‘In those spare moments they’ve got,’ Janine remarked wryly. It was no secret that forces were stretched to the limit and under-resourced. Many areas of police work got only perfunctory attention. The relentless demand of reaching targets tended to settle priorities.
‘Plus forensics on Gleason,’ he held the reports in his hand. She came to stand beside him so they could scan them together. Butchers waited, all ears.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Janine. ‘Here. Blue marking on his knees, it matches the traces found on Rosa Milicz.’ She read aloud, ‘Chemical analysis indicates industrial dye.’
‘Blue dye works,’ Butchers said in a rush, ‘Heaton Mersey! It’s closed down now. Kids used to play in the water there, come out blue. They pumped the effluent into the river, the mud; the banks were thick with it.’ His liking for trivia coming up trumps now.
Janine felt the skin on her arms tighten and her stomach muscles contract. Another break. ‘Canal?’ she asked him. It might not be the place.
‘River.’
Janine gestured to the map on the wall, glanced at Butchers. He moved over, pointed out the location to her. It looked good. ‘Get SOCOs to meet us there,’ she instructed him. ‘It could be where Rosa was murdered.’
Janine rang Connie on the way, knowing that it would be impossible to get home on time. Things were happening so fast, there was so much to do. The sheer amount of work gave her a panicky feeling in her stomach, like rodents skittering about. Stupid to think about it like that. Break it down, she admonished herself, manageable chunks, one bit at a time.
Connie insisted that if Janine was going to be any later than half-seven she ring and tell her.
‘Yes, and I’ll get Pete over,’ she replied.
‘You’ll let me know by ten past seven?’
‘Yes. Ten past.’ Janine rolled her eyes. ‘Synchronise watches,’ she muttered as an aside. ‘Bye.’ Janine turned to Richard at the wheel. ‘It’s like my mother’s moved in – except my mother was never this organised.’
‘Do the kids like her?’
‘Tom does, Eleanor reckons she’s bossy. Michael keeps out of her way. I think she frightens Pete – all that efficiency.’
‘How is Pete?’
‘OK.’
‘Round yours a lot?’
She frowned. What did it matter to him? Was he jealous or something? ‘It’s called parenting,’ she said sardonically.
‘Ah.’
She thought about calling him on it but was distracted as they passed Tom’s school. The crossing was festooned with mementoes for Ann-Marie: flowers in cellophane, soft toys, cards. It brought it home anew. The little girl dead, one of the men who knocked her down dead himself, the other on the run. Thankfully Chris Chinley was in the clear; she would make a point of letting him know personally. It wouldn’t change the fact that she’d had to interview him while he was still mourning his loss. He’d probably never forgive her for that. She’d have to live with it. Nothing compared to what the Chinleys had to live with – or without. She looked at Richard; he pulled his mouth down, gave a little sigh. He didn’t need to say anything.
