‘Have you rung the police?’ She kept her voice low, looking sideways at him. Straight for the balls.
‘Why not?’
He rubbed at the back of his neck. Groped for words. ‘I can’t.’
She turned on the bench seat, swivelled round till she was facing him. ‘But if you don’t talk to the police they’ll come after you Dean, it makes you look guilty, dunnit?’
He sighed, stroked at his throat and over his Adam’s apple. Could hardly breathe. ‘Paula…’ but nothing followed.
‘You’re in trouble, aren’t you?’
His eyes stung. He blinked.
‘That’s why you disappeared. That’s why you haven’t rung the police.’
‘Don’t do this, Paula.’
‘You’re keeping things from me. I want the truth, Dean. What’s going on?’
‘And if I tell you, then what?’ Suddenly furious with her, frightened by her insistence.
Music started over the loud speakers, lifting beat, Cheeky Girls, Touch My Bum. She shook her head, the beads moving, a noise he loved.
Dean stalled, picked up his drink and downed half of it.
‘What you’ve done… is it like before?’ she said quietly.
‘No. I haven’t hurt anyone. I haven’t done anything wrong. Why won’t you believe me?’
‘Why should I? You won’t tell me. And the police aren’t gonna believe-’
‘You see if I do tell-’ he clammed up.
‘How long do you think you can hide for?’ Her eyes shone hard and brown. -
‘They might not believe me. It looks bad. I…’
He didn’t want to say anymore. So much blood. And the guy’s insides showing. Like last time.
‘Dean, it’s not about that murder, is it?’
He said nothing, stared at his knuckles.
‘Dean.’
He took a look at her. Her eyes were filling up though her voice was steady. Oh, Paula. He wanted to let it all go, all the words and the thinking and just hold her. But he knew better than to make such a move.
She shook her head and stood quickly.
‘Paula, don’t. Paula.’
She left him.
He sat there for a while. Finished his drink. Went and got another and a whisky chaser, a double. Drank them. He felt raw, like someone had peeled his skin off or turned him inside out. He should never have agreed to see her, just stuck to the story about Douggie. She didn’t know what the police could be like, the sneaky way they asked about things, mixing you up and trying to catch you out, the way they kept on and on, working away at you. She’d no idea.
Nothing mattered much now. He drained the last of the whisky and went to the gents. Left the pub and crossed to the bus station. The sun was too bright after the muted light inside, hurt his eyes. He leaned against the bus shelter to wait. His chest ached like someone had thumped him. It couldn’t finish just like that, could it? With a row in a poxy pub in Oldham? Best thing he ever had, blown away. That couldn’t be the end of the story, could it?
Butchers was having another go at Mr Eddie Vincent.
‘I don’t see as there can be more details,’ said the old man querulously. ‘I’ve told you what he looked like and what he was wearing and what he did. What else could there be?’
‘Maybe nothing but if you don’t mind we’ll go over what you’ve already said and see what comes to light.’
‘All right, then.’
DS Butchers took Mr Vincent through each item of the description; height, weight, build, clothing. ‘Tell me again what he did.’
‘He came down the path, he was running, that’s why I noticed him in the first place. Then he stopped at the gate. He looked about,’ Mr Vincent cast his own head from side to side. ‘He looked… petrified.’
‘I want you to try and picture him there, at the gate, looking about. Try and keep him in your mind. What’s he look like?’
‘Like I said. And he was out of breath, panting a bit, from running.’
‘Any sign of blood?’
‘Didn’t notice any. But the clothes were dark.’
‘Was he carrying anything?’
‘Yes, in his hand.’ The old chap sounded surprised.
‘What is it?’
‘Can’t tell, it’s like a bag.’
‘What sort of bag?’
‘Plastic bag, like from the shops. He wasn’t holding it by the handles, not like a bag full of shopping, it was wrapped up and he had it in his hand.’
‘Small enough to carry in one hand?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Now, I want you to have a look at these photographs. See if he’s there.’
‘I don’t know.’ He complained.
Butchers spread the six mugshots out on the table.
‘Need your glasses?’
‘I don’t wear them,’ he retorted, ‘nothing wrong with my eyes.’
Butchers rolled his own. ‘Anyone you recognise?’ Mr Vincent looked at them. He took his time, wanting to do a fair job of it. Studied every face even though his eyes had fallen immediately on the one he knew. ‘This one,’ he tapped his forefinger beside one of the photos in the middle. ‘It’s this one.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Butchers. Eddie Vincent had picked out Dean Hendrix. ‘And you’d be prepared to come to court if the case went to trial?’
He sighed. ‘How long would that take? For them to have the trial?’
‘All depends. Few months, can be a year or more.’
Mr Vincent grunted.
‘What?’ Butchers asked.
‘Well, I mightn’t be here.’
‘Go on,’ said Butchers feeling uncomfortable at the plea for pity, ‘you’ve years in you, yet. But you’d have no objections to attending, if you were able?’
‘Righto, I’ll take these,’ said Butchers, eager to get back with the news, wipe the smile off Shap’s face. ‘Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’
Megan had gone for her tea. Jade was having chicken nuggets and oven chips. Mam said she didn’t want any but she had quite a lot of Jade’s when she was putting it out.
‘Can I take it in?’ Jade said. ‘Neighbours is still on.’
‘If you spill any…’
‘I won’t, Mam. Honest.’ Jade loved Neighbours. And EastEnders. And Casualty. If she didn’t end up as a pop star she was going to be an actress. Some people did both. The nuggets were hot so she cut them up to cool them down. Neighbours finished and the news came on. Boring.
When Jade looked up the lady was on telly. Asking people to help. Another lady said something about a knife and then the really pretty one looked like she was going to cry. Jade thought she seemed terribly sad. Jade hated it when grown-ups got upset. When Mam cried it made her feel all fumy inside like everything had gone wrong and it would never come right again. And if Jade had been different maybe Mam wouldn’t be the way she was.
‘We don’t want this on,’ Mam said. Then she shouted ‘Jade!’
Jade looked down and her plate was leaning over and all the chips and nuggets were sliding off the edge and onto the chair.
‘Take it in the kitchen.’
Jade cleared it up and took it through. If Jade went to confession then she’d be forgiven. Every Tuesday you could go from school to church next door, there was a weekly Mass, confession first. Jade hadn’t been for a while but it was good if it was wet play. She went all the time when she had done her first holy communion but then it got a bit boring. She bet Megan would go with her. Megan’s granddad was dying and Megan went loads to pray for him. Her chips had gone cold and spiky so she put them in the bin. She had a look in the cupboard to see if Mam had bought any biscuits or Coco-Pops. There was nothing new in.
‘Mam, can I go to Megan’s?’
‘Straight there and back for eight.’
They always had biscuits at Megan’s house.