Witness (12 page)

Cheryl couldn’t resist, she walked downstairs and back into the room with Milo. The couple from the benefits were on their feet, she had circles on her face like she’d been slapped and the big guy was putting the file back together. Neither of them spoke as they crossed to the door. Joe gave Cheryl a little nod.

The woman turned back and spoke to Cheryl. ‘This hasn’t gone away,’ she said. ‘I’ll continue to monitor your case and if you carry on working illegally while claiming benefits we will know about it. You will eventually be prosecuted. I can assure you of that.’ Then she opened the door and they left.

Joe gave a big sigh. ‘If we only put as much effort into making the rich pay tax …’ He shook his head. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Okay,’ said Cheryl.

‘And who’s this?’

‘Milo,’ she answered. Milo played shy, burrowing into Cheryl’s shoulder.

‘I can give you a lift down to the station,’ Joe said.

Cheryl’s belly cramped at the thought of anyone seeing them. She hesitated. He must have seen she was worried because he went on, ‘Plainclothes car, round the corner. And now I have a cover story. Anyone asks, I’m a benefits fraud investigator.’

Cheryl smiled.

Cheryl had to tell him everything. How she knew Danny, and Carlton and Sam Millins. Where she’d been when she spoke to Danny, what they said. Exactly what she saw as Carlton drove his car towards the rec. Where Vinia was, who else was around.

‘If you tell them where I was, they’ll figure out it’s me,’ she said alarmed.

‘Anything in your statement that could be used to identify you will be excluded. So, we might say you were near the shop but not that you were with your friend, or that you had a baby with you.’

A couple of times, when Cheryl thought about what she was doing, what might happen, she nearly lost it. She’d get up and walk about; like she’d explode if she didn’t move. Joe calmed her down. Kept telling her all they could do, would do. She wouldn’t even go in the witness box, just give her evidence on video. Carlton and Millins would never see her. Even her voice would be changed.

‘Make me sound like a man?’ She’d seen stuff like that on television, people in silhouette with growly voices.

‘Maybe.’

He said she’d be able to leave Milo at the crèche at the Town Hall while she gave her evidence. No one would ever know she had done it. He also told her that she was very brave – courageous, he said. And that it took a special sort of person to stand up for justice. Cheryl shushed him, feeling embarrassed, a lump in her throat.

Vinia rang her that evening. ‘Where were you?’

Cheryl froze. ‘What?’

‘I came round, you weren’t in. Your mobile was off.’

‘Hospital,’ Cheryl said. ‘Nana had tests.’

‘Nana was back,’ said Vinia, suspicious.

‘Yeah, I just missed her. Got lost, you know, now they’ve got the new bit open, it’s massive, I was wandering round all over.’

Vinia grunted. ‘You fancy coming out? There’s a twenty-first party on.’

‘Nah,’ Cheryl said. ‘Milo’s teething again.’

‘Man!’ Vinia complained. ‘More teeth! You sure that boy is a child and not some sorta crocodile?’

Cheryl giggled.

‘Later, girl.’

‘Later.’

But it was early the next day, very early for Vinia, who never dragged herself out of bed before noon. ‘Cheryl …’ She sounded weird.

Cheryl realized Vinia was crying. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s Carlton. They’ve arrested him, the police.’

‘What for?’

‘What do you think! Sam too. They were both here. They came first thing, it was still dark. My mum’s going mental.’

Cheryl’s pulse rocketed, she felt her heart play catch up. ‘Do you want to come round?’ Say no, Cheryl prayed.

‘Maybe in a bit. I’d better stay here for now. Somebody must have shopped them, that’s what the others are saying.’

Cheryl’s tongue was thick in her mouth. ‘No one’d dare.’

‘There is a reward,’ Vinia pointed out, sounding sharp again, more like the old Vinia.

‘Maybe they found the gun or something,’ Cheryl said.

‘Nah,’ said Vinia, ‘someone’s looking after it; word is they still got it.’

Suddenly Vinia seemed to know a lot of stuff. Cheryl imagined it; the rest of Carlton’s crew flocking to regroup, swapping theories, backing each other up, all paranoid about who grassed them up. Vinia telling them how it went down, the early morning raid. Them trusting her, Carlton’s sister.

‘Must be hard for your mum,’ Cheryl said. Thinking at the same time that surely Vinia had some relief that Carlton was now locked up. That the man and the trouble he brought might be taken out of her life.

‘Thing is,’ Vinia sniffed, ‘me and Sam, we been hanging out. Get him on his own, he’s all right.’

‘Since when?’ Cheryl couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want it to be true. ‘You never said.’

‘Just recent.’

‘How come you didn’t tell me?’

‘I was going to tell you last night but you wouldn’t come out.’

‘Oh, Vinia.’ Cheryl felt sad. And freaked out – Vinia and Sam Millins together.

‘Lousy timing, huh? A couple of times together and now what – prison visits?’

‘You’re not gonna stay with him?’ This felt bad, very bad.

‘I ditch him now, I think his friends are going to have something to say.’

‘That’s crazy!’

Vinia didn’t answer. Cheryl heard her gulp. ‘Oh, Vinia, oh, man, I’m so sorry.’

‘Me an’ all, girl. Double that.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Fiona

J
oe Kitson rang on Valentine’s Day. ‘You’ll be getting a letter but I wanted to let you know in person,’ the detective said. ‘We’ve charged two men with Danny Macateer’s murder.’

Fiona’s stomach flipped. ‘Oh, God! But that’s great – that you’ve got them.’ She had continued to follow the news reports on the inquiry but there had barely been anything in the local papers recently.

‘It is,’ he answered. ‘They were key suspects from the start, Derek Carlton and Sam Millins, gang leaders, but we had a bit of a breakthrough and the Crown Prosecution Service is keen to go ahead. There’ll be a trial at the Crown Court here in Manchester – the men will plead not guilty. You’ll be called as a witness.’

Fiona felt dizzy but she had known this might happen all along.

‘We need to check your availability,’ Joe said. ‘We’re looking at September.’

‘September!’ Six months away.

‘Couldn’t be any sooner. Have you any holiday plans, family weddings and so on?’

Fiona saw her year stretch ahead – a blank calendar, Owen’s school terms the only route markers. It was as though their social life had withered and died without her on the ball to arrange things. Not even a holiday planned though Owen needed some respite from school or the computer screen. ‘I’ve nothing planned,’ she told him, ‘but I’ll be back at work by then.’

Fiona had been in to talk to Human Resources about a phased return. The CBT and the medication had helped. She’d not had an attack since the New Year. And she’d come round to the view that she no longer wanted to put her life on hold indefinitely, just in case she might have another attack. She told them she’d like to start off on the hospital rota. A choice she never thought she’d make: giving up her patch and the autonomy of being out in the community. Back inside the hospital maternity care was still skewed in favour of intervention and medicalization; the doctors and consultants dominated the culture, the approach.

‘That’s good. NHS?’ Joe checked.

‘Yes.’

‘They’ll usually pay your wages while you’re appearing as a witness but if not you can claim.’

‘What happens now?’ she asked. Suddenly edgy, the court case looming like a threat.

‘I’ll get back to you when the dates are agreed and you’ll be invited for a pre-trial visit. It’s certainly worth doing, gives you a chance to see the court and ask questions about the process. There will also be a needs assessment – someone from the Witness Care Unit will be in touch to see if you need transport or childcare and to arrange special measures.’

‘What?’

‘Arrangements we make for vulnerable and intimidated witnesses.’

Fiona was stung, thinking for a stupid moment that he was remarking on her character.

But he went on, ‘In a case like this where there’s gang involvement, witnesses are regarded as vulnerable and intimidated. So we take special measures to protect them from intimidation and to make sure they can give evidence safely.’

All the talk of safety made her nervous: she felt an unwelcome tingling in her wrists, her nerves pricking and a pressure building in her skull. Fiona thought of the young mother who had refused her entry in the wake of the murder.
I just don’t want any trouble.
That’s how it is
.

‘What sort of measures?’ Her voice shook. She imagined herself and Owen in some shabby safe house, guards with dogs at the gate, bored minders playing cards.

‘You’ll give your evidence from behind screens so although the judge and jury will be able to see you, the defendants and their supporters won’t. You will be anonymous: Miss A or whatever.’

Fiona saw Danny’s face again, the line of his jaw, those golden eyes, felt the slick warmth of his blood on her hands. Her pulse kicked. She wrenched herself away, concentrated on stretching her neck, relaxing her feet, her diaphragm.

‘Fiona?’

‘Still here.’

‘I want to thank you,’ he said. The sincerity, the kindness in his tone brought sudden tears. Daft. ‘Without you we’d never have got this far. And with your help we’ll put these guys away for a long time. Is there anything else you want to ask me now?’

She sniffed, cleared her throat. ‘No, that’s all fine.’

‘Well, any time. You have my number. And thank you again.’

A hard frost still lingered at the water park. Iced puddles were cracked into milky patterns, and the mud on the rutted paths was rimed white. Ziggy barked for the ball and his breath rose like little swags of mist. An easterly wind poked freezing fingers into the slightest gaps in Fiona’s clothes: at her wrist when she raised her arm to throw Ziggy’s ball and at her throat where her coat wasn’t snug enough. She should have worn her scarf. The sky was pearly white, stippled grey here and there, the cloud cover so dense that she could not gauge the wind in it.

Bullfinches and great tits flitted among the bare branches in the copse, robins combed the ground. No sign of spring here yet. In the larger trees the bowl-like birds’ nests and the larger squirrel’s dray were visible. Close to the open water of the lake she found the wind too ferocious, stinging her eyes and making her nose numb. She called Ziggy to head inland to more sheltered paths.

Perhaps they should book a holiday, Fiona thought. She’d made desultory conversation about the idea at Christmas but Owen didn’t seem interested in anything she suggested. Perhaps if he brought a friend, she thought now. Just a week. Even that would be costly, the boys would pay full fare if they flew anywhere. Or somewhere at home – an English seaside break: rain and steamy cafés. The smell of vinegar and candy floss. Owen and friend could go off exploring on their own. And what would she do? The thought of being trapped in a B&B or a holiday cottage with two bored teenagers for seven days in a row made her heart sink. America then? She had cousins in Maine; Owen could hang out with their kids. The travel would cost more but they wouldn’t have to pay accommodation. They would perhaps need to dip into Owen’s university fund to pay for it.

Fiona stopped and watched a kestrel hovering overhead. The bird hung, a black silhouette against the bright sky. Then plummeted. Rose with something in its talons. A mouse or shrew.

‘You get any Valentines?’ she joked with Owen at teatime.

He didn’t answer, just the usual drop-dead glower.

‘If we had a summer holiday,’ Fiona said, ‘maybe you could bring a friend along.’

Owen gave her a sidelong glance, frowning.

‘Just something to think about,’ she said.

‘Where?’ Owen asked.

‘Don’t know,’ Fiona rushed on. ‘The seaside or up to Scotland. Or Maine, to Auntie Melanie’s.’

‘America?’ A whiff of interest.

‘Nothing’s decided. Just be nice to have something to look forward to. But if we did go to America we couldn’t really afford for you to bring a friend, not unless they could pay the fare.’

Owen nodded. He went back to his shepherd’s pie, scooping it up on his fork, his knife untouched. Why did she bother ever setting him a knife, he never used one.

‘The police rang me today.’ Fiona realized she wanted to tell him before he left the table. ‘They’ve charged someone with Danny Macateer’s murder. There’ll be a trial.’

‘You’ll be a witness?’ Owen spoke with his mouth full.

‘Yes.’

‘Who did it?’

‘They’re called Derek Carlton and Sam Millins; they’re part of the gangs. The police had a pretty clear idea of who was behind it all along but they’ve only now got enough evidence to charge them.’

‘How come?’

Fiona shrugged. ‘He said a breakthrough.’

‘Maybe they found the gun,’ said Owen. ‘Or DNA.’ Fiona relished his contributions, these rare and fleeting times when he reverted to human form and was sociable and articulate.

‘Maybe,’ she smiled.

Owen was out that evening, he’d gone to a competition at the skate park. Fiona was reading but her concentration was all over the place. Joe Kitson’s phone call was repeating in her head. All the talk of special measures and protection. She thought of the man she’d identified, the driver of the car, Sam Millins. He had driven the car to the recreation ground and waited at the wheel while the other man shot Danny. They were dangerous people. So dangerous that she had to be hidden from view when she gave her evidence.

A noise from the back of the house jolted through her and she sprang to her feet, gasping in fright. What was it? Was there someone outside? She crept over to the french windows and looked out. Nothing to see in the dark, just the glitter of frost over everything and the bare black arms of the magnolia tree raised to the sky.