The Girl in the Green Dress

by Cath Staincliffe

  Slowly and meticulously, Jade recited the caution, relishing each word, savouring the loathing she saw in his eyes, the pulse of victory leaping in her blood, threading through the drumbeat of pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Donna

  Donna was waiting in the custody suite. Jade had rung her minutes before. ‘Boss, I’m bringing Harris in.’

  ‘Where did you find him?’

  ‘He found me,’ Jade said, something dark behind the words.

  Donna felt a spike of fear, thinking of Martin chasing Jade. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m good. He’s a bit woozy, I reckon.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Stun gun.’

  ‘Legal?’ Donna’s mind raced over the implications. If Jade had an unauthorized weapon, an illegal import . . .

  ‘Not mine, boss, so I couldn’t say. Car’s here now. The paramedics have checked him out and he’s fit to be detained.’

  Donna stifled a gasp when she caught sight of them. Martin in cuffs, flanked between two officers in uniform, his clothes dishevelled and stained. A rip in his shirt, bloodied face, blackened eyes.

  After them came Jade, cuts on her cheek, swollen lip. Her eyes were blazing, her body taut, with an intensity that seemed too great for her slight frame.

  When Martin’s eyes met Donna’s, he gave her a look of utter indifference before turning his attention to the desk.

  Jade glanced at Donna, triumph shining in her eyes, and stepped forward to outline the charges against Martin to the custody sergeant.

  Martin answered the standard questions. The handcuffs were removed, he emptied his pockets and was frisked. The atmosphere among those present was Arctic: icy disdain and procedural rigour. A barrier to contain the repugnance of facing corruption in one of their own.

  Donna thought of the Kennaways, how they would come to hear about the bent copper who had tried to destroy their claim for justice. Again she felt the corrosive wash of shame at her failure to believe Jade, at her acceptance of Martin’s lies.

  The ripples from this would taint her reputation for ever. She’d have to prove herself over and over again, for the bosses, for the people of Manchester, for her colleagues. And there would always be rumours: she must have known, it’s never just one bad apple, she wasn’t fit to lead.

  No time for self-pity now, though. They had to sort this out, redeem something from the mire Martin had led them into. From the inquiry that had been twisted and fouled.

  ‘Come and see me when you’re done here,’ she said to Jade.

  Donna moved to go, then turned back and touched Jade’s arm. Jade flinched. ‘Good work,’ Donna told her. ‘Excellent work.’

  Jade gave a swift nod, and Donna also caught a glimpse of movement from Martin, his back to them, a flexing across his shoulders before he stilled. Like a horse dislodging flies.

  When Jade had finished telling her what had happened at the flat, basically that Martin had ambushed her but she’d been able to use his own weapon to disable him, Donna said, ‘Why didn’t you call for back-up?’

  Jade shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure anyone was actually in my flat.’

  ‘You went into a potentially life-threatening situation on your own and unarmed,’ Donna said. How could she not see this was beyond stupid?

  ‘I got him, though,’ Jade said. As if that justified everything.

  ‘He could have killed you, hospitalized you at the very least.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ Jade said.

  ‘We should add this to the charge sheet, breaking and entering, causing grievous bodily harm with intent, assaulting a police officer—’

  ‘No.’ Jade stuck her hands into her pockets. Studied her feet. Back against the wall.

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘Because it’s more important to go for the conspiracy to pervert, assisting an offender. That’s the only thing that matters.’

  ‘He could get extra time,’ Donna said. ‘I want to go after him for everything we can throw at him.’

  ‘He’s a slippery bastard, boss. He could twist it all, get into the stuff like before, how I’m off my head. It’s too messy. I won’t do it.’ Chin jutting out in defiance.

  ‘All the times we have to persuade people to come to us, to report crime, to press charges, to see it through, and you’re waving a white feather?’

  Jade glared at her. ‘I won’t do it.’

  Exasperated, wondering if there were other reasons for her reluctance, if there was something she was hiding, Donna said, ‘I think you’re making a mistake.’

  Another shrug.

  Stalemate.

  ‘Jade, I’m sorry,’ Donna said. She was saying that to everyone, these days. Sorry, sorry, sorry. ‘None of this would have—’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ Jade said quickly, her skin flushing, darkening her complexion. ‘What about Dale and Oliver?’

  Donna pinched the bridge of her nose, turned her concentration to the two murder suspects. ‘My money is on Dale being the stronger of the two, calling the shots. Agreed?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jade pushed herself away from the wall and came to sit down near Donna. Up close Donna could see dust in her hair, speckles of silver too. Glass? Like with Jim. No time for him now. She’d phone in the morning. Go in at lunchtime, if she could. It felt like a chore, one she dreaded. You’re avoiding him.

  Jade’s hands were battered, flecked with cuts and grazes. From fighting Martin? Him twice her size.

  ‘I also think Oliver is more scared,’ Donna said.

  ‘He’s probably more scared of Martin than he is of us,’ Jade said.

  ‘Can’t think why,’ Donna said drily.

  ‘Oliver’s the weakest link,’ Jade said. ‘So we put the screws on, try and trip him up?’

  ‘No,’ Donna said. ‘Nothing that smells of coercion. He’s already been coerced by Martin, probably Dale as well. Threatened and pressured. I’m not saying we don’t work on any contradictions, unpick the less plausible elements of the story, but he needs to believe the best thing for him is to tell the truth.’

  ‘And grass up his mate?’ Jade said sceptically.

  ‘And make amends,’ Donna corrected her. ‘Look, from everything we heard he’s from a loving, stable home. His mother had the guts, the moral courage, to come to us with her fears. In my experience, a boy like Oliver doesn’t get involved in a serious crime like this and not be haunted by it. It’s a nightmare for him. One day he’s hanging about playing his Xbox and doing an apprenticeship or going out on the piss, the next he’s covered in blood and there’s a dead girl in the rain. He runs away from home, and his mate’s dad, a detective, is telling him what to do, what to say and no doubt what’ll happen if he doesn’t play by Martin’s rules. I’m going to show Oliver he doesn’t have to play that game. That he can stand on his own two feet and take responsibility for what he’s done.’

  ‘And if he tells you where to shove it?’ Jade said.

  ‘Ye of little faith,’ Donna said.

  ‘Can I sit in?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Donna said. ‘You might want tomorrow off. Have a break.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jade said.

  ‘I think I’ve got this covered,’ Donna said.

  ‘C’mon, boss,’ Jade said. ‘What happened to teamwork?’

  ‘You’ve been assaulted. Look at the state of you.’

  ‘And. I. Am. Fine.’

  Donna sighed. ‘You won’t take no for an answer, will you?’

  Jade smiled. ‘What about interviews with Martin Harris?’

  ‘Neither of us goes anywhere near,’ Donna said. ‘We maintain a clear distance at this point. I’ll hand it over to someone of my rank. But he’s going to go “no comment”. I can’t see him doing anything else.’ She checked the time. ‘You want to get out of here for a few hours? Clean yourself up? We’ll start the Poole interview at eight tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Jade said.

  Donna yawned. ‘I’
ll go home. Show my face. Check the kids haven’t changed the locks.’ See if any of them are still speaking to me.

  Jade

  Jade had slept on the sofa in the visitors’ lounge. Not that she’d got much kip. Every time she nodded off, she’d jerk awake, little explosions inside, like a sequence of fireworks primed to run all night long. Her skin was greasy, scratchy, and the cuts itched. Her back hurt with each breath.

  There was a staff shower, which she used, the water stinging the cuts. Without a towel she used paper napkins to mop up most of the wet. But she was still damp when she pulled her clothes back on. Her hair would dry quickly enough by itself.

  Her stomach growled. When had she last eaten? Lunchtime the previous day?

  She found a café half a block from the station, open early, busy with contractors in their boiler suits and chunky boots. She ignored the undercurrent of glances her way, people no doubt trying to guess who she was, what she was, what had happened to her face, why she’d washed up here among the regulars. She ate a sausage and egg muffin, drank coffee, took her tablets, then waited for the food, the drugs, to ground her, to neutralize the shocks still coursing through her, like the spit and crackle of a loose connection.

  Jade was attending the Oliver Poole interview on the understanding she take notes and observe. Keep her trap shut, in other words.

  Fine by Jade, as long as she was there, in the room.

  Oliver was quite a contrast to Dale Harris. Much bigger for a start. He put Jade in mind of a squaddie or a halfback. He didn’t have Dale Harris’s boy-band good looks, not that he was minging or anything, but the round face and red colouring weren’t fashionable. Jade sensed a softness to him, as though he could be bullied as easily as be a bully. There’d been kids like that in the home. One she remembered clearly – Titch, they’d called him. Massive kid. Bullied when he’d first arrived until he’d shut himself in his room and set it on fire. By the time Titch returned from hospital, treated for second-degree burns, his main enemies had been moved. Titch took over their role. He beat DD half senseless one time, in the park so the staff couldn’t see. DD had refused to say who’d done it. He swore Jade to silence too.

  After that DD had begun sparring. He’d learnt how to move, how to punch someone and incapacitate them. He’d taught Jade some moves. DD had bided his time, and when Titch slagged him off again, DD fanned the flames, taunting him until the big lad lost it. Then DD let rip. Fists like jackhammers. It took three staff to pull DD off him. Titch had never bothered DD again.

  Now the boss finished the preliminaries and said, ‘Oliver, there have been substantial developments since yesterday. Martin Harris, Dale’s father, has been arrested on suspicion of perverting the course of justice and assisting an offender. And there may well be further charges to follow.’

  He blinked fast, looking shit scared.

  ‘You know Martin Harris?’

  ‘No,’ Oliver said, quick and low.

  The boss didn’t say anything for a bit. She was just looking at him. Not with a face on or anything, just looking, and she said, ‘Let me tell you what I think, Oliver. I think Martin Harris learnt what you and Dale had done, that you had killed Allie Kennaway, and I think he offered to help.’

  Oliver was shaking his head slowly, murmuring, ‘No,’ as she continued, ‘He was a police officer. He was working on this inquiry. He could make evidence disappear, he could falsify evidence, and he coached you in a cover story in case you were arrested.’

  ‘No,’ he said more loudly.

  ‘He probably told you he could protect you. He was wrong. He’s downstairs now, in a cell. He’ll be interviewed this morning. The offences he’s committed could see him behind bars for years, possibly life. It’s all gone wrong, Oliver.’

  ‘We didn’t do it. The homeless guy, the African—’

  ‘I’m going to stop you, there,’ the boss said. ‘Because the story, and it is a story, you’ve been coached in is ridiculous. It’s a farce. Three people against one. The supposed knife. How could anyone carry a knife like that loose in their pocket? We arrested Mahmoud Bishaar and it was not among his possessions. Dale was seen with blood on his shirt, blood from his attack on Bishaar. He held Bishaar in a stranglehold and punched his nose. Do you remember that? If you were forced at knifepoint to hurt Allie Kennaway, why not run to the police as soon as you were free? And, most significantly, why would Mahmoud Bishaar call for an ambulance and alert the police as soon as he could to try to save Allie Kennaway’s life? That’s not the action of a psychotic killer. Your story is a shambles, Oliver. Cooked up in desperation. It won’t bear scrutiny. Now that we’ve apprehended Martin Harris and established his role in interfering with the work of the inquiry, it looks even worse for you and Dale. If you were innocent, as you claim, Martin Harris would have put his trust in the criminal justice system. The system he has served his whole working life. He’d have brought you in so we could learn the truth. So we could arrest the man responsible.’

  ‘That is the truth,’ Oliver shouted, his face creased, ears bright red.

  Quiet again. Jade didn’t know if the boss did this to think about what to say next or for some other reason. To calm him, maybe. To slow things down?

  ‘I want you to think about something else now,’ the boss said. ‘You see, I think this is unbearably difficult for you. To find yourself here in a police station and charged with murder, the most serious of crimes. You never saw this coming.’ She was talking so gently, like she was truly sorry for him. It gave Jade the creeps.

  ‘When you went out with Dale you were expecting a good time, a meal with some mates, a few drinks, maybe clubbing. You never planned any of this. You never wanted any of this, did you?’

  His nose went red and he looked down at his hands.

  ‘You’re not a bad person. You’ve never done anything like this before, not by a million miles. It all went so wrong, didn’t it? Five minutes and everything changed. You never meant that to happen. And I think you’d give anything to turn back time. To wipe it all away.’

  The boss kept on talking, like she cared more about Oliver Poole than anyone else on the planet. Oliver sat rigid, silent, still looking down. Jade kept forgetting to write. The boss’s voice was hypnotic, like she was telling a bedtime story.

  ‘But the past can’t be changed,’ the boss said. ‘I think you tried to do the right thing, just after it had happened. You were arguing with Dale. I think you wanted to get help then. Because you knew it was wrong. You’ve probably been thinking about it over and over. What if you hadn’t gone into town? What if you’d got into Fredo’s instead of being turned away? What if Dale hadn’t grabbed her, that girl, in the street? What if Mahmoud Bishaar had woken seconds sooner and frightened you off?’ Another pause. ‘She’s dead. Allie Kennaway. The same age as you, and she’s gone. Because you killed her.’

  ‘I didn’t fucking kill her,’ he screamed, the cords in his neck standing out. Then he choked on his words: ‘I never. I never did it.’

  A beat or two and the boss said, ‘You can’t change the past but you can change what happens now. You can keep lying and cause more pain for that family, for Allie’s dad, for her little sister. Or you can take responsibility for your actions and face the consequences. You can be a man.’

  He was swaying in the chair, as if he was trying to soothe some unbearable pain, tiny sounds coming from him. All because of what the boss was doing, what she was saying and the way she was saying it. It was incredible.

  ‘That is a terrible secret to keep. Imagine if it was you, hurt, killed in an attack. If it was your mother grieving, wanting to know the truth. Don’t you think that’s the least you can do? You can never make it right, Oliver, but you can be honest. You can stop making it worse for the people who loved Allie. The people who woke up this morning and remembered again that she wasn’t there any more. That she was never coming home.’

  Oliver broke. He was sniffing, crying. The boss stayed quiet. Jade cleared
her throat. Oliver’s hands went to his face.

  ‘We should take a break,’ his solicitor said.

  The boss ignored him. She spoke to Oliver instead. ‘You’re very distressed, Oliver. You’ve been through an enormous trauma and you’ve been pressured to lie and to conspire to put another person in prison for a crime that you’ve committed. I don’t think you could live with that. You don’t owe Dale Harris or his father anything. Not loyalty or allegiance or a debt of gratitude. But you do owe the Kennaway family, and you owe your own family. You owe yourself. You never set out to kill someone. You made a dreadful, dreadful mistake and lying about it is only making it worse. And the only way to start to make amends for that is to own up to it.’

  Silence in the room, apart from Oliver, still crying and swallowing, breath ragged. The boss stretched it out so long Jade thought she’d blown it. Then she said softly, ‘Oliver, you didn’t mean to do it, did you?’

  ‘No,’ he blurted. ‘I don’t know why we did it . . . I’m sorry . . . It’s just . . . Oh, God.’ He cried more loudly. Sobs that wrenched his shoulders up and down. Jade couldn’t bear the sound. She bit her lip, felt the pain where the scab had formed.

  ‘Thank you,’ the boss said, when he’d calmed down enough to pay attention. ‘I know how hard that must be. We’ll take a break but we’ll need to get a fresh statement from you.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said thickly.

  ‘It’s important for our records that what you’re saying is clear and unambiguous so when you say, “I don’t know why we did it”, please can you tell me exactly what “it” is?’

  ‘The killing,’ he whispered.

  ‘Killing Allie Kennaway?’

  ‘Yes.’ And he wept like a baby.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sonia

  Sonia hadn’t replied to any of the texts from the supermarket wanting to know when she’d be back in work. She had no idea what to say. She couldn’t stay off indefinitely or she’d be in a mess with the rent and bills.