‘Not now he isn’t.’
‘And I’ll dance on his grave but I didn’t do him.’
‘Prove it. Or are you scared? Got something to hide?’
Ferdie clenched his fist. Shap could see a muscle in his jaw tighten. ‘What time?’
‘Two o’ clock. South Manchester nick.’
‘Right,’ Ferdie said, his teeth still closed together. ‘Maybe I’ll show.’
‘And we’ll all know what to think if you don’t,’ Shap said.
Shap snatched the tenner from Butchers and murmured ‘You won’t see that again, mate.’ He turned to DC Chen. ‘Fancy a flutter?’ She nodded, keen to be accepted by the more established team members. Before she had chance to put her name down for one of the three runners in Shap’s book, Chief Inspector Lewis began Sunday evening’s meeting.
Janine could sense the team were tired, getting ragged round the edges but she needed to use this chance to galvanise them. ‘We all know we’ve had our magical 24 hours without a result but that doesn’t mean we give up now. It means we work harder, we work bloody hard. Things are starting to open up.’
She referred to the photos on board. ‘Three possible suspects. Lesley Tulley. Motive?’ She was met with shrugs and grimaces. ‘Exactly. Nada, nothing. Tulley claims the marriage was happy. No friends, barely any family. Married nine years. She can’t have children. But there are condoms in Mr Tulley’s desk.’ She paused. ‘Cherchez la femme? Could give us motive. No rumours of another woman but we’re going through his e-mail contacts. Mr Tulley’s diaries, nothing obvious though we’ve some unexplained appointments. Other evidence?’
‘The clothes that were in the washer,’ said Butchers. ‘Disappearing act. Lesley Tulley denies all knowledge.’
‘Mr Vincent,’ Butchers ventured, ‘the lad he saw running, he was wearing sports pants, the sort with stripes down the side.’
Janine considered this. ‘The sort my boys calls go-faster stripes. Inspector?’
‘Possibly…’ Richard answered. ‘I only saw them briefly but they were something like that.’
Janine drew an arrow between the note up there about the clothes and the unknown suspect seen running from the scene by Mr Vincent.
‘I don’t believe in telekinetics,’ Janine said. Butchers looked lost, an edge of panic in with his muddled expression. Janine waved her arms, mimed someone making an object move with brainwaves. ‘They have to be there still. We’re watching the place so they won’t go anywhere.’
‘Bins revealed nothing, nor the initial search,’ Richard told them.
‘Opportunity?’ Janie asked.
Richard indicated the timeline he’d drawn up. ‘Some blanks,’ he pointed to the hour after Lesley had got her parking ticket.
‘Shap will be checking CCTV footage,’ Janine said.
Shap groaned.
‘Ferdie Gibson,’ she turned their attention to the second suspect. ‘Unconfirmed alibi unless you believe his doting mother sat and watched him sleep.’
A chuckle rippled through the room.
‘Motive?’
‘Revenge,’ Shap said. ‘Ferdie never forgave him for the thumping.’
‘Taken his time,’ Janine pointed out. ‘A year since Ferdie last had a go. Evidence?’
‘Eyewitness,’ Butchers said smugly, sitting back, arms crossed over his belly. Meaning Mr Vincent.
Shap rolled his eyes.
‘Saw a lad running away on Saturday morning. The description fits Ferdie.’ Richard summarised.
‘Ferdie’s got his invite for the line-up,’ Shap said.
‘Ferdie’s mate Colin; he was well stressed when questioned.’ Butchers added.
‘Our weakest link. Might want another bite at Colin,’ Janine said. ‘And now a third suspect, Dean Hendrix, missing from home, previous form, same M.O. Last victim survived – just.’ She held up a hand in warning. ‘I don’t want us to assume this is a series, not yet. We need to work away at all three candidates. Tomorrow, Press Conference at eleven plus forensics should be back before that.’
There was a muted cheer.
‘Meanwhile, we keep doing what we do best: gathering evidence, checking statements. I want every house ticked off, every resident accounted for. We go over what we’ve got and we keep looking.’
She paused, looking over the faces of the team. Shap, one leg going, dying for a fag already; Butchers, plumped up like a hen with his lead on Ferdie; Chen, not giving much away but intent, learning fast; Richard, the two of them working well together, mutual respect and a similar approach to the case. ‘I’m sure there’s a bet on already,’ she said. Shap grinned and Butchers squirmed in his seat. ‘I don’t need to know about that. But don’t let it affect your judgement.’ She pointed to the wall. ‘That knife is out there somewhere, the clothes worn by the killer are out there, the person who owns that trainer,’ she tapped the enhanced print with her hand. ‘The one who left dabs on the tap. Matthew Tulley’s murderer is out there. Find them,’ she looked from detective to detective. ‘The first 24 hours were crucial, the next are doubly so. Don’t let me down.’
Emma had taken a key, so the knocking couldn’t be her. The police weren’t coming back, not till tomorrow. Lesley held the newspaper rigid in her fingers, pressed her feet tight to the floor, bit her teeth together. It was him. Coming after her. She remained frozen long after the knocking had stopped and the caller retraced their steps. The only movement an occasional blink and the tiny pulse which flickered fast in her throat.
Butchers and Shap came out of the meeting quarrelling. ‘We see the CCTV stuff now, then we can go back there,’ insisted Shap, ‘get it done sooner.’
‘Look,’ said Butchers, ‘you heard the boss, loud and clear, every resident accounted for. She couldn’t make it plainer, could she? Nothing about me doing the CCTV. And I’ve Mr Simon to see. Split up.’
‘Eh?’
‘We’re not joined at the sodding hip, are we?’ Butchers retorted, though he couldn’t have said why he felt so irritable. Apart from the fact that Shap was a smart-arse, who he’d not have chosen to work with. Who hadn’t even had the grace to acknowledge that Butchers finding a witness had been a substantial break.
‘The store will close in fifteen minutes, will customers please make their way to the checkouts.’
Janine was shattered, she could feel every bone in her feet and she had a dull ache in her lower back. She waited at the checkout with a trolley piled high. The man ahead paid and Janine began to unload her groceries.
Her phone sounded loud and brash, she was beginning to think that even The Birdie Song was better than this regimental tosh.
‘Mr Simon, the guy who was first on the scene, boss. Wears slip-ons, never trainers.’ Butchers told her.
‘OK. When we’ve got the make confirmed, we’ll have a look at Ferdie and friend. And Dean Hendrix when we find him.’
‘Should I check the other gardeners?’
What did he mean? Loading items with one hand, phone in the other. ‘Butchers, they’ll have been covered in house-to-house.’ Surely? Silence. ‘You established no one used Tulley’s tap? No one had set foot on the plot?’ She couldn’t believe she was having to ask this.
‘Not, erm… exactly. We asked if they’d seen owt suspicious you know but not exactly whether they’d used Mr Tulley’s tap…’
‘Oh, bloody brilliant. So the dab and the footprints might be down to some Flowerpot Man filling his watering can. Good of you to share that with me, Butchers. Get back to all the allotment holders, now, and see exactly if anyone took water from Tulley’s tap and when.’
The checkout girl and the customers in the queues either side, stared at her, eyes bright with interest. Janine slid the large milk cartons onto the conveyer belt.