KILL ME GOODBYE

by A K Reynolds

Hammer looked at me the way a teacher would look at a particularly foolish young child.

  ‘Then who did, Ms Finnegan? You can see our problem, can’t you?’

  ‘Have you any witnesses?’

  ‘So far none have come forward to exonerate you.’

  Bloody neighbourhood watch scheme. No-one ever saw anything when you needed them to.

  ‘But none have incriminated me and the burden of proof is on you.’

  Hammer shuffled another sheet of paper to the top of his pile, glanced at it, and fixed me with a stare that could’ve penetrated the frontal armour of a Challenger tank.

  ‘How well did your wife get on with Tara?’

  ‘Very well indeed. They were close.’

  ‘Have they had any arguments?’

  ‘Not really. They didn’t agree on everything, but does anyone?’

  ‘So they had disagreements. Can you expand on that?’

  ‘No. I can’t remember the last one. They didn’t happen too often and when they did, they weren’t serious.’

  ‘Has there been a disagreement lately?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your wife could have given Tara the sleeping pills, and you could have strangled Tara to help your wife.’

  Christ. That scenario, if they could make it stick, would fix up their timeline however long the sleeping pills took to work. And they’d no doubt cook up some story to explain the use of my sledgehammer on the front door.

  ‘She didn’t.’

  ‘Where was your wife yesterday?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought she was at home.’

  ‘We’d like to talk to her to help with our enquiries.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to her myself. I’ve already told you that she’s missing and she may be in danger. You should be out looking for her, not questioning me.’

  ‘How and when did you get your injuries?’

  This was a question I’d been dreading. I now had a choice to make. Tell them everything or give them a partial explanation and keep schtum about the worst of it. If I told them everything, they’d keep me locked up for as long as they could, while they investigated. So I had little choice, really.

  ‘Yesterday after I left work I was set on by some muggers. I managed to get away but not before they’d given me a good kicking.’

  ‘What happened to your car?’

  Christ, they’d been in my garage and seen the state of my car. My heart danced a frantic jig. I hoped it wouldn’t show.

  ‘They took a few pot shots at it while I was making my getaway.’

  ‘Funny sort of a getaway. It looks from where the bullets struck as if you were driving right at them.’

  That’s when I realised this wasn’t just about Tara. Hammer had something else up his sleeve. I shuddered.

  ‘I missed them and they missed me.’

  ‘Where were you when this mugging took place?’

  ‘In the Northern Quarter.’

  ‘A young man was killed by a car in the Northern Quarter last night.’

  ‘It must have been a different car.’

  ‘His two friends appear to have been seriously injured.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me.’

  ‘All three of them had guns.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And we think you were the driver. And there are bullet holes in your car. And there’s a suspicious-looking dent on the bonnet.’

  I very nearly wet my pants. The only things I had going for me were that they couldn’t possibly have had any forensic reports to back up their suspicions, and there was a ghost of a chance that the gangbangers hadn’t been forthcoming with evidence against me. Mind you, that was a double-edged sword. If they hadn’t helped the police, it’d mean they were planning on avenging the death of their leader themselves. My future wasn’t looking at all rosy, whichever way it played out.

  ‘Is that it, gentlemen?’ Hogg said. ‘Because if it is, you don’t have enough to detain my client without a confession. And she doesn’t seem minded to confess.’

  I had a feeling that once Hammer got his report from the forensic department, I’d be a wanted woman, possibly for two murders and two counts of attempted murder and GBH, and maybe some other crimes if he was inventive and thought outside of the box. I might be able to convince a jury to find me innocent if I pleaded self-defence, but justice is a lottery. Juries are notorious for their perverse decisions. Perverse though it would be for a jury to find me guilty of murder, it was too strong a possibility for me to ignore. I couldn’t wait to get out of there and give myself a chance to escape the trap that seemed to be springing shut on me.

  Hammer’s mouth turned down even more than normal.

  ‘You’re free to go,’ he said, looking even more dour and cheerless than before. As I stood up, he threateningly added, ‘For now.’ I didn’t doubt he meant it.

  Hogg led the way from the interview room with me in hot pursuit. As we walked back along the corridor of doom to Doherty’s custody area, Hogg turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder through the bottle-bottom lenses of his spectacles. His spookily enlarged eyes made me shiver even though he was on my side.

  ‘You’ll need to collect your things before you go home,’ he said.

  I hadn’t forgotten.

  The top of Doherty’s gleaming bald head, visible over his worktop, informed me he was sitting down. On my approach he rose up like a slow-motion jack-in-the box and placed the container of my possessions on the worktop in front of him.

  ‘Heard you coming.’ Doherty seemed proud of the fact he’d heard my size four Oxford wing-tip ladies brogues slamming loudly on the floor and worked out what the racket was.

  ‘You’ll make detective yet,’ I said.

  With a totally impassive face he pushed the container of my possessions towards me. I peered inside expectantly, looking for my mobile. The first thing I was going to do when I got out of there was to call Sarina and make sure she was okay. If she answered, that is. As I searched through my few things I got a horrible knotty sensation in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Where’s my mobile phone?’

  Doherty’s face creased into an ironic smile as he held up a clear plastic bag that bore a label, containing my phone.

  ‘Sorry.’ There wasn’t a scintilla of sorrow in his voice.

  I was miles from home on a winter morning, with no money, no means of communication and no idea where I was going to go.

  ‘I need some things from my house,’ I said. ‘But it’s a crime scene. Will your people let me in?’ He tightened his lips into a straight horizontal line of scepticism. ‘I take it that’s a no.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I need a taxi,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to use your phone to call one.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve had your one phone call.’

  Technically, he was wrong. I hadn’t got through to anyone and was therefore allowed another. But possession is nine tenths of the law and he was the one in possession of the telephone. I regretted that crack about him making detective. It might’ve been instrumental in persuading him to get awkward with me. But I wasn’t going to whinge about it. Surely someone in this place would let me make a call.

  ‘Okay, no worries.’

  ‘I’m not worrying.’

  Shaking my head, I put on my belt, watch, and shoelaces. A glance at my watch told me it was 9.10 a.m. I’d been cooped up for almost five hours. It felt more like five days. What would a life sentence feel like? That thought made me queasy and I did my best to suppress it.

  I came up with a rough plan for what I’d do next. I’d get a taxi to my house so that I could retrieve my purse and the cash I’d taken from the hoodies. Then I’d shower and change and get the hell out and look for Sarina. If the crime-scene cops wouldn’t let me in to my house, I’d get the taxi to take me to the centre of Chorlton and I’d call in at my bank and withdraw some money from my account and hope my lac
k of ID didn’t dissuade them.

  Turning away from Doherty, I found myself confronted by Hammer and Trapp. They’d been behind me all along, presumably making sure I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t.

  ‘We’ll show you to the door,’ Hammer said, as if he didn’t trust me to make my own way out of there. Did he not know that when you’re in hell your sole aim is to leave the place as quickly as possible?

  We walked down the corridor with Hammer and Trapp at either side of me. God knows what measures they’d have taken if I’d been a serious risk. A glazed pair of double doors marked the end of the corridor. Moving quickly ahead of Hammer and Trapp I grabbed the handle to one of the doors and pulled it. It didn’t move. That’s when I noticed the combination lock. I stood to one side. Hammer expertly keyed in the combination and held open the door.

  ‘Goodbye, for now.’

  I tried to come up with a smart-arse reply but couldn’t, so I gave him a thin smile and stepped through into reception.

  Then I turned to Hammer. ‘Someone get in touch with my parents, about my sister. And for God’s sake find my wife, will you?’

  Hammer looked impassive. The door closed behind me and self-locked with a clunk.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The reception area of the Greater Manchester Police Station on Northampton road was a double-height space with a mezzanine floor overlooking it, and glazed walls running all the way from floor to ceiling. As I approached the desk I noticed a plainclothes copper I hadn’t seen before sitting on a faux-leather sofa, his face concealed by the newspaper he was reading. He lowered the newspaper and looked at me over the top of it with a bored expression, then raised the newspaper, concealing his face once more.

  The reception desk was waist-height with a clear glass screen above it and had a couple of women behind it who looked friendlier than Doherty was capable of looking on his best ever day. With mounting feelings of optimism, I approached them and said, ‘Excuse me?’

  The nearest of the two, an overweight civilian with short blond hair and freckles, gave me a welcoming smile. The smile disappeared and she visibly shuddered as she took in my scarred face, but after a moment or two she composed herself. Her reaction to my war-wounds wasn’t unexpected.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I need a taxi to Chorlton. Could you call one for me please?’

  ‘No need for that.’

  The deep voice with the unmistakable snarl of a Mancunian accent had come from behind me. I turned to see the copper who’d been reading the newspaper. He was fifty years old with dark wavy hair and friendly blue eyes which had a network of lines either side of them. He had his newspaper tucked under his arm and he was smiling. Broad-shouldered and flat-stomached, he was a good eight inches taller than me. What’s more, he exuded trustworthiness, unlike Hammer and Trapp. The only reason I had to doubt him was his suit. It was brown and looked like it’d been slept in. No man or woman given the choice should choose to wear a suit like that. Still, in the general scheme of things, it was a minor flaw.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said.

  He took hold of my arm, steering me gently away from the reception desk until we were out of earshot. The girl I’d been speaking to looked at us both quizzically but didn’t say anything. Her phone rang, so she picked it up and left us to it.

  ‘I’m DI Paul Longford from AC7. We need to talk, but not here.’

  ‘AC7? What’s that?’

  ‘Sorry, force of habit. I shouldn’t use police acronyms with civilians. AC stands for anti-corruption. I’m from Anti-Corruption Unit Seven. Our job is to root out the bad apples in the police force. I’m investigating the officers who arrested you. You must be aware there were a number of irregularities that took place when you were arrested.’

  I’d already figured that much out. When I’d got home and found Tara dead, the police had arrived and arrested me right on cue. Someone had tipped them off. I was sure it was the same someone who’d planted the bogus evidence suggesting I was the one who’d killed Tara. Was that someone looking for the same thing the hoodies had been looking for? Was he a copper?

  ‘Yes. It doesn’t mean they’re corrupt though. They might just have been tipped off about me,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be so naïve Ms Finnegan.’

  ‘You know my name?’

  A couple of plainclothes police, deep in conversation, walked across the concourse to our right. Longford looked at them askance and spoke in hushed tones.

  ‘Of course I do. I’m investigating the circumstances of your arrest.’

  ‘Okay. You can call me Jo, by the way. So, what’s next?’

  ‘Come with me for a debriefing. Hopefully I’ll be able to get you out of the mess you’ve found yourself in.’

  His words gave me a minor buzz of optimism, the first I’d had in what seemed like a long time. Still, under the circumstances, I thought I’d better look this gift horse in the mouth before accepting.

  ‘Let me see your warrant card.’

  He rolled his eyes, thrust his hand inside his jacket, and took a small card from it which he held in front of my eyes. I squinted at it closely. It looked just like Hammer’s warrant card, except that it included the words ‘Anti-Corruption Unit Seven’ beneath the words ‘Greater Manchester Police’. It confirmed that Longford’s rank was Detective Inspector, just like he’d said.

  ‘All right, I’m convinced. What do we do now?’

  He put the card back in his jacket.

  ‘Come with me.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Longford smiled at the girl behind the reception desk and gave her a wave goodbye. She was still on the telephone but she noticed, returned his smile with a feeble pulling of her lips into a vague U-shape, and waved back with her free hand. Longford looked at me, nodded towards the exit, and strode purposefully towards it. I walked at his side. There were two sets of double doors with a big revolving door between them. Longford headed for the revolving door, which was so big we were able to pass through it together into the cold bright morning. Casting a backward glance, I saw Hammer and Trapp watching me though the glazed doors leading to the custody area. They turned away and disappeared down the corridor.

  ‘This way,’ Longford said, striding confidently across the car park. With only my inadequate outfit for protection, I shivered in the cold morning air as I followed him. Adrenaline had kept me going all night, but now I was feeling the effects of sleep-deprivation. My head was groggy, my limbs tired. Beneath my shirt my body was sweaty, even though I felt cold. I desperately wanted to have a shower and curl up in a bed, any bed, for a good long sleep. But first I wanted to try to contact Sarina. She was in trouble and needed my help. I was convinced of it.

  Longford took a key fob from his jacket and pointed it at a black Jaguar 4 x 4 with tinted windows and a personalised package of features. With a refined click it unlocked itself and Longford pulled open the offside door.

  ‘Get in,’ he said.

  I climbed onto the passenger seat and he got in the driver’s side and pressed the start button. The engine didn’t so much fire into life as develop a near silent purr.

  ‘A bit flash this, for a copper,’ I said.

  ‘Privilege of rank.’

  ‘I need to go to my house at four Scales Avenue to get some things.’

  He turned his head, briefly giving me a penetrating stare.

  ‘Sorry, that’s not possible.’

  His words pulled the rug out from under my feet. It felt as if I was falling backwards, into yet another version of hell.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything in the station because I didn’t want to alarm you, but I need to get you to a safe house.’

  ‘A safe house? Why?’

  ‘Someone means to harm you, Jo. They might even want you dead.’

  ‘What about my wife? She’s disappeared and I need to find her.’

  ‘First let’
s make sure you’re safe. You’d be no help to her if you were dead.’

  My stomach, which had been feeling settled for a while, spun like a butter churner.

  ‘How will I find her if I’m stuck in a safe house?’

  ‘I’ll help you.’

  I didn’t feel particularly trusting but decided I’d go along with the safe house idea for now. My plan was that if we got there and Longford didn’t set about finding Sarina right away, I’d discreetly leave and look for her myself.

  He reversed from the parking space and headed for the car park exit at the speed of a slow walk.

  ‘Looks like you had a little trouble today,’ he said, steering the vehicle onto Northampton road.

  ‘A little, I was mugged. Luckily I got away.’

  He shook his head, never once taking his eye off the road.

  ‘Tsk, tsk. Things are getting worse. And we coppers are so bogged down with red tape and paperwork these days that we don’t have the resources to investigate serious crime as thoroughly as we should.’

  ‘I’ve noticed. The coppers investigating me made a complete balls-up of it. They accepted everything at the crime scene at face value and made no effort to look beyond the obvious.’

  ‘They may have had an agenda, Jo. We need to get to the bottom of things and find out.’

  The rush-hour was coming to an end but even so the streets were busy and our progress was slow. Manchester is always busy other than for a brief period during the small hours, so our journey was stop-start. It took us past a medley of soot-soiled redbrick houses, run-down shops that had long since ceased trading, fly-blown retailers selling groceries, DIY goods, E-cigarettes and mobile phones, and a couple of newsagents. Both the newsagent’s shopfronts had crude handwritten signs outside of them, made with black-felt-tip pen on cheap cream paper of the sort that disintegrates in the rain. Headed Manchester Daily News, they read: Man murdered in Northern Quarter. Police search for hit-and-run killer.

  Fuck. Do they mean me?

  ‘See what I mean?’ Longford said, nodding towards the second hoarding we passed. ‘It’s a jungle out there.’