The Grangers lived in Wythenshawe on a vast, sprawling housing estate just off the M56.
DI Taylor had no problem finding the address; he knew the estate well, having walked this beat as a wooden top. ‘You wait in the car,’ he said to DC Waters. ‘Don’t want to come back and find it sitting on bricks.’
Waters was glad to leave this job to Taylor. He pulled a Greggs sausage roll out of his pocket and took a bite.
‘Bloody hell, Waters,’ said Taylor, getting out. ‘That’s going to leave bits everywhere.’
‘What? I’ll be careful. Oh, and chuck us the keys, gov − for the heater. It’s bloody freezing.’
Tutting, Taylor obliged then walked towards the house, a terraced two-up two-down.
Mr Granger opened the front door.
‘Hello, Mr Granger? I’m DI Taylor.’
Tom Granger gave a languid nod. For him, life was moving in slow motion – still in shock.
Taylor followed him into the lounge where Mrs Granger was standing, wringing her hands. The house was immaculate. Taylor wasn’t surprised; he’d come to learn how grief affected people differently. Some just gave up and dropped everything, while others clung to old routines like vacuuming, ironing or washing themselves. Trinkets on the mantelpiece and photos on the walls told a story of family life.
Taylor could see at a glance that these were hard working, modest people.
Mrs Granger’s eyes followed Taylor’s to a photograph of Molly on the coffee table. ‘We only had the one. IVF. We got lucky,’ she said, without any hint of irony.
‘Beautiful little girl,’ said Taylor, and he meant it. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
She ignored the condolences. Must have heard them a thousand times. Nothing would bring Molly back. ‘Would you like to see her room?’
Taylor was about to explain that it wasn’t necessary, but Mr Granger got there first: ‘Sandra, he don’t need to.’ Mr Granger turned to Taylor and said, ‘She’s been dusting it all morning, ever since you phoned to say you were coming.’
Taylor’s heart went out to them. Showing a policeman her dead daughter’s room was a way of keeping her memory alive, paying tribute. ‘Yes, I would like to see it. Thank you.’
Taylor followed Sandra up the stairs to Molly’s bedroom. Everything left just as it was, perhaps a little tidier. Crayon drawings on the walls. ‘She was an artist?’ Taylor observed.
Sandra didn’t reply, but surveyed the scene as if seeing the room anew, noticing everything, marvelling at the wonder of it. Then: ‘I don’t know what I’ll do now.’
Taylor had no answer. Seeing Molly’s room hit home. He felt guilty for turning his nose up at the case. Whether their little girl was murdered by a serial killer or killed by a dangerous driver, the loss to the Grangers was the same. Either way, they wanted justice.
Back downstairs, without waiting for an invitation, Taylor sat on the sofa. His hosts no longer considered such formalities.
Taylor began: ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to take witness statements from you, about what happened. I hope it won’t take too long.’
‘Is it true he fell asleep at the wheel?’ asked Mr Granger.
‘Who told you that?’
‘A police officer at the hospital.’
‘We don’t know at this stage, still investigating.’ Taylor was annoyed. He didn’t like witnesses being given information before they had made statements. There was a way of doing things. He thought the Grangers should have been asked to give an account at the hospital but according to the officer in charge of the investigation at that time, they were in no fit state.
Mr Granger explained to Taylor that the impact was the first he knew about it, and that he was briefly knocked unconscious, remembering little after the crash. Sandra Granger had a much clearer recollection: ‘I could see it, in my mirror, just gliding towards us.’ The agony of remembering the critical moment was etched on her face. ‘Then it smashed into the side, at the back. Molly were in ’er booster. After we stopped, I were afraid to turn around. Scared of what I might find. And when I did…’ She broke down, sobbing into her husband’s shoulder.
Taylor changed the subject: ‘Just one more question, then we’re done. Could you see into the vehicle at all, before the impact?’
‘Yes. There were an Asian lady in the passenger seat and a man in t’ driving seat. He were asleep?’
‘You actually saw that?’
‘Oh aye.’
‘How could you tell he was asleep as opposed to being, say, unconscious?’
She paused. Eventually she answered: ‘Cos he woke up. Saw him open his eyes, just before he hit us, but it were too late.’
‘Are you absolutely sure, Mrs Granger?’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ she replied.
Taylor now had an eyewitness to the crucial moments before impact.
A cast iron case.