Mitch nodded, he had already talked to some of her network, but now he’d develop that with a focus particularly on uncovering any other relationship Lisa was involved in.
‘How did her bit on the side get there?’ Gill said. ‘Car, bike, on foot? Back to the cameras.’
‘We don’t know what we’re looking for,’ Kevin protested.
Gill spoke swiftly, ‘We’re looking for a person slash vehicle seen both going towards Garrigan Street and away from Garrigan Street in our time frame.’
‘That could take days,’ Kevin groaned.
‘Somewhere else to be?’ she said.
‘No, but-’
‘You did very well with the cabbie.’ Dropping him a morsel of praise.
‘What if it’s someone off the estate?’ he went on. ‘They’d never go round by Oldham Road, wouldn’t pass those cameras. What if there’s-’
‘Kevin.’ She silenced him. He gave a mutinous look and began to scribble in his daybook. Possibly a death threat, she thought, or a choice four-letter word.
Rachel said, ‘What about the search for the knife?’
‘Where do you suggest we start?’
‘Say half a mile’s radius of the flat: drains, canal, skips.’
Costing the earth and maybe one or two small planets. ‘I don’t do scattergun,’ Gill said, ‘waste of resources.’
Rachel sighed and folded her arms, looked to Janet for support. Janet kept her head down, making notes. Not joining in. Good. Janet’s turnaround, her championing of the girl that morning had been one for the books. But Janet hadn’t lost her sense, she knew which battles were worth fighting, which points worth scoring.
‘Lisa put Sean off, so presumably she knew she’d be occupied with lover boy – but she hadn’t known that when she left the flat, or she’d have told Sean half three then. So how did they get in contact?’
‘Not a phone call,’ Pete said. ‘There were only three calls that day.’
‘The text, then, the unknown number?’ Gill said. ‘That’s most likely, but we can’t access it.’ She began to draw the briefing to a close. ‘Still, we know a great deal more than we did on Monday,’ she reminded them. ‘Timeline’s shaping up, we’ve eliminated a key suspect. For now.’ Allowing that, if they recovered other evidence, they might yet re-examine Sean Broughton. ‘I’ve a press conference later and we’ll be asking the public for help. That’s likely to keep the phones hot. Devil’s in the detail,’ she told them. ‘Now, I hope you haven’t forgotten it’s our Christmas do tonight, and I want to see you all there enjoying yourselves.’ A chorus of whistles and calls went up. ‘You can still remember how to do that, can’t you? Good. Until then, take it steady; get it right, lads, yeah?’
‘Boss,’ the chorus went round. Not fired up as such, but dogged. Dogged would do fine.
While the custody sergeant and Janet went to charge Sean, Gill contacted the FLO and asked him to inform Denise Finn that Sean was being released. Charged with theft and possession.
‘She’ll love that,’ he said.
‘No solid evidence,’ Gill said. ‘He’s looking much less likely.’
‘Still a chance?’
‘Not enough to mention. Don’t get her hopes up. Unless something new and very serious comes to light, Sean Broughton is no longer in the running.’
Christopher Danes was back on to her in ten minutes, while she was going over the draft of the press release. ‘She wants a word,’ he said. ‘I told her you might be tied up,’ giving Gill a get-out clause.
But she was a big girl. ‘Put her on.’
‘How can you let him out?’ Denise demanded. ‘You know what he’s like, what he’s done. He’s guilty as sin.’
‘We don’t know that,’ Gill said. ‘I can only charge someone if I have the evidence to do so.’
‘He battered her, he’s a fucking druggie, what about that?’ Denise said.
‘That’s not proof. Every single officer working on this inquiry is putting one hundred per cent into their work. It might take us weeks, months even, but we will look for the evidence that proves who is responsible for Lisa’s death.’
‘He’s a liar, you know. You can’t trust a word he said. He’s a liar and a thief and a vicious, nasty bastard. And you just let him go!’
Gill saw that Denise was beyond reason or logic, operating only on her belief that Sean was a murderer. Still, she kept repeating her position. ‘We had no grounds to hold him any longer without charging him. He has been charged with theft and possession of illegal drugs, those are the only crimes we have evidence for at present. What happened to Lisa was unforgivable, a terrible crime, and we want to make sure that the right person is caught and punished.’
There was a noise at the other end of the line and Gill couldn’t tell if Denise was crying or spluttering or even laughing with derision. Then Christopher came back on, ‘Thanks, ma’am.’
‘My pleasure,’ Gill said drily. Put the phone down and carried on with her work.
Gill had read through her prepared statement enough times to be able to say it from memory at the press conference. It gave a better impression, appeared more genuine than someone with their head buried in a piece of paper. In common with every other officer at her level, she’d been on several media training courses, learning how to project herself (that came naturally), build a media strategy, how to field inappropriate or challenging questions, how to debate with clarity and precision without getting muddled or personal. Keeping on message, conveying crucial points in a concise way.
Having told the assembled press that Sean Broughton, a twenty-two-year-old man, had now been charged with theft and possession of Class A drugs and released, and having repeated the key facts of the crime in an effort to jog memories, ring bells buried deep in people’s skulls, when it came to the ending of her speech, she picked up her notes.
‘I’d like to read out a statement from Lisa’s family,’ she said, and paused, waiting a moment for the attention in the room to focus, the noise levels to settle. ‘Lisa was a lively girl, a girl with a beautiful voice who loved to sing. A girl who had her whole life ahead of her. She was loved very much and we are desperately sad at this terrible loss. If anyone knows anything that can help the police, please come forward.’
31
THE GUY FROM the Police Federation was on the phone; he wanted to offer Rachel support. Wanted her to be aware that if she was still suffering any mental or physical trauma as a result of the incident she could postpone meeting the IPCC. No one would think any the worse of her for it.
‘I’m fine,’ Rachel said, ignoring the cold cramps in her stomach and the sense of trepidation.
‘We can get a federation rep to be there, make sure your interests are protected.’
‘No, really, I’m fine,’ Rachel said. Didn’t they get it? Any delay would make it even worse.
Rachel had already written her account of Rosie’s suicide in her duty report. She had kept it pared back, plain and to the point. Leaving out any thoughts or feelings about the incident. Not relevant. Not helpful.
When the IPCC got there it was two blokes who spoke to her; they’d both been serving officers before moving to Complaints, which gave them an insight into the world they were monitoring. One of them was an old bloke with a lot of wild white facial hair but none on the top of his head. He had a gold tooth, which added to the pirate look he had going on. His name was Roger Harris. Roger. Really! Did they call him Jolly Roger? The other was a looker, reminded her of Nick, though his suit wasn’t quite up to par. Warm tone to his voice, but he didn’t smile a lot. Jonathan Buckingham.
‘You understand that you are being interviewed as a witness?’ Roger said.
‘Yes,’ Rachel said.
‘And you are happy to talk to us now?’
Delirious. Everyone’s concern, the kid-glove treatment, made it harder for her. She didn’t need comfort or tea and sympathy, just wanted to get on with it, get it over with. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’