Page 30 of The Unforgiven

He was quiet, not asking me anything but expecting an explanation anyway, although I wasn’t sure I owed him one.

“You need to share this with Wrigley.” He eventually spoke, probably because I knew as well as anyone the power of not saying anything.

“I know. I will.” I sighed, watching the beginnings of an altercation between two probably homeless men, hoping that they were too out of it to be bothered making a bigger scene. “My dad – my actual biological father – is in prison. Banged up forfraud because they’ve never caught him for anything else. He’s part of Greystone Holdings.”

Nick almost choked on a piece of bacon. “The Whit Lane Boys?”

“The one and the same. His father was one of the founding members in the fifties. Stan joined them with his brother, Den, and it became the family business.” One that’d paid for my university education although the money had been washed clean by then. “The brass are aware of this.”

“I didn’t think they wouldn’t be. So could Atlas be someone who knows your dad, giving you a tip off?” Nick chanced it and sat down on a nearby bench, apparently the place where someone decided that Jez could get fucked.

I joined him, nibbling on a piece of the bread. “Maybe. Or it’s someone feeding false information, or it’s no one connect with Stan Garrity at all and they’ve just used this to get me to give what they’re telling me some credence.”

“Your old surname wasn’t Garrity though, was it?” Nick was now eyeing my sandwich.

I moved it away from him. “No. I had my birth mother’s surname. She was Carla Bryce and was in a relationship with Stan’s son, who I believed was my father – and so did he. My mum was having it off with the pair of them. She was a wannabe gangster’s moll, but it didn’t quite work out like that.”

“Is that how you ended up in care?’

I nodded, not making eye contact. It was easier to watch one of the homeless men, now settled in a doorway, shouting abuse at passersby.

“My mum disappeared. She was double dealing and got caught, so she did one, leaving me on my own. Romy McAllister took me in – I was best friends with her daughter and spent half my time at her house anyway – and when Carla did turn up and was arrested on various charges, Romy became a foster carer soI could stay with her. I had a good childhood. I was part of the family and never made to feel any different.” There was only one memory of my childhood that I wished I could change.

“How well do you know Stan?’

“Well enough. I have about twelve half siblings, including the man I thought was my dad. He’s currently doing eighteen to twenty for murder, and I doubt he’ll see outside again. His health’s not good. Carla died when I was seventeen of a drug overdose. Stan’s interest in me was kind of genuine. He is bothered about his kids, and he’s proud that a few of us have gone to university.” I sighed, uncomfortable. “He isn’t what you think he’s going to be. He’s hates violence against women and children, believes in manners, and doesn’t get his hands dirty. He has a code that he works to – one that benefits him and his minions – but if someone doesn’t follow his code, they know about it.” I was aware of how they found out about it, and that they soon forgot what’d happened, one way or another.

“I get why that’s been kept quiet. This email today – does it ring any bells with your father?” Nick was staying focused on the case, rather than me, which was what I wanted.

“No. Leeds isn’t Stan’s patch. If he leaves the Manchester postcodes he has a nosebleed. He’s never expanded business beyond here, other than into Anglesey, which was where Carla lived with me, and that was historic – some link to Dublin. He once told me he’d rather not get greedy.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?” A pigeon almost landed on Nick’s knee.

“Two years ago. He needed an operation to remove a tumour – he’s recovered fine – and asked to see all of his kids beforehand. I haven’t visited him since – I won’t go and see him in a prison.” I was adamant about that. “The last thing anyone needs is the media getting hold of this.”

“Agreed. The email refers to another stabbing, but man – I’ll ask for the casefile, and we’ll let Wrigley know. Do you have any gut feeling about any connection?” Nick kept his gaze ahead, watching the homeless man as well.

“Not yet. But we should check that report. Stan isn’t in the habit of feeding me information. He isn’t a fan of me being police.” Half an understatement.

“What about Atlas. Would that name mean anything to you?”

“No. I’m drawing a blank with the numbers too. I assume ‘echo’ means that it’s someone just echoing back the information. They aren’t involved. But could it be our killer?” Which was what was bothering me most. “I’m the same age as the victims, or thereabouts. What if he’s fixed on me for some reason and it does have to do with Stan or something Stan’s done. That’s a possibility which would knacker the incel theory.”

“I don’t think it’s the killer. I’ve nothing to prove that, but I’m pretty sure it’s an informant. And this isn’t going to be the last time they contact you, Mia.” He stood up, crushing his sandwich wrapper in his hand. “God, that was full of grease. I’ll need to wash my hands when we get back.”

The media was brimming with the return of theManchester Push-Her, as the headlines had it, when I met Lucy for dinner after work the following day.

We were creeping forwards slowly, amassing intelligence and data, but not having any clear connections as of yet. I’d spent a day looking through reports of attempted sexual assault, pulling them off the NICHE data management system, and data trawling CAD reports, calls to the police. I was looking for pull on a synapse somewhere, a link that opened a new pathway for a possible one or two suspects, still considering the joint killers.

I’d almost ignored the email after passing it onto Wrigley. He’d read it, and then asked me to forward to him, then leave it with him. I was only too happy to, and he’d said nothing to the rest of the team, for now, at least.

“Are you still okay for the party at ours on Friday?” Lucy didn’t look up from the menu, even though I was pretty sure she had it memorised, given how often she ate here.

We were in Didsbury at a cute Italian, just round the corner from her apartment. It was an easy location and didn’t require much effort, full of trendy parents still trying to have a life, and young professionals, terminally renting, so choosing to stay at least in a place they liked.

“It’s your place, so it’s your call.” I could probably do without it, if I was being honest. It would be Lucy’s friends, who I knew pretty well by now, and Cavan of course, and given this week was going to be full on with the double murder enquiry, I’d probably just want to sleep Friday night and wake up having to step over the bodies of teachers and trainee solicitors who’d stayed over after having one too many. “I can always stay at Verity’s.”

She pulled a face. “But then that’s not fair on you. We haven’t had a gathering at ours for ages, and I really want you to enjoy it.”