Coming out of the chip shop, Rachel saw the lad on the stunt bike who had been among the crowd at the fire, cycling her way on the wrong side of the road. Numpty.
‘Hey,’ she called out as he mounted the pavement, braked and slung his bike down. ‘You want to watch that, get yourself killed.’
‘Fuck off,’ he said and spat on the floor.
‘Charming,’ said Rachel. She showed him her warrant card. ‘DC Bailey, Manchester Metropolitan-’ Before she completed the sentence, he snatched his bike and was riding over the roundabout and off along Tanners Back Lane.
Rachel went after him. He was faster than she was and he knew the area so she expected to lose him. But then as he reached the junction with Derby Fold Lane an HGV roared past. The boy didn’t have time to stop, maybe his brakes weren’t working, so he pulled the bike up to do a wheelie and went over backwards, skidding across the road with the bike on top of him. The lorry drove on oblivious.
Rachel caught up to the boy and pulled the bike off him. He scooted to the side of the road, swearing repeatedly and rocking in pain. His arm was skinned, elbow to wrist, and his cheek cut and bruised.
‘Why did you run?’ Rachel said, crouching down.
‘’Cos you were chasing us,’ he said. ‘Not until you scarpered, I wasn’t.’
He winced, twisting his arm over to look at the damage.
‘Nothing broken,’ Rachel said.
‘You a bleeding doctor?’
‘No, but I’m a trained first-aider. Just watch the attitude,’ she said.
‘Huh?’ he grunted. He puffed himself up. ‘You nearly got us killed.’
‘That’s not on me. You ought to do your cycling proficiency. Rules of the road. You get a certificate,’ she teased him.
A twitch that might just have been a smile.
‘What’s your name?’
He squinted at her, blue eyes alert. ‘Connor.’
‘Connor who?’
‘Connor Tandy.’
‘Right.’ She stood up. ‘I’m investigating the murder of a man found in the remains of the Old Chapel after last night’s fire.’
‘So?’
‘So. You were there,’ she said.
‘I was not!’ he said, shocked.
‘Not there, there,’ she said. She pointed. ‘You were watching the fire, last night.’
‘So. It’s not a crime, is it?’
‘Did you see anything? Do you know anything?’
‘Like what?’ He studied his injury again.
Rachel sighed. ‘Anything suspicious?’
‘No.’
‘You heard any rumours?’ she said.
‘I’m not a fucking grass.’ He touched his cheek, gingerly.
‘So you have heard something?’
‘No.’ He got to his feet, limping slightly.
‘Can you wiggle your toes?’ Rachel said.
He just glared at her and bent for his bike.
‘Any idea who he might be, the man who was killed?’