CHAPTER FOUR
Dean stood in the shadow of Oldham bus station and punched in Douggie’s number.
‘Douggie, yer dub brain, where’ve you been?’
‘An’ I love you too, Dean.’
‘Yer were switched off.’
‘It’s the moby. It’s rubbish. I got it off this bloke on the market and it only works half the time. So – what’s new?’
‘I was wondering, can you put us up for a bit?’
‘No worries. And is Paula coming too?’
‘Nah, just me.’
‘You’ll need directions, mate. Hang on.’ Dean could hear Douggie yelling to someone, something about milk and Frosties. Then he came back on the line. ‘Tosser,’ he volunteered, ‘thinks food grows in the dark while he’s sleeping, like mushrooms. Yeah, take the M66 …’
‘No wheels.’
‘What?’
‘Starter motor’s gone. Give us directions from the bus station.’
Douggie told him which way to go, there was a bus or he could walk it in twenty minutes but it was all uphill.
Like bloody life, thought Dean. ‘See you in twenty minutes.’
‘You what?’
‘I’m in Oldham.’
‘Aw, right. Nice one. See yer mate.’
He wanted to be honest with Paula. He was honest with her. Well, some little things he hadn’t told her, things from the past. One or two big things maybe but he’d never lied about new stuff. Now all this going down. If he told her it all straight she wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t see why he had to run. She’d never had the sort of troubles he had.
Douggie would get it no messing. Douggie knew where he was coming from. He’d walked the same road. Been there, got the t-shirt. Dean turned to face the redbrick municipal building that marked his route up the hill to Douggie’s. God, he was thirsty. Freezing cold lager, drops of water beading the can, something with a bite to it, slipping down in long cold pulls. Christ, Douggie better have some dosh ‘cos he sure as hell couldn’t afford it.
*****
‘Mrs Tulley?’
She nodded. Concern clouding her eyes.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Lewis and this is Detective Inspector Mayne; Greater Manchester Police, CID.’ They held up their identification cards. ‘Can we come in for a minute?’
‘Why?’
‘If we could talk inside.’
She lead them into the lounge. A large, high-ceilinged room with a white Adam-style fireplace and a contemporary, uncluttered feel. Like Mrs Tulley, thought Janine, the same simplicity in the woman’s dress; her long-sleeved, scoop neck top and calf-length skirt, as in the room design.
‘Matthew Tulley is your husband?’
‘Matthew?’ A note of surprise in her voice. ‘Yes. What about him?’
‘I’ve some bad news, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, God.’ Her face changed, fear flooding in. ‘What is it?’ Mrs Tulley whispered. ‘Has there been an accident?’
Janine noted the woman’s assumption. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Tulley,’ she paused, trying to be as gentle as she could with the terrible bombshell she held. ‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you that Matthew’s dead.’
‘No,’ Lesley Tulley covered her mouth with one hand and brought the other to join it. Rocked forward slightly. ‘No,’ she repeated and closed her eyes. She lifted her head a little to speak, ‘What happened?’
‘Please, Mrs Tulley, sit down.’
She complied and Janine sat down too. Lesley Tulley was gasping, shaking her head. Eyes wide and pained. Janine put one hand on her shoulder, a fleeting touch, some human contact in the middle of the horror. Janine waited, gave her time. Lesley stared at Janine then looked at Richard and apparently failing to make sense of the situation let her gaze slip away.
‘What happened?’
‘We’re not sure at the moment but we’re treating his death as suspicious.’
Lesley looked at her confused.
‘We believe someone else was involved.’
‘Someone hurt him?’
‘I’m sorry, I realise how difficult this must be.’
‘How...?’
‘We believe some sort of weapon was used.’
Lesley shook her head, trying to wake up from the nightmare.
‘Is there someone you can call? Someone who can be with you?’
‘My sister, Emma.’
‘We’ll ring Emma in a minute. Have you other family close by?’
‘No one. Just Emma and me.’
‘We should notify Matthew’s family, his parents …’
‘They’re both dead. There isn’t anybody.’
‘Lesley,’ Janine spoke slowly, as gently as she could. ‘I’m afraid we will need a family member to identify him but if you don’t feel able to–’
‘I’ll do it.’ Tears started in her eyes. ‘I want to see him.’
‘It’s just a formality. We’re sure that it’s Matthew.’ Janine didn’t want to leave any false hope lingering. ‘I realise this is an awful, terrible shock, but I do need to ask you one or two questions? Can we get you a cup of tea?’
Lesley Tulley nodded as if in a trance. Janine glanced at Richard, he went to make the tea.
‘Just tell me if you need to stop at any time,’ Janine said.
*****
‘Yo, Dean.’
‘All right, Douggie.’
The friends hugged, a swift strong embrace, then parted.
‘Come in.’
In the kitchen at the end of the hail a lad sat at the table taking apart a car radio. Dean judged him to be sixteen or so.
‘This is my cousin,’ said Douggie, ‘Gary. It’s his dad’s house, he’s got a few round here. This is Dean what I told you about.’
Gary grunted but continued to work away with the screwdriver.
‘So, how goes it?’ Douggie pulled out a chair, pulled Rizzla papers and a pack of cigarettes from his hip pocket. ‘What’s the story, Dean?’
Dean remained standing. ‘Douggie, a word?’ Nodded towards the hall. Douggie looked a bit narked at that but followed Dean all the same.
‘This the lounge?’
‘Yeah, you’ll have to kip in here.’
Dean went in. Sat down, waited till Douggie joined him. Spoke quietly, looking Douggie in the eye all the while. ‘Me being here, and my reasons for being here, I don’t want no one to know, right?’
Douggie bobbed his head in agreement.
‘Not even family,’ Dean gestured back towards the kitchen. ‘Far as he’s concerned I’m here for a friendly visit. Yeah? No whisper of trouble. Not a word. Right?’
‘Course,’ Douggie replied, an edge of irritation in his tone, denying he’d ever have thought otherwise.
‘I’ll tell you about it later,’ Dean told him. He knew he could trust Douggie once he’d made things plain. Douggie’s only problem was he never thought things through, you had to do his thinking for him. Keep it simple and he was fine.
‘Toilet upstairs?’
‘Can’t miss it.’
‘Watch me.’
‘Har har.’
‘And I’m parched, you got any drink in to go with that smoke?’
‘Tea?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of something export strength,’ Dean raised his eyebrows.
‘Nah,’ said Douggie.
Dean felt a surge of frustration. He didn’t want to be here. He was tired and thirsty, he was bleedin’ ravenous and now Douggie was going to tell him there was naff all till his Giro came.
‘But it can be arranged,’ Douggie, grinning, pulled a large roll of notes from his trousers. ‘How about an Indian, an’ all?’
Dean smiled, ran his hands through his hair it back from his face. ‘What yer waiting for? Mine’s Lamb Rogan Josh, extra naan, fried rice, couple of pakoras.’
*****
Richard filled and switched on the jug kettle and found mugs, tea bags and milk. The fridge was
well-stocked with a variety of dairy produce and salad vegetables. The kitchen was tidy, everything tucked out of sight bar the toaster and kettle. Tastefully decorated with pale yellow walls, blond wood counters, grey slate floor tiles. He peered into the door of the washing machine and saw that a very small load had been washed. Something dark, with a white piping stripe, running pants or something similar.
He wondered where they kept the knives. Hunting for a teaspoon he found the cutlery, the deep basket drawer included a block of fancy French kitchen knives, all present and correct. He made the tea and returned to the lounge.
*****
Jade got her pencil case and her colouring book. She sat at the kitchen table and she did three pages. Didn’t go over the lines, not once. Then she did a drawing for Mam. It was loads of flowers and butterflies and a fairy, except one of the fairy’s legs went wrong and was too thin and bent the wrong way. She couldn’t rub it out because it was felt pen. So she covered it up by giving the fairy a long dress with pointy bits. She had to use dark blue to hide the legs and it was a bit dark so the fairy wasn’t so good in the end. She put get better soon love from Jade at the bottom and a row of kisses right across, there were eighteen kisses.
A bit later on there was a knock at the door. Not Megan. Megan always did a special knock, it was their code, it was like a horse galloping. This knock was loud and slow. Four bangs. She thought it might be the man who sells potatoes or the gypsy woman with her lucky charms but when she peered out through the nets she guessed it was a policeman, he had a clipboard and he was a bit fat with ginger hair. She crouched down and kept very still. Jade wasn’t allowed to answer the door if Mam wasn’t there, anyway.
When she heard them move away and knock on next-door’s, Jade crept up to that side of the window on her hands and knees and she heard him say police when next-door answered. She felt sick. Maybe she was getting what Mam had. She didn’t want to be sick. It was the worst thing in the world. She’d rather have a nosebleed than be sick. Being sick was totally totally gross. Megan said you had to lie on your back and breathe through your nose if you felt sick. Jade lay on the carpet. It smelt hairy and it tickled the back of her knees.
She lay there for ages. She could see fairy dust swirling in the sun and it moved faster if she waved her hand at it. After a while she stopped the breathing bit and started singing. Just softly. She sang every song she could think of and then she practised doing a crab and she managed to walk like that from the middle of the room to the door without collapsing. Then at last she heard Mam getting up again, which was good because by then Jade was about to die from hunger.
*****
Richard had handed round tea and sat poised to take notes. Janine had already established the basic facts: names and dates of birth. Married nine years. Fourteen years age difference between them.
‘How did … you said he was attacked?’ Lesley Tulley’s eyes conveyed how hard this was to take in.
‘We believe it was some sort of knife. There will be a post mortem and that will determine the exact cause of death. He lost a great deal of blood.’
A tiny movement, a nod. ‘I can’t believe it.’ Mrs Tulley looked over to Janine, her face wide with misery.
Janine gave her a moment. And began. ‘When did you last see Matthew?’
‘This morning. He went off to the allotment.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About nine, I think.’
‘Was that usual, for a Saturday morning?’
She nodded, her lips clenching as she battled tears.
‘And you went out?’
‘Yes, to town.’
‘Can you think of anyone who had a grudge against Matthew? Anything like that?’
Lesley shook her head.
The doorbell rang, the sound shrilling through the house.
‘I’ll get that,’ Richard said.
Janine heard voices outside, clamouring for answers. Can we have a statement? How is Mrs Tulley? Who’s leading the enquiry?
‘No comment, gentlemen.’ Richard re-joined them. ‘The Press.’
Janine got up and moved across to close the curtains. ‘Lesley, keep all your curtains closed. Use your answerphone, don’t talk to the Press.’ She switched on a lamp. ‘It’s important that they only use the information we release to them. Okay?’
Lesley rubbed at her arms, gave a brief nod. Trying to hold it together.
Janine’s phone rang. Apologising, she stepped out into the hall. It was her mother. ‘Tom sounds very wheezy, Janine.’
Janine’s heart sank. ‘Has he complained?’ Tom was able to manage his asthma pretty well, if he slowed down and complained it was a warning signal.
‘No, still bouncing around.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m not sure how long I’ll be but ring me again if he gets any worse, will you?’
‘All right. Eleanor wants a word.’
Janine rolled her eyes, strove to summon up a bit of patience for her daughter.
‘Mum?’
‘Hello, Ellie.’
‘They’re having bacon and sausages.’
‘Well, have some fruit.’
‘Grandma’s mean,’ Eleanor whispered.
‘She’s not mean, she’s just – have toast,’ Janine couldn’t get drawn into a debate now. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘The middle of the night,’ laden with sarcasm.
‘No, not the middle of the night. Bye bye.’
Janine returned to the lounge her mind running over what else they needed from Mrs Tulley.
‘Now, it would be a great help if we could take your fingerprints. It means our forensic people can eliminate them when they are looking at evidence. Inspector Mayne has a kit.’
‘It’s a bit messy,’ he said, ‘but it’s quick to do.’
Businesslike he showed her how to place each finger on the pad and roll it onto the paper. ‘That’s fine, thank you.’ He sealed the record in its envelope.
She went to wash her hands and when she came back Janine asked if there was a recent photograph of Matthew they could take.
Lesley Tulley froze, a stricken expression on her face.
‘Lesley?’ Janine spoke clearly as if to a sleepwalker.
Lesley rubbed at her temples and at her hair. ‘Sorry photo. Yes. In the study next door.’
They went across the hallway to a smaller room. A desk with computer and accessories occupied the far wall and the others were lined with bookshelves and cupboards. Lesley opened a drawer in the desk and drew out a glossy 7 x 5 print of her husband. She handed it to Janine. ‘He had them done for school,’ she explained, ‘all the staff have their pictures up in the entrance hall.’
The man was definitely the same person that Janine had seen at the allotments. The photo gave him a confident mien, quite different from the face on the victim. He looked healthy, energetic, competent. He wore a charcoal suit, white shirt and striped tie.
‘Thank you. We need to take Matthew’s diaries, check his recent e-mails.’ Janine said.
Lesley nodded. Richard switched on the computer.
‘When Emma arrives we will take you to identify Matthew.’
Lesley swayed and put a hand out to steady herself. ‘Come and sit down,’ Janine invited her.
Before you fall.
*****
Dean and Douggie sprawled among the remnants of the meal from the Star of Bengal and the cans from the Late Shop. Douggie had rolled another spliff. He took a long pull, sucked it in deep and held it there for a couple of seconds. He passed it to Dean. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so blasted. Usually he was with Paula when he smoked, the dope made him more aware of the physical sensations. He’d notice small things, like the feel of the bones in his fingers as he stroked her, the slip of cooler air across his shoulder, the steady tightening of the muscles in his thighs. It made everything stronger, clearer; so he could see the tiny patterns in her skin, smell the traces of soap and hair-
oil and the perfume that she always wore. He would hear the rock of her heartbeat mixing with his own pulse drumming in his ears.
He took another drag. Douggie had the giggles. They’d put some old South Park videos on and Douggie flailed helplessly on the floor while the cartoons did their stuff. Dean grinned. Douggie laughed like a cartoon, wheezed like Mutley out of Wacky Races, hee-hee-hee, his shoulders pumping up and down. Dean had switched his mobile off. He didn’t want Paula to catch him at a bad time. Needed a clear head to talk to her.
He passed the joint back. Douggie stopped giggling long enough to inhale which set him off coughing. ‘Get a drink,’ he choked. He waved the spliff at Dean, giving it back, and stumbled out. Dean smoked, let his eyes close, leant his head back against the couch. The video finished. He’d better catch the news later, see what was happening back in Manchester. He could hear birds twittering and the seesaw drone of scramble bikes, some dog barking for Britain. Exile, he thought, I’m in bleeding exile. Better than the nick, though. Had the police got interested in him yet?
Douggie came back in, clutching a tub of ice cream, a bottle of strawberry syrup, bowls and spoons. He put them down, took the smoke from Dean’s fingers and slid onto the armchair. With a full belly and a couple of tins inside him Dean felt better than he had all day. He helped himself to ice cream.
‘The money?’ he asked Douggie.
‘Errands,’ Douggie replied. ‘Doing the business.’
Dean knew he wasn’t talking groceries. But Douggie wouldn’t last another stretch inside. Dean shook his head.
‘This is steady,’ Douggie said, all wide-eyed, ‘low key.’
‘For now.’
‘Who says it’s going to change?’ Douggie pulled the tub across the carpet, scooped some out.
‘Course it will,’ said Dean, ‘everything changes, all the time, that’s life.’ Sounded like some crap song lyric. He shuffled, stretched his hands behind his head, tugging at the hair on his neck.
‘It’s cool.’ Douggie insisted. ‘You like a line now and then same as anyone.’
Dean sighed. ‘Look, Douggie, less I know the better.’
Blue Murder Page 4
