Hit and Run (6 page)

Ann-Marie, having Ann-Marie had knocked him sideways. He’d looked forward to being a dad, prayed that Debbie would go full-term. He had imagined a son, playing footie, wrestling, building castles with moats at the seaside. But nothing had prepared him for the passion he felt. She was his little shadow, following him about. She only cried when she hurt herself and soon recovered. She was fearless too, climbing chairs and desks, up the stairs in a trice. When she was four, he took her to her first City match; they were still at the Maine Road ground then; she’d sat on his shoulders and yelled along with the best of them. Debbie had left them to it, she hated football.

The thought came unbidden: if you’d just held her hand. Guilt lanced through him, swivelled in his guts. You said as much yourself, Debbie, he thought. He stared at the drawings on the wall. Ann-Marie scrawled on each one. Look, she’d said, I signed my name – scribbly like yours, Dad.

*****

Driving home, Janine was preoccupied with thoughts of Rosa. Last seen on Sunday night. Had she died that night, after leaving the club? What had happened? An assignation turned sour or a row with a lover they’d yet to find out about? She wondered about Rosa’s family, were there brothers and sisters, parents and grandparents back in Poland expecting to hear from her? She imagined the shock that would hit them when they learnt that Rosa was dead, her life ended swiftly, brutally, her body mutilated and abandoned; when the truth sank in – that there would never be another postcard or phone call. They’d never hear her voice again or open the door to greet her or kiss her. Perhaps Rosa was an orphan? With no one to mourn for her, no one to claim her remains and arrange her funeral.

Janine paused at the traffic lights in Fallowfield. Student territory here – the halls of residence that lined one side of the road were home to some of the thousands of students who came to study in the city. She watched pedestrians cross the road: an old man with a dog, both white-haired and skinny; a trio of girls, Rosa’s age; a man on his own, baseball cap and jacket, a bounce in his gait. Where was Rosa’s killer? Could he sleep? Could he eat and swallow and carry on with his daily life? Did he dream about what he had done? Was someone harbouring him – uneasy at his

mood, at his reaction to the news coverage or his sudden interest in doing the laundry?

She was late getting back – again. She’d already rung Pete to warn him but as usual her estimate was far too optimistic. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ She found him in the lounge with Charlotte who was dozing in her carrycot. ‘It always takes longer than I think. Kids all right?’

Pete nodded. ‘Fine.’

Janine looked at Charlotte; the sleeping infant made suckling motions with her mouth, gave a little sigh. Janine drank the moment in. Then she sat down heavily beside Pete. ‘God, what a day!’

‘It’s hard to believe.’ Pete said. ‘Ann-Marie …’

‘She didn’t make it,’ Janine said quietly.

Pete exhaled, sat back bracing his hands against the front of his thighs.

Thoughts of the Chinleys swamped Janine’s mind. ‘Has Tom said anything?’

Pete shook his head. ‘You going to tell him?’

‘In the morning. They’ll probably send a letter round from school …’ She faltered. ‘How the hell you explain …’

‘I don’t think I remember her.’

‘Skinny,’ Janine told him, ‘curly, black hair. Her mum always did a stall at the summer fair. They had a dog. Probably still got the dog.’ The ridiculous statement moved her to tears. She closed her eyes, covered her face, felt his arms go round her.

‘Oh, Pete … could have been us … Tom.’ She rested there for a moment then pulled away, wiping at her face. ‘I’m OK.’ She couldn’t afford to indulge her grief – not with Pete, anyway. ‘This week – it’s going to be all hours. And Connie – she deserves her evenings off.’ She didn’t want to jeopardise things with Connie. She’d struck lucky there. Most people said finding a nanny was a complete nightmare. When Janine had first met her she’d been impressed by the young woman’s enthusiasm. ‘Manchester is just fantastic,’ she’d said. ‘Lots going on: the Bridgewater Hall, the theatre. Do you go much?’

Janine shook her head. Connie had gone on to talk about her intention to take an evening course in business management. She had nannied while in Hong Kong but had always wanted to live in the UK. ‘It’s my favourite place,’ she declared. Janine liked her energy. With three kids and a baby, stamina was important. She just hoped Connie wouldn’t sail through her business course too quickly; she could just see her setting up her own nannying agency and making a go of it.

‘I can’t expect her to manage a baby all day long and then be on tap for babysitting.’ Janine told Pete.

‘Well, I’m on days,’ he offered, rising to get his coat.

‘And what about Tina?’ It still stung her to say the name though she hid it well.

‘Tina knows the score,’ he told her.

She was relieved. She knew just how crazy her hours might get and it would be impossible without Pete to call on. No need to show too much gratitude though. After all he was their father; his spending time here was good for them all.

As Janine headed upstairs, Eleanor pounced. ‘Mum, there’s a girl been knocked down at Tom’s school.’

‘I know,’ Janine said.

‘What happened?’ Eleanor’s eyes were bright with interest. ‘Did you see it, it was this morning?’

‘Yes. A car went straight over the crossing, and then they drove off.’

‘That’s awful. Is she going to be all right?’

‘No,’ Janine said quietly. She saw Eleanor’s face fall, her mouth part then close again. A tiny frown. ‘What?’

‘She died this afternoon.’

‘That’s awful,’ Eleanor repeated, a sudden glint of tears in her eyes. Any hint of morbid curiosity vanished.

Janine hugged her. ‘I don’t want you to say anything to Tom, OK?’

‘You’ve got to tell him; she was in his class.’

‘I know – but don’t say anything till I’ve had chance.’

‘Why didn’t they stop?’ Eleanor stepped back, an edge of outrage in her expression.

‘They didn’t want to take responsibility for what they’d done.’

‘Will you catch them?’

‘We’re trying. It was a stolen car so it’s a bit more complicated.’

‘That is so mean,’ Eleanor said, shaking her head, her face miserable. Janine nodded. You couldn’t protect children from the grim realities. Maybe they heard more than their fair share because of her job though she made it a habit not to bring home stories from work – or only the funny ones. But even if she hadn’t been in the job, the daily news was still saturated with examples of cruelty, inhumanity, death and strife. Most of the time people compartmentalised the two worlds: the safe, private, domestic one and the big bad place out there, where awful things happened to other people. But with something like Ann-Marie’s death the two spheres collided, the divisions dissolved. The wolf wasn’t at the door, he was in the house.

On cue Charlotte kicked off just as Janine sank into sleep, the baby’s cries jerking her awake. She felt the familiar lurching feeling: a combination of resentment at being woken and fear that her child was in distress. Picking her from the cot, she tried settling her with words, rubbing her back and feeling the tiny wings of shoulder blades beneath the babygro, circling the soft, downy head with her palm.

She tried her with a bottle but the baby didn’t seem interested, there was no sign that her nappy needed changing and Janine hadn’t the energy to go through the ritual of trying to resettle her in her cot. Without Pete there was always plenty of room in her bed. Opinion-makers couldn’t agree as to whether sleeping with a baby was a good thing or not: a rod for your own back, dangerous even, or a natural state of affairs. Janine knew she probably got more sleep sharing her bed than if she spent time getting up and down to Charlotte who regularly woke three times a night. On that particular night, in the light of the tragedy she had witnessed, it seemed a precious thing to be able to take the child into her bed and fall asleep aware of the small presence nestling beside her.

First thing the next morning Janine went through to Tom’s room. Plastic dinosaurs, action-men figures and small soldiers littered the carpet. He slept on his bunk. His cheeks looked flushed; his arms were flung up behind his head.

‘Tom,’ she said gently.

He opened his eyes. Gave her a sunny grin. He scrambled out of his duvet and down the ladder, clutching a beanie-baby dragon.

Janine sat on the sofa-bed beneath his bunk and patted her knee. ‘Come here a minute.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to talk to you.’

He gave a small sigh and wriggled onto her lap.

‘You heard about Ann-Marie’s accident?’

He nodded, bounced the dragon on her leg and then his own.

‘Well, Ann-Marie was very badly hurt.’

‘Where?’ Tom was always literal, and curious.

‘Everywhere,’ Janine said. ‘And the doctors tried to make her better but she was too poorly.’ Janine paused a moment, trying to assess how direct to be. Tom put both his hands on the dragon and held it close.

‘It’s very sad,’ she went on, ‘you see Ann-Marie died. Everybody is going to be feeling very sad about it.’

Tom was very still. She gave him time but he said nothing. She put her arms round him pulling him back for a cuddle. ‘OK?’ she asked.

He murmured, stood up and stretched the dragon’s wings wide. ‘Mum?’

‘Yes,’ she steeled herself for difficult questions.

‘You know when I’m eight; for my party, can we go to Laser Quest?’

She bit down on the laughter rising in her throat. Bless him. ‘Yes,’ she said tightly, ‘course you can.’

He nodded and shot out of the room holding the dragon aloft.

Once she was dressed, Janine took Charlotte down and suspended her in the baby bouncer from the kitchen doorway. That gave Janine a chance to get on with the kids’ breakfasts. ‘Put those two slices in when you’ve got yours,’ she said to Michael who was hovering by the toaster. Eleanor and Tom were just finishing off their cereal and arguing about the puzzle on the back of the packet.

Charlotte pushed with her legs and whooped as the action sent her careering up and down and to and fro. ‘Lovely girl,’ Janine called to her.

‘Hello, everybody.’ Connie carefully held the elastic ropes of Charlotte’s bouncer to one side as she squeezed past.

‘Good show last night?’ Janine asked her.

‘Brilliant,’ Connie beamed. ‘I love the Royal Exchange.’

‘Ann-Marie Chinley got run over,’ Tom said to Connie. ‘And Mum’s going to under arrest them.’

Janine smiled.

‘Arrest,’ Eleanor corrected him. ‘Not under arrest.’

‘You are under arrest,’ Tom told his spoon. ‘You will, won’t you Mum?’

‘Going to try.’

‘She didn’t make it,’ Janine said sotto-voce to the nanny. ‘Oh, no,’ Connie said softly. Janine nodded. Charlotte squealed and swung wildly up and down. ‘I best make tracks,’ Janine said. ‘Their toast’s on.’ She left to a chorus of goodbye her thoughts already turning to the list of actions she needed to get underway when she briefed her teams.

‘Harper’s account checks out.’ Richard stepped into the canteen queue behind Janine. ‘Reported the car theft at ten. Cab from home to the Casino Royale in town, meal in the restaurant there.’

Janine took the plate from the woman dishing up the hot breakfasts. His account might check out but that didn’t signal the end of her interest in the man. Not by a long chalk. She pulled a face.

‘I was thinking,’ Richard said, taking his own plate, ‘Rosa: the lack of records, no known place of residence – either someone’s covering something up or she was here illegally?’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’ Janine slid her tray along, stopping by the tea machine.

He continued. ‘She walks in off the street, gets the job, all that cash in hand, nod and a wink stuff.’

Janine picked up the thread. ‘And Harper’s passing the buck, blaming Sulikov. Who’s also Polish.’ She glanced at him. ‘Any connection to Rosa? You talked to this Sulikov yet?’

‘He lives over there.’

She paid for her food and picked up her tray while Richard hunted through his pockets for cash.

‘Maybe you’ll get a trip to Warsaw out of it,’ she said.

‘Why couldn’t it be Hawaii, or the Maldives?’

The pair of them sat down at a table where Shap had already finished eating.

‘Meanwhile,’ Janine said, ‘you’ll just have to grit your teeth and put up with life at a lap dancing club.’

‘Shap’s like a pig in muck.’ Richard said. Shap snorted, rolled his eyes.

‘You looked pretty comfortable yourself from where I was standing,’ she said, scooping up a forkful of bacon and egg.

‘Trick of the light.’

Janine took a mouthful. ‘I missed this.’

Shap grinned as though the sentiment included his presence, the camaraderie or something.

‘The fry up, you plonker,’ Janine told him.

‘How’s the nipper?’ Shap asked.

‘She’s great. Happy, insomniac.’

‘Got a nanny?’

‘Live in. Well – live in, go out a lot.’

‘Raver, is she?’ Shap’s eyes lit up.

‘No. Self-improvement. Night classes, theatre, opera.’ Janine cut up her bacon.

Butchers came over, his face intent. ‘We’ve got a witness on the hit and run. She saw two men get out and torch the car. Good descriptions. Height, age, clothing. One of them had red hair. We’re getting a few sightings of the car coming in, an’ all.’

‘Good.’ Janine nodded, chewing. ‘Draw up a timeline. They got it when, ten?’

Shap nodded.

‘Running it all night. Maybe they stopped somewhere – petrol, take-away, boozer? Got out the car and someone saw them. We’ll try and keep it live, see if we can shake out some more witnesses, CCTV. Need to cross-check those descriptions with records.’ She speared sausage and tomato and dipped it in her egg yolk.

‘TWOCers,’ Shap said, the acronym for taking without owner’s consent.

‘Language,’ Butchers joked.

No one responded. They all knew there was no point in encouraging him.