was glad they had waited until she was in her late thirties to have her kids.
Scrambling in through the passenger door, Sally swung her legs over the gear stick and bunny-hopped into the driver’s seat - not her most dignified entrance. She didn’t want to spend too long at the Braithwaites, conscious that Dan was doing a lot of the leg work on his own and, after all, it was a murder inquiry. They needed another body on the ground to do more of the family liaison stuff. She knew she was good at it, but she had taken the Sergeant’s post with the hope that she could move on to real police work. An extra PC on the team would do, someone looking for the next promotion. She’d have a word with Dan later.
As she cut the engine outside the house, Sally could hear shouting coming from inside. She leapt from the car, skirted the bunches of flowers and messages that had begun to appear at the gate and ran down the path, straight into a black-haired, Gothic looking lad. He pushed her aside and jumped over the hedge, heading for the main road.
Sally yanked herself out of the hedge and shouted for him to stop. Alan Braithwaite came out onto the front step, staring after the boy, giving little away with his eyes but clenching and unclenching his fists.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, brushing herself down.
Braithwaite looked down at her. ‘Jamie bloody May. I’m not having him round here anymore. He’s caused enough trouble in this house.’ He turned around to walk back inside.
‘I need a word, Mr Braithwaite, please,’ Sally said and followed him in, eyebrows raised.
In the hallway, she rang through to the station and discovered that Jamie May had been reported missing by his mother at 9.00 p.m. on Monday. An officer had been round to the house and logged it, but not made the connection with the Braithwaite case. Sally tutted. As usual, poor communication was the sword on which they would all fall. She rang Dan’s mobile and left a message, then got the call out to Beat officers that Jamie was in the area and should be apprehended if possible and brought into the station. She had a bad feeling about that boy. He had looked dreadful.
Alan Braithwaite was standing in the kitchen, staring at an empty box of tea bags. Jenna had only just got out of bed, She was in her pyjamas and a fluffy pink dressing gown standing on the opposite side of the worktop. She looked scared and upset.
‘What was all that about, then?’ Sally said into the charged silence. Jenna looked to her Dad, but he refused to meet her eye. He opened a cupboard and spoke to it instead of to them as he rooted for tea bags.
‘Poking his nose in - asking questions. I reckon he knows more than he’s saying. I’m not having him round here anymore.’ He slammed the cupboard door and faced Jenna. ‘He’s not coming back here. Now you, go and put some clothes on. You’re a disgrace, with your sister lying dead in a morgue and you can’t even get your arse off the bed.’
Jenna’s eyes, already puffy, flashed with anger, but she held her tongue and pushed past Sally on her way upstairs, tears streaming down her face.
‘Mr Braithwaite?’ Sally risked touching him on the arm. ‘Alan? Just go and sit down in the living room. I’ll make us a coffee and bring it through. Go on, it’ll be alright.’
He moved then, head down, ashamed of his outburst, and did as she suggested. Sally heard the sound of footsteps above her head. Jenna going into the bathroom.
She took a moment to fill the kettle and put coffee in mugs. She wanted to chase off after Jamie May, but first things first. The fridge was pretty bare and there was little food in the cupboards. If this wasn’t a family in dire need of support, she didn’t know what was. She could see plastic carrier bags full of empty beer cans in the corner near the bin. Alan’s self-medication. She wondered when either of them had last had a decent meal.
Sally rang Victim Support and pushed to get someone
Scrambling in through the passenger door, Sally swung her legs over the gear stick and bunny-hopped into the driver’s seat - not her most dignified entrance. She didn’t want to spend too long at the Braithwaites, conscious that Dan was doing a lot of the leg work on his own and, after all, it was a murder inquiry. They needed another body on the ground to do more of the family liaison stuff. She knew she was good at it, but she had taken the Sergeant’s post with the hope that she could move on to real police work. An extra PC on the team would do, someone looking for the next promotion. She’d have a word with Dan later.
As she cut the engine outside the house, Sally could hear shouting coming from inside. She leapt from the car, skirted the bunches of flowers and messages that had begun to appear at the gate and ran down the path, straight into a black-haired, Gothic looking lad. He pushed her aside and jumped over the hedge, heading for the main road.
Sally yanked herself out of the hedge and shouted for him to stop. Alan Braithwaite came out onto the front step, staring after the boy, giving little away with his eyes but clenching and unclenching his fists.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, brushing herself down.
Braithwaite looked down at her. ‘Jamie bloody May. I’m not having him round here anymore. He’s caused enough trouble in this house.’ He turned around to walk back inside.
‘I need a word, Mr Braithwaite, please,’ Sally said and followed him in, eyebrows raised.
In the hallway, she rang through to the station and discovered that Jamie May had been reported missing by his mother at 9.00 p.m. on Monday. An officer had been round to the house and logged it, but not made the connection with the Braithwaite case. Sally tutted. As usual, poor communication was the sword on which they would all fall. She rang Dan’s mobile and left a message, then got the call out to Beat officers that Jamie was in the area and should be apprehended if possible and brought into the station. She had a bad feeling about that boy. He had looked dreadful.
Alan Braithwaite was standing in the kitchen, staring at an empty box of tea bags. Jenna had only just got out of bed, She was in her pyjamas and a fluffy pink dressing gown standing on the opposite side of the worktop. She looked scared and upset.
‘What was all that about, then?’ Sally said into the charged silence. Jenna looked to her Dad, but he refused to meet her eye. He opened a cupboard and spoke to it instead of to them as he rooted for tea bags.
‘Poking his nose in - asking questions. I reckon he knows more than he’s saying. I’m not having him round here anymore.’ He slammed the cupboard door and faced Jenna. ‘He’s not coming back here. Now you, go and put some clothes on. You’re a disgrace, with your sister lying dead in a morgue and you can’t even get your arse off the bed.’
Jenna’s eyes, already puffy, flashed with anger, but she held her tongue and pushed past Sally on her way upstairs, tears streaming down her face.
‘Mr Braithwaite?’ Sally risked touching him on the arm. ‘Alan? Just go and sit down in the living room. I’ll make us a coffee and bring it through. Go on, it’ll be alright.’
He moved then, head down, ashamed of his outburst, and did as she suggested. Sally heard the sound of footsteps above her head. Jenna going into the bathroom.
She took a moment to fill the kettle and put coffee in mugs. She wanted to chase off after Jamie May, but first things first. The fridge was pretty bare and there was little food in the cupboards. If this wasn’t a family in dire need of support, she didn’t know what was. She could see plastic carrier bags full of empty beer cans in the corner near the bin. Alan’s self-medication. She wondered when either of them had last had a decent meal.
Sally rang Victim Support and pushed to get someone
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