‘It could be bloody Batman for all we know,’ Gill said, ‘but it tells us that if Tandy did the warehouse murders, he got rid of the gun between Friday night and Monday when we brought him in. We may never get that gun.’ In organized crime, weapons were passed from hand to hand, hired, sold, borrowed, hidden, looked after. The same weapon used by different people in the commission of diverse offences, as appeared to be the case now.
‘Maybe Tandy just went apeshit, lost the plot,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s out and back home but it’s the same shitty little life. His wife is on at him, she actually tells him to do one. So what’s it all for? He pulls a Terminator, picks on someone to hurt, someone who won’t stand a chance. Justifies it to himself ’cos he’s a racist dickhead.’
‘Why copy the Kavanagh killing?’ Gill said.
‘He’d been bigging it up,’ Rachel said. ‘That’s why Gloria chucked him out – well, partly. He gets the idea then.’
‘How did he know to go after the victims?’ Janet asked. ‘Victor and Lydia? He’s not a user.’
‘No,’ Gill agreed, ‘nothing on his medical.’
‘Stuff in the house, though,’ Kevin said, ‘Keane’s house.’
‘But not in the room Tandy was occupying.’ This from Lee.
‘His missus said he never touched drugs,’ said Rachel.
‘What if the twins told him about them? Could it be a challenge? We’ll do the wino, you do the black kids,’ Rachel said, ‘we can tell you where they’ll be.’
Gill sighed. ‘Greg Tandy is a career criminal, a gun man. I can’t see him entering some pact with a pair of lowlife scumbags like the Perry twins.’
‘If it was Tandy, he’d know to get rid of evidence,’ Rachel said, ‘so why hang on to the gloves then?’
‘Could Keane have been involved and then fitted Tandy up?’ Gill said.
No one answered.
‘Enough,’ Gill said. ‘Bring me something solid, quick as you like.’
They got bugger all from Tandy’s neighbours, apart from a lot of nosy questions about where the wife and boy had gone and rumours that Greg had shot at his own family. Given he was in custody at the time, that didn’t hold water. As for anyone seeing him any time on the Friday evening going to or from the warehouse, they drew a big fat blank.
Over in Werneth, where Stanley Keane lived, there were no fences at the front of the properties so it would be easy for the residents to see people coming and going. The neighbours to the left of Keane were out, no cars in the drive, no one home. At the other side, Janet and Rachel were greeted by a young woman in a yellow onesie, her eyes furred with fake lashes and her fingernails individually designed.
She’d not really paid attention to next door until all the police showed up. Stan Keane was a nice man, friendly enough. No, she didn’t know him well. Hadn’t seen him for a few days.
Janet showed her a photograph of Greg Tandy. ‘What about this man?’
‘The one you arrested Monday. Saw him then. You were there.’ She nodded at Rachel.
‘That’s right.’
‘Before that, can you remember when you first saw him?’ Janet said.
The woman narrowed her eyes. ‘Today is Wednesday?’
‘Yes.’
She sucked her teeth, dazzling white, Janet noticed, set off by vivid-pink lipstick. ‘Friday. ’Cos I was heading out. Girls’ night.’ She seemed pleased that she could remember.
‘What time was this?’
‘Half seven,’ she said.
‘And where was this man?’ said Janet.
‘He was going out too, just ahead of me.’
Heading for the warehouse, wondered Janet? ‘Was he carrying anything?’
‘Not that I remember.’
‘Did you see him after that?’
‘Well, I didn’t surface until the Saturday afternoon. Serious hangover, well trollied,’ she laughed. ‘Saw him coming in. He’d a bag then,’ she smiled, ‘probably been to the gym. No way was I going to make it, I tell you. I usually go Saturday.’
‘A gym bag?’ Janet’s heart gave a kick in her chest.
‘Well, holdall.’
‘What colour?’
‘Blue.’ The girl laughed. ‘The things you remember!’
‘And after that?’
‘Didn’t see him until the police came.’ She lowered her voice, leaned closer. ‘What’s he done?’ Janet caught a whiff of fake tan.
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Janet said. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘The bag he had his gloves in,’ Rachel said as they crossed the road.
‘Sounds the same.’
‘But she reckons it was the Saturday and he didn’t have the bag on the Friday.’
‘That would have been too perfect,’ Janet said.
‘Maybe he left the bag somewhere on the Friday after the murders and went to fetch it on the Saturday.’
‘Why? Where?’
‘His house? Though I don’t know that Gloria would have let him over the threshold.’
At the house opposite Stanley Keane’s, a Polish man answered. He explained his nationality when he spelled out his name, which consisted mainly of consonants. His English was excellent and barely accented. He too had noticed Tandy, the new resident, but found it harder to recall dates and times. He worked twelve-hour shifts in a call centre and when he was home he was usually in bed or half asleep.
He thought some more and then said, ‘I did see him going into Wetherspoon’s. That would have been about eight o’clock, on my way home from the bus.’
‘Which day?’
‘Thursday or Friday.’
‘It would be a great help if you could remember which,’ Janet said.
‘Sorry,’ he apologized. ‘I’d done twenty days in a row. Saturday was a day off so I know it wasn’t Saturday but before that.’
‘If you remember,’ Janet said, ‘please get in touch.’ She gave him her card.
The man knew Stanley Keane by sight but they had never spoken. He’d last seen him on Sunday evening, putting the bins out.
The manager at Wetherspoon’s didn’t recall Greg Tandy but the girl who was chalking up meals on the blackboard did. ‘Friday,’ she said, ‘it’s the only night I work here. He reminded me of Jimmy Carr, the comedian, but an older version. You know, the black hair and the big eyes. He sat over there, by the slot machines, on his own at first.’
‘Someone joined him?’ Janet said.
‘Yes, about half nine. Bigger bloke, beard and biker’s jacket, comes in here sometimes.’
Stanley Keane.
‘How long did they stay?’
‘Till closing,’ she said.
Janet felt her heart sink. The girl seemed to be on the ball and if her sighting was accurate then there was no way Greg Tandy could have been ten miles away shooting Victor and Lydia.
29
Rachel and Janet followed Gill into the meeting room.
‘The Wetherspoon’s sighting gives Tandy an alibi but Keane could have done it,’ said Rachel. ‘Keane didn’t get to the pub till later and the gloves were at his house.’
‘He fitted Tandy up for the murder?’ Gill said. ‘Wouldn’t Tandy shop him? The man’s only just been released. And why would Keane want to kill the Nigerians?’
‘Why would anyone?’ Janet said.
‘It doesn’t work,’ Gill shook her head, ‘because if Keane was behind it we’d have his DNA on those gloves and we’ve not. And we’ve nothing at his house that points to him bar the gloves.’
‘We could find out if he bought lighter fuel?’ Rachel suggested.
‘Doesn’t get us very far,’ Gill said. ‘You can buy it anywhere: petrol stations, supermarkets, DIY stores. People have it at home, everyone’s got a barbecue.’
‘I’ve not,’ Rachel said.
‘Sean will soon see to that, I bet you,’ Janet said.
‘What is it with men and barbecues?’
‘Throwback,’ said Gill, ‘they like to imagine they’ve just caught the animal, killed it and dressed it. Proud hunters all. Bringing home the bacon.’