Witness - [28]

Detectives have renewed their call for people to come forward with information about Danny’s murder. They are keen to speak to two men witnessed at the scene in a silver BMW. To date neither the car nor the gun used in the shooting have been recovered.

The promising music student was on his way to a band rehearsal when he was gunned down. His twin sister has spoken of the terrible gap that has been left in her life and that of Danny’s family. At an emotional memorial service, teachers, friends and relatives queued up to pay tribute to the boy who had so much to look forward to.

Detective Inspector Joe Kitson, who is leading this investigation, said: ‘We know that there were several people out that Sunday afternoon who may well have seen the car, or the men who carried out this devastating attack. If you were in the area please tell us what you saw, even if it seems insignificant, as it could be crucial for our inquiry.

‘We need your help to find Danny’s killers and bring his family some justice. If you are afraid to come forward for any reason I would like to reassure you that we have protective measures in place so no one ever needs to know who you are.’

A £20,000 reward is available for anyone who provides information leading to the conviction of Danny’s killers.

Twenty thousand. More than Cheryl would ever see in a year but not enough for someone to move away, buy a house, start a new life. Blood money.

‘Okay?’ The voice made her jump; she hit the mouse, closed the browser and swivelled to see Maeve, whose arms were full of books.

‘Fine,’ Cheryl replied, her heart bucketing in her chest, a feeling like bubbles popping in her veins.

‘Good.’ Maeve smiled, moved away.

Cheryl took a moment, waiting for her heart to slow, then went back to the site. There were two numbers at the bottom of the appeal, one for the police and the other for Crimestoppers. She could tip them off, just give them Carlton and Sam’s names, no more than that but it might be enough for the police, enough to stop Cheryl feeling so shabby. She got out her phone, checked she wasn’t being observed and then stored the first number in her contacts list. Her fingers felt thick, uncoordinated, and she kept making mistakes.

‘Woof.’ Milo had found a picture of a dog.

‘Yes, woof.’ Cheryl nodded at him.

She opened the Safety menu on the browser and deleted her browsing history. Logged off.

Outside there was a strong wind and the clouds above, big dimpled shapes, were moving fast. It looked like it would stay dry. Cheryl persuaded Milo into his buggy and buckled him up.

A shadow fell over her from behind. ‘All right, Cheryl?’

Carlton! She rose, losing her balance. He shot out an arm, catching her elbow. ‘Easy now.’ He smiled, a quick easy glint of white teeth, one gold cap. Carlton was a big man, pumped up from time spent at the gym and the regular use of steroids, according to Vinia. He wore a plain white tee and a thin leather and linen jacket, double-breasted, elaborate, expensive. His trainers were gold Pumas, like the ones Usain Bolt, the fastest runner in the world, won the Olympics in.

He let go of her elbow. ‘Where ya bin hiding?’

Cheryl laughed. ‘No place.’ What if he took her phone? Found the number? ‘Just taking Milo to Storytime.’

‘Ya don’t come round no more.’

When she did use to call on Vinia he’d leched her with his eyes, passed ripe comments, smacking his lips. It made her squirm. She’d always made sure to stick close to Vinia, not be caught alone with him.

Cheryl felt the hairs on her arms rise. She knew she must be very careful, and sly and sweet. ‘Responsibilities now. No partying no more.’

‘That right?’ He locked his eyes on hers. His were bright, glassy, a seed of anger sharpening them. She forced a glow into her own, giggled, girlish.

‘Milo, he keeps me busy.’ She edged aside a little so Carlton could see her son.

Carlton hunkered down, his great hand outstretched, cupped, rested like a cap on Milo’s curls. ‘Hey, lickle man.’

Cheryl’s throat closed. She wanted to slap him away. He waggled the child’s head a little.

‘Yah!’ Milo made some sort of greeting.

Carlton laughed, a guffaw that crackled in the air, sudden and loud. ‘Yah! I hear you, man. Fine soldier you make someday. Yes!’

Over my dead body, vowed Cheryl. She felt bile in her throat. Recalled Danny, his fist bumping Milo’s. She stretched her face to frame a smile for Carlton.

‘What’s Mama say?’ He turned from Milo to her, beamed up at her, his eyes fierce, dangerous.

Cheryl laughed as though the thought of Milo being one of his foot soldiers was the funniest thing on the planet. Laughed way too long, high and brittle, but dared not stop.

Carlton stood, nodded to her. ‘Don’t be a stranger, you hear me?’

She nodded. Was still nodding and grinning like some ventriloquist’s dummy as he strode away, his bulk rolling from hip to hip, his head swaying on his neck.

Cheryl imagined Milo grown, a gun under his bed, his arms engorged with muscles like Carlton’s. Milo shot up and bleeding. Herself, like Paulette, burying her boy.