56

Sally Cash was no fat lady, but boy could she sing. Nearly a week down the line and her canary-like vocals had been music to Bev’s ears. In protracted police interviews Cash had pointed more fingers at her co-conspirators than an audience of five-year-olds at a pantomime villain. Not so much, He’s behind you as They’re behind it. Little good it did her. Cash would go down with the other two. Their testimonies had led to murder charges and all three had been remanded in custody. And led the usual suspects to a celebratory night out at The Station, though Mac’s gig might have had something to do with it – and with Stacey’s beaming presence at the top table.

Sipping a lime and soda, Bev cut the pair a covert glance, reckoned they looked jolly cosy, pallying up to each other on the banquette. Course it could be wishful thinking on the part of Bev’s inner Cupid.

‘We were just talking about Sally Cash, sarge,’ Stacey called. ‘We reckon she coughed ’cause she couldn’t live with the guilt.’

‘Aye,’ Mac wiped a hand across his mouth. ‘As a greater man than me put it: conscience doth make cowards of us all.’

‘Coward?’ Bev gave one of her snorts. ‘That’s rich. Conniving more like. She’ll bank on giving Queen’s evidence getting her a reduced sentence.’

‘Not that you’re cynical or anything,’ Mac winked as he raised his glass to her.

‘Come on, mate. She’s as culpable as her buddies, and as grasping. Blood thicker than water? Yeah, right. Try telling Cash, Gibbs and Langley that.’ Christ, it sounded more like a firm of hot-shot lawyers than a bunch of scheming slime balls.

‘Cash by name, cash by nature.’ Powell gave a sage nod.

Bev raised an eyebrow. Wondered how long it had taken him to come up with the line. ‘Nice one, gaffer.’

He sniffed. ‘True what they say about money, though.’

‘Please don’t.’ Bev rolled her eyes. If anyone else came out with the ‘root of all evil’ line she’d swing for them. Mind, Josh Manners’ evil deeds had come down to lucre in the end. If Chloe was right, he’d acted as accessory to murder so as not to be left penniless by his nearest and not so dearest. He’d neither confirm nor deny – he’d died in hospital two days ago. Either way, poor Shannon Henderson and the old dosser had certainly paid a hefty price. The post-mortem mutilation had been unnecessarily cruel and vindictive. As for shaving Shannon’s head, Bev wondered if the Manners saw it as sheer humiliation for a girl who’d brought shame on the family.

Sighing, she glanced at her watch. ‘When you on, Mac?’

‘About nine. Why?’

‘Sod it. I’m gonna have to love you and leave you in a min. Promised my mum I’d nip round.’

‘No worries.’ Fibber. He looked more crestfallen than a cockatoo with dropsy.

‘Sorry, mate.’ She raised a placatory palm. Hated lying to him at the best of times and this was anything but. She’d had a word earlier with Nina Night Nurse – asked if she could drop by to see Curran, say goodnight.

‘Hey, sarge, before you go.’ Stacey dug a hand in her jeans pocket, then slipped her a fiver.

Bev frowned. ‘What’s this for, then?’

‘Your share of the winnings.’

‘You what?’

‘The lottery. I bought a ticket with that change from the coffee machine. Like you said.’

There were a couple of whoops from round the table and Daz came out with a few bars of ‘Money, Money, Money’.

‘Ta, Stace.’ Bev gave a lopsided smile. ‘I’ll be able to splash out now.’

‘Don’t spend it all at once, boss’ – grinning, Mac held her gaze – ‘and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’