Ruthless - [12]

‘Most of the drug traffic is believed to be controlled by Marcus Williams,’ Mitch said. He’d been talking to the neighbourhood policing team and to the drug squad. ‘Williams stepped up when Keith Grant was busted. Been in charge ever since. A cannabis farm closed down in January was believed to be his. Steady business, handles the lot, Class Bs, some Class As.’

‘Except he doesn’t handle anything,’ Gill said.

‘That’s right, hands free.’ Mitch showed his palms. ‘There’s even talk of him standing for the local council.’

‘You’re kidding,’ said Janet.

‘The lure of respectability,’ Gill said.

Mitch smiled.

‘Anyone picked up for the cannabis farm?’ Gill said.

‘Suspects are awaiting trial, no one’s talking,’ Mitch said.

‘So who is our victim? Has he started a turf war? Is Williams the trigger-happy type?’

‘No. Things been very quiet on that front,’ Mitch said.

‘Is Williams into any other business, prostitution, loan sharks?’

‘Concentrates on the drugs,’ said Mitch. ‘Known associate, Stanley Keane, a bruiser, he’s probably Williams’s enforcer.’

‘We park that information,’ said Gill. ‘If we find any link between Williams and company and our victim then we’ll come back to it.’

‘Maybe it’s been set up to look like a hit when it’s actually a domestic,’ Kevin said. ‘The wife or whoever has had enough. Hires a hitman.’

‘Thinking on an empty stomach, Kevin, never a good idea,’ said Gill.

‘It happens,’ Kevin said.

‘Thinking?’ This from Rachel.

‘Hired hitmen,’ Kevin said.

‘Rarely,’ Gill said. ‘If you’re right I’ll buy you a pint. And a pot to put it in. OK, what else… nothing as yet to indicate the body was moved to the site post-mortem. Good start,’ she wound things up, ‘get some kip. See you tomorrow.’

Gill was surprised to find Sammy at home when she finally got back after ten. ‘Thought you were going to your dad’s,’ she said, surveying the empty pizza box, the baking tray in the sink, and half a dozen dirty mugs and glasses on the counter.

‘We rearranged,’ he said.

‘How come?’

‘Just did.’ He opened the fridge.

‘Hey, this lot first, dishwasher and paper bin,’ she said, nodding at the mess.

‘I was,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘Hardly.’ She wondered who’d rearranged. Had Sammy put his dad off? She could see why he might. Dave wasn’t great company these days. His love nest with the whore of Pendlebury and their spawn had disintegrated and Dave was now back living with his mother. Not a good look for a man in his fifties. Sammy liked his grandma but was of an age where a handful of visits a year would suffice. But for all Dave’s failings, and they were legion, Gill still thought it best that Sammy maintain regular contact with his dad. It’d help Dave too, she reckoned, to know there was still somebody who loved him. A solid relationship that wasn’t going to go tits up when a younger model rolled along. Did Dave still see his second child? She’d never asked. It wasn’t her business, anyway. Dave was an adult, fact. Despite his sometimes childish behaviour. He could handle the fallout from his midlife crisis by himself. Why the hell should Gill concern herself with it?

Sammy put the crockery in the dishwasher and took the carton outside to the recycling bin while Gill fixed herself an omelette.

‘I need a suit,’ he said as he came in, ‘for the prom.’

‘What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?’

‘Too short.’ He went back to the fridge, opened it. The light shining out on him. Like a shrine, Gill thought, where he worships. He can’t eat enough. Eighteen and still growing.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, it’s halfway up my legs. I look like a knob.’

‘Well, I think your dad’ll have to take you,’ she said, forking up the last of her food.

‘Why can’t you?’

‘Because I’ve just started an investigation. I’m not going to have time to draw breath.’

He sighed heavily, brought ham and cheese out of the fridge.

‘Or take Orla,’ Gill said.

‘Cool.’ Shopping with his girlfriend obviously appealed more.

‘Revision?’ she said.

‘Done some.’ He’d three more exams to sit, then his schooldays would be over.

‘Orla’s being nominated for prom queen,’ he said.

‘Is she now?’

‘Yeah. I think Daisy Tuttle will get it, she’s more popular.’

‘We never had any of that sort of thing,’ she said, ‘proms.’

‘You had a party, though, didn’t you?’

‘Of sorts. Smuggled in vodka to mix with fruit juice, crammed into the school hall. Smelled of sweaty trainers. Disco – that was our lot. No limos, or kings and queens. If anyone had worn a suit they’d have been laughed out of court. The only people who wore suits were teachers and squares.’ She laughed.

‘Sounds rubbish,’ he said.

‘It was brilliant,’ she said. ‘We were free, school’s out, all that business, we burned our ties. None of this American tosh.’

‘And you knew then you wanted to join the police?’

She studied him for a moment. ‘I did. Never thought about doing anything else. With Grandma and Grandpa in the job, although Grandma left when she married.’

‘Why?’ he said. He took a huge bite of the sub sandwich he’d made.

‘That’s how people did it back then. Married women weren’t supposed to work, a man was expected to support the whole family. Guess it was in my DNA, the police.’