5
At the end of the day the team reconvened and Gill led them systematically through the different strands of the inquiry. As senior investigating officer, everything had been fed through to her and now needed to be shared with her detectives.
‘First off, where are we on ID? Kevin?’
He tapped his pen against his notebook. ‘Three possibilities for marriages with those initials on that date, one in Oldham, one in Bury and one in Manchester. John Smith and Ruth King, Judith Smith and Richard Kavanagh and Jennifer Simpson and Robert Keele.’
‘Any bells?’ Gill scanned the room to see if any of those names had come up in the course if the day. When no one responded she said, ‘Kevin, keep on with that, see if you can eliminate anyone.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘OK,’ she said, ‘updates on forensics at the crime scene. As expected, the accelerant has been identified as petrol.’
When Mitch groaned, Gill said, ‘I know – ubiquitous but we may be able to be more specific. Meanwhile talk to petrol stations in a ten-mile radius, any cans filled in the days before the murder.’
‘Could be siphoned off,’ Pete said.
‘Yes,’ said Gill, ‘we should look at that as well. Access to and from the building looks to have been gained from the rear where there is a hole cut in the chain-link fence.’
‘Spoke to the current owners,’ Mitch said. ‘The site was last checked eight months ago. They’ve had the fencing up for three years, after a spate of break-ins and vandalism. Fairly quiet since. They want to sell but they’re sitting on the property until there’s an upturn in land values.’
‘Round there?’ Rachel snorted. ‘They’ll have a long wait. Manchester prices have stayed steady, if I owned anything-’
‘Hey,’ Gill said, ‘save the Homes under the Hammer drivel for your own time. Focus. Now, at the other side of the building from the breach, steps lead down to a basement door. It’s a storage area under the anteroom with steps up into the main part of the building. That’s how our killer gained entry. Persons of interest, Noel and Neil Perry.’ Gill nodded to Rachel.
‘Twins,’ Rachel said. ‘They were in the alley on Wednesday night, watching the fire, I saw them. They wear these American baseball-style hoodies, Class of 88 and an eagle printed on the back, and an eyewitness saw them in the grounds of the chapel that night.’
‘Independent? Reliable?’ Gill said.
Rachel nodded. ‘Bit doddery though, not got twenty-twenty vision.’
‘Brilliant – you bring me Mr Magoo.’
‘The sweatshirts,’ Lee said, ‘it’s a fascist thing. Eighty-eight stands for Heil Hitler.’
‘Seriously?’ Kevin said.
Gill felt a kick of adrenaline, the case was growing legs, taking shape. ‘Anyone remember Terence Perry?’
‘Rapist,’ Pete said.
‘That’s right. A nasty shit-bag of a man by all accounts. And these are his kids. He died in prison – poisoning, been brewing his own hooch apparently, recipe went wrong. This was in 2004. Since then his sons have come to the attention of our colleagues on numerous occasions. Spent eighteen months in a young offenders’ institution for arson. Were they interviewed for the other recent fires, the mosque and the school?’
‘Interviewed and released, nothing to put them there. Alibied by a family member, the grandmother, Eileen Perry,’ said Mitch.
‘Terence’s mother,’ said Pete, ‘she’d swear black is white to cover for the family. Odds on she’ll alibi them this time.’
‘Liam Kelly, the newsagent, he banned them,’ Rachel said.
‘Do we know why?’ Gill asked.
‘Causing trouble, violent, nasty. And Mrs Lin at the Chinese didn’t want to talk about them, gave me the bum’s rush.’
‘Flagged up by the community team as well,’ Lee said. ‘Affray, disturbing the peace. Word is the mosque fire was down to the EBA, English Bulldog Army, a spin-off from the English Defence League. Where the worst of the nutters go, to use a technical term.’
‘Are the Perrys members?’ said Gill.
‘It’s a fluid organization,’ said Lee, ‘all the dregs, raving racist loonies who are too openly violent even for the EDL, end up there. The twins could well be, judging by their clothing and reputation. We’ll make some inquiries.’
‘So we can agree the Perrys have unsavoury political views,’ Gill said.
‘Is the EBA a banned organization?’ Janet asked.
‘Not yet, there hasn’t been time, but I believe it’s under consideration,’ Gill said. ‘Have the Perrys any history of firearm offences?’
‘No,’ Mitch said.
‘Connected?’ she asked, thinking about the criminal fraternity.
Mitch shook his head.
‘Right,’ Gill said, ‘once we’ve more hard evidence we’ll have a word with the Chuckle Brothers. Who are the main players on the estate? Who’s causing us grief on Manorclough these days?’
‘Most of the drug traffic is believed to be controlled by Marcus Williams,’ Mitch said. He’d been talking to the neighbourhood policing team and to the drug squad. ‘Williams stepped up when Keith Grant was busted. Been in charge ever since. A cannabis farm closed down in January was believed to be his. Steady business, handles the lot, Class Bs, some Class As.’
‘Except he doesn’t handle anything,’ Gill said.
‘That’s right, hands free.’ Mitch showed his palms. ‘There’s even talk of him standing for the local council.’
‘You’re kidding,’ said Janet.
‘The lure of respectability,’ Gill said.
Mitch smiled.
‘Anyone picked up for the cannabis farm?’ Gill said.
‘Suspects are awaiting trial, no one’s talking,’ Mitch said.
‘So who is our victim? Has he started a turf war? Is Williams the trigger-happy type?’
‘No. Things been very quiet on that front,’ Mitch said.
‘Is Williams into any other business, prostitution, loan sharks?’
‘Concentrates on the drugs,’ said Mitch. ‘Known associate, Stanley Keane, a bruiser, he’s probably Williams’s enforcer.’
‘We park that information,’ said Gill. ‘If we find any link between Williams and company and our victim then we’ll come back to it.’
‘Maybe it’s been set up to look like a hit when it’s actually a domestic,’ Kevin said. ‘The wife or whoever has had enough. Hires a hitman.’
‘Thinking on an empty stomach, Kevin, never a good idea,’ said Gill.
‘It happens,’ Kevin said.
‘Thinking?’ This from Rachel.
‘Hired hitmen,’ Kevin said.
‘Rarely,’ Gill said. ‘If you’re right I’ll buy you a pint. And a pot to put it in. OK, what else… nothing as yet to indicate the body was moved to the site post-mortem. Good start,’ she wound things up, ‘get some kip. See you tomorrow.’
Gill was surprised to find Sammy at home when she finally got back after ten. ‘Thought you were going to your dad’s,’ she said, surveying the empty pizza box, the baking tray in the sink, and half a dozen dirty mugs and glasses on the counter.
‘We rearranged,’ he said.
‘How come?’
‘Just did.’ He opened the fridge.
‘Hey, this lot first, dishwasher and paper bin,’ she said, nodding at the mess.
‘I was,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Hardly.’ She wondered who’d rearranged. Had Sammy put his dad off? She could see why he might. Dave wasn’t great company these days. His love nest with the whore of Pendlebury and their spawn had disintegrated and Dave was now back living with his mother. Not a good look for a man in his fifties. Sammy liked his grandma but was of an age where a handful of visits a year would suffice. But for all Dave’s failings, and they were legion, Gill still thought it best that Sammy maintain regular contact with his dad. It’d help Dave too, she reckoned, to know there was still somebody who loved him. A solid relationship that wasn’t going to go tits up when a younger model rolled along. Did Dave still see his second child? She’d never asked. It wasn’t her business, anyway. Dave was an adult, fact. Despite his sometimes childish behaviour. He could handle the fallout from his midlife crisis by himself. Why the hell should Gill concern herself with it?