Halfway home, he remembered about Frankie and Manny. The dashboard clock now read 10.31 p.m. Street Eats, if he recalled correctly, swung by Castlefield to drop food off at about quarter to eleven. I can make that, he thought, relishing how quiet the roads were.
His car’s tyres rumbled as he drove slowly down the cobbled side road towards the arches. The lights at the perimeter of the apartment block’s car park spilled across the patch of wasteland. Sean immediately spotted the charity’s white van parked up near the railway arch. Dark figures floated in the shadows on its far side.
After locking his vehicle Sean ambled across. The temperature was noticeably colder. He could see Sheila Marshall beside a fold-out table on which were several piles of rolls and pastries. A light shifted in the van’s interior and her husband, Colin, held a hand out from the open doors. ‘Here we go. Rich Tea biscuits. I knew we had some.’
A hunched form stepped forward. ‘Grand, that is. Thanks.’
Sean checked the other people and immediately picked out Manny’s towering silhouette. High above them all, a tram slid across the top of the arches, windows bright yellow against the dark sky.
Careful not to look at Manny, Sean approached the van. ‘Evening. I recently came to see you …’
‘Hi, yes.’ Sheila smiled. ‘Sean, isn’t it?’
Relief she hadn’t revealed him to be a police officer. ‘That’s right.’
‘We have some ten kilo sacks of Basmati back at the lock-up,’ Colin called from inside the van. ‘Just thought I’d mention it in case you wanted to do a bit more stacking.’
Sheila tutted. ‘Don’t listen to him. Is everything all right? Cup of tea?’
Sean was tempted, but he shook his head. ‘I’m ready for my bed, actually. I just hoped to leave a couple of photos with you. Perhaps you could show them to anyone you think might be able to help …’ He glanced casually towards the figures nearby, knowing his words were being listened to.
Sheila nodded knowingly. ‘Of course.’
He handed the clearest images he had of the blonde-haired woman. ‘If anyone thinks they might have seen her in the last few days, it would be really helpful to know.’
As he crossed the wooden floor of his new apartment, the hollow thud of his footsteps accentuated its emptiness. He paused to kick off his shoes and throw his jacket over the back of the sofa. This place needs rugs, he thought. Having found the key to the balcony doors in the cutlery drawer, he slid them back and stepped out onto the balcony. He listened to the city, trying to gauge its mood by the sounds drifting up.
The drone of traffic moving along Great Ancoats Street away to his left. A single distant siren. Laughter and snatches of music carrying from the bars that thronged the Northern Quarter. His mind went back to the people that had been drinking in that funny little beer garden. He pictured placing a drink on the table and taking a seat beside them. Not in his work clothes: jeans and a T-shirt. What would he say to them? What would he talk about? All he really knew was police work. That, and looking after his mum. He had so little in common with ordinary people. Anyone his own age. Unless they’d also lost their childhood to caring for a family member.
Sometimes he felt prematurely old. Sometimes he wondered if he should ever have become a policeman. It had only been because that’s what Janet had done for a living. And now she was dead.
He closed his eyes and pictured her face. Her endless energy for getting jobs done. He tried to think how she’d approach this investigation. How she’d play it. Don’t overcomplicate things. That was her mantra. The number of times she’d said to him that criminals were stupid. That’s why they ended up as criminals. They didn’t think things through before committing a crime. They didn’t factor in how not to leave evidence during the act. They didn’t reflect on how best to avoid detection afterwards. So don’t overcomplicate things when you’re trying to catch one.
But this investigation seemed different. So many things suggested a great deal of planning had taken place. He sensed that the person responsible – if it was just one person – was far from stupid. Could it really be Jordan Hughes? The voicemail on Lee Goodwin’s phone echoed in his head. Dan’s back.
It didn’t make sense.
He suppressed a yawn, aware his mum would keep going, keep pushing forward, knowing the sheer pressure would lead to some kind of revelation, eventually. The old doubts started nudging their way into his mind. You’ll never be as good as her. You’re not a natural like her. You don’t see things in the same clear way as her. You only got the position in the SCU because she called in a massive favour.
He dipped his head, wishing she was still alive. Just a few words of advice. A bit of encouragement. You’re doing fine, Sean. Don’t worry.
Directly below, the shimmer of light on the old canal wharfs caught his eye. Scraps of brilliance stuck to their oily surfaces. Water. It had played a part in so many of the murders. He tipped his head back as if the movement might sift his thoughts, rearrange them so an answer showed through.
Nothing.
Turning his back on the city, he went inside. As soon as the screen of his iMac came to life, he moved the cursor towards the Snowdonia Wolf Sanctuary icon. Not bothering to even check the pack’s sleeping area, he went directly to the camera that overlooked the enclosure’s pool. There she was, seated at its edge, head angled down as she pondered the shining surface before her.
His phone started to ring. The fact it was so late sparked a familiar flare of unease. It’s not Janet, he told himself. She’s not at home needing your help. She’s dead. And the house you grew up in will soon be gone.
When he retrieved the handset from his jacket it was Sheila Marshall’s name on the screen. ‘Evening, Sheila.’
‘I am sorry; I hope it isn’t too late?’
‘Not at all.’
‘That’s a relief. I had visions of you being fast asleep. Only I managed to corner Manny – show him the photos you left? At the time, he said nothing, but then he whispered something to me as I was packing the van.’
‘What?’
‘“Tell him it looks just like her.” That’s all.’
Sean sat back. On the iMac’s screen, Kaska seemed to scent something. Muzzle lifted high, she rose to her feet and padded from sight.
‘That’s great, Sheila. Tell Manny I said thanks.’