The explosion made me recoil.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ Max ran over.
She was still kneeling beside Smiley. Blood was spurting, a pulsing fountain where his head had been. I could see his brains, smell the hot iron scent.
Max moved to pull Leanne aside.
‘Fuck off.’ She flung his hand away. Stumbled to her feet and began to run. There were dark patches on her hair and her jacket.
‘Leanne!’ I struggled to get some volume. ‘We’ll tell them what happened. Wait, it’ll be alright.’ She disappeared from view.
I could feel shock, its open arms ready to claim me. But I needed to get safe first.
‘Martin.’ I edged over to him and ruffled his hair. ‘Martin, we have to go. Smiley won’t bother us now. Miller – Mr Johnson’s – passed out.’ Martin looked up, eyes groggy.
‘I’ll bring him,’ said Max. ‘Can you walk?’
‘Yes.’
My feet were a long way from my head, If I watched them, it was easier to make them move where I wanted them to. I could hear Max beside me, panting, as he carried Martin. The drizzle had stopped. My face was wet. I wasn’t crying, was I? There was something important I had to tell Max. My mind slid around the edges of it.
There was the Mini. But the gate was shut.
‘Oh, no.’ Max had forgotten too.
My right palm was wet. I turned it over, made out black, trickling along the creases.
‘You go,’ I said, ‘ring an ambulance, take the car.’
‘I haven’t taken my test, yet.’
We both laughed. A moment of delirium.
‘My keys are in this pocket, can you get them?’ I was too weak to wrestle in my jeans pocket. Max sat Martin up against the gate, then retrieved the keys.
I remembered what was important. ‘Max, ring Harry. Don’t talk to anyone else. Tell Harry I’m hurt, tell him we need Y Department. The police are mixed up in it. Don’t talk to anyone till Harry’s here.’
‘What’s his number?’
I reeled it off. Gingerly, I lowered myself down next to Martin. The gate shook as Max clambered over and leapt down the other side. I heard him drive away.
It was quiet, not much traffic now. The numbness had spread up from my arm and shoulder. I couldn’t feel the right side of my face. I heard a siren sing-song in the distance and, a little later, the chocker-chocker of the police helicopter, down to the south towards the city, where the sky was bleeding mandarin. Should be up here mate, I thought. It’s all happening here.
The siren sound got stuck in my ears, whining on and on. I was thirsty. I could taste metal, smell blood. Martin stirred. I reached out for his hand. It was small, smooth, the nails ragged. It felt nice – this hand in mine. I wanted to cry. I felt warm piss leak through my pants.
‘Martin,’ I whispered, ‘are you there?’ He was quiet.
I heard a dog bark once, a long way off. I thought of Digger. Then there was nothing.
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
They called it a graze. Christ, I hate that euphemism. They said the same thing when I had Maddie. If you weren’t actually torn limb from limb, it was just a graze. Unmitigated bloody agony, more like.
But even grazes heal with time.
Justice sure isn’t swift. It’s March now. The grape hyacinths are out, eight months have passed, winter’s come and gone and the trial still hasn’t started.
The police spent days interviewing us: Max, Martin and myself. Going over and over our story. They didn’t like what they were hearing. Harry got us a good solicitor. She was there all the time. Calm and clear. Making sure it was all above-board.
Bruce Sharrocks and DI Miller were remanded on bail. Eddie Kenton got sent down. They seized some of his video collection. He was shipping it as far as the Philippines, using Mackinlay’s business network. Mackinlay made himself scarce. Left the country. Probably chartered his own bloody plane. Some place where there’s no extradition treaty.
It made front page in the Evening News for a night: Charity Boss faces Murder Rap – Child Sex Ring Exposed. There was never a peep about Miller’s involvement. Funny, that.
They haven’t caught up with Leanne. Not yet. I hope they don’t. It’s not as if she’s a threat to society – more the other way around.
Martin’s still in a mess. They’ve got him in a special hostel. He gets counselling and help to sort himself out. I went there once, to take him the letter from Janice. I warned his worker first, had her standing by. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The sound he made, when he realised what I was saying, still churns me up thinking about it. I left Mrs Williams’ number with them. I don’t know if Martin ever got in touch. I like to think he will one day. He could do with some of that love.
I’ve gone off Harry. He’s still a good friend, but the little frissons of lust have dried up. Back in September, Bev took me on one side and told me she’d some news. Divorce, separation? I pictured Harry moving into the top flat.
‘The reason I’ve been so edgy,’ Bev was saying.
I’d become a stepmother. Harry’s boys could visit every weekend…
‘I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby,’ she beamed at me.
I think that’s when I lost it.
And Clive? About three weeks after I’d issued the ultimatum, I surprised him and a woman friend loading his stuff into the back of a car. He introduced Gina. Her eyes sparkled with delight. I wondered whether to warn her but self-interest won out. He didn’t leave a forwarding address. We never saw a penny. Ray dropped a few dark hints – must be ways of finding out where he is…I didn’t rise to the bait.
The squat’s gone now. Part of the canal re-development. I went back when I was feeling up to it. I was hoping to rescue one of JB’s sketches. I was too late. There was nothing left. Just this big hole, piles of rubble and twisted metal being pushed around by bulldozers. I stood and watched.
One of the labourers noticed me, called across. ‘You looking for someone?’
‘No.’ I shook my head and smiled. Turned back towards Piccadilly. ‘No, not any more.’
Cath Staincliffe
Cath Staincliffe is the author of the acclaimed Sal Kilkenny mysteries as well as being creator of ITV’s hit police series, Blue Murder, starring Caroline Quentin as DCI Janine Lewis. Cath was shortlisted for the CWA Dagger in the Library award in 2006. She lives in Manchester with her family.
