Hit and Run - [2]

Now, climbing into the car, she looked forward to the delicious luxury of being able to make coffee in her office and drink it while still hot, the novelty of not being interrupted by a cry. Compared to the demands of being at home, work felt like a doddle. After six months up to her ears in nappies she had probably developed cabin fever.

Lunchbox! She clambered out again, grabbed Tom’s lunchbox from the top of the car and put it on the passenger seat. Tom was strapped in, listening to his personal stereo, his head nodding to the music. She gave him the thumbs up, got in and started the car. When she pulled out into the main road the traffic was busy and slow.

She had dreaded and anticipated her return to work in equal measure. Being part-time would have been the ideal but it simply wasn’t an option if she wanted to progress in the force. And she did. She relished the challenges of leading major enquiries, of working with a team. That was the real heart of the job: the detecting, the hard task of uncovering the real story, getting to the truth behind the tragedy and ultimately finding justice for the dead and their loved ones.

It was a bright day, cool but not cold enough to be frosty, with a fresh breeze. The trees had shed almost all their leaves now; an odd one clung on here and there, flapping against the blue sky. A flock of pigeons wheeled overhead as Janine made slow progress through Didsbury village. The street was lined with shops, restaurants and estate agents, the road edged with parked cars. The property market was still booming and every spare speck of land was being developed into luxury apartments for young professionals.

Janine’s mobile rang and she pressed the hands-free answer button.

‘Janine?’

‘Richard?’

Her colleague, Detective Inspector Mayne to give him his full title. She gleaned a sense of urgency in his tone. She glanced in the rear-view mirror checking that Tom was still tuned in to his music, anxious he shouldn’t overhear anything that might be inappropriate.

‘Suspicious death,’ he said bluntly. ‘Body in the Mersey, Northenden. They’re pulling her out now.’

Janine swallowed, braced herself as she felt the spike of adrenalin kick in. ‘I’m on my way,’ she told him.

Outside the school, Tom pulled away from her to dash through the gates. Janine called him back, holding up his lunchbox. He turned and ran, his arms outstretched, plane-fashion. Grabbing the box, he wheeled away but not before Janine had a chance to plant a kiss on his head.

Janine returned to her car and was just drawing away from the kerb when she saw a blue Mercedes coming, far too fast, down the centre of the road. Near the gaggle of late arrivals waiting to cross, the car braked fiercely with a squealing sound. Janine saw the child flung to one side, the small body flying limp like a puppet, then landing hard. The car shrieked to a halt a few yards ahead. Janine grabbed her phone, her heart thumping hard in her chest. A knot of people gathered round the injured girl. With a sickening feeling, Janine recognised her as a classmate of Tom’s – Ann-Marie Chinley.

Her mother was screaming, kneeling beside the unresponsive child. ‘Ann-Marie! Ann-Marie! Oh, my God, somebody help me!’

A powerful sense of shock was palpable in the atmosphere; Janine could almost taste it, acidic like metal, harsh and electric, galvanising them all.

Janine pressed 999, speaking as soon as the operator answered. Ambulance. Little girl’s been knocked down. Outside Oak Lane Primary, Didsbury.’

One of the women wore a nurse’s uniform, most likely working at one of the nearby hospitals, St Mary’s or Manchester Royal Infirmary; she began checking the girl. ‘It’s all right, love. Try and make you comfy, eh? Can you hear me Ann-Marie?’

Janine heard an engine rev, watched stunned as the Mercedes set off again at speed. She pulled out after it, sounding her horn and mounting the pavement to pass the onlookers.

Her mind had the bright clarity that comes with stress; she concentrated on the number plate, V384 ZNB, memorising it before the car turned out of her view. Using the police radio she got through immediately: ‘Attention all units, Detective Chief Inspector Lewis reporting RTA Oak Lane Primary, Didsbury. Driver failed to stop. Pedestrian injured. Blue Mercedes, registration Victor 384, Zulu, November, Bravo. Heading west on School Lane.’

She spotted the Mercedes again, turning right into Wilmslow Road. She activated the emergency sirens and flashers on her own vehicle and increased her speed. The traffic was still heavy; cars and vans and several buses chugging towards the city centre. They responded to the siren, pulling in so she could overtake. At the next junction she followed the Mercedes as it took a sharp right turn and roared away. She kept up with it along Fog Lane, fighting to keep control on the bends and where the road narrowed. The suburban street was a blur of privet hedges, red brick walls and stone gateposts that fronted the family houses. Despite her best efforts she couldn’t get a clear view of the car’s occupants; the windows were tinted glass.