‘No. I’m driving,’ Janine said.
Hogg nodded. ‘I’ll see this one out,’ she said, ‘give them my regards.’
‘Thank you,’ Janine turned to go, feeling the weight lift.
‘Pint?’ Shap said to Butchers.
‘You buying?’ Butchers said. He fancied a bevvy. They deserved to celebrate a job well done.
‘Your turn, mate,’ Shap said.
‘Skint,’ Butchers said, ‘had to shell out for the do.’ Just thinking about it made him uneasy.
‘And nothing to show for it, apart from that black eye,’ Shap said. ‘I can sub you,’ he offered. ‘We could go on after, see about some action.’ He winked.
‘Get in!’ Butchers scoffed.
‘You should try the Internet,’ Shap said, ‘hundreds of birds on there looking for love.’
‘Looking for trouble, more like,’ Butchers said.
‘Can’t do worse than the lovely Kim.’
‘She wasn’t that bad,’ Butchers said.
Shap stared at him.
Butchers shuffled. ‘Mebbe she was,’ he allowed.
Shap pulled on his ear and grimaced. ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to know what you’re after.’
‘Bit of peace and quiet’d do me,’ Butchers said.
‘She messed with your bearings, mate, didn’t she? Mucked up your sense of judgement. Sent you banging on about Luke Stafford and Phoebe Wray.’
‘With good reason,’ Butchers objected.
‘What reason?’ Shap sneered. ‘You were way off, mate, way, way off.’
‘You coming,’ Lisa called from the corridor, ‘only neither of you stood me a round last night so it’s your shout.’
Chapter 29
Claire felt jittery, her pulse racing, thirst raging. She fought to appear calm for Sammy.
Once the photographer had been and gone and the social worker and the family liaison officer had left, obviously delighted by the happy event, the three of them were alone together.
When she wondered how it had been for Sammy, away from home, in a strange house, without his toys or books or anything familiar, in the presence of a man who had killed his child, her heart ached and burned. A swarm of questions hummed in her mind but she had been advised to let Sammy talk at his own pace, if he chose to talk. And that the best care they could give was to re-establish all the routines he knew.
So with her heart fluttering, Claire asked him if he’d rather have egg and soldiers or beans on toast and then, when he said beans she went to make them while Sammy sat watching television nestled on Clive’s lap.
And after tea, Clive took him up for a bath and it was all she could do not to run up there and watch. She wanted him in sight, in earshot, every moment.
Resisting that impulse and eager for distraction, she stripped and changed their double bed and then cleaned the fridge.
Clive brought Sammy down, pink-cheeked, his curls damp and honey coloured from the water.
‘I’ve just spoken to Phoebe,’ Clive said, ‘she’d like to see him.’
Claire’s first reaction was hot defiance but as she took a breath to rebuff the idea Clive said steadily, ‘She’s been worried, too. She’d like to see her brother. I said it would only be for a few minutes, near bedtime.’
‘You said yes?’ He’d already arranged it.
‘Yes.’ Clive turned to Sammy, chucked him under the chin. ‘You remember Phoebe?’
Sammy gave a nod.
‘She’s coming to say hello.’
Clive set Sammy down on the sofa and then looked at Claire. ‘No more messing about, no hiding,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s a new start.’
She wasn’t sure what she felt but she wasn’t going to make a scene about it. And she felt herself relax a little, the tension ease across her shoulders.
Sammy played with his dinosaurs and Claire watched, alert for any change to his actions or his commentary, keen to find any clues as to the differences he’d encountered but there was nothing new or unusual in what he did.
His face lit up when Phoebe arrived, which astonished Claire. They had only met once before. But Phoebe had an easy way with him and kept up a stream of chatter and Sammy insisted on showing her all his special things, bringing one item after another, taking Claire with him to fetch them each time (Tyrannosaurus, my big stone, the red digger, baby mouse) until the floor was littered with them.
‘Bedtime now,’ Clive said and Phoebe left promptly, kissing Sammy on the cheek, hugging her father and thanking Claire on her way out.
Claire had an image of Phoebe coming round to babysit for Sammy and the new baby and felt her eyes sting with tears at the prospect of normality and the rift between Clive and Phoebe healing.
She took Sammy up to bed. He insisted on counting each step like he did. In his room she sat beside him on the bed, and read the customary two books.
He took his glasses off, put them on his bedside table and pulled his teddy bear close, burying his nose in the fur.
‘Night, night, lovely boy,’ Claire said but she stayed there, listening to Sammy’s breathing, gazing at him until her eyes closed and she sank into sleep.
Clive woke her a little later, shaking her shoulder, whispering her name.
‘I’m going to sleep here tonight,’ she said.
He looked worried.
‘Just tonight,’ she said, ‘I promise.’
And he accepted that and when he bent to embrace her, she was happy for it. ‘We’re so lucky,’ she said quietly.
‘We are,’ he said, ‘I love you.’
‘Yes,’ she knew he did. ‘I love you, too,’ she said. And she knew that for the first time in weeks she meant it.
Chapter 30
Richard was removing items from the incident boards when Janine came in. The rest of the team were having a well-earned beer. Hair of the dog for some. But tomorrow they’d be back in early, putting together all the reports needed to build the case for trial.
She thought he might congratulate her on a good outcome, no further loss of life but all he said was, ‘Reckon they’ll prosecute her?’
‘Hard to say. I’m not pushing for it. More good would come of letting her raise that baby.’
‘And Breeley?’ Richard said.
‘He caused John’s death – then he covered it up. Put his son’s body in a drainage tunnel,’ Janine sighed. ‘If he’d come clean straight away, things might have been different.’
Millie came in then, her coat on. Nodded to them both.
‘Five minutes?’ Richard said.
‘Fine.’ Millie turned to Janine, ‘Congratulations. Great copy.’
‘Thanks,’ Janine said. The shadow of the previous evening still made her embarrassed.
‘See you down there,’ Millie said to Richard.
Once Millie had gone, Richard took down the remaining items and put them in the box files. He picked up his jacket and laptop.
Janine didn’t want him to go without trying to make the peace. ‘Last night,’ she said, ‘I was out of order. Everything—’ she stopped herself from trying to justify her behaviour. ‘No excuse.’
‘No,’ Richard agreed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Maybe you should tell that to Millie,’ he said unsmiling.
‘I will. She’s coming for a drink?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll talk to her,’ Janine said.
‘ OK.’ He put his jacket on and walked to the door.
‘But there is something.’
‘What?’
‘Not an excuse, more a sort of explanation with a big apology attached. I was kicking the cat. I know you don’t really get it, the baby thing but it’s … let’s just say that for me it’s a biggie. I was struggling and you seemed a million miles away, not even on my side anymore and Millie, well, she seemed to be the reason. But I was unfair and I was a cow and I’m really sorry. It was just with Pete and Tina—’ She sighed, began to close down h
er files. ‘She’s nice.’
‘Tina?’
‘No, not Tina, Tina is a bloody nightmare. Millie.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m still not convinced,’ Janine murmured.
‘What’s that?’ he stopped.
‘That she’s your type.’
‘I don’t have a type.’ Richard took the bait, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. ‘What’s my type? Go on.’ He was laughing. Almost.
‘You’re going to be late,’ Janine said and turned back to her screen.
She would join the team, down a tonic without the gin or maybe an orange juice. And then she’d head off. Home to her kids.
She might put off explaining about the divorce until there was a bit more time to field questions and deal with the inevitable upset. But she’d tell them that it would be OK. Pete could still have them every other weekend and holidays. The baby would come along and everything would change a little bit but life would go on.
She saved her files and powered down the computer.
We’ll be fine she’d tell them – don’t worry.
Janine paused at the door, looked back at the notice boards which looked bare now, vacant.
We did it, she thought. After all that mess and confusion we did it. Solved the murder and found the missing child. John could be laid to rest and Sammy was back with his mum and dad. We did it, she thought, as she snapped off the lights. We bloody did it!
Acknowledgements
Thanks to everyone involved with Blue Murder at Granada and especially to
Anna Davies – a brilliant script editor.
Other titles by Cath Staincliffe
Blink of an Eye
Split Second
Witness
The Kindest Thing
Trio
Scott & Bailey Novels
Bleed Like Me
Dead To Me
Blue Murder Novels
Make Believe
Hit & Run
Blue Murder: Cry Me A River
Sal Kilkenny Novels
Crying Out Loud
Missing
Bitter Blue
Towers Of Silence
Stone Cold Red Hot
Dead Wrong
Go Not Gently
Looking For Trouble
About the Author
Cath Staincliffe is an established novelist, radio playwright and the creator of ITV1's hit series, Blue Murder, starring Caroline Quentin as DCI Janine Lewis, which attracted an audience of 8.4 million viewers. Cath’s books have been short-listed for the Crime Writers Association Best First Novel Award and for the Dagger in the Library and she is a winner of the Short Story Dagger. Looking For Trouble launched private eye Sal Kilkenny, a single parent struggling to juggle work and home, onto Manchester’s mean streets. Crying Out Loud is the eighth and latest title in the series. Cath’s newest novels, Split Second and Blink of an Eye examine hot topical issues and tell stories of ordinary people, caught up in the criminal justice system, who face difficult and dangerous choices. Cath writes the Scott & Bailey novels based on the popular ITV1 series. She lives in Manchester with her partner and their children. Cath is a founder member of Murder Squad see www.murdersquad.co.uk
www.cathstaincliffe.co.uk
Follow @CathStaincliffe on Twitter
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