thought. There was a lot of background noise, laughing and chatting, as if the caller was in a pub or at a
party:
Hi, babe. Tried your mobile. Assume it’s on charge. Hope I haven’t woken Jamie. If you get this message, call me.
The line clicked off.
Then BT bollocks again:
To return the call, press—
Daniels hung up. She looked at Gormley, wondering if she’d stumbled upon Reid’s girlfriend. ‘We need to find Judy,’ she said.
20
G eorge Milburn tripped and put a hand out to steady himself. He sat down on a wall to rest for a moment, pulled off his cap and wiped his brow with a handkerchief already damp
with sweat. It was a stifling midsummer day, the hottest he could remember for a very long time. No breeze either. Just baking hot sun. OK for the young’uns, but he couldn’t cope with
it any more. Maybe not the best of days to spend at the allotment with Elliot.
He’d been thinking about his grandson all the way home, feeling his disappointment as if it were his own. The lad’s face had dropped when he realized the car he’d set his heart
on had been snapped up by someone else. It was a setback, not the end of the world. George had attempted to cheer him up while they worked, joking that the motor was probably an old banger and not
worth half the asking price, if truth were known. No doubt it was clapped out somewhere, steam billowing from beneath the bonnet, its new owner beginning to realize he’d been sold a bag of
shite and wasn’t quite the petrol-head he thought he was.
Elliot’s mood had lifted slightly. There would be other motors. Other days to spend their hard-earned cash. Though George suspected a lingering wish to possess that car, Elliot had managed
to cover it well. He’d heard the words
crying
and
spilt milk
often enough over the years for them to have some meaning. Unlike his peers, he’d always listened
respectfully to what George had to say. Even if sometimes they ended up agreeing to disagree. Only once had he gone off on one, his frustration boiling over at having to repeat himself. George had
forgotten some minor detail of his first days at school. The name of his teacher, he seemed to recall.
Miss Proctor, Granddad. I already told you . . . three times!
Giggling, he’d leapt on to George’s knee and given him a great big hug – his way of saying sorry for yelling. He was only four then. These days he was more forgiving of his
grandfather’s senior moments. And for his part, George was grateful to have the ear of someone so young. Their relationship was one to be cherished. It gave George a reason to get up in the
morning.
His smile disappeared when he saw Chantelle Fox grinning at him from across the road. She never listened to anything other than her own voice. The girl was a complete fantasist. She’d told
him once that her dad was a diplomat. He knew her father well: he was a dipper not a diplomat; a man who’d rob his granny for her eyes and come back for the sockets – and a pathological
liar to boot. But she wasn’t all bad. She’d helped George at times when he needed errands run and Elliot was at work. Wasn’t her fault if she came from a family of wasters. The
lass’s heart was in the right place.
But it wasn’t
her
heart that was bothering him. The pain in his chest had been coming and going since the fire last night. From the looks of it, a police presence in Ralph Street
looked set to continue for some time yet. Mark Reid’s wailing as he tried to reach Jamie would stay with George for ever. Unfortunately for George, for ever was right now. The old man hit the
deck before he had chance to call out to Chantelle. There was a flash. Then everything went black.
21
C armichael’s enquiries into Mark Reid’s background had yielded a lot of new information. As a consequence she had the floor of the incident room as well as the
attention of her peers. The team already knew that Reid was a joiner by trade and worked for a local firm:
party:
Hi, babe. Tried your mobile. Assume it’s on charge. Hope I haven’t woken Jamie. If you get this message, call me.
The line clicked off.
Then BT bollocks again:
To return the call, press—
Daniels hung up. She looked at Gormley, wondering if she’d stumbled upon Reid’s girlfriend. ‘We need to find Judy,’ she said.
20
G eorge Milburn tripped and put a hand out to steady himself. He sat down on a wall to rest for a moment, pulled off his cap and wiped his brow with a handkerchief already damp
with sweat. It was a stifling midsummer day, the hottest he could remember for a very long time. No breeze either. Just baking hot sun. OK for the young’uns, but he couldn’t cope with
it any more. Maybe not the best of days to spend at the allotment with Elliot.
He’d been thinking about his grandson all the way home, feeling his disappointment as if it were his own. The lad’s face had dropped when he realized the car he’d set his heart
on had been snapped up by someone else. It was a setback, not the end of the world. George had attempted to cheer him up while they worked, joking that the motor was probably an old banger and not
worth half the asking price, if truth were known. No doubt it was clapped out somewhere, steam billowing from beneath the bonnet, its new owner beginning to realize he’d been sold a bag of
shite and wasn’t quite the petrol-head he thought he was.
Elliot’s mood had lifted slightly. There would be other motors. Other days to spend their hard-earned cash. Though George suspected a lingering wish to possess that car, Elliot had managed
to cover it well. He’d heard the words
crying
and
spilt milk
often enough over the years for them to have some meaning. Unlike his peers, he’d always listened
respectfully to what George had to say. Even if sometimes they ended up agreeing to disagree. Only once had he gone off on one, his frustration boiling over at having to repeat himself. George had
forgotten some minor detail of his first days at school. The name of his teacher, he seemed to recall.
Miss Proctor, Granddad. I already told you . . . three times!
Giggling, he’d leapt on to George’s knee and given him a great big hug – his way of saying sorry for yelling. He was only four then. These days he was more forgiving of his
grandfather’s senior moments. And for his part, George was grateful to have the ear of someone so young. Their relationship was one to be cherished. It gave George a reason to get up in the
morning.
His smile disappeared when he saw Chantelle Fox grinning at him from across the road. She never listened to anything other than her own voice. The girl was a complete fantasist. She’d told
him once that her dad was a diplomat. He knew her father well: he was a dipper not a diplomat; a man who’d rob his granny for her eyes and come back for the sockets – and a pathological
liar to boot. But she wasn’t all bad. She’d helped George at times when he needed errands run and Elliot was at work. Wasn’t her fault if she came from a family of wasters. The
lass’s heart was in the right place.
But it wasn’t
her
heart that was bothering him. The pain in his chest had been coming and going since the fire last night. From the looks of it, a police presence in Ralph Street
looked set to continue for some time yet. Mark Reid’s wailing as he tried to reach Jamie would stay with George for ever. Unfortunately for George, for ever was right now. The old man hit the
deck before he had chance to call out to Chantelle. There was a flash. Then everything went black.
21
C armichael’s enquiries into Mark Reid’s background had yielded a lot of new information. As a consequence she had the floor of the incident room as well as the
attention of her peers. The team already knew that Reid was a joiner by trade and worked for a local firm:
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