?’

The girl blinked rapidly. ‘Shirelle?’ she repeated.

‘Look, you can tell me which number now, make life that bit easier, or I can fart around getting her address from the DWP or the housing office, which would really piss me off.’

The girl seemed to be weighing up the options.

‘Might be tempted to get the DWP to check you’re getting the right benefits while I’m there,’ Rachel said.

The baby began crying and kicking its legs. A grating, droning noise that made Rachel want to clamp her hand over its face. Perhaps the mother felt the same. The girl sighed and said, ‘311.’

Rachel stepped aside, letting her pass. She took the stairs, reckoned it might be better than the lift, but she still had to breathe through her mouth to minimize the stink of piss. The smell of skunk hung heavy in the building too, unmistakable.

She found 311 on the fourth floor, nothing but the numbers to distinguish the door from any of its neighbours. All painted a dark moss green, probably meant to look tasteful but it served to darken the gloomy hallways even more. There were recessed lamps in the ceiling, protected by cages, and in the one above Rachel a fat black fly buzzed about.

Rachel listened for a moment, heard the faint chatter from a television inside. Then she knocked. She heard footsteps. ‘Who is it?’

‘Police, can you open the door?’

A pause. ‘Show us your ID.’

Rachel held her warrant card up so it was level with the peephole in the door. She heard a soft curse and the door was unlocked.

‘What’s it about?’ the young woman said. Arms folded, a frown creasing her forehead. She was petite, inches shorter than Rachel, with curly black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore close-fitting sports clothes, trainer socks, and a crucifix round her neck. Her face was peppered with patches of dry flaky skin.

‘Shirelle?’

The girl nodded.

‘Can I come in?’ Rachel said. The girl didn’t reply but moved back and once Rachel stepped inside Shirelle went ahead of her into the living room. Rachel glimpsed the kitchen as she passed. Quarry tiling on the floor, fitted cupboards in a high-gloss finish.

Not a junkie. Rachel could tell that straight away, the place would have been empty of everything that could be sold off to feed the beast. But Shirelle’s flat was well furnished. Curtains in red matched the sofa and the chair, the furniture was upholstered, plump, looked brand new. There was a chandelier for the central light and a large telly and SkyBox. Sean was on at Rachel to get one for the sport.

Framed pictures on the wall were taken from old copies of fashion magazines,
Vogue
and
Harper’s Bazaar
. Browsing the coffee table as she sat down, Rachel saw the buff envelope, addressed to Ms Shirelle Young. Something official.

‘So?’ Shirelle said.

Her legs were crossed tightly together and she was blinking more often than was normal. She was shitting it, not so obvious until you saw those little signs. She reminded Rachel of a dog, a greyhound, the sort that look like they are dying from stress, about to keel over, but will run like the wind given chance. Shirelle picked up rolling tobacco, pulled out a paper. Rachel’s mouth watered.

‘Two bodies were recovered from the warehouse on Shuttling Way today. A man and a woman of African descent.’

Shirelle’s hand shook, she spilled some of the rolling tobacco.

‘We’re trying to identify those people. I believe you might be able to help us.’

‘Who told you that?’ she said.

‘Can you help us?’

Shirelle pinched her lip with her fingers. Rachel wondered what the problem was, why would she hesitate? ‘Shirelle?’

‘Victor,’ Shirelle said, ‘Victor and Lydia.’

‘Do you know surnames?’

‘Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi.’

‘And what was your relationship to them?’ Rachel said.

Another pause. ‘I went out with Victor for a bit.’

‘When was this?’

‘Last Christmas. Just a few weeks.’

‘I am sorry,’ Rachel said, ‘this must be an awful shock.’

Shirelle flinched, her face sharpening, as though the sympathy angered her.

‘Can you tell me what the relationship was between Victor and Lydia?’

‘They were together,’ Shirelle said.

‘A couple?’

Shirelle nodded. She was picking strands of tobacco off her clothes, placing them in the paper, trying again.

‘So, was that a problem – you going out with Victor?’

‘I suppose,’ she said. ‘That’s why we stopped.’

‘Whose call?’

Shirelle took a drag on her rollie before answering, ‘Mine.’

‘How come?’ Rachel said.

‘What does that matter?’

‘I’m trying to get as much information as I can about Victor and Lydia to help us work out what’s happened.’

‘Lydia didn’t like it and I didn’t want to share,’ she said.

Could this be a motive? Had something erupted between Shirelle and Lydia or Lydia and Victor? The triangle imploding in violence?

‘Do you know why Victor and Lydia would have been at the warehouse?’ Rachel said.

‘They were squatting there.’

‘Do you know their previous address?’

Shirelle shook her head. ‘They’re illegals.’

‘Immigrants?’ Rachel checked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Where from?’

‘Nigeria,’ she said. Slowly she rolled the cigarette paper, brought it to her lips and licked the gummed edge. Her hand steady until she used her lighter.

‘Were they selling drugs?’ Rachel said.

‘No.’ She glanced at Rachel then away. ‘Couldn’t they get out?’ she said. ‘Was it the smoke?’

‘We’re trying to establish exactly what happened but it appears they were killed,’ Rachel said, watching her carefully. ‘They were shot.’

A flare of surprise darted through Shirelle’s eyes and her mouth dropped open. She composed herself quickly, dragging on her smoke, recrossing her legs, but it was enough to convince Rachel that although Shirelle was definitely hiding something, she had not known about the murders.

‘Why would anyone want to kill them?’ Shirelle said, her voice fraying. ‘That’s crazy.’ She sucked in her cheeks, a frown etched on her forehead.

‘Either of them been in any bother? Fights, feuds?’ Rachel said.