Ruthless (Cath Staincliffe) Read online

  ‘Mmm,’ said Janet.

  ‘But Miss said no, and that is so tight. Polly was bare good too.’

  Bare, Janet knew, was the current slang for very.

  ‘And if you want tickets, I need the slip and money by Friday.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ said Janet.

  ‘Duh,’ said Taisie.

  ‘Where’s the slip?’

  ‘I gave you it,’ Taisie said.

  ‘No,’ said Janet.

  ‘I did – I left it on here.’ She rapped her knuckles against the table.

  ‘Well, I didn’t see it.’

  Taisie gave a huge sigh.

  ‘Look, can’t you just get the tickets if I give you the money?’ Janet said.

  ‘OK.’ Crisis averted as quickly as it had erupted. Taisie was all drama. ‘Go on,’ she said, nodding at the script.

  ‘Your hand Leonato; we will go together,’ Janet read the cue.

  ‘Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?’ said Taisie.

  They’d almost got through to the finale, Taisie word perfect, when Elise came in. ‘Did you talk to Dad?’ she asked Janet.

  ‘Shut up,’ Taisie yelled, ‘I’m doing my lines.’

  ‘This is important,’ Elise sneered.

  ‘What – a stupid party?’ Taisie said.

  ‘Just ’cos you’re too young to go,’ said Elise.

  ‘So are you, isn’t she, Mum? Tell her.’

  ‘Elise,’ Janet said, ‘let us finish this.’

  With ill grace Elise leaned, arms folded, against the counter, a derisory look on her face, and Janet knew she was trying to unsettle Taisie. She suspected that Taisie was made of sterner stuff and was proven right as her younger daughter finished her part faultlessly.

  ‘Brilliant!’ Janet said. ‘Perfect!’

  ‘Finally,’ Elise complained.

  Perhaps it was healthy, this antagonism between the sisters, an indication that they felt secure enough to bicker and spat. The solidarity, the drawing together there’d been when Ade had left, now easing with the reinstatement of the status quo. The girls no longer relying on each other while the grown-ups messed up. And if/when they got divorced, if the house was sold? Janet felt a shiver, a sour taste in her mouth.

  Taisie rolled up her script and skipped off.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to your dad yet,’ Janet told Elise, ‘I’ve only just got in. Weren’t you supposed to be getting some more details?’

  ‘I have. It’s Matthew Planter’s party, it’s at his house and we’re invited because his brother is in our year and he’s allowed to invite people.’

  ‘Where do they live?’ Janet said.

  ‘Middleton Road and we can get a taxi home to Olivia’s and we have to be back for one o’clock.’

  ‘Come on,’ Janet said and they went through to the lounge.

  ‘This party,’ Janet said.

  Ade paused his programme, something about the Pharaohs.

  ‘Tell him,’ Janet said.

  Elise rattled off the facts she’d given Janet.

  ‘And who’s supervising?’ said Ade.

  ‘His parents. God! It’s like you don’t trust me.’

  ‘It’s not you we don’t trust,’ Janet said, ‘but we’ve been there, we know what can happen. People drink too much and take stupid risks or they do daft things and end up regretting it.’

  ‘Please?’ Elise said, her voice aching with frustration.

  We should trust her, Janet thought. It’s the only way she’ll learn. She nodded at Ade, who gave a shrug of resignation.

  ‘All right then but a taxi back by one, promise?’ Janet said.

  ‘Yes!’ Elise began texting on her phone. ‘Thank you so much.’ Suddenly sounding far too young for what they had just agreed to.

  Sean was hunched over his laptop, the sports channel on the box, men in shorts running around on grass on both screens and the smell of fried onions thick in the flat. Rachel lit up and, as an afterthought, opened the window.

  ‘Chill Factor,’ he said, ‘Saturday, or maybe Sunday. Could do WaterWorld an’ all maybe. Stay over somewhere.’

  ‘What?’ She’d had too many fags today, the first drag failed to deliver the kick she craved. Instead it just made her mouth feel rancid.

  ‘You, me and Haydn,’ he said, ‘skiing or snowboarding? He’s here this weekend.’

  Oh, joy. Rachel had nothing against the kid, he was harmless enough. A mini Sean, interested in anything that involved balls or sticks. Or food. ‘No can do,’ she said. ‘We picked one up, man in that fire in Manorclough.’

  ‘That yours?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’d better book for two then, unless you want to wait until another time.’

  The thought that Sean was worried she might be disappointed at missing out on the trip was both touching and plain daft. ‘You go ahead,’ she said. Relieved that she had a rock-solid reason not to be around for more than a few hours’ kip over the weekend. Sean and Haydn could do their male bonding, father–son stuff and welcome to it. She didn’t want to intrude, or maybe she just felt ill-equipped.

  Had her dad ever taken Dom anywhere? Doubtful. Not like her dad would be much use at entertaining the kids. Could barely feed and clothe them. It was Rachel who dragged Dom off to the cinema on the rare occasions when special vouchers meant they could afford it, Rachel who would cheer him on when he played football. Her mum gone by then, Dad taken up residence in the pub to all intents and purposes and her sister Alison working all hours as the sole breadwinner.

  Her dad had gone now, as in dead. Ashes blowing in the wind. His liver finally packed up. It had been two weeks before the smell alerted his fellow residents at the doss house to his demise. And now her mum was back.

  Which might or might not be a good thing. Rachel was still waiting to see. Sharon had been penitent at their reunion, an occasion engineered by Sean, who was keen to see the family reunited. Then she had been pissed at the wedding, made a right tit of herself, acting like a slapper. Sean said it was just nerves. A wedding wasn’t a wedding without someone having one over the odds, at least there hadn’t been a scrap. No one bared their fists. Quite an achievement considering.

  It was Her Maj being there, seeing her mother, that had made Rachel so uneasy. Alison had hated it too. Alison wouldn’t entertain Sharon, was not at all interested. Made things a bit awkward between Rachel and Alison; they always seemed to be taking different sides with family stuff. Alison wouldn’t play nice with Sharon and yet she used to make time for their dad, trying to help him out when she could. And it was Alison who visited Dom in prison the first time round, even though Dom had always been closest to Rachel. Rachel hadn’t been able to stomach seeing him there. Not back then when the twat had been done for armed robbery and certainly not now when he was in for twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years for murder. But Alison did.

  She couldn’t think about it. She finished her fag and shut the window.

  ‘Get us a beer,’ Sean said, busy typing on the laptop.

  Get your own fucking beer. She bit down on the thought. What was wrong with her? What did she want? Him to say please? Oh Christ, was she going to turn into one of those women who try to improve the manners of their loutish husbands?

  She got his bottle, helped herself to wine, stared at the TV screen for a few minutes.

  Sean kissed her on the cheek. ‘Happy?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘course.’

  Day 2

  Friday 11 May

  6

  Kevin, on the hunt for a surviving spouse, had traced and eliminated Ruth King, who had died in a car crash along with her husband, John Smith. He had been unable as yet to find Jennifer Keele, née Simpson, but Mrs Richard Kavanagh, née Judith Smith, was at an address in Rhyl.

  Godzilla told Rachel and Janet to take the ring and see if Mrs Kavanagh could identify it, and whether her husband was missing. ‘If the other facts fit: height, age, ethnicity, then advis
e her of the death and see what she can tell us.’

  Rachel had booked the ring out from Pete, who was handling exhibits. It was important to keep the chain of custody unbroken for all items, any of which might form part of the evidence presented at trial. They were almost out of the door when Her Maj called out, ‘And Janet …’

  Janet turned.

  ‘Potted shrimp wouldn’t go amiss,’ the boss said.

  ‘Not rock then?’ Janet said.

  ‘No, shrimp.’

  ‘Got it.’

  They were mates, the boss and Janet. Like Janet and Rachel. Not a trio though, never that. Janet in the middle. Godzilla spent half her life racked off with Rachel – they had a professional relationship at best, boss and junior officer – but Janet and Gill went way back.

  It was a dull day, layers of cloud, thick and grey, threatening drizzle. A contrast to the past couple of days of fine weather.

  ‘Richard Kavanagh’s not come up on the MisPers database,’ Rachel said. She was driving. It was a straight run so Janet didn’t need to navigate, and once they got close to the seaside town the satnav would guide them to their destination.

  ‘Could be reported missing in Wales but not got on to the system yet. They’d wait forty-eight hours anyway,’ Janet said.

  Rachel looked at her own wedding ring. ‘Forty years. Can you imagine it? Mind you, you and Ade have done twenty-six now.’

  ‘Not sure we’ll make another year,’ Janet said.

  Rachel glanced at her swiftly. ‘That bad?’

  ‘Whatever there was – that sparkle is long gone.’

  ‘Sparkle?’ said Rachel.

  ‘OK, not sparkle, but that attraction. And what comes after, comfort, companionship, happy to be raising a family together. Even that’s not the same any more. I feel like a nun,’ Janet said.

  ‘A nun?’

  ‘Celibate. What if that’s it, Rachel? The end of my sex life.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Rachel said, ‘you’ll meet someone else.’

  ‘How, where?’

  ‘At work maybe?’

  ‘And that went really well last time,’ Janet said dryly. Meaning Andy.

  ‘Dating sites, then,’ Rachel said.

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Some of them are all right.’

  ‘And what if you end up with some nutter who’s got a thing for spanking?’ Janet said.

  ‘You don’t like a good spanking?’ Rachel kept a straight face. ‘You and Ade never—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘As long as you agree a safe word you’re fine,’ Rachel said.

  ‘How do people ever pick those?’ Janet said. ‘How do you choose something you might not say anyway?’

  ‘Have to be something daft, like pineapple.’

  ‘Pineapple?’ Janet laughed.

  ‘Or a weird phrase, “It’s foggy in Paris”.’

  ‘Too long,’ Janet said, ‘sounds like a spy novel. The kids had a safe word when they were little. If there was a change of plan and someone had to pick them up, someone they weren’t expecting, then they’d have this password. It was Pikachu for a while, then Ariel. And Taisie went through this phase when this girl was sort of stalking her. Wanted to be friends, dead clingy, and Taisie didn’t like her but didn’t want to be blunt so I’d get these phone calls: Maria wanted her to stay over, Maria wanted her to go back after school, and Maria was going ice skating, could Taisie go. She’d get herself that wound up and we were always trying to find out what Taisie really wanted to do, knowing that this girl was there listening. In the end we worked out this code. We’d say something like “How you feeling?” or “You up to it?” and if she said “Fine” then off she’d go. That was usually because there were a group of them going. But if she didn’t want to, she’d say, “I think I’m getting a migraine.”’

  ‘Does she get migraines?’ Rachel said.

  ‘Does she heck. That meant “Come get me now”. We’d ride to the rescue and no feelings were hurt.’

  ‘Did this friend get the hint?’

  ‘No. But they ended up at different secondary schools. Never seen her since. So, you and Sean, what’s your safe word?’

  Rachel laughed. ‘You must be joking. No way does he get to tie me up and hit me. Other way round maybe.’

  ‘Dominatrix,’ Janet said.

  ‘You should try that with Ade, long black boots, fishnets—’

  ‘Shut up! We’re way past that.’

  ‘You’re blushing,’ Rachel said.

  Janet just narrowed her eyes and pointedly put the radio on.

  It started to rain as they entered the town; a mist of fine drops speckled the windscreen and blurred the view. The address they had was a few streets back from the seafront. Pale-blue painted walls and a stripy awning over the front door. SAT TV, Wi-Fi and Vacancies signs in the window. A B&B. One of many. All with vacancies, from what Rachel could see.

  The woman who answered the door was in her sixties, on the fat side and wore denim trousers and a navy needlecord shirt with a small print of birds on it. Her hair was brown, dyed, Rachel reckoned, cut fairly short. Practical, easy to look after.

  ‘Judith Kavanagh?’ Janet said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m DC Janet Scott from the Manchester Metropolitan Police and this is my colleague DC Rachel Bailey. Could we come in for a minute?’

  The woman pulled a face, half-wry, puzzled to find the police on her doorstep but not alarmed, which was a more common reaction. Was she hiding any consternation? Probably not fair to cast her as a potential villain on first sight but Rachel understood that most victims were known to their killers. Though picturing Mrs Kavanagh with a gun and a can of petrol took some doing.

  The property was bigger than it looked from the outside. ‘We’d better go through to the back,’ Judith Kavanagh said. They passed a residents’ lounge, dining room and kitchen and then went through a door marked private and into what served as her own living room. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she said once they’d sat down. A slight Welsh lilt in her accent.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Janet. ‘Can I just check, you are married to Richard Kavanagh?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’ Worry was creeping into her expression.

  ‘I’m sorry, I need to check a few more details,’ Janet said. ‘You married on the twenty-third of April 1972?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you please give me your date of birth.’

  She did and Janet noted it. ‘And this is your usual address?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And your husband lives here?’

  ‘No, we’re separated,’ she said.

  That makes things slightly easier, thought Rachel.

  ‘We’re investigating a major incident and I wonder if you could look at an item of jewellery to see if you recognize it,’ Janet said.

  Judith Kavanagh coughed, increasingly uneasy. ‘Yes of course,’ she said.

  Janet took the ring in its sealed evidence bag and handed it to Mrs Kavanagh. The awkward smile faded from her lips, her posture altered, her shoulders sank. ‘It’s Richard’s ring, his wedding ring.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Janet said. ‘Please would you describe him for us.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

  ‘How tall is he?’ Janet said.

  ‘Six foot two.’

  ‘And he was born in 1952 so he would be sixty years old now?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Judith Kavanagh said.

  Rachel looked around the room, saw family photos of a wedding, not Mrs Kavanagh’s, a son or daughter’s perhaps?

  At Rachel’s insistence that their own wedding be simple and planned with a minimum of fuss, she and Sean had not had a professional photographer, but he had arranged for a mate of his to take photos of them before everyone got half cut and Sean had got one printed and framed.

  Mrs Kavanagh’s other photos showed a couple with a baby, a young man in a gown and mortarboard. None of the
man who was their victim.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ Mrs Kavanagh set the bag containing the ring down on a side table.

  ‘Mrs Kavanagh, I’m so very sorry to tell you that the body of a man was recovered from a building in the Manorclough area of Oldham, near Manchester, on Wednesday night,’ said Janet. ‘We believe that man to be your husband. I’m sorry to have to tell you that he is dead. We will be doing all we can to make a positive identification but the man was of the same age and height as Mr Kavanagh and he was wearing that ring.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she said, colour draining from her face.

  She was shocked but not overly emotional, which Rachel was thankful for. When they were sobbing their hearts out it was hard to get the information needed to push on with the investigation. It was common to have to go away and come back later. Often as not, grieving relatives would be tranqued up to the eyeballs by then and hard-pressed to remember left from right, let alone their loved one’s movements over the previous days and weeks.

  ‘If you feel up to it we would like to ask you some questions. Could you tell us when you last saw your husband?’ Silence. ‘Mrs Kavanagh?’ Janet prompted.

  ‘1999,’ she said.

  ‘1999?’ Janet flicked her eyes at Rachel, who pulled a face. If they’d been estranged for thirteen years they might not learn much from Mrs Kavanagh.

  ‘Yes, we separated. We were already separated then but that’s the last time I saw him.’

  ‘And where was that?’ Janet asked.

  ‘In Bury,’ she said, ‘we lived in Bury, we ran a shop there. Had a shop. Until …’ she sighed, fisted one hand and gripped it with the other. No wedding ring, Rachel saw. ‘… he drank it away,’ she said, ‘the business, the marriage, everything. In 1999, I told him the kids didn’t want to see him again, and neither did I. Not unless he sorted himself out.’

  ‘He left the family home?’ said Janet.

  ‘Yes, about two years before.’

  ‘Where was he living in 1999?’