‘How much did you get?’ DC Goodman asked.
‘Two each, ten pounds altogether,’ Elise said.
‘And who paid?’
‘Me, I did,’ she said, glancing at Janet, her face clouded with misery.
‘Can you describe the person who sold you the drugs?’ DC Goodman said.
‘She wasn’t as tall as me, she had black hair, wavy. I think she was mixed race. I don’t remember anything else.’
‘Did you hear anyone use a name?’ DC Goodman said.
‘No.’
‘What did she do after you bought the drugs?’ he said.
‘She carried on into the other room. Then she went,’ Elise said.
‘You saw her leave?’
‘Yes.’
Home delivery, someone at the party knew a dealer to call on for the occasion.
‘What happened then?’ DC Goodman said.
‘We took the stuff and we sat on the stairs for a bit, just hanging out and erm… Olivia said she felt dizzy, and I said…’ Elise gulped.
Janet could feel the mounting tension in her.
‘… “Isn’t that the point?” We thought it was really funny and laughed but then she said she felt worse. She said she was cold but when I felt her head she was really hot so I said to get a drink of water. We went in the kitchen and erm…’ a wobble in her voice, ‘then she, then she had the fit. Some people thought she was messing about but she wasn’t and then she wasn’t talking or answering. And I rang Mum and then the ambulance.’
‘You both took the drugs?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t expect there’d be any harmful effects?’ DC Goodman said.
‘No. We thought it would be fun.’
‘Thank you. We’re going to get your statement written up and then you’ll be asked to check it, tell us if anything isn’t correct or if you’d forgotten anything, and then you’ll sign it. If you do that you are also agreeing to testify in court, if required.’
Janet had lost count of the number of times she’d said the very same words. Elise nodded vigorously. Janet felt a flicker of fear. If charges were brought against the dealer, Elise could be in a vulnerable position, people might try to prevent her from giving evidence. Elise, naïve, sheltered, was unaware of this.
It might not get that far, Janet told herself, and they might not need Elise as a witness. Charges would focus on drugs banned by law, there must be other youngsters from the party who had bought illegal drugs, who would be witnesses to that. If it did come to a trial and they wanted Elise for some reason, they could ask for special measures, so she could give evidence anonymously from a video link or from behind screens.
‘Mum,’ Elise said, while they were waiting, ‘could we get a card for Vivien and Ken, is that what people do?’
‘Yes, if you’d like to.’
Elise gave a nod.
DC Goodman returned and Elise read through the statement and signed it.
‘What happens now?’ Janet asked him, for Elise’s benefit rather than her own.
‘We’ve some more inquiries to make. When those are completed, we consult with the Crown Prosecution Service as to whether there are any grounds for bringing charges.’
‘Like what?’ Elise said.
‘That would be up to them but in your situation, you didn’t break the law buying the Paradise or giving some to your friend. You had no reason to expect that the substance would cause harm, you took some yourself. So I really can’t see that any crime has been committed.’
Janet agreed and was very grateful that the man had tried to reassure Elise. But the irony kept hitting home; if Elise had bought weed or cocaine then she’d be liable for prosecution and in all likelihood Olivia would still be alive. The law-abiding option had proved the most deadly.
Rachel called at the newsagent’s first – to see if Liam Kelly knew the girl Shirelle’s address.
He shook his head. ‘I know who you mean but I’ve no idea which flat she’s in, sorry.’
Rachel was leaving when he said, ‘I hear you’ve arrested the Perrys.’
‘No names at this stage,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘That poor bloke.’ Word had yet to reach the public that another two victims had been found.
Hawkins House was just across the way from the shops, beside Beaumont House, home to the Perry twins. A concrete pile with a buzzer entry system.
Rachel pressed a few buttons, a disembodied voice answered, ‘What?’
‘DC Rachel Bailey, Manchester Metropolitan Police.’
‘He’s not here,’ the voice said, ‘he’s still in Strangeways. Don’t they tell you anything?’
‘Who am I speaking to?’ Rachel said.
‘The Wizard of Oz,’ the woman said and the line went dead.
Rachel peered inside through the safety glass and could see the lights on the lift shaft changing, someone coming down.
Rachel waited and watched as a young woman emerged dragging a buggy. She swung it round and headed for the door. The child in the pram was huge, fat-faced. Could babies be obese? Rachel had no idea.
As the girl came out, Rachel held the door, showed her warrant card. ‘I’m looking for Shirelle?’
The girl blinked rapidly. ‘Shirelle?’ she repeated.
‘Look, you can tell me which number now, make life that bit easier, or I can fart around getting her address from the DWP or the housing office, which would really piss me off.’
The girl seemed to be weighing up the options.
‘Might be tempted to get the DWP to check you’re getting the right benefits while I’m there,’ Rachel said.
The baby began crying and kicking its legs. A grating, droning noise that made Rachel want to clamp her hand over its face. Perhaps the mother felt the same. The girl sighed and said, ‘311.’
Rachel stepped aside, letting her pass. She took the stairs, reckoned it might be better than the lift, but she still had to breathe through her mouth to minimize the stink of piss. The smell of skunk hung heavy in the building too, unmistakable.
She found 311 on the fourth floor, nothing but the numbers to distinguish the door from any of its neighbours. All painted a dark moss green, probably meant to look tasteful but it served to darken the gloomy hallways even more. There were recessed lamps in the ceiling, protected by cages, and in the one above Rachel a fat black fly buzzed about.
Rachel listened for a moment, heard the faint chatter from a television inside. Then she knocked. She heard footsteps. ‘Who is it?’
‘Police, can you open the door?’
A pause. ‘Show us your ID.’
Rachel held her warrant card up so it was level with the peephole in the door. She heard a soft curse and the door was unlocked.
‘What’s it about?’ the young woman said. Arms folded, a frown creasing her forehead. She was petite, inches shorter than Rachel, with curly black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore close-fitting sports clothes, trainer socks, and a crucifix round her neck. Her face was peppered with patches of dry flaky skin.
‘Shirelle?’
The girl nodded.
‘Can I come in?’ Rachel said. The girl didn’t reply but moved back and once Rachel stepped inside Shirelle went ahead of her into the living room. Rachel glimpsed the kitchen as she passed. Quarry tiling on the floor, fitted cupboards in a high-gloss finish.