Their footsteps echoed beneath the high roof of the Manchester Craft Centre. From the open floor design, Sean guessed the building had been an indoor market, once. Now, small units lined either side of the central area. Through many of the open doorways he could see solitary figures at work. Windows displayed ceramics, jewellery, paintings and wood-turned objects.
‘I know where I’m bringing George when it’s my birthday,’ Magda said, pausing to take a closer look at a necklace that seemed to consist of a single ivy leaf dipped in liquid gold.
Sean looked up at the first-floor balcony that continued round all four walls: more stuff for sale up there. There was a pair of doors at the far end with an exit sign above them.
‘Hang on,’ Magda said. ‘Have I got any food stuck to my face?’
‘No,’ Sean replied, thinking about the Chinese buns they’d stuffed while walking across the city centre. The chicken one had been bloody lovely. ‘What about me?’
‘No, you’re good.’
The doors at the far end opened out on a typical Northern Quarter back street: narrow, shady and strewn with graffiti. On the brick wall facing him was a stencilled image of three chimpanzees. Hear No Evil was wearing headphones, Speak No Evil and See No Evil had mirror sunglasses.
He looked right and, sitting on a low wall, was a couple. Manny was exactly as described. Painfully thin with a pudding-bowl haircut. Sean was expecting the woman beside him to have bleached hair – that was the shade of the woman’s who had attacked him in the stairwell of the NCP car park. But Frankie’s hair was a vivid blue. And it was short. As he got nearer, he could see she was a lot plumper than the woman from that night.
‘Frankie and Manny? I just spoke with Colin.’
Manny started to haul himself to his feet. It was like a praying mantis unfolding itself. He had to be six feet two, at least. Prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes. Quite feminine.
Sean noticed that Magda was hanging back slightly. She glanced uneasily behind her, as if they’d been lured into a trap. Sean moved closer to the couple, noticing that Frankie wasn’t bothering to get up or make eye contact. ‘Did Colin mention we’re trying to get a picture of events—’
‘Yeah,’ Manny crossed his arms, hands gripping his ribs like he was cold. ‘Saturday night.’
‘Do you want to sit down somewhere?’ He gestured behind him. ‘There’s a cafe in there.’
His head stayed dipped and he spoke towards the ground. ‘Better here. You know how it is, talking to plod.’
Frankie reached up a hand and Manny took it in his. Sean saw their fingers making small circling motions.
‘OK, if you’re sure. So that night you were under the railway arch down in Castlefield. Was Lee Goodwin also there?’
Manny’s head shook.
‘When did you last see him?’
‘It was getting dark. About eight?’
‘This was under the arch?’
‘No – he was on the towpath, heading towards Deansgate Locks.’
Where his body was found, thought Sean.
Voices came from nearby. Manny’s eyes cut nervously to the intersection behind him. A couple of blokes in hi-vis jackets ambled by, oblivious to the little meeting off to their side.
‘He had his sleeping bag with him,’ Manny added, turning back to Sean.
‘A red one?’
‘Yeah. So I thought, maybe, he was setting up by the exit of Deansgate Station. It’s a good spot.’
‘But …?’
‘He was with someone else.’
Sean glanced at Magda. ‘Could you see this person very clearly?’
‘Not really. They were both walking away from us.’
‘How tall was he? Compared to Lee.’
Manny glanced directly at Sean. Both his eyes were quite bloodshot. ‘Wasn’t a he.’
‘Sorry?’ Sean couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.
‘It was a woman.’
‘The person accompanying Lee was a woman?’
‘Blonde,’ Frankie muttered, still hunched forward. ‘Bleachy blonde.’
Same as the female who attacked me, Sean thought. ‘This woman: what could you say about her?’
Frankie shrugged, so Sean turned to Manny.
‘Dark coat. About the same height as him. Quite slim, I’d guess,’ he replied.
Sean looked over at Magda. Well, this is unexpected. She returned the look then gave him an encouraging nod.
‘Were they talking?’ Sean asked.
‘Yeah, he was.’
‘Like they knew each other?’
‘Well … they seemed relaxed.’
Frankie suddenly came to life. ‘Thought he’d pulled.’ Her giggle was too loud. It bordered on anguish. ‘Didn’t we, Manny? Thought he’d pulled!’ She rocked with silent laughter.
Sean found himself staring at her. Realized that’s exactly what she wouldn’t want, so quickly looked away. He addressed Manny once more. ‘And you didn’t see Lee later that night?’
‘He never came back. Next thing was you lot showing up at the arch, searching his tent and that.’
‘OK.’ Sean paused. Tried to process the information. Where did that leave Army Coat? Did he come across Lee later? If so, what happened to the mystery female? ‘You didn’t recognize this woman?’
‘Nope.’
‘Would you say she was a rough sleeper?’
‘No. You don’t get that many ladies sleeping out, do you Frankie?’
Her head moved from side to side. ‘Posh bird, we said, didn’t we, Manny?’
Sean looked down at her. ‘Why posh?’
Realizing she was the target of his question, her head shrank into her shoulders.
‘Her trainers looked new,’ Manny interjected. ‘And her hair was tied back in a ponytail. Neat looking.’
‘And you said she was blonde?’
‘That’s right.’
Sean bowed his head. ‘So … thinking about—’ Magda’s phone went off, breaking his train of thought. ‘Later … later that night, a man appeared. Was there some kind of argument?’
Manny nodded. ‘He was acting like a complete arsehole.’
‘Twat!’ Frankie spat the word out.
‘He wanted to know where Lee was,’ Manny continued. ‘Said he knew he was round and about … said we had to tell him.’
‘And did you?’
‘Did we fuck. No one knew this guy. He’s acting all bolshy. We told him to jog on. He fucked off eventually.’
‘Was this him?’ Sean asked, unzipping his attaché and bringing the image of Army Coat out.
Frankie lifted her head to see it. ‘Twat! Fucking twat!’
Manny had a faint smile on his face. ‘That’s him. Who is he?’
‘We’re not sure.’ He put the sheet back. ‘But it looks like one of you has a good throw.’
Manny frowned.
‘When I saw him the next day, he had a big lump on his forehead. Like something had been chucked at him.’
They looked at each other with delight.
‘How about a man called Phil Nordern? Do you know him?’
‘Phil the Fisherman? Works in the parks a bit?’
‘Sounds like him.’
‘Mate of Lee’s. They get wasted sometimes together.’
‘Where do they do that?’
‘Lee always goes off to meet him. A place in Gorton, I think.’
‘It’s a regular arrangement?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Have either of you two got a number I can contact you on?’ He noticed Frankie’s head twitch as she looked away. Something guilty about the movement.
‘No,’ Manny said. ‘We don’t carry phones.’
Sean’s eyes lingered on Frankie. She was hunched over once more, suddenly engrossed by the ground.
‘Can I leave you a card, then? Just so you can contact me if anything else comes up. Is that OK?’
Manny shook his head again. ‘Not being funny, but we don’t want a copper’s card in our pockets. Stuff gets blagged, sleeping out. I don’t need anyone finding that.’
‘How about if we contact each other through the couple that run Street Eats? Sheila and Colin.’
Frankie nodded her head and, seeing it, Manny said, ‘OK. We can do that.’
‘Great. And thanks again,’ Sean said, starting to hold his hand out. But Manny was pulling Frankie to her feet. The two of them headed in silence for the road. A quick glance each way and they disappeared round the corner.
Magda said, ‘That was good, Sean. You have a nice way with people.’
‘I thought Frankie looked a bit shifty when I asked for their number.’
‘You did? I didn’t notice.’
‘So, we now have a mystery blonde woman with Lee shortly before he died.’
‘Mmm,’ Magda was gazing towards the street. ‘A honey trap, perhaps. To lure him to the killer.’
‘That could work, I suppose. Who called you just now?’
Magda lifted her phone. ‘Oh. The pathologist: he has some interesting stuff to show us.’
‘In you both come.’ The pathologist was, Sean thought, unusually young. Mid-thirties with pale brown hair in a neat side parting, marred by a stubborn tuft sticking up at the crown. Sean suspected it had plagued the man his entire life. Welcome to the club, he thought, picturing for a moment the thick straggly curls of his own dark hair. If he ever let it grow too long, it soon did whatever it pleased.
They stepped through the doors into the smell of chemicals and, beneath that, the ferrous aroma of blood. The pathologist gestured towards the tables and Sean realized the skin of the man’s hand was unnaturally smooth. Same as his face. Almost wax-like. He had the sudden image of the man sneakily sipping at embalming fluid when no one else was around.
The bodies, he was relieved to see, were all covered with sheets; it would have been slightly awkward studying three naked men with Magda by his side.
Coming to a stop at the first table, the pathologist peeled back the covering to reveal Phil Nordern’s pasty-like face. ‘Our man from Debdale Lake. His tattoo was the first I noticed.’ He folded the sheet back. ‘Here, on the upper part of the rear left shoulder. You see?’
Sean stepped forward. The man’s pale, flabby skin contrasted sharply with the stainless-steel surface of the table. A small mark was visible. ‘Looks like the letter M and the numbers one and eight.’
‘Correct. From the way it’s lost some definition it’s quite old. Well over a decade, I’d say. And of the home-made variety. When you look at Mr Rowe you’ll see the same one in an almost identical position. Excuse the face.’ He folded the material back and Sean made sure to focus solely on the left shoulder. There it was again: M18.
The pathologist approached the last table. ‘Now, unfortunately, I can’t say for certain if the one who died first had the same thing. Damage from propellers and being in the water so long took its toll. Large swathes of flesh are damaged or missing. Would you care to check?’
‘No, we can trust you on that,’ Magda said. ‘Unless, Sean, you’d like …’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll pass, too. Thanks.’
‘Very well.’ The pathologist led them back to the swing doors. ‘The two that were found in water had been heavily sedated. I discovered high levels of a cyclohexanone derivative in their blood. Ketamine. An anaesthetic that, if ingested, takes effect in less than twenty minutes.’
‘You mean if slipped into someone’s drink?’ Sean asked, thinking about the number of cans in Nordern’s fishing tent.
‘Yes. It’s readily available in liquid form.’
‘How helpless would they have been?’ Magda asked.
‘Floppy, possibly some muscle paralysis, depending on the exact dose. They wouldn’t have been able to do much about what was happening.’
‘But the levels weren’t fatal?’
‘No, probably not. Both victims were certainly breathing when they went in the water. Their lungs were flooded. Anyway, I’ll have my reports compiled soon,’ he said, peeling off his latex gloves. ‘Were they all known to each other, then?’
‘It appears so,’ Magda replied. ‘Same school.’
‘Ah. And that was?’
‘Belle Vue High.’
The pathologist nodded. ‘How sweet: a childhood gang. I was in one, too. But to get into mine you only had to sling a raw egg at the side of Mrs Phillip’s house then run away. This lot took it a bit more seriously, did they?’
‘Certainly did,’ replied Magda. ‘I’m just hoping no more members show up dead.’