‘You can’t stay here.’
The squad cars arrived and Rachel had a word with the officers and agreed on where to erect the cordon. ‘Take statements from all the onlookers,’ she told them. ‘Did anyone hear or see anything? Was there a car, or motorbike, any words shouted, anyone behaving oddly. Yes?’
The officers agreed.
Rachel rang Gill but got Janet instead. ‘Someone’s been shooting up Greg Tandy’s, no casualties but we need a safe house for Mrs Tandy and Connor. Can you find out what’s available and get back to me?’
‘Of course.’
Rachel took the Tandys to sit in the back of her vehicle while she waited for an address.
Janet finally got back to her with the location of a house in Bolton. Someone would meet them there with basic provisions: tea, milk, bread and margarine.
‘What size are they, clothes wise?’ Janet said.
Rachel relayed the question.
‘Twelve,’ Gloria said, ‘why?’
‘We need to take your clothes,’ Rachel said, ‘get you new ones.’
‘Why?’ Connor asked.
‘In case there’s evidence on them, you were in the middle of a crime scene. It’s standard procedure. What size shoes?’
‘Six,’ Gloria said.
‘Connor? Clothes?’ Rachel said.
‘Don’t know,’ he shrugged.
‘Men’s – small,’ his mum said.
‘Feet?’
‘Sevens,’ he said.
Rachel passed on the information to Janet.
‘How long will we be there?’ Connor asked.
‘Don’t know.’
‘What about work?’ This from Gloria.
‘You can’t go,’ Rachel said. ‘Not until we’ve assessed the risk. Which is pretty fucking high given what just happened.
The witness protection service was, of course, hush-hush. Cops like Rachel knew next to nothing about how it worked, beyond being able to access safe houses in an emergency for vulnerable or intimidated witnesses and victims.
Mother and son were subdued as Rachel drove the twenty miles to their destination. The wind was getting up and bringing rain with it, heavy squalls that spattered the windscreen and drummed on the car roof. Rachel checked in the rear-view mirror regularly but no vehicles stayed on their tail long enough to concern her.
She stopped as instructed on the roadside outside the house at the end of a row of Georgian terraces and was met by a woman who was driving a small van. The woman checked Rachel’s identity but did not share her own, handed her the key to the house, told her there was an intercom and panic alarms throughout and handed her two large laundry bags with clothing and shoes and a bag of groceries.
Like some spooks movie. But Rachel didn’t mind if this was the way to safeguard Connor and Gloria.
Most of the houses nearby had been converted into offices with brass nameplates by the door. Presumably it was easier to be anonymous here when people were only around during office hours.