unaware of that fact.
Tammy couldn’t listen to it a second longer.
She lay back in her enormous bath and switched over to ITV 2 for the lunchtime edition of Emmerdale . She wasn’t watching it, but the sound of the voices was soothing. She took a large gulp of her Chardonnay and a long drag on her cigarette.
Sod that woman! What did they owe her? From what Tammy had heard she was a heroin addict, had brought her son up on her own and made him into the thief he had become. Tammy’s eyes strayed to the small mirror compact full of cocaine she kept near her at all times. Her own hypocrisy didn’t faze her at all.
Instead she consoled herself with the thought that even though she might have a few lines on a long lunch or a night out with the girls, hers was just recreational drug use. It wasn’t as if she was addicted. It was just the Essex way of keeping the night going. Whereas that woman was a real addict, she injected herself. Which was a different ball game altogether.
Mainlining meant you were hooked, everyone knew that. Her line of thought reminded Tammy she was due for her Botox injections that afternoon and Christ himself knew, she could do with them. All the worry of the last few weeks had really begun to show on her face and that bothered Tammy.
It had been her idea to put a TV in the bathroom. Even though she rarely watched it, lately it had been a Godsend.
Until today, of course.
She pushed the Hatcher woman from her mind once more. At the end of the day she was just a mother protecting her own. Tammy would have done the same herself. Not that her boys would have been caught up in crap like that, of course, but it was the same principle.
She gulped down the glass of wine and poured herself another.
It was over.
That was the main thing, she had to remember that.
Nick could go back to his daily grind now and no one would think badly of him and, if she was really honest with herself, she would be glad to get him out from under her feet.
The strange thing was everyone was on their side yet the way Nick was carrying on you’d think everyone was against him. Still, it must be strange to know you were the reason someone had died even if it was a little thief who only got what he deserved.
Sonny Hatcher should never have been in their home in the first place. Tammy reminded her husband of that at every available opportunity. No matter how hard she tried, she could summon up no sympathy for the boy. He should have stayed home that night instead of turning their world upside down.
Detective Inspector Peter Rudde was drinking a large brandy in the company of his DC, Frank Ibbotson. The junior officer raised his glass and then downed his drink in one gulp.
‘So that’s it, sir, it’s all over?’
Rudde nodded.
‘Best outcome. Leary wasn’t doing anything I wouldn’t have done. Did you see that boy’s form? Jesus, he’d been up for everything at some point.’
He pushed his glass at Ibbotson for a refill and the younger man duly made his way to the bar. The news came up on the wide-screen TV and the outcome of the Leary case was broadcast yet again. Once more a cheer went up in the crowded bar and Rudde guessed that the same thing was happening in pubs all over the country.
You couldn’t pick up a paper but it was the main story. Was an Englishman’s home really his castle? It seemed it was this time and he for one was glad of that fact. Sonny Hatcher was a violent little bastard. Rudde knew just how violent he could be. The papers didn’t know the half of it because most of Sonny Boy’s skulduggery had been when he was a minor. He had stabbed a neighbour and walked away from that one because of his home life. But how long could you blame everything on where or how a young thug lived? Plenty of people lived in terrible conditions and they were all right. Rudde himself had come from one of the roughest council
Tammy couldn’t listen to it a second longer.
She lay back in her enormous bath and switched over to ITV 2 for the lunchtime edition of Emmerdale . She wasn’t watching it, but the sound of the voices was soothing. She took a large gulp of her Chardonnay and a long drag on her cigarette.
Sod that woman! What did they owe her? From what Tammy had heard she was a heroin addict, had brought her son up on her own and made him into the thief he had become. Tammy’s eyes strayed to the small mirror compact full of cocaine she kept near her at all times. Her own hypocrisy didn’t faze her at all.
Instead she consoled herself with the thought that even though she might have a few lines on a long lunch or a night out with the girls, hers was just recreational drug use. It wasn’t as if she was addicted. It was just the Essex way of keeping the night going. Whereas that woman was a real addict, she injected herself. Which was a different ball game altogether.
Mainlining meant you were hooked, everyone knew that. Her line of thought reminded Tammy she was due for her Botox injections that afternoon and Christ himself knew, she could do with them. All the worry of the last few weeks had really begun to show on her face and that bothered Tammy.
It had been her idea to put a TV in the bathroom. Even though she rarely watched it, lately it had been a Godsend.
Until today, of course.
She pushed the Hatcher woman from her mind once more. At the end of the day she was just a mother protecting her own. Tammy would have done the same herself. Not that her boys would have been caught up in crap like that, of course, but it was the same principle.
She gulped down the glass of wine and poured herself another.
It was over.
That was the main thing, she had to remember that.
Nick could go back to his daily grind now and no one would think badly of him and, if she was really honest with herself, she would be glad to get him out from under her feet.
The strange thing was everyone was on their side yet the way Nick was carrying on you’d think everyone was against him. Still, it must be strange to know you were the reason someone had died even if it was a little thief who only got what he deserved.
Sonny Hatcher should never have been in their home in the first place. Tammy reminded her husband of that at every available opportunity. No matter how hard she tried, she could summon up no sympathy for the boy. He should have stayed home that night instead of turning their world upside down.
Detective Inspector Peter Rudde was drinking a large brandy in the company of his DC, Frank Ibbotson. The junior officer raised his glass and then downed his drink in one gulp.
‘So that’s it, sir, it’s all over?’
Rudde nodded.
‘Best outcome. Leary wasn’t doing anything I wouldn’t have done. Did you see that boy’s form? Jesus, he’d been up for everything at some point.’
He pushed his glass at Ibbotson for a refill and the younger man duly made his way to the bar. The news came up on the wide-screen TV and the outcome of the Leary case was broadcast yet again. Once more a cheer went up in the crowded bar and Rudde guessed that the same thing was happening in pubs all over the country.
You couldn’t pick up a paper but it was the main story. Was an Englishman’s home really his castle? It seemed it was this time and he for one was glad of that fact. Sonny Hatcher was a violent little bastard. Rudde knew just how violent he could be. The papers didn’t know the half of it because most of Sonny Boy’s skulduggery had been when he was a minor. He had stabbed a neighbour and walked away from that one because of his home life. But how long could you blame everything on where or how a young thug lived? Plenty of people lived in terrible conditions and they were all right. Rudde himself had come from one of the roughest council
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