Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) (8 page)

He didn’t have to spell it out but Jessica could see it in his face; aside from the odd times he was at

the station, it was the one day a week he got to do something with his life. No wonder he didn’t mind

working on cold cases for free.

Jessica stretched forwards for a crisp but her sleeve snagged on the table, exposing her wrist and

the mishmash of red gouges. She felt Niall’s eyes run across them and then he tried to catch her gaze

as she picked up another crisp and rolled the material down again, deliberately avoiding looking at

him.

‘Something you want to talk about?’ he whispered.

Suddenly, Jessica knew what it was to be like to be opposite DSI Hambleton in an interview room.

She could feel his eyes boring into her and the silence from the other side of the table as the sound of clinking glasses, laughs, burps and faint pop music reverberated around the rest of the pub. He waited

for the reply, allowing the suspect to begin sweating and incriminate themselves. It never worked on

people familiar with an interview room, of course, although most people couldn’t help themselves but

fill the gaps in a conversation. Jessica knew the rules; she played the game herself and yet . . .

‘They’ve not healed properly. I keep picking at them.’

‘Where did they come from?’

‘I was in a stately home for a case, helping out another force. The people there used cable ties on

my wrists, then they handcuffed me not long afterwards. It was too tight – like we’d do if we wanted

to hurt someone.’

Glasses continued to clink, people were still chatting to each other, laughing, the jukebox flicked

onto another tune, but still DSI Hambleton said nothing, knowing there was more. All she had to do

was remain silent herself, but . . .

‘I had to twist one of my wrists to free myself. I didn’t even realise how badly I’d hurt it until

everything seized up a few days later. The doctor said I’d done something to the tendons. He said I

blocked it out at first because of the shock. It’s been healing but . . .’

Pick, pick, pick. That psychologist was having another mucky dream.

Finally, DSI Hambleton became Niall again. ‘I saw the newspapers – some cult they were saying –

plus people talk around the station, of course. You know what it’s like. I didn’t realise you were still

—’

‘I’m not, I’m fine. It was just on the news a lot.’ Jessica knew she was sounding too defensive.

Keep saying you’re okay and eventually you will be.

‘They didn’t name you, did they?’

‘No, it wasn’t about me. There was another officer, Charley, who was featured a lot and came over

positively. Well, everywhere except the
Daily Mail
and the
Guardian
, where they called her a “he” –

but it’s not as if it’s hard for a national newspaper to get someone’s gender correct, is it? There was

talk about her being promoted. Anyway, I’m not the only one who’s been in the papers . . .’

Niall smiled slightly, recognising the obvious subject change. This is why Jessica rarely hung

around with officers other than Dave and Izzy outside of work.

‘Some Ashford bloke called me at home but I told him I didn’t want to talk about it – they must

have got the information from elsewhere. He must have decent sources because he did a good job

actually.’

‘He’s someone I know – he phoned me and asked for your details but I told him to sod off. Twenty-

five years since you put away the Stretford Slasher, though, it’s not a surprise the
Herald
was doing something. He told me there might be some sort of documentary in the works.’

Niall seemed hesitant, puffing his chest up and taking a large mouthful of bitter. ‘I told them “no” as

well. They said it would be too hard to make without my contribution, offered me money. When I still

refused, they said they’d make a donation to the victims, trying to guilt me into it. Eventually they

went away.’

‘It was a massive case though – even I remember it as a kid and I didn’t live in Manchester. I think

my dad had it on the news when you arrested the guy.’

Niall used his pint to shield his mouth. ‘Some things get blown out of proportion.’

His modesty was admirable but Jessica knew how big the case was and the recent newspaper

spread had brought it back to the fore for at least a couple of days. She tried the silence trick but he was happier to say nothing than she had been.

‘How many victims was it?’ she eventually asked.

‘Eight.’

Jessica nodded towards his almost-drained pint. ‘Another?’ Niall nodded and a few minutes later,

Jessica was back juggling a pint of bitter, two more packets of Monster Munch and another glass of

wine. It might have been him who invited her out but if Niall was going to give her the retired DSI

stare of steel, then she was going to get something out of him too. ‘So, eight women . . .’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘What rank were you?’

‘A DI, like you.’ Niall picked up the new glass but didn’t drink. ‘You’re not going to let this go, are

you?’

‘It’s the job to be a bit nosey.’

A flicker of a smile. ‘Fair enough. What do you want to know?’

‘I suppose the scale of it. We’ve had big things around here, but in that feature it called the city a

ghost town for women after dark, saying that females stopped going out. We’ve had serial killers,

rapists, people targeting women – but never anything like that.’

Niall nodded shortly. ‘I was on duty when we were called to the first victim, Stephanie Miller. I

can see her now. She’d been out for a few drinks after work and was walking home by herself. He slit

her throat, raped her as she was bleeding and dying and then covered her in bleach, before dumping

her in a bin in Stretford.’

It sounded so much worse hearing it than reading it. Niall’s grandfatherly features now seemed

darker, blackened rims around the lines in his face that hadn’t been there moments before.

‘And there were seven more?’

‘Always the same; their skin tinged with that blue from the bleach, a woman out by herself. He

didn’t mind whether they were older or younger, fat or thin, blonde or brunette, white or Asian. It was

just about the women and power.’

‘Was it true people stopped going out?’

‘Pretty much. They sent officers up from the Met to give us a presence but there were more of us

out in the centre than there were normal people. Pubs, cinemas, restaurants – you name it, they were

closing because no one was visiting. It felt like the whole city was dying.’ He paused for a sip of

bitter. ‘Sorry, wrong choice of word.’

‘What happened?’

‘It pushed him out to the edges. The final two victims were found in Altrincham and Bury. That

took it out of Manchester and then the politicians started to notice. There was this pub hidden away in

the back streets near Ardwick Green that we used to go to but you know what journalists are like –

they can smell a boozer from five miles away. As soon as they knew where we were, we had all the

nationals in there – and then it went massive. Front page of all the papers, TV news, Prime Minister

threatening to send the army in to patrol the streets if need be.’

Jessica puffed out her cheeks and breathed heavily, before opening the next bag of crisps.

‘Exactly.’ Niall continued. ‘I’d been a DI for a couple of years and generally knew what I was

doing but this case was too big. The DCI was trying to run things – this big guy called Thorpe – then

the super was around plus everyone and anyone. No one knew what they were supposed to be doing

because we didn’t know who we were reporting to. If a victim had shown up in Liverpool or

Birmingham then God only knows the panic it would have caused. You could have had a whole nation

of women afraid to go out in the dark.’

‘But you got him?’

Niall took a large mouthful, swilling it in his mouth before swallowing and reaching for a crisp. He

seemed sheepish, almost embarrassed, not wanting the credit. ‘It’s never just one person, is it? The

media need a name they can build up or knock down. You’ve seen it today with that inspector—’

‘Esther.’

‘Yes. Back then, they were after a hero, and it was me.’

‘How did you get him?’

‘It was the bleach. Now you have the forensics and all the fingertip teams but it wasn’t like that.

We assumed he’d got a bottle of the stuff from the supermarket, or wherever, and tipped it over the

body to wash everything away. It had pretty much been overlooked because everyone just thought the

guy was some sicko and we were looking for certain types of profiles. I went looking at local

cleaning companies and that’s where we found Colin Rawlinson. He was working at this factory

where Stretford meets Eccles. I was going from place to place and spotted him one afternoon loading

a large bottle of this blue stuff into the back of his car. He’d split with his wife and she’d taken the kid but there were all these women’s clothes at his place. Thorpe and I brought him in for questioning and

the guy cracked. We found the knife buried in his garden, we had the connection to the bleach and that

was that.’

Jessica finished her second glass of wine, letting Niall’s story sink in. No wonder he wasn’t keen

to talk about it; the pressure must have been horrendous.

‘The paper said you were promoted afterwards.’

Niall shrugged. ‘We both were. I got the DCI’s job and he moved up too. I think everyone was so

relieved it was over that we could have pushed for whatever we wanted. I didn’t even ask for it.’

‘What happened to Thorpe?’

‘Died a few years ago – heart attack. It comes to us all.’

Jessica’s phone began to ring, her mother still trying to get through, but she stopped the call before

it rang a second time.

Niall raised his eyebrows, finishing his own drink. ‘Mother again?’

‘She always calls at the worst times.’

Niall finished the last of the crisps, leaving the table a mass of empty packets, frothy glasses and

crumbs. ‘I said before, when you get to our age, sometimes your kids are all you’ve got. Perhaps she

has something she needs to tell you?’

‘I know why she’s calling.’

‘Oh . . . well, I suppose I’ll unstick my nose from your business.’ He grinned, returning to being

grandfatherly Niall. ‘Would you like a bit of advice?’

‘About my mother?’

‘About the job.’

‘Okay.’

‘When you’re at the bottom looking up, you always think your bosses are incompetent, that they

spend the day sitting around doing nothing, making everyone else do the real work. To a degree, it’s

true – you do delegate more but the higher you go, the more stick you take. It’s one thing to get some

abuse from your boss – but what if it’s the chief constable? Or the Home Secretary, like today? Or the

Prime Minister? All I’m saying is that you’re new to this job – you’re probably annoyed at all the

form-filling and thinking about budgets, then you’ve got to do the actual job as well. Just trust yourself and know where the lines are. It’s not all black and white, there are shades of grey everywhere.’

With that, he was on his feet, both glasses in hand. ‘Another?’

8

Jessica caught the bus to work the next morning, getting off two stops early to pick up a vanilla slice

and then walking the final half-mile in a temperature even polar bears wouldn’t venture out in. It had

snowed lightly overnight but it was hard to tell where that began and the frost ended. Jessica’s thick

winter coat and padded gloves offered little respite as it felt like the wind had grown teeth that

gnawed away at everything in its path. Opposite the pub from the previous night, there were

schoolchildren hurling snowballs at each other, screaming and giggling. Given the area, it was at least

a step up from trying to stab one another.

If he’d been faced with triplets covered in jelly then Fat Pat wouldn’t have been happier than he

was when Jessica shivered her way into reception and handed over his cake. ‘The Guv wants you

upstairs,’ he said through a mouthful of pastry.

‘Is it a Velcro shoe day?’

Pat nodded, cream oozing between his teeth and down his chin. Jessica didn’t bother waiting for

the actual reply, heading up to the first floor.

Contrary to Pat’s warning, Cole was in a marginally better mood than the day before. Jessica

would still have taken his shoelaces though. He told her Luke Callaghan was still in hospital with no

details about whether he’d keep his sight after the acid attack. The word ‘witness’ was a loose term

when it came to the people they had managed to track down from the plaza, with the fuzzy CCTV

image all they were likely to get. The condoms in the flower pot had been the highlight for the search

team and they’d dug up nothing suspicious on Luke’s wife Debbie, his former business partner

Michael, or anyone else. All in all, given the lack of progress on anything, he seemed to have taken it

rather well, although that was perhaps because the Home Secretary had stopped bleating overnight,

likely down to someone reading his own advisor’s emails back to him.

After buttering her up with praise for the work she’d done with Debbie and Michael the previous

day, Jessica knew Cole was about to drop her in it.

‘I do, er, have a job for you,’ he finally said, not looking her in the eye.

‘I have a few things this morning; forms and the like.’

It was always unlikely to work and Cole dismissed it with barely a wave. ‘I’ve been speaking to