Hit and Run - [5]

‘We have found the car,’ said Shap, ‘but it’s a write-off.’

‘A write-off?’ Harper’s face fell. ‘I’ve only had it three months,’ he said, exasperated.

Butchers took over. ‘I’m afraid your vehicle was involved in a road traffic accident earlier this morning. Hit and run.’

Harper’s expression changed to one of shock. ‘What happened?’

‘Little girl knocked down. She’s in hospital.’

‘That’s terrible.’

‘We’re still trying to find the driver,’ Shap explained. ‘Did you see anything when your car was stolen?’

‘Not a thing. I was in the house when it happened, as well. Car on the drive, crook-lock, immobiliser, the works. I couldn’t believe it…’

Butchers and Shap exchanged a look. Harper wasn’t going to be much use to them. Just another statistic in the auto-theft figures.

*****

‘It was definitely our side of the boundary, not Stockport’s?’ Detective Chief Superintendent Leonard Hackett glared at Janine and Richard.

‘Yes, sir,’ Richard replied.

‘Shame. So, Janine – you’ll take the rudder?’

He wanted her to lead the enquiry. She glanced at Richard; while she had been on leave, he had acted as lead officer and she knew he hoped to keep that level of responsibility.

Richard cleared his throat. ‘But, sir, I thought I’d be…’

Hackett frowned. ‘DCI Lewis is back now.’

Janine stepped in. ‘Sir, I’d really like to pursue the hit and run.’

‘Well, Mayne can lead on that.’ He gave a bright, vacant grin.

‘Can I suggest we team up and cover both?’ Janine said, trying to find a way she could stay involved with the accident.

Hackett pursed his lips, pulling the face that had led Janine to nickname him The Lemon. ‘The troops need to know who’s in charge. Clear chain of command.’ He thought for a moment. ‘No. You should lead on both, Janine.’

She felt Richard stiffen.

‘Obviously the murder is the priority,’ Hackett added.

‘Yes, sir.’

She could see the tension around Richard’s mouth, the irritation in his eyes, though he didn’t say anything.

Hackett nodded in dismissal and the pair of them stood and left his office.

Once they were out of earshot, Richard let rip. ‘He was happy enough while you were on maternity leave. I cleared three major enquiries for him, three!’

‘It’s not you – it’s him,’ she told him. ‘You’ll get there. He can’t put it off forever he’ll have to promote you. He did the same with me.’

Richard sighed, slapped at the wall in frustration.

‘You’ll get it, you will.’

She recalled her own promotion to Chief Inspector. Not the most favourite day of her life. Oh, the promotion had been a triumph – it was what followed that had floored her. Going home to celebrate with her husband Pete, only to find him in bed – yes, their bed – with the home help. End of celebration, end of marriage. She’d given Pete a second chance, felt obliged to, seeing as she was six months pregnant with baby number four, but Pete had picked Tina the cleaner instead. Work had kept Janine sane then. A place apart from all the miserable pain of splitting up.

Richard sighed harshly again, shook his head, still annoyed.

Janine looked at him. ‘So, you going to stay here and have a paddy or shall we get on with it?’

He glowered at her for a moment, and then relented, knowing she was right. He jerked his head in assent.

‘I’m off to the post-mortem,’ she told him. ‘Pull everyone in for two. Incident room one.’

*****

When his mobile rang, Chris Chinley was flushing out a central heating radiator in the backyard of the house where he was working. The black sludge guttered out from one end as he poured water in the other. Not been cleared for maybe forty years, full of silt and grit.

He grunted at the ring tone and lowered the radiator, balancing it against the weathered brick wall. Only a small yard in spite of the size of the house: three storeys, four bedrooms, high ceilings, each with the original plaster rose and covings.

Chris pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, already anticipating another customer. Business was booming. A shortage of plumbers had coincided with soaring demand. People wanted two or even three bathrooms in a property, ensuite to the master bedroom, showers and bidets, sometimes a jacuzzi. He’d actually done a hot tub the previous month, in Hale, Cheshire – richest area outside of London.

He didn’t recognise the caller number on display. ‘Chinley’s,’ he said.

Chris listened to the voice on the phone. He swallowed hard, ran his free hand over the coarse, close-cropped hair on his skull. Shaking his head, he stared down at the flagstones, watched the pitch-black water stutter from the radiator, thin to a trickle, then snake along the cracks between the flags and into the gutter that ran out to the alley at the back.

*****

Post-mortems were never pleasant but Janine attended them whenever she could. It helped her maintain a good working relationship with the pathologists but, more importantly, it was something she felt she owed the victim. To bear witness. The aroma of the river still clung in the air. The woman lay, still wrapped in the rubbish bags, on the dissecting table. Her face was a horrible mess; Janine took it in with a glance and cast her gaze elsewhere.