Snakes and Ladders Page 11

  ‘It just… doesn’t make sense, does it? What’s the motive? They were best mates growing up, joined at the hip right up until Matt gets killed. No evidence of them falling out at any point.’

  Jack considered this for a moment. ‘Maybe Connor wanted it all to himself. Greed corrupts. We know that.’

  ‘But the statement from Matt’s girlfriend, Jenny, says Matt was looking to get out of that game anyway and start with a clean slate.’

  ‘Maybe Matt wanted out and Connor didn’t like that. He saw his easy little money-spinner about to fall down and reacted badly.’

  ‘I mean, come on. We ain’t talking mafia kingpins here, are we? They don’t just go popping off their mates because they want to run the empire. They’re kids flogging a bit of weed. It don’t stack up.’

  ‘That’s for him to tell us or not tell us, Steve,’ Jack replied. ‘The court’s not going to worry about what motive he might or might not’ve had. The important thing is we can place him at the scene — he’s admitted as much and is on CCTV — and we’ve got his prints on the knife, which we can probably assume is the murder weapon.’

  ‘But what if it’s not? We’re assuming it is, but thirteen percent of people have that blood type.’

  ‘Yeah, and only one has those fingerprints. Connor French. What are his prints doing on a bloodstained knife, eh? What are the odds?’

  ‘We still don’t know for certain, though. Plus Connor was in custody when the knife was found. It wouldn’t stand up in court.’

  ‘It’s irrelevant when the knife was found. It’s when it was dumped that counts, and that could easily have happened before Connor was in custody. And anyway, it doesn’t need to stand up in court. What’ll stand up in court is those DNA results coming back and confirming that blood is Matthew Hulford’s. Then it’s game, set and match.’

  ‘I know what you’re saying,’ Wendy interjected, ‘but a half-decent brief could still get him off that. Just because Connor touched that knife at some point doesn’t necessarily mean he cut Matthew’s throat with it. They’re not finding any blood on Connor’s tracksuit or trainers, either. Nothing that actually directly links back to him. I mean, we know he’s fairly smart when it comes to covering his tracks, but there’s no way a kid of his age can kill someone as brutally as that without leaving any sort of forensic trace. No-one could. It’s not possible.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘No, sorry. I’m not going in for coincidence over weight of evidence, even if that evidence is mostly circumstantial at the moment. Let’s look at this logically. Is it more likely that we’re missing one or two pieces of crucial evidence that could put the case to bed, or that the evidence we have got is all wrong and just a massive coincidence that points to Connor French having killed Matthew Hulford?’ Jack looked around the room. None of his team gave him a response, but he could tell by looking at them they weren’t entirely convinced. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Either way, it doesn’t make a blind bit of bloody difference. We make sure the evidence we’ve got is watertight. We look for more. We wait for the results to come through on the tests. Whatever crackpot theories anyone’s got, the to-do list remains the same. Right?’

  34

  Jack had been half-expecting to receive the phone call, but it had still come as something of a surprise. After everything that had happened, he took mild comfort that he could at least predict some aspects of his old friend’s behaviour.

  He walked in through the front doors of the prison and handed his personal belongings over at reception, before being met and taken through to see Frank. It felt strangely familiar, although he knew — hoped — this visit would end differently from the last.

  Frank was sitting at the table waiting when Jack arrived, and he held eye contact with the man as he sat down and said his hellos.

  ‘How’s your arse?’

  ‘Mostly healed now,’ Frank replied.

  ‘Never mind. They told me you wanted to see me.’

  Frank sighed. ‘Yeah. I’ve been thinking over what you said to me last time you were here.’

  ‘I thought you might.’

  ‘I know you did. Look, you know I want to send that cunt down for what he’s done to me. To all of us. You know I do. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Jack. But you’ve got to believe me when I say it’s not that easy. This,’ he said, pointing to his backside, ‘this was just a warning. You know how it goes. You reckon this is gonna be the last of it? You don’t think I’m passing my porridge through a fucking sieve before it goes anywhere near my lips? You think I don’t sleep with one eye open? Fuck, Jack, I haven’t slept in weeks.’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Frank, your bedtime routine is none of my concern right now. I think I’d be more worried if you were sleeping soundly at night after what you did.’

  ‘I know. I know. I’m just… I’m scared, Jack.’

  Jack broke eye contact and looked off towards the other side of the room. ‘Yeah. Well, what do you expect.’

  ‘I don’t expect anything other than what I deserve. I know that. But it still doesn’t mean I want it. Not when there’s something I can do about it that’ll help make this all go away.’

  ‘What, and you deserve for it all to go away, do you?’

  ‘No. That’s not what I mean. But you were right. I can help bring McCann down. I don’t expect to be thanked for it or held up as some sort of Wyatt Earp figure, but who’d you rather have rotting in here, Jack? Me or McCann?’

  ‘Can I pay extra and get both?’

  ‘Heh. Well, I won’t be getting out for some time anyway. And it’s not me I’m worried about. While I keep my mouth shut, the family’s safe. I don’t know how long that guarantee lasts. Until I talk, presumably.’

  Jacks sighed. ‘I know what you mean. And yeah, I can see you’re scared. But look at it this way. Do you feel any sense of loyalty to McCann at all?’

  ‘Fuck no.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s fear, right? Fear that he might hurt your family. And yeah, for some people who’re working for him, money will be a motivator. But believe me, Frank, there’s no bugger out there who’s loyal to him for the sake of loyalty. You know how he treats people. How he operates. The second he’s inside and doesn’t have any power over them, he’s done for. His minions ain’t gonna be falling over themselves to help him out.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I know far more about Gary McCann than most people ever will, believe you me.’

  Frank leaned forward, resting his arms on the table in front of him. ‘I’m scared, Jack.’

  ‘I know. I know. Look, I can’t make any promises. You know how these things work. But what if I can look into keeping the family safe?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I dunno. I haven’t got that far yet. There’ll be something. But I’ll be honest, Frank, it depends on what you’ve got. It has to be something that’ll bring McCann down once and for all. No ifs or buts.’

  ‘Yeah. I know. Don’t worry, I know how this works. I know a thing or two about evidence thresholds. You think I didn’t make sure I had an insurance policy up my sleeve the whole time? Trust me, Jack, I made damn sure I wouldn’t be left high and dry. I know as well as you do what McCann’s like. It was a calculated risk.’

  ‘Yeah? And how you feeling about that calculation now?’

  Frank leaned back in his chair. ‘If you’re asking me do I regret what I did, then yeah, course. Who wouldn’t? I threw the fucking lot away, didn’t I? Might as well’ve just started robbing banks at sixteen. Could’ve retired a whole lot earlier.’

  ‘You don’t need to talk like that,’ Jack said.

  ‘Yeah I do. It helps. The more I tell myself what a fucking waste it’s all been, the more I realise I haven’t got anything to lose. Listen, Jack. You get me those assurances the family’ll be safe. That McCann’ll be under lock and key and his little minions aren’t gonna be causing trouble. Then I’ll tell you everything I know.’

  Jack looked h
is old friend in the eye. He’d been around long enough to know bullshit from sincerity when he saw it, and he was under no illusion that Frank Vine was telling him the truth.

  ‘Alright,’ he said, straightening his back. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  35

  Jack’s head was pounding by the time he parked his car on the driveway that evening. He felt like it was about to explode with all the thoughts and stresses running through it. He knew he should probably drink more water — or less coffee — and that he never really gave himself enough time to switch off. But it wasn’t as easy as that.

  He’d never been great at switching off, and as a result he’d never practised or learned how to. Now he needed to, he had no idea where to start. He’d known a number of colleagues who’d self-medicated with alcohol — and he’d been there himself on and off — but that’d never provided him with a long-term solution. Over the years he’d just learned to deal with the stress, although he knew in reality all that did was make him a ticking time bomb, liable to explode at any moment.

  He opened the front door and called inside to let Chrissie and Emily know he was home, but got no response. Then he remembered: Chrissie said she was going to go to the supermarket after work to pick up the weekly shop. He glanced at his watch. She should be home within the hour, he reckoned. Just enough time to put his feet up and watch some crap on telly, or even have a bath.

  He headed upstairs to find Emily, who seemed to be spending most of her time holed up in her bedroom recently. Despite the unconventional upbringing and the heavy pregnancy, she was still a stereotypical teenager in so many ways. He knocked on her door, having learned the hard way not to just walk in unannounced.

  ‘You there, Em?’ he called, wondering for a moment if she might have gone to the supermarket with Chrissie. Almost as soon as he’d had the thought, he’d dismissed it as ridiculous. Besides which, he was sure he could hear noises. ‘Em?’ he called. ‘Alright if I come in?’

  He pulled the handle down and pushed the door open a little, just in case there was something he didn’t want to see. Emily was sitting on her bed, back against the headboard, knees pulled up as close to her as her protruding belly would allow, crying.

  ‘Em? What’s up?’ he said, sitting down on the bed next to her, fearing the worst. There didn’t seem to be any evidence of… issues. ‘What’s the matter, darling?’

  ‘Trust me. You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Are you okay? Is the… y’know. Is everything okay?’

  ‘The baby’s fine. I’m fine.’

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So what’s the matter?’ he asked.

  Emily took a few moments to compose herself before speaking. ‘It’s mum,’ she said, eventually.

  A flood of worries surged through Jack. What’d happened to Helen? Was she dead? How did he feel about this?

  ‘What about her?’ he asked, as calmly as he could.

  ‘She texted me.’

  Jack considered this for a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay. Is she alright? What’s the matter? Why are you upset?’

  ‘I dunno,’ she said, crying again. ‘Maybe it’s hormones. Maybe I just… I dunno. She just started by saying “hi” and stuff. Asking how I was. I played along for a bit. Didn’t tell her about the baby or anything. I thought maybe she wanted something so I sort of strung it out to see.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  Emily unlocked her phone and handed it to Jack. ‘Look for yourself.’

  Jack looked at the phone and scrolled through the text messages.

  The first one was from Emily:

  * * *

  Yeah we’re OK. Dad working hard as always. What about u? X

  * * *

  Helen’s reply was immediately below:

  * * *

  Some things never change eh? :) On that note… quite a lot changed for me. Got myself clean. Starting to get life back on track. Never too late, or so they say… x

  * * *

  Jack thought about this for a moment. Did he believe a word of it? And what did Helen want?

  He read Emily’s next message:

  * * *

  That’s good. And no… never too late. Main thing is ur happy. Where are u living at the mo? X

  * * *

  Reading between the lines, it seemed to Jack as though Emily was being polite, but at the same time deliberately not giving too much away about herself, instead using the opportunity to find out about her mum.

  When he read Helen’s reply, though, he half-wished Emily hadn’t asked:

  * * *

  I wanted to talk to you about that. I know things haven’t been great between us all over the past few years, but your nan and grandad are getting on. Don’t know if you keep in touch with them after all that happened. Long story short, I’m back in Mildenheath so wanted to drop you a line. Just thought it better to tell you myself rather than you finding out by seeing me in Tescos or something! I was hoping we could meet up for coffee and a chat soon. We’ve got a LOT to catch up on x

  * * *

  ‘She’s back?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Yeah. So she says.’

  Jack put an arm round his daughter. ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.

  Emily shrugged. ‘Not best pleased. Why’s she got to come back now? We’re just getting things back on track. And what with… y’know…’

  ‘Hey, it’s okay. I know. I know. Is that all the messages?’

  ‘Yeah. She only sent that about a minute before you came home. I just… I didn’t know what to say back to her.’

  ‘What do you want to say?’

  Emily shrugged again. ‘I dunno. I forgot you’d even given her my number. I mean, she’s my mum, but I’ve not seen her in so long, and every time she resurfaces stuff seems to go wrong. Why’s she come back anyway? She’s not bothered about looking after nan and grandad for the last few years, has she? Let’s face it, she wasn’t even bothered about looking after her own daughter, never mind anyone else.’

  Jack couldn’t disagree with that, but he’d made himself an early promise not to talk Helen down in front of Emily. As she rightly said, Helen was still her mum.

  A thought crossed his mind: what would he say to Chrissie? What would he say to Helen about Chrissie? Did he need to say anything at all? Was it even any of Helen’s business? Would she try to cause trouble, see Chrissie as having taken her place? How would he even try to begin to broach that subject with either of them?

  As always, Helen’s timing was perfect. Chrissie had only just moved in, Emily was weeks away from giving birth and Jack was — as usual — up to his elbows at work. There was no way Helen could’ve known any of this, but it was typical of the way her life tended to operate itself — causing maximum destruction at the most pivotal of times in everyone else’s lives. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to suggest she stay as far away from Mildenheath as possible. If there was damage to be caused, Helen would cause it — to everyone and everything, but most especially of all to herself.

  And as he looked at his daughter and the effect Helen had caused without even being here, he realised her destructive forces reached further than he’d ever imagined.

  36

  Jack spent most of the rest of the evening in a daze. He only knew one thing: Helen would cause trouble. More often than not, that trouble was something that could be dealt with, but there was far too much at stake now. Emily was at a crucial stage in her pregnancy, and they were all — finally — happy. Jack had already lost that all once, and there was no way he was going to risk it happening again. There was no way they could hide Helen’s first grandchild from her and, quite frankly, Jack knew she’d be a danger.

  He knew he had to act fast. If Helen was already back, he didn’t have time to waste. Legally, though, there was nothing he could do. Helen hadn’t threatened any of them. She hadn’t physically harmed any of them. She technically still owned half the house and was Jack’s wife. His options were severely limite
d, but there was one thing he knew: he had to do something.

  He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few moments, listening for any sounds. Emily and Chrissie had gone up to bed some time ago and would now be fast asleep, but he needed to be certain. When no noise came, he slipped his shoes on, shrugged on his jacket and let himself out as quietly as he could. He felt thankful that both Emily and Chrissie had taken to being in bed by nine most evenings, as it gave him a little time to do what he needed to do tonight.

  A few minutes later, he pulled his car onto the end of the familiar driveway, before stepping out onto the gravel to press the buzzer on the gates.

  ‘Well well well,’ the voice said. ‘Is this is a social visit or is it strictly business?’

  ‘Both,’ Jack replied.

  ‘Can I see your warrant, officer?’

  Jack peered at the pinhole camera on the control panel, then showed it his middle finger. A moment later, the gate began to whir and open.

  By the time Jack had driven his car up the drive and parked it near the house, the front door was open and Gary McCann was standing on the threshold, smirking in his purple jumper and stone chinos.

  ‘You still driving that old thing?’ he asked Jack.

  ‘We’re aging disgracefully together. Anyone else in? Oh wait. Sorry. I forgot.’

  ‘Very good. I see you’ve been brushing up on your comedy. Why don’t you come inside and tell me the one about the bent copper and the petrol stations?’

  Jack seethed inwardly at McCann’s obsequious smile and wanted nothing more than to punch him right in the sodding face, but he couldn’t. He was here for a reason. And it was far from unusual for the two of them to engage in verbal sparring whenever their paths crossed.