Dead To Me - Cath Staincliffe

The first book in the Scott & Bailey series, 2012

For Tim – who made it possible

RACHEL BAILEY STOOD, freezing her tits off, on a crime-scene cordon in north Manchester. From her vantage point, at the edge of the recreation ground, she had a view across the rows of rooftops that rippled down the hillside, punctuated here and there by the bulk of a mill rising from the streets built in the same red brick as everything else. One she could see had its name picked out in white brick on the square mill tower: Heron. Rachel had been brought up in streets like this; well, dragged herself up, more like. A couple of miles to the west. Sunny Langley. Manchester didn’t really stop, Rachel thought; there were boundaries of course, but you couldn’t see the join. The city bled into the satellite towns that ringed the plain: Oldham, Rochdale, Ashton and on to even higher ground. The houses gradually changing from these brick mill terraces to stone-built weaver’s cottages, getting smaller and sparser as the developments petered out on the foothills of the Pennines. The place looked tired and mucky this time of year, the brick dull, trees bare, the grass on the field yellow and scrubby.

Rachel shivered and stamped one foot then another. Sparrow’s fart, November and she could see her breath, the same colour as the mist that hovered over the recreation ground, rising and floating a couple of feet above the grass. A special effect from a horror movie, but this was real life, her life. Nowhere else she’d rather be.

Manchester city centre lay on the far horizon, muffled in cloud, the Hilton tower breaking through, a tall, straight line. Nick’s flat was near there. He would be down at the station now, Piccadilly to Euston. He was opening for the defence at the Old Bailey tomorrow. She couldn’t help grinning as she remembered his excitement last night; his chambers were really backing him, a rising star. Impossible to know how long he’d be away for. But that was the score. My hotshot barrister, she thought, not bad for a kid from the wrong side of the tracks.

She narrowed her eyes as a car drew up and parked on the edge of the outer cordon. Her role, until uniform arrived and took over, was to make sure no one gained entry who didn’t need to be there. Protect and secure the scene, preserve and recover evidence. One stray person could ruin everything. Today Rachel was an intelligent guard dog. She only knew the basics at this stage: dead body, white male.