He nodded, no other reaction.
‘Michael, I went into school today. Mr Corkland wanted to see me. He told me there’ve been problems at school. And last night the police were here, wanting to talk to you. I don’t know what’s going on but we need to talk about it. Soon.’
He reached over and raised the volume.
A flash of anger warmed her face. ‘Don’t push it, Michael!’
‘Or what? You’ll lock me up?’
The doorbell sounded, preventing her replying. She answered it to find the police officer from the previous evening. Great timing.
Sarah came into the hall and, seeing the policeman, ushered Eleanor upstairs for her bath.
‘Good evening, is Michael in?’
Janine stood aside, let the man in and showed him into the room.
‘Michael,’ she said.
He turned, saw the uniform and paled.
Janine nodded he should turn the sound off. He did.
‘It’s about Saturday, The Trafford Centre. You were involved in an attempt to steal a mobile phone,’ PC Durham said.
‘Someone tried to rob me.’ Michael said.
‘Don’t mess about, lad. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Now, what really happened?’
There was a pause. Janine wanted the floor to swallow her up. Feeling desperate for Michael, angry and sad at the same time.
‘We were just mucking about.’
‘Bit of fun? That’s not how the other lad sees it; your victim.’
Michael blanched at the term.
‘Wasn’t funny at all. He hasn’t been sleeping very well since.’ He paused, letting Michael stew for a moment. ‘Think yourself lucky, Michael, charges won’t be brought this time but if there’s a next time we’ll pick you up before you can draw breath. Understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is an official warning. You look like a decent enough lad, sort yourself out. I hope we never meet again.’
Janine followed PC Durham to the door. ‘The other lad?’ she asked.
‘Shaken up. They pushed him about a bit. There was a free for all, the security guards picked up on it pretty quick and this lot bolted.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Reckon he’ll be all right. Learnt his lesson, they need a bit of discipline don’t they, this age? I’ve seen it before.’
Janine resented the lecture, the implication that Michael hadn’t had enough discipline. There’d always been clear rules at home.
When she’d seen him out she leant back against the wall, snatching a moment to recover. She didn’t want to arrive at the hospital ragged and drained. Tom needed her; God, they all needed her. Never any chance for her to be the needy one.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Day 4: Tuesday February 25th
Janine had slept badly, the makeshift camp-bed that the hospital provided was narrow and uncomfortable and she’d had heartburn. Tom had been much better and seemed to shrug off the experience with the resilience of youngsters.
She was dressed and ready for work when Pete arrived at eight.
‘How you doing, soldier?’ He gave Tom a bear hug.
‘I had chocolate cereal!’
‘Chocolate!’ He ruffled Tom’s hair. Looked at her, ‘What do they say?’
‘They’ll discharge him. We’re waiting for the doctor,’ Janine told him.
‘How long’s that going to be?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And then what?’ There was a belligerent note in his voice. Janine didn’t want Tom exposed to any bickering. She went over to the window, forcing Pete to follow.
‘Stop it,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’
‘Using this to pick a fight with me.’
He gave an incredulous laugh. ‘You are so bloody selfish. I’ve got a life to lead too, you know, a job. I can’t just drop everything either.’
She would not let him rile her. She kept her voice even. ‘If you take him home, I’ll collect him later. Sarah can get Eleanor.’
Pete hesitated. What else could they do? Janine wondered. Had he an alternative?
‘Look, the kids don’t know whether they’re coming or going,’ Pete said. ‘Tina thinks we need to sort out fixed arrangements.’
Oh, she does, does she? ‘Shame the pair of you didn’t think a bit more about the kids in the first place. Christ, Pete, she’d barely got chance to get the polish out and her overalls on before you two were at it.’
Pete looked sick but continued. ‘We need some routine.’
‘I don’t do regular shifts, I have to do overtime at a moment’s notice,’ she reminded him. ‘You know that. And kids – things happen, life’s messy. It won’t work if you start being inflexible.’
‘Won’t work for you,’ he accused her.
‘For them,’ she insisted.
‘Dad. Mum.’ Tom held up a model he’d made.
Janine glared at Pete. They couldn’t sort this out now. They went and admired Tom’s handiwork. Janine picked up her briefcase and coat. Gave Tom a big hug. ‘Dad’s going to take you to his, I’ll see you later.’
‘Yes-s-s!’
She looked at Pete – see how he loves you. Pete looked away, picked up the model and began to play with his son.
A doctor had seen Dean at the police station in Oldham. The doctor asked him some questions and talked to the other people there. They seemed unsure of what to do. He heard someone say hospital and then someone said Manchester and he guessed they were talking about the murder. They gave him an extra blanket and some tea which burnt his tongue. All night long they kept sliding the peephole back on the cell door and staring in. Dean didn’t know if he slept or not. Every time he thought about it he was in the same position, hands together between his knees, curled up tight. When he was in care, after his mum died, they said he slept with his eyes open. Freaked the other boys out. He didn’t think he slept that way anymore. Paula had never mentioned it.
When they had asked him if there was anyone they should notify about him being nicked he said no. Pretty tight that. The world fit to bursting with overpopulation and there’s not one frigging person in the known universe who needs to know that Dean Hendrix is in trouble. He realised he was feeling sorry for himself but he reckoned he was entitled. He doesn’t – who will? Not exactly the best day of his life.
‘And the Gibson angle, the drugs?’ The Lemon’s eyes scrutinised her.
‘No link to Tulley, sir. Ferdie Gibson and friend Colin were behind the off-licence robberies. They used the cash to buy cocaine from a firm operating out of Oldham. There was a connection, though; Dean Hendrix chose the house in Oldham to hole up in.’
‘Two crimes for the price of one, eh? You’d never have got him without Oldham, would you?’
‘Hard to say, sir.’
‘Sheer fluke,’ he said dismissively. ‘Can’t claim any credit for that. And one of the suspects was killed in the course of the raid?’
‘Car drove over him, his accomplice.’ Poor kid.
‘Bloody mess, but that part’s Oldham’s problem. As for ours, I want a written report by the end of the day. Everything ready for O’Halloran. He’ll be taking over from you first thing tomorrow.’
He couldn’t take the case from her! Not after all this. A sign to one and all that he had no faith in her. ‘Please, sir.’ She’d beg if she had to.
He didn’t give her the chance. ‘You’ve run out of time, Lewis.’
She turned away, fists clenched, mouth set. Not trusting herself to say anything.
Butchers had traced Laura Belling, the first Mrs Matthew Tulley, to an address in Birkenhead and had used the directory to get a phone number. A child answered at the other end, burbling ‘hello, hello’ over and over down the line.
‘Is your mummy there?’
‘Who.’
‘Is your mummy there?’
‘Who is it?’
‘Get your mummy.’
‘Mummy. Hello.’
Shap, beside him, scrolling through records on the computer, sniggered.
‘I want to talk to your mummy.’
‘Who dat?’
‘Mr Butchers. Tell Mummy to come to the phone.’
‘No.’ The child slammed the phone down.
‘Hell,’ Butchers pressed re-dial. Laura Belling answered. ‘Ms Belling, I’m DS Butchers from Greater Manchester Police. You were previously married to Matthew Tulley?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are probably aware that Mr Tulley is the victim in a murder enquiry?’
‘I saw it on the television.’
He could hear the child beginning to kick up a fuss in the background. ‘I’ll try and be brief; we’re trying to establish what sort of man Mr Tulley was, build up a picture, talk to…’
‘He was a bastard.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You heard. They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but he deserves everything he got.’
For one crazed moment Butchers wondered if she was going to confess to having done it. ‘He was an out and out bastard.’
Butchers hesitated, uncertain as to how to frame the next question. The child was bawling now. ‘When you say that, in what respect…’
‘He was a pervert and a bully.’
‘Was he violent towards you?’
‘Oh, yes. That was the grounds for the divorce. Physical and mental cruelty.’