SB01 Dead to Me Page 10

  ‘Hey!’ Janet glared at Taisie. ‘Open the door, Elise,’ she said again.

  She heard Elise fumbling with the lock. She had seen it so many times before. Taisie wronged by her bigger brighter sister, going off like a warehouse full of firecrackers while Elise, sensible and clever and sometimes a little holier than thou, took the moral high ground.

  Elise opened the door and Taisie lunged, but Janet caught her arm. ‘Cool it, lady,’ she said. Then turned to Elise, ‘Give her the phone.’

  Elise was flushed, a righteous look on her face. ‘But she—’

  ‘Give it,’ Janet said firmly, ‘and then you can explain.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ Elise protested, all wounded innocence. ‘Anyway, she’s—’

  ‘Elise,’ Janet cautioned.

  Elise thrust out the phone, which Taisie snatched, snarling, ‘Loser.’

  ‘Taisie.’

  ‘Well, she is,’ Taisie retorted. ‘She’s no life of her own, so she’s spying on me.’

  Janet looked to Elise for an explanation.

  ‘Why don’t you ask her what she’s got on her phone?’ Elise said. ‘You’ve heard of cyber bullying?’

  Janet turned to Taisie.

  ‘It’s not, it’s just a joke,’ the younger girl said.

  ‘Unless you’re on the receiving end,’ Elise said sharply.

  Janet held out her hand for the phone. Taisie coloured and Janet could see her gauging whether to refuse. ‘Give it.’

  ‘I hate you, you sad cow,’ Taisie yelled at Elise, as she plonked the phone in Janet’s outstretched hand.

  ‘Hate you more,’ Elise said.

  Janet wasn’t sure what she was looking for on the phone but needed to appear in control. ‘I’ll keep this for now,’ she stalled. ‘You both must have some homework to do.’

  ‘It’s in the picture files,’ Elise said smugly.

  Taisie stamped off to her room, banging the door hard.

  Don’t slam it, Janet thought, but let it go.

  She ate the warmed-up remains of beef curry as she navigated the phone. Found the picture directory, spotted the file name: Mr Fairy. It was Taisie’s form tutor, doctored to show the man with breasts and a tutu. It was crudely done, but effective if you wanted to lampoon the bloke. Janet could take him or leave him but had gathered he was unpopular with the kids. All the same, there was something cruel and distasteful in what they were doing. Eleven-year-olds!

  Leaving Taisie to stew, Janet ran a bath. She thought about Lisa Finn’s missing phone. What might be on there, what it might tell them? Someone had taken it, concealed it. Because of what it might reveal? Or something more basic? Phone equals dosh. Sean would have reason to take it if he needed money for drugs. Or the killer might have stolen it, knowing it betrayed clues as to his identity. Was Sean the killer? She couldn’t tell. And that was OK; early days. You couldn’t rush an investigation, you’d be likely to muck it up if you did.

  After her bath, Janet went to Taisie, the phone in hand. Taisie was sitting on her bed, school books spread out around her, but Janet had no idea whether she had done any work or simply arranged them for effect. Parents’ evenings, the ones she made it to, and the ones Ade had reported back on, brought less-than-glowing reports on Taisie’s work. She was slapdash and careless. Her reading and numeracy levels were almost a year short of the average for her age, though the school couldn’t find any specific problem to account for it, no dyslexia or other learning difficulty. Her attitude was found wanting too. They had hoped that the move to High School would be a fresh start, a turning point, but this didn’t bode well.

  Janet sometimes thought it was as if Taisie, realizing Elise was a high achiever, motivated and hard-working, the swot of the family, had decided to carve out a different niche for herself in reaction. Wayward, bolshie, bold. At the end of the day, Janet wanted both her girls to be happy. Unlike Ade, she didn’t care overmuch if Taisie shunned the academic route, but she passionately wanted her to do well in some field, to know the sense of achievement, the boost to self-esteem, the sheer engagement that came from a job well done, from having skills and being a success. Whenever Taisie showed any glimmer of interest in something: street dance, ice-skating, guitar, woodwork, Janet was 100 per cent behind her: encouraging, interested, shelling out for all the gear. And all too often Taisie’s interest faded as quickly as it had blossomed. The roof space was half-full of discarded tennis racquets and jewellery-making kits, magic sets and martial arts outfits.

  ‘How do you think he feels?’ Janet held up the phone.

  ‘It’s only a joke,’ Taisie said.

  ‘I’m not laughing. Would you like it if it was you? Would it make you laugh?’

  ‘I wouldn’t care,’ Taisie said dismissively, with a toss of her head.

  ‘You think?’ Janet said. ‘And if it was me or your dad?’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘This is a form of bullying.’ Janet sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I don’t want you to be a bully. You’re better than that.’

  ‘It’s not,’ Taisie began, though Janet could see the alteration in her expression, a hint of embarrassment.

  ‘It is,’ Janet said, ‘and it can start with a picture like this, and then another, and then something worse, something online. And everyone’s having a laugh, but it gets nastier and people say awful things, mean and hurtful things.’

  ‘We didn’t mean anything bad,’ Taisie said, her voice small, mouth turned down.

  ‘The police get involved sometimes, you know. Intentional harassment – it’s taken seriously.’

  Taisie stared at her, her face a mix of anxiety and bravado.

  ‘Exactly this sort of thing,’ Janet went on. ‘Bullying.’

  ‘He’s a teacher,’ Taisie said.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. He’s a person, he’s a human being. You don’t have to like him, but you treat him the same as you’d want for yourself.’ Taisie had gone quiet. Janet knew she was getting through to her. ‘So how are you going to make this right?’

  Taisie shrugged, a jerk of the shoulders up and back, one fingernail scraping at the nail polish she’d tried last week.

  At ten? Ade had said, tarting herself up, rampant sexualization.

  It’s hardly nipple tassels and a thong, Janet had replied. You make a fuss and she’ll push it further, you know what she’s like.

  ‘Absolutely no idea?’ Janet prompted Taisie.

  ‘Delete it.’

  ‘Be a start. And you could tell your friends to do the same, and tell them your mum’s talking about opening an investigation if there’s any more of it.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘It’s not a joke,’ Janet said. ‘So you do that and then give me your phone.’

  ‘What?’ Taisie glared at her.

  ‘No phone for a week. No MSN – the lot.’

  ‘That is so not fair. That is tight!’

  ‘Yep,’ Janet said. ‘So maybe you’ll think twice next time.’ She got up to leave. ‘And tell whoever did the photoshop that the tutu was too small,’ she added on her way out.

  ‘It was the only one—’ Taisie stopped abruptly, but not soon enough.

  Gotcha! Janet paused at the door. Taisie had the grace to blush. Perhaps art was the way to go? Or IT? Collage or photomontage her thing. Get her a camera for Christmas, given her recent surge of interest in photography. How much was a decent camera these days? Too much? Ade could do some research.

  Elise was on the landing, pretending to come out of the bathroom. ‘Heard enough?’ Janet asked her.

  ‘Is she grounded?’ Elise said. ‘Have you taken her phone?’

  ‘No phone for a week. But you could have waited till I got back, let me deal with it.’

  ‘She’d have wiped it by then,’ Elise protested.

  By the time Janet got downstairs Ade had arrived and she had to fill him in on it all, and when she finally did get to bed she remembered she still had to sort out her mum’s b
irthday present. And she worried about Taisie. She did her best, but what if it wasn’t enough? What then?

  I did my best, Denise Finn had said. We all do. Until it goes wrong and all you can hear is that mocking voice inside, nagging away: Could I have done more, done it differently?

  Ade snored all night. She kicked him every so often and he made huffing sounds and turned over and after a few minutes he was off snoring again. By the time she sat down to plan an interview strategy for Sean Broughton the next morning she felt dog rough. Damned if she’d let it show though.

  17

  AS IN THE first interview, Janet reminded Sean that he was not under arrest and was free to leave; she made it clear he did not have to answer any of the questions and could ask for a solicitor if he wished. She thanked him for coming in.

  Once again Rachel made notes.

  Janet had taken Rachel through the strategy, showing her how she aimed to first recap with Sean his existing statement and then ask more probing questions about the details that concerned them: the missing shopping, the missing phone, the lapse of time between Sean’s alleged discovery of the body and the 999 call. Rachel had listened carefully, stopped to clarify points, clearly fascinated. ‘Anything else you suggest?’ Janet had invited her to contribute.

  Rachel thought for a moment. ‘The knife, the weapon – could he tell if there was one missing? Did he remove it from the scene?’

  ‘What do we know about the weapon?’

  ‘Not much. According to the post-mortem, it’s a medium-sized kitchen-type knife,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Was it in the flat or brought to the flat?’

  Rachel shrugged. ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘Are we sure a knife was used?’

  ‘Well, a knife or similar implement.’

  Janet studied Rachel; she hadn’t picked up on the difference between discussing the weapon and the other items. ‘We can’t demonstrate any of those things,’ Janet explained. ‘No conflicting evidence, so we can’t prove or disprove what he’s telling us. Whether he’s lying. But with the shopping, the phone, and timing of the emergency call we have distinct evidence, separately acquired, which we can use to test Sean’s account.’

  ‘Catch him out.’ Rachel gave a nod of understanding, a glint in her eyes. ‘I want to go for tier three.’ Janet caught a glimpse of the girl’s ambition, her hunger to learn. Now all she needed was to apply that willingness to all the areas of the job instead of just the bits she liked.

  Sean appeared to be calmer than on the previous day. Numb around the edges. Eyes still bloodshot, though. Had he slept?

  Janet had decided she would open with the phone call to Lisa. This wasn’t one of the three key areas, but it remained an anomaly. Would his story have changed? ‘Yesterday, you told me that you rang Lisa shortly after one o’clock. And we’ve been able to confirm that from phone records. Please can you tell me again what the phone call was about?’

  ‘I wanted to know when she’d be back, like,’ Sean replied, ‘and she said about half three.’ Although she was practically home by then.

  ‘Was there anything unusual about the call?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘You told me yesterday that Lisa had gone shopping, that’s correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, perhaps a tinge of uncertainty underlying the answer.

  ‘What was Lisa going to get?’

  ‘Don’t know. Some clothes, I think.’ He tried to sound casual, but Janet could feel the tension rising in the room. He rubbed at his chest, a soothing gesture. Was his heart racing? His breath becoming hard to catch?

  ‘Did she buy anything?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. He looked at Janet, but his gaze soon slipped away.

  ‘When you came back to the flat at half past three, was there any shopping there?’

  He gave a little sigh, almost a moan, and laced his fingers together. ‘No, I didn’t see any.’

  ‘We have been able to establish that Lisa got a taxi home from town and she was carrying five bags of shopping. The taxi took her home. Yet you say when you went to the flat there was no shopping. Can you explain that to me?’

  ‘Dunno, maybe she put it away,’ he said hesitantly.

  ‘And the shopping bags? We didn’t find those in the flat either. Can you account for that?’ He didn’t speak. Janet saw his jaw tighten. She waited a few seconds, then: ‘Where did Lisa usually keep her phone when she was at home?’

  Sean moved in his seat, reacting to the new topic. ‘What d’you mean?’ Buying time.

  ‘Where would her phone be when she was in the flat?’

  ‘In her pocket or … on the table.’

  ‘The coffee table?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Janet remembered the photographs, the table topsy-turvy, Lisa’s body wedged alongside it. ‘Yesterday, you said you didn’t see Lisa’s phone when you went to the flat. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t see anything,’ he said, ‘just her, seeing her like that … That’s all I remember.’ His voice was shaky.

  ‘I asked you yesterday if you had removed anything from the flat and you said you hadn’t. I’m going to ask you that question again now: did you remove anything from the flat?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said, ‘I didn’t take anything.’ Blinking.

  ‘Lisa came back from town with five bags of shopping and her mobile phone. When you called us to the flat, those items were missing. That makes me think that they are of significance to this inquiry.’ Or you wanted to make some easy money robbing the dead. ‘Can tell me anything about that?’

  ‘No, I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘We need your help to find out who did this to Lisa.’

  ‘I’d tell you if I could. Course I would.’

  He was becoming alarmed, so Janet lowered her voice, deliberately relaxing her posture before she went on: ‘In your statement you said that you arrived at the flat at three thirty and found Lisa, and covered her with a duvet. Then rang the police. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you absolutely certain it was that time when you got there?’

  ‘About then.’

  ‘Can you think of anyone who saw you on your way there who could confirm that for us?’

  ‘No. No one I knew, like. The school, you could ask them,’ he said.

  ‘How long does it take to walk to Lisa’s from your house?’

  ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘You covered Lisa with the duvet then; please describe to me what you did next.’

  ‘I called the police.’ His face looked drawn, his hands clamped together.

  ‘That call didn’t come into us until five past four. That means there was a period of thirty-five minutes between you finding Lisa and summoning help.’ Janet kept her eyes on his face. ‘How do you account for that?’

  He didn’t say anything.

  ‘Can you describe to me what you were doing during that time?’

  ‘Can’t remember,’ he said. A weak response.

  ‘Did you leave the flat between half past three and four o’clock?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You live five minutes away. Did you go home and return to the flat and then ring us?’ Change your clothes, Janet thought, get rid of the shopping and the phone, hide the knife.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sean, is there anything in your statement you would like to change?’

  ‘No.’ He bit at his thumb again, an almost childish gesture.

  ‘You see, I’m having a problem seeing how these things fit together. That makes me think that perhaps events weren’t exactly how you describe them.’

  He sat silently, though his face flickered with emotion.

  ‘Let’s go back to the phone call …’ Janet began again.

  After another hour of persistent questioning, examining Sean’s account in minute detail, presenting him time and again with the inconsistencies, there was a knock at the door. Rachel went to answer it
and returned with a piece of paper that she gave to Janet. Janet opened the paper: CCTV from Arndale – Lisa shoplifting items and placing them in her own bags. Oh, yes! Another piece of the puzzle. But why was Sean lying? In the light of murder, shoplifting was way down the priority list. So why bother trying to cover up that? Or were his lies designed to conceal his part in Lisa’s death? Janet still had no idea. All she could do was continue to chip away.

  ‘That was fresh evidence,’ she told Sean. ‘I am able to tell you that we now know Lisa was shoplifting in town, that she came home with stolen goods. I’ll ask you again: can you tell me where those items are?’

  Sean angled his face up to the ceiling, let his hands slump by his sides. Submission. ‘I took them,’ he said, then looked briefly at Janet. ‘I got rid of them.’

  Janet resisted the temptation to make eye contact with Pete or to turn round and see Rachel’s reaction at the breakthrough this represented. It was important to maintain the connection with Sean. As long as he was still talking to her, she was in effect the only person in the room with him. ‘Why?’ Janet asked. To sell them on? Funding a drug habit was no easy thing. ‘Why did you take them?’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘What did you do with them?’

  ‘I got rid of them, I told you,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where did you get rid of them?’

  He sat for a few moments, his eyes downcast. Running through the possibilities? ‘In the bins, the dumpsters behind the shops, on Garrigan Street.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Straight after. After I saw her.’

  ‘Before you rang the police?’ Janet said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, you did leave the flat?’

  ‘Yes.’ He swallowed.

  ‘And Lisa’s phone?’

  ‘I took that too.’

  ‘What did you do with the phone?’

  ‘Same,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘There must be a reason,’ Janet said.

  ‘No, I’m just … I wasn’t thinking right.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this in your original statement?’ Janet said.

  He shrugged, shook his head. He looked close to tears.