Page 17 of The Unforgiven

She looked ruffled, her shoulders tense. “They work in finance.”

Did they indeed.

“Did they know Chelsea?”

“Of course they knew Chelsea. She was my neighbour. She helped me out sometimes with picking up my prescription from the chemist, or getting me a pint of milk.” She picked up a set of rosary beads from the mantlepiece. “She was okay. I hope nothing bad’s happened to her.”

I sipped my tea, saying nothing. By the end of the day, Mrs Kinsella would know her neighbour was dead, and the noisy children wouldn’t be coming back. I suspected she’d pray for Chelsea’s soul at church and light a candle for her, and I had every suspicion that her sons would be wondering how they were going to be paid back for whatever they’d loaned their mother’s neighbour.

Vinny was outside Chelsea’s flat, deep in conversation with a tired looking woman holding a bunch of keys.

“Finally. How long does it take you to drink a cup of tea?” He sent another glare my way.

“Not long. I’m DS Mia McAllister.” I focused on the woman. “Thank you for coming over to let us in.”

She tried to smile but it didn’t work. “I’m Laura Kinsey. You spoke to my manager on the phone. If I let you in, can you make sure you close up behind you? You don’t need a key. It’s just I need to get back to my kids.”

“No problem. Can we take a number in case we need to get in touch with you again?” There was a minute chance this was the murder scene, although I highly doubted it.

We did have an updated timeline though. More than we had before.

Chelsea’s flat was tidy, the furniture and décor cheap but thought had gone into them. The TV was obscenely huge, a litany of games consoles stacked on a sideboard next to it. In the kitchen at the back of the living room was a fridge covered with kids drawings and certificates, most of them dated more than a year ago.

A stack of unopened bills were between the microwave and the fridge. I pulled on a pair of gloves from my pocket and passed a pair to Vinny. We moved about the room as if performing a well-rehearsed dance. Not our first search, wouldn’t be the last unless Vinny won the lottery.

“What’ve you found?”

“She was in debt. Unpaid gas and electric – surprised she wasn’t on a meter. There are credit card bills and a CCJ. There are also letters from the school threatening fines for her kids’ attendance.” I put them back where I’d found them. “This isn’t the murder scene.” Stating the obvious.

“We know she was in debt, we suspect she owed loan sharks – loan sharks aren’t in the habit of murdering people who owe them money, but it’s possible Chelsea has more than a few enemies.” He put his hands on his hips and stretched out his back. “At least this isn’t rancid. You remember that house in Levenshulme that we went through and there were rats in the walls?”

“Unfortunately that place has stayed with me. I think Mrs Kinsella’s sons might be loan sharks.” I started to look in the kitchen drawers. Rizlas, a grinder and a small stash of cannabis were at the back of one.

“Why’s that?” Vinny had his head in a cupboard so sounded slightly echoey.

“She said they work in finance. She also had some very expensive gear in her house – coffee machine that must’ve cost a grand because it’s the same brand as my flatmate’s, TV that’s more than you or I can afford but looks subtle. I reckon they’re gifts off her boys.”

“Local intelligence can help with that. Ring it in and get Lachy to make a call. It’ll help his hangover.” Vinny stood up, stretching his back again. “Think I overdid it in the gym yesterday.”

“Probably because you’re getting old.” I carried on going through the drawers and cupboards, finding nothing I wouldn’t have predicted was there.

We searched the whole flat in under two hours, finding everything and nothing, taking photos and sending anything through that we thought needed following up. It was grunt work and it was how we usually got results, and it was something to occupy myself with so I stopped over thinking who’d sent me the email.

By four o’clock that afternoon we knew more about Chelsea Bainbridge than I did about my flatmate, and yet we still knew nothing at all. Cops down south had informed her ex of her murder. He spoke of a current boyfriend who was from Manchester but didn’t know his name, and mentioned a friend called Selena Bowen, who Chelsea sometimes stayed with if she wanted a night out there. He was cut up, apparently, crying while he poured out his regrets about how the relationship had ended, but calling her several names throughout.

I left the office and headed to the gym needing to do something physical while I process the last thirteen hours. A few of my colleagues were continuing through the evening, trying toidentify Chelsea’s boyfriend and friend that she stayed with, but I was off the clock, the four am start granting me an early finish.

I’d stopped doing gymnastics when I was fifteen, and took up Muay Thai instead, lessons paid for by my father, who was doing a stretch inside for the fourth or fifth time, and approved by the social worker, even though strictly speaking, he shouldn’t have been able to.

I stuck with it, through A-levels, and then continued when I moved to Manchester for my degree, training at least three times a week, trying out a few different gyms until I found State Eight, based in Burnage and owned by a former pro fighter, Arun Srivongchai, who was absolutely insane and fearless. It wasn’t a pretty gym. The showers were unisex for those who dared use them, and the place itself wouldn’t have scored highly in any review for its cleanliness standards, but that wasn’t what it was about.

My trainer was a fighter, competing regularly. He was full of hyperactivity, bouncing round the gym like a spring, overflowing with energy and laughter, never taking himself too seriously, which, when I’d spent all day with other coppers, was a release.

He was one of the few people I trusted not to hurt me, someone who could hold space for someone else without losing too much of themselves, which was rare. The only other person who could do that for me was my old professor and mentor, Daniel.

I made a note to go and see him. He’d been my tutor for my degree, and mentored me through my masters, and the advice he gave when I talked to him about cases was always sound and would make me consider other perspectives than what my gut was telling me, bringing me back to the facts and what we knew about the human condition.

“Mia!” Jalen spotted me as soon as I entered the gym, putting my bag down out of the way because we didn’t bother with lockers. “Ready for some action?”