Dead To Me Read Online Free Page B

cow.
    Denise Finn lived in Harpurhey, a short bus ride from Lisa’s, a two-up, two-down. Garden terraces, the estate agents called them, flying in the face of all the evidence. They had no gardens, only titchy backyards that originally housed the outside bog.
    The street was still, quiet when they got out of the car, people tucked in, keeping warm. Here and there, where the curtains hadn’t been drawn at upper windows, the neon blue of televisions and computers flickered and swam. The windows at Denise’s were dark, but the hall light was on and the diamond of glass in the front door glowed yellow.
    There was no bell or knocker, so Janet rattled the letter box.
    Rachel looked up; no stars in the sky, just the blanket of fog. They heard movement in the house. Then a shadow rippled behind the glass in the door.
    ‘Denise Finn?’ Janet said when the door opened. ‘I’m DC Janet Scott, Manchester Metropolitan Police, and this is DC Rachel Bailey. May we come in?’
    ‘Why?’ the woman asked. She looked to be in her fifties, her face lined, nose and cheeks criss-crossed with broken veins, jawline softening, grey hair mixed with the brown. Her hair was frizzy, brittle. Her glasses magnified her eyes. She wore a black sweater that had seen better days and navy joggers.
10 Years Younger
, thought Rachel, prime candidate. Ten years older once she’s heard what we’ve got to tell her.
    ‘We’d like to come in,’ Janet said, moving forward, giving the woman no choice but to back away and turn, taking them through the front room, past the open stairs and into the back where the television was showing
Emmerdale
. The house smelled of cigarettes and chip fat and some floral chemical, air freshener perhaps, that made Rachel want to gag.
    Denise stood there. ‘What’s going on?’ She picked up the remote, muted the television. ‘Is it our Lisa? Is she in bother again?’
    ‘Please, Mrs Finn, sit down,’ Janet said.
    The woman frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it. Sat on the sofa; Janet sat beside her. The woman still held the remote, gripped tight in both hands.
    Rachel parked herself in the only armchair. Looked about. The television occupied one alcove at the far side of the chimney breast, in the other recess were shelves with knick-knacks and photos. Lisa as a toddler and older. One of her on a merry-go-round horse at the fair, another, an early teenager at some do, dressed up in skin-tight clothes: white skirt, silver boob tube and hoop earrings. There was a boy in other photos, and one of the two children together, a school photo, be about eleven or twelve, Rachel guessed. The boy looked older, but not by much. They shared the same snub nose and rosebud mouth. In every picture his hair was cropped close, his ears stuck out like jug handles.
    ‘I am sorry, I’ve got some very sad news,’ Janet spoke steadily, slowly.
    Rachel waited, studying her own hands.
    ‘Your daughter, Lisa, was found at her flat this afternoon with fatal injuries.’
    Rachel glanced over. Denise froze, the room was pin-drop quiet and Rachel could hear Denise’s breath, a suck of sorts, a gulping sound, choking on the truth.
    ‘Lisa is dead,’ Janet added, lest there be any misunderstanding, in case
fatal
wasn’t enough.
    ‘Injuries?’ Denise said dully, putting the remote on the arm of the sofa.
    ‘Yes, we think she was attacked.’
    Denise Finn gave a muffled shriek. And her feet shifted on the carpet as if they wanted to carry her away.
    ‘I am very sorry, Mrs Finn. We will be trying to find out who did this to Lisa. A colleague of ours will be acting as your family liaison officer, they will support you and let you know how our inquiries are going. They’re on their way now.’
    Denise’s hand clutched at the neck of her sweater. From outside, Rachel heard the thump of a car door and the cough of an engine, then the car horn,
toot-toot-toot
, a jolly farewell blast before the car moved off.
    Denise Finn’s eyes filled with