Make Believe - [8]

‘Waiting to confirm identity,’ Butchers said. The standard reply.

Work at Kendal Avenue was being carried out by a local builder Donny McEvoy and his mate Joe Breeley. Donny McEvoy had come out to the site when the flood was reported and had been there when the body was recovered. He’d left details where he could be contacted with the police.

The site was in Gorton, a tract of land that had been cleared of old warehousing and was now being re-developed for small, industrial units. Janine and Richard made their way to the office and Richard asked the site manager for Donny McEvoy. The manager pointed to the far side of the yard where a man was operating a cement mixer.

As they reached him, he pulled off his gloves. A fine coating of cement dust had settled in the lines on his face, his eyebrows and glasses giving him an almost comical appearance. He pulled off his specs, rubbed at them with his fingers.

‘Donny McEvoy,’ said Richard.

‘Yeah. This about the murder?’ His eyes lit up.

‘That’s right,’ said Richard.

‘I was there – when they found him,’ McEvoy said. ‘Huge shock. Have you got any leads? They reckon most cases like this, it’s the family.’

‘When were you last working there?’ Janine said.

‘Last Monday, the twenty-first,’ said McEvoy. ‘Mate called in sick so I’ve been filling in here since.’ He leaned in closer to them. ‘The child, he’d been there a while, hadn’t he?’

‘How come you were there this morning?’ Janine said ignoring the man’s question.

‘Called out when the neighbours saw the flooding. Was me got the water company in.’

‘Did you notice anything that might help us?’ Richard said, ‘Either today or at anytime in the past nine days.’

‘Nine days,’ McEvoy nodded his head as if wise to some great secret. ‘That’s ‘cos you think it’s Sammy Wray, isn’t it? Nine days since he was snatched.’

The avid gleam in his eyes, the spit that glistened at the corners of his mouth revolted Janine. He was a ghoul, one of those amateur sleuths who liked to think they could compete with the police, who got a prurient kick from being close to sudden violent death. Was it any more than that? McEvoy had access to the drains. Had he any previous form? Her mind was running ahead, something she cautioned in her officers. Gather the details, steadily, precisely, then analyse.

‘Did you notice anything?’ Janine said, coldly.

McEvoy shook his head. ‘I’ve been wracking my brains. And it was a fractured skull,’ he said swiftly, ‘do you know if he was killed somewhere else and moved? There was this case in Florida-’

Janine held up her hands to stop him. ‘Thank you Mr McEvoy. If you do think of anything that may be significant please get in touch with the inquiry. Where can we find Mr Breeley?’

Joe Breeley was outside his council house working on a maroon Vauxhall Astra with the bonnet raised. Janine took in the neglected front garden, grass and long weeds, a pallet and some bags of sand, a white van parked alongside the car.

‘Not too sick to play mechanic,’ Richard said as they went to greet him.

‘Joe Breeley? DCI Lewis.’ Janine introduced herself as the man raised his head from over the engine.

‘DI Mayne.’ Richard showed his warrant card.

‘You may have heard the body of a child was recovered from the site where you are working on Kendal Avenue,’ Janine said.

Joe nodded. ‘Saw the news,’ he said. He closed the car bonnet. ‘Terrible.’

‘Could we have a word inside?’ she said.

He wiped his hands on the front of his jeans and took them into the house.

‘I couldn’t believe it,’ Breeley said leading the way into the living room. ‘Mandy, it’s the police. They’ve come about that little kiddie. Here, sit down,’ he said, clearing a pile of children’s clothes off the settee.

‘It’s horrible,’ Mandy said. She was winding a baby, rubbing at its back, the empty bottle of feed on the side table. Janine guessed she was in her early twenties, a little dishevelled. Probably too busy with the baby to get time for herself.

The room was scattered with toys, more baby clothes draped over the large fireguard in front of the gas fire. Daytime TV was on but Joe Breeley muted it with the remote. On the walls Janine saw the family photos, Joe and Mandy and two children. A good looking family, the children fair like their mother. Mandy was attractive, slim with huge eyes and long, fine hair.

‘How long have you been at the site?’ Richard said.

‘Six weeks, it’s a big job. Place needed gutting,’ said Breeley.

‘And when were you last there?’

‘Week last Saturday. Till lunchtime,’ he said.

Janine heard the rising wail of a child from upstairs.

Mandy got to her feet. ‘You take him,’ she said to Breeley and handed the baby over to him. ‘Our John,’ she explained, ‘miserable with chickenpox.’

Janine groaned in sympathy, Charlotte had it only last month, it had gone round the neighbourhood like wildfire, left her little girl with three pockmarks on her face despite Janine’s best attempts to stop her scratching.

Mandy left them.

‘And who’s this?’ Janine nodded at the baby.

Joe Breeley smiled, ‘Aidan.’

‘Did you see anyone acting suspiciously, or anyone close to the main drainage?’ Richard said.