Cold Blood by Jane Heafield (great books to read txt) 📕

‘Has she got a new family now?’

The question hit him like a fist, but Joe didn’t look upset. It seemed to be genuine curiosity, and it swayed Liam’s hand.

‘Yes. She has a husband. And a child.’

‘A new boy?’

‘Well, it’s a daughter. Five years old.’

‘Is this because she didn’t want me? She didn’t want a son?’

Bennet sat on the bed and stroked Joe’s shoulder. ‘No, not at all. Me and your mother… we didn’t work out. She moved away and made new friends and a new life. She met a man and they married. Married people have children sometimes. That’s all it is.’

‘So she won’t move back home?’

‘I don’t want you to expect that we’d be a family again. But she wants to see you and that’s good. It means you can get to hang out with her at weekends, or once a month. She’ll be in your life again. Will that be okay? Do you understand what I said?’

He nodded. ‘She won’t be my proper mother.’

‘She will, but she won’t live with us. Is that okay?’

‘Yes. I can play with her. And I have a new sister.’

Bennet wasn’t sure Joe did fully understand. ‘Half-sister. But, Joe, you have to understand something. You might not see your mother as often as you’d like. It might not be often at all. You might not meet the rest of her family, at least not at first.’

‘So I won’t ever meet my sister?’

Bennet felt he was tying himself in knots. God, he’d interrogated and broken down vicious killers, but he didn’t know how to proceed with a ten-year-old boy.

4

On Saturday afternoon, while out bowling with Joe, Bennet got a call from one of his team. Six months ago, Detective Constable Henderson had thrown up at her first murder scene and announced she was quitting; now she had her sights on promotion and often did weekends off the clock.

‘Liam, we got another call from Helium Girl. Same silly disguised voice trick. It was about twenty minutes ago. I have a copy of the recording on my phone. It’s the same phone box in Wombwell.’

Bennet watched Joe send a bright-green bowling ball into the gutter. ‘Okay, send me it. Thank you.’

On Thursday the 16th an anonymous female caller, with a voice disguised by sucking on helium, had claimed to have information and was willing to talk to a senior detective, face to face. She had promised to call back with details of a meeting place, but so far hadn’t. The call had been traced to a payphone on a busy commercial street in Wombwell.

It was one of myriad calls the incident room had received, but this one had gotten interest because the caller sounded like a teenager. Everyone involved in the lethal football game at Buttery Park had been a teenager: maybe she knew one or more of them. But with no clues found at the payphone, all the team could do was wait for the tipster to call again.

DC Henderson sent the recording by email. Once more Bennet listened to a voice made comical by helium: ‘I don’t have anything for you peelers. I was wrong.’ A pause here, probably while the caller loaded her lungs with gas again. ‘So I won’t be coming in. But I know it was a black man from Bradford what did it.’

Helium Girl’s first call had mentioned a black man. No witnesses had reported a black man amongst the teenagers though. He called Henderson back. ‘Helium Girl mentioned a black man again. Go through the files again and see what we have on any other mentions of a black man in the park.’

‘I did that. No joy.’

In the neighbouring lane, a family of three was having the time of their lives. The kid was a boy about Joe’s age. Bennet tried to picture himself there with Joe and Lorraine, but it felt wrong. Maybe there was a chance Joe and his mother could make such a social trip, but not with Bennet. Too awkward. And it threw him a new worry: what if Joe enjoyed his time with her so much that he wanted a lot more? A lot more than she was willing to provide? How would he feel when their time was up and she basically dumped him in order to return to her daughter and husband?

‘Dad? Your go.’

‘Sir? What should I do?’

Bennet snapped back to the moment. ‘Try the files again,’ he said to Henderson, then hung up the phone. ‘Okay, Joe, watch the master.’

For the remainder of the game, Bennet couldn’t take his eyes off the family in the next lane.

5

As eight o’clock approached, Bennet popped round to his neighbour’s. Patricia was in her seventies, widowed, no children, and loved to babysit Joe, even at a moment’s notice. When he rapped the window and she appeared, a thumbs up from him was all it took. She mirrored it and Bennet went to fetch Joe. Minutes later, his boy was next door, probably destroying Patricia’s chocolate collection, and Bennet was sitting in the living room, staring at the landline. The minutes dragged. He was torn between a couple of tactics. Should he insist that Joe was eager to see his mother? Or pretend he was willing to let Lorraine see the boy because a mother shouldn’t be denied access to her son? He didn’t know why it would matter either way, but the worry was there.

At two minutes to eight, he started to pace. God, it felt like he was waiting for news of a blood test. He’d waited to give evidence in court with less tension in his muscles.

The phone rang. The display said unknown. Bennet was known amongst his team as unflappable, like a cyborg, but if this horrendous timing was a colleague’s doing, they’d soon alter that opinion of him.

‘Oh, Liam, you’re in, good. How are you?’

It was Lorraine. The wait had been the worst part, because now he relaxed. ‘Good. You?’

‘Always good. How’s Joe?’

Last time she hadn’t mentioned their son,