The moment Sean sat down, Magda’s face appeared at the side of her monitor. ‘What did that nemernic want?’
‘Nemernic?’
She curled her forefinger tight and pointed to where the creases of flesh converged. ‘Where the pooh comes out.’
‘Arsehole?’ Sean said, smiling.
She flung an embarrassed glance towards the nearest detectives. ‘Sean!’
‘You said it …’
‘In a language no one understands!’
So that makes it all right, he thought, laughing to himself at the strangeness of her ways. After his disastrous start in the Serious Crimes Unit, Magda was the only detective prepared to give him the time of day. The success of their subsequent teamwork soon led to them being formally paired. He knew the rest of the unit thought they made an odd team. They were probably right. Him, the youngster of the unit, boyish face beneath an unruly mop of black hair. Her, crash helmet haircut, muscular build and wooden way of speaking. But they got the work done, even if they approached things slightly differently.
‘So what did Fuller say?’
Shit, he thought. She isn’t letting it pass.
‘Not a lot.’
‘Was he having a go? He was, wasn’t he?’
Before he could stop her, she was out of her chair and stomping away from their desks.
‘Magda!’ he hissed. ‘Magda!’ Bollocks, he thought, this isn’t needed.
She came to a stop by Fuller’s desk. The DS glanced up, one eyebrow raised. Sean planted both elbows on the table, formed a visor with his hands and watched from the corner of his eye. Talk about embarrassing.
‘You try to bully my partner?’ Magda announced. ‘Then you must try to bully me. Come on.’
A hush fell over that part of the room. Fuller crossed his arms as he sat back, knees spread apart. He didn’t reply.
Magda kept her eyes locked on his for a couple more seconds. Then she stepped back. ‘No. I thought not. You’ll only go for the youngest person in the room. So brave.’
Fuller’s face had started to redden. ‘Get fucked, Drago.’
She lifted a hand, tips of her thumb and forefinger touching. ‘It’s Dragomir. Drag-o-mir.’
‘Whatever.’
She turned away, nodding as she did so. ‘Big man. Such a big man.’
‘Yeah, nearly as big as you,’ he muttered, smirking at the detective sitting opposite him.
She looked back and nodded to where the flab of his chest rested across his forearms. ‘The only thing as big as me are your boobs.’
A few people couldn’t stop themselves from laughing as Fuller self-consciously uncrossed his arms and sat forward. By the time she got back to their desks, people had started to resume what they were doing.
‘So,’ she announced, like nothing had happened, ‘when could we expect that pathologist’s preliminary report?’
Sean was still reeling from her parting remark. Fuller, he could see, was keeping his head down.
‘Sean? The report?’
He refocused on her. ‘Er, by lunch,’ he stated, before adding quietly, ‘and, Magda, you doing that, how does it make me look?’
She raised a placatory hand. ‘Sorry. I know.’
‘I handle him, OK? Not you.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Where were we?’
‘First actions.’
‘Right.’ She examined the paperwork before her. ‘Statements have been taken from the council workers, but we’ll also need to obtain ones from the paramedic who certified death and the ambulance crew and the first police officer to attend the scene. That will just be chasing up, since they’ll know to supply them. For us, we need to know more about the victim.’
‘That’ll be fun; they’re not the most eager lot when it comes to talking with police.’
‘Who?’
‘The homeless community. I know from my time in uniform over in Salford. All we do is hassle them, normally.’
She considered this. ‘Maybe, with it being a murder, that will change?’
Sean wasn’t so sure. ‘Could get more results from house-to-house enquiries.’
‘Either way, we need to get back down there. Soon as we’ve informed next of kin.’
Sean sank down in his seat. This, he thought, is the bit I hate most.
Lee Goodwin was originally from Ryder Brow. From what Sean could recall, it was an area of dense housing that surrounded a large cemetery. He remembered playing a few school football matches over there: the opposition had lapsed into verbal abuse and vicious play as soon as they realized they were going to lose. Their coaches seemed perfectly happy with the approach – had probably encouraged it.
According to Goodwin’s record, he’d been of no fixed address for the last nine years. That meant he’d left the family home at eighteen, shortly after his first conviction for burglary, but before his initial custodial sentence for dealing. Sean wondered how the family would take the news.
Beside him, Magda was using the hands-free kit, busily arranging with Troughton for a competent Crime Scene Investigator or uniform to do an inventory of the meagre possessions salvaged from Lee Goodwin’s tent.
His own phone went and he examined the screen. The words Estate agent were displayed and he took the call. ‘Sean speaking.’
‘Sean, it’s Ed. Can you talk?’
‘Yeah, go ahead.’
‘Looks like everything’s set. The seller has agreed to replace the cracked grass panel on the balcony. Said they would, didn’t I?’
‘You did.’
‘I could tell they couldn’t afford any more delays. So, assuming nothing last minute crops up, the funds will transfer this afternoon – and you can collect the keys to your new apartment by close of play. How does that sound?’
‘Great, Ed. Thanks. Thing is, I’m caught up on a job at work. You might have to keep the keys for today. I’ll see how things go.’
‘Oh … OK. Well, that’s not a problem. How about your current arrangements?’
Sean considered the room he’d been renting since moving out of the home he’d grown up in. It was paid for until the end of the month, which was just under a fortnight away. ‘Yeah, they’re OK for now.’
‘Right. I’ll keep you informed.’
‘Cheers.’
As he replaced his phone, Magda said, ‘You’re welcome to the spare room at mine, Sean. Don’t forget.’
He glanced at her appreciatively. ‘Thanks, Magda. But your other half doesn’t need two coppers coming and going.’
‘George? He’s used to it. And we work the same hours, so it wouldn’t make much difference to him.’
Sean pointed to the right. The turning for Mrs Goodwin’s road had just come into view. ‘That’s it.’
Magda flicked the indicator down. ‘And how are you feeling about it?’
‘About what?’
‘Saying goodbye to the house? Where you grew up and moving into an apartment?’
‘Well, it’s happening.’
‘I know that. But, you know … with everything … it cannot be nice.’
He turned his head as if studying the houses parading past the window. Trapped in the glass was a ghost-like face. His face. But its features were faint enough for him to imagine it was his mother staring in. Watching as he tried to move his life on after losing her so suddenly.
Sometimes, he wished Magda would ease off. ‘It’s not a case of nice. It just needs to be done. This is it: number seventy-four.’
The woman who opened the door appeared to be somewhere in her late forties. She also looked ill. Pallid face and lank hair. The smell of cigarettes and stale air wafted round her bulk.
‘Yeah?’ she asked suspiciously.
He tried not to look down at her lower stomach straining against the waistband of her leggings. She wasn’t pregnant, surely?
‘Hello—’ Magda began.
‘I’m not interested, before you get started,’ she stated.
Hasn’t realized we’re police, Sean thought. Probably has us down as Bible bashers or something.
‘Mrs Shelley Goodwin?’ asked Magda, holding her warrant card up.
She blinked her assent, mouth slightly open.
‘May we come in?’
‘What’s it about?’
‘If we could talk inside.’
Her eyes shifted to Sean. ‘Might let him in. Is he scrummy, or what?’
A peal of mischievous laughter escaped her and, in that brief instant, Sean saw a different woman. The one before life took its toll.
Magda’s smile was brief and businesslike. ‘It’s about your son, he’s—’
Her face sagged once more. ‘Listen, I said to his teacher, I can’t make him go in. He won’t listen to me.’
‘Sorry, your son Lee?’
‘Him?’ She looked relieved. ‘He don’t live here. Not for years. What’s he done?’
‘Could we come in?’
A voice called out behind her. ‘Mum? Who is it?’
Sean could see a girl, somewhere in her early teens. She had hold of a toddler and was jiggling it up and down.
‘Back in the telly room, Sienna. It’s nowt to do with you.’ She turned back to Magda. ‘And he’s nothing to do with me. I said …’ She paused, registering their sombre expressions. ‘What is it? What’s he done?’
‘If we could step ins—’
‘He’s dead. He is, isn’t he?’
‘He is,’ Magda said softly, giving up with the sofa routine.
Her eyes lost focus as she stared at the street behind them. After a second, she bit down on her lower lip and nodded. ‘Said it would happen one day. Drugs?’
‘No.’
‘Fall off something while he was on drugs?’
‘No …’
‘Murdered? Someone kill him?’
‘It appears so.’
She nodded again. Matter-of-factly. ‘Right.’ Her hand went up and she brushed, once, at the corner of her eye. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’
‘At some stage, there’ll be the matter of a formal identification,’ Magda said, rushing her words as the door began to close. ‘Mrs Goodwin?’ She had to place her hand against it to stop the door from closing completely. ‘I understand your son hasn’t lived here for some time, but when did you last see him?’
Shelley Goodwin leaned against the door frame. ‘Years back. Four or five. It’s been that long.’
‘We’re trying to work out what happened. Does he have a partner or any friends you know about? People he spent time with?’
‘People he spent time with? You’ll find them all over Manchester. Hanging about in doorways and that.’
‘She means,’ Sean said, making eye contact, ‘someone who might know him. Like on a more personal level?’
‘I know what she meant, love.’ She shrugged. ‘He sees a bit of this bloke from schooldays. Maybe him.’
Sean had his pen and notebook ready.
‘Phil Nordern, he’s called. Still lives round these parts.’
‘No address?’ Magda asked.
She shook her head. ‘Keeps the parks clean.’ She gestured with her chin. ‘Saw him working in Debdale not long ago when I was walking the dog.’
As they returned to the car, Sean let out a sigh. ‘Didn’t even ask how he’d been killed. If he’d suffered. How could she not even ask that?’