Death Line by Maureen Carter Page B

“Yeah right,” Bev murmured. “Let’s have a shufti.”
    The sight pulled them up sharp. A dishevelled Stacey Banks waved a broken beer bottle perilously close to Vince’s air space. The blood could be coming from either of them, difficult to
tell from this distance.
    Bev edged forward, voice low and soft. “Hey, Stacey, calm it, shall...”
    “...’kin’ tell me to back off, you fat fucker.” Her own vast bulk swaying, she took more wild lunges with the bottle. Vince stepped back, palms raised. “Look,
love...”
    “Bastard killed my boy. Got a right to see him.” Slurred words, staggered steps. Spectators were gathering, a couple of uniforms, two other men Bev didn’t know, punters
probably. Mac wandered over presumably to keep them well back, protect and serve in police-speak. Stacey was drunk enough to be dangerous. “Hey, Stacey?” Bev’s traffic-stopping
voice had the desired effect. The woman swirled, clearly finding it difficult to focus, almost lost her footing in a pool of beer and blood spill. It was apparent now that Stacey had a hand wound.
Casual stance, senses alert, Bev slowly approached the action. “What kinda good’s this doing?”
    “Good?” A defiant toss of the head dislodged the ginger beehive. “I ain’t ’ere to do good. It’s the evil shit as killed Josh I’m interested in. Gimme
five minutes with him.”
    “Come on, Stacey. It isn’t going to happen.” The woman didn’t need telling, her face fell into resigned features.
    “Have to know why he done it, Bev.” The bottom lip quivered as she stifled a sob. Poor cow. Bev’s heart went out to her. Stacey’s parenting skills mightn’t
be up there with Penelope Leach’s, but Josh’s death was a hell of a wake-up call. “Need to see the bloke... it’s not a lot to ask is it?”
    “Course not.” She let a few seconds lapse then: “But Haines isn’t here, Stacey.” Technically he was, but she didn’t need to know that.
    “That’s a lie.” Puzzled face. “Said in the...”
    “Papers got it wrong, Stacey. We’re still looking for the killer. And we’ll find him, I promise. We want justice for Josh much as you do.” She sensed some sort of confab
going on behind, kept her gaze on Stacey. Maybe it was Bev’s conviction, the look that passed between them. Stacey seemed to crumple, the fight gone. Tears welled in her eyes, dripped slowly
down fat cheeks already slick with sweat. She barely reacted when Vince took her wrist, gently removed the bottle from her grasp. Clearly, she’d been weighing up what Bev had said. And found
it wanting.
    “Wasn’t just the papers cocked it, was it?”
    “How’s she feeling?” Two podgy fingers poised over the keyboard, Mac glanced up as Bev entered the squad room; any distraction from paperwork was welcome.
Judging by his pile of notes, she reckoned RSI was on the cards. He wasn’t the only lucky boy; eight or nine other officers were hunched over desks, tapping out reports, bashing phones.
    “Ish.” Bev waggled her hand. She’d not long slipped Stacey a tenner for cab fare, promising to keep her up to speed on any developments. I’ll not hold me breath then, was
the tart reply. Way the inquiry was going Bev couldn’t blame her.
    Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair. “Know what we need, mate?”
    “Where shall I start?” He gave a lopsided smile.
    “We need a decent break. Somethin’ solid to get the teeth in.” Maybe they should stock up on KitKats because at the moment they were all backtracking, making up lost ground,
checking nothing had been overlooked. It meant most of the team was trawling through old witness statements, cross-referencing police reports, plugging the gaps on the house-to-house,
re-interviewing residents where even the slightest chance existed that further probing might hit a richer seam.
    Mac slumped in the chair. “Not like the last break then?” The one that fingered Roland Haines.
    Which reminded