‘Sean-’
‘All right,’ he said, ‘do what you got to do.’
He was so grateful to have her there he’d bend over backwards rather than say anything to challenge her. But instead of being thankful, that made her feel worse. She made an excuse: ‘Bitch of a day.’
‘Go,’ he said, ‘I’ll be here when you get back.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘course you will.’
‘Sammy, I need to talk to you,’ Gill said. ‘Turn that off.’
‘I cleared up the other day,’ he objected.
‘It’s not that.’
He looked at her, picking up on her serious tone, paused his game.
Gill crossed and sat in the armchair. She felt anxiety fluttering behind her breastbone. ‘It’s about your dad,’ she said. ‘He’s gone into rehab.’
‘Where?’ Sammy said.
‘A place in Cheshire. Like a hotel.’
‘Without a minibar.’
She smiled, ‘Exactly.’
‘How long will he be there?’ Sammy asked.
‘I don’t know, as long as he needs.’
‘OK.’
She rubbed at the cloth, the piping around the edge of the chair arm. They had picked the design together, her and Dave, argued about the colour scheme. She won. And later he admitted it worked, both comfortable and stylish at the same time. They had christened the couch the night it was delivered. Days when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Sammy sound asleep upstairs. They’d been so bright back then, nothing seemed too hard. Gill working all hours solving murders, Dave gaining promotion. Both ambitious. Both still on the way up, proud of each other. Good prospects. Good money. Enough to build this place, enough for good food and clothes and cars. And Sammy. The blessing of Sammy.
All that and now this.
She made a fist, tapped it on the chair a couple of times. ‘Your dad, he’s been – well, you know he’s been having problems for a while.’
‘Yeah,’ a hint of sarcasm there. She was stating the bleeding obvious. She kicked herself. ‘Well, he came here drunk last night, broke into the summerhouse, blacked out. And now he’s getting help, professional help.’
Sammy’s mouth twisted, he shook his head in disgust. Seeing this, his loss of respect for his dad, hurt more than anything.
‘It’s hard for us to understand,’ she said, ‘but it’s a disease, an illness. It’s not about you or me or anyone else. He still loves you, Sammy, whatever else. You know that?’
‘I suppose.’
‘He does. And so do I.’ She gave him a hug. ‘We’re going to be all right.’
‘I know,’ he said.
‘How’s Orla?’ She changed the subject.
‘Good, yeah.’
‘We should go out some time,’ she said, ‘the three of us, a meal.’
‘Right,’ he said, ‘before Christmas or after?’ Sarky. Sarky was OK.
‘I do have days off,’ she chided him. ‘I’ll tell you when and you can ask her.’
‘OK.’
‘She’s not vegan or anything?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘OK, that’s a date to be arranged.’
She expected him to return to his game but he switched it off and disappeared upstairs.
Gill closed her eyes, took a breath and let it out slowly. She looked outside where the cherry tree stood in shadow, the rain falling steadily against the windows. She closed the curtains.
It’s going to be all right, she told herself. Who knows what might have happened if she hadn’t found Dave when she did, if she hadn’t forced him to see what was so blindingly obvious, if she hadn’t finally got through to him. And now he was off her back, out of circulation and, she dearly hoped, was going to make a good recovery. She’d need to get the glass fixed in the summerhouse, clear out the mess in there. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight she meant to eat something decent and get a good sleep and try to feel halfway normal again. For her and her boy.
It was all going to be all right.
Day 7: Wednesday 16 May
28
‘What the fuck is going on out there? See this?’ Gill held up a copy of the Sun. DEATH TOWN screamed the headline. ‘We’ve got three murders, a high-profile drug death, and now people are running around beating up and shooting at potential witnesses. We know the same weapon was used in all three killings but we do not have that weapon.’ She took a breath. ‘What we do have is a man in custody, in possession of incriminating evidence. The clock’s ticking and we need more on him. Anyone?’
Rachel spoke up. ‘For the timeline, Tandy left the family home on Friday. He’d heard about the Kavanagh murder, reckoned it was good news. His missus had had enough. They argued. No contact between him and the family since, according to her.’
‘The lab has found his DNA on the gloves.’
‘Brilliant!’ Rachel said.
‘Hold your horses – there’s also another profile,’ Gill said.
‘On the system?’ Janet asked.
‘No,’ Gill said. It weakened their case. Tandy’s defence could always claim that someone else, identity unknown, wore the gloves, fired the gun and used the accelerant.
‘It’s not Stanley Keane, he is on the DNA database?’ Janet again.
‘Yes he is and it’s not him,’ Kevin said.
‘Where is Keane?’ Gill said.
‘No sign.’ This from Mitch.
‘Time we paid Marcus Williams a visit, maybe Keane is staying there,’ Gill said.
‘Are you thinking Keane might have shot Lydia and Victor?’ said Janet.
‘The items recovered, the gloves, were at his address, we can link him to Shirelle and the drug business, he’s a known associate of Williams but… the DNA doesn’t fit.’ Gill felt boxed in; the evidence they acquired kept weakening the case rather than supporting their suspicions. ‘Sticking with Tandy,’ she went on, ‘if he is our killer, what’s the likely sequence of events? Starting with his release.’
‘We know he went to the George Inn for the EBA meeting and that the Perry twins were there,’ said Janet.
‘And he met with Neil Perry at Bobbins on Tuesday,’ said Rachel, ‘possibly to supply the weapon. He gets chucked out by his missus on Friday when he’s cheering about the first shooting. He takes his gear, the firearms, clothes, the gloves and stuff, to Keane’s.’
‘At some point he gets the gun back from the Perrys,’ Janet said, ‘he acquires a can of barbecue lighter fuel and he goes to the warehouse, shoots the victims, sets the fire. Returns to Keane’s.’
‘What then?’ said Gill. ‘Where is the gun now? And where did he get the lighter fuel? It’s a plausible narrative as far as it goes but at the moment it’s a fairy story. We need much more.’ The lack of CCTV in the area was another obstacle, no record of who was going to and from the warehouse or on the approach roads.
‘We have no motive-’ Janet said.
‘Unless Tandy wanted to make a name for himself with the Bulldogs. Bit of ethnic cleansing,’ said Mitch.
‘Or there’s some drugs war simmering, something we’ve not uncovered,’ said Lee.
‘However,’ Gill held up her hands, ‘motive is the least of our concerns. Janet and Rachel, you carry on checking for any sightings of Tandy with the neighbours and then at Keane’s. Mitch and Lee, pay a visit to Williams, we get a search warrant.’
Her phone rang. ‘DCI Murray.’
‘Alan here, from ballistics.’
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘Bullets recovered from the Manton Road address, we’ve run a comparison and they match those used in all three murder cases.’
Gill felt dizzy. ‘All of them?’
‘Yes, one weapon, six bullets, all fired from the same gun. The one you’re looking for,’ he said, emphasizing the point.
‘Thanks, Alan. The missing gun,’ she told the team, ‘it was used in last night’s attack at Tandy’s house.’
‘Could that be Keane?’ said Rachel. ‘Sending a warning to Tandy to keep his gob shut?’