missing.
It had blown her mind, what that first fella had done to her, and she had loved it. Had finally realised what her mates had been hammering on about for all those years. If she was honest with herself that was when her dissatisfaction with everything at home had set in. Suddenly having the biggest house and the newest car meant nothing, because she had quickly realised that that kind of sex kept people together even when they hated one another. She had tried the new tricks she had learned on Nick and he had gone ballistic, wanting to know where she had got them. She had told him from women’s magazines and such like, but she thought he knew.
That was what hurt. She suspected he had sussed her out but, instead of giving her a clump, he had ignored her even more.
Perhaps it was because the big I am, the big womaniser, knew he was useless in the kip. Not that Tammy had ever told him that, of course, she wasn’t that stupid. Yet she still loved him. In her own way adored him.
He was lying on the chaise-longue in the dressing room off their bedroom and he had had a drink, that much was obvious.
‘You all right, Nick? I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘They turned the machine off, Tams, the boy’s gone.’
She knelt beside him then and took his hand.
‘No one can blame you, Nick, you only did what any man would have done.’ She was surprised to see he had been crying. ‘No one can blame you, darlin’.’
She could smell the beer and whisky on his breath and guessed he had started out in the pub before coming home to finish the job properly.
She knew him so well.
He pushed her away gently and sat up. Putting his head into his hands, he groaned, ‘I can blame myself though, Tams. And I will, until the day I die.’
He was sobbing now, his huge shoulders quaking with emotion. She hugged him to her, the big man, the big I am, reduced to crying like a baby. For some reason this disturbed her more than the boy’s death.
Chapter Four
‘Given the facts of the night in question, we at the Crown Prosecution Service have decided that we shall take no action against Mr Nicholas Leary. It is not in the public interest. We feel that he was a victim of circumstances beyond his control and we offer our sympathies to the family of Sonny Hatcher. Thank you.’
The spokeswoman walked off camera. It was obvious she’d been nervous. Her voice had quavered and her hands clutched her papers until the knuckles were white. Sky News put the statement out live and Tammy watched it with relief. It was over then.
Suddenly the screen was filled with a picture of Judy Hatcher and her shrill voice burst out of it.
‘Murderers! You’re all murderers. You owe me, Leary. You owe me for my boy’s life.’
The screen was filled with the image of the grieving woman and her grey screaming mouth. Tammy sat up abruptly in the bath, causing the water to wash all over the marble flooring. Although they had been told the night before what action was going to be taken, until she had seen it with her own eyes she was not inclined to believe it. Now this woman was spoiling it all.
‘My son was murdered, he wasn’t doing any harm to anyone. He never owned a gun in his life.’
Jude sounded lucid for once. Only those who knew her well realised just how capable she could be when the fancy took her. Shame it never lasted for any length of time. She was being hustled from the room by two policemen as if she was the one in trouble. Tammy could see the toll the death of her son had taken on the woman and felt a reluctant twinge of sympathy for her.
She soon pushed it away.
The Sky reporter was saying that Judy Hatcher was under the care of a psychiatrist and that she was an ardent advocate of her son’s innocence. He said it in such a way as to make it apparent to anyone listening that Sonny Hatcher was a dangerous young man and only his mother was
It had blown her mind, what that first fella had done to her, and she had loved it. Had finally realised what her mates had been hammering on about for all those years. If she was honest with herself that was when her dissatisfaction with everything at home had set in. Suddenly having the biggest house and the newest car meant nothing, because she had quickly realised that that kind of sex kept people together even when they hated one another. She had tried the new tricks she had learned on Nick and he had gone ballistic, wanting to know where she had got them. She had told him from women’s magazines and such like, but she thought he knew.
That was what hurt. She suspected he had sussed her out but, instead of giving her a clump, he had ignored her even more.
Perhaps it was because the big I am, the big womaniser, knew he was useless in the kip. Not that Tammy had ever told him that, of course, she wasn’t that stupid. Yet she still loved him. In her own way adored him.
He was lying on the chaise-longue in the dressing room off their bedroom and he had had a drink, that much was obvious.
‘You all right, Nick? I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘They turned the machine off, Tams, the boy’s gone.’
She knelt beside him then and took his hand.
‘No one can blame you, Nick, you only did what any man would have done.’ She was surprised to see he had been crying. ‘No one can blame you, darlin’.’
She could smell the beer and whisky on his breath and guessed he had started out in the pub before coming home to finish the job properly.
She knew him so well.
He pushed her away gently and sat up. Putting his head into his hands, he groaned, ‘I can blame myself though, Tams. And I will, until the day I die.’
He was sobbing now, his huge shoulders quaking with emotion. She hugged him to her, the big man, the big I am, reduced to crying like a baby. For some reason this disturbed her more than the boy’s death.
Chapter Four
‘Given the facts of the night in question, we at the Crown Prosecution Service have decided that we shall take no action against Mr Nicholas Leary. It is not in the public interest. We feel that he was a victim of circumstances beyond his control and we offer our sympathies to the family of Sonny Hatcher. Thank you.’
The spokeswoman walked off camera. It was obvious she’d been nervous. Her voice had quavered and her hands clutched her papers until the knuckles were white. Sky News put the statement out live and Tammy watched it with relief. It was over then.
Suddenly the screen was filled with a picture of Judy Hatcher and her shrill voice burst out of it.
‘Murderers! You’re all murderers. You owe me, Leary. You owe me for my boy’s life.’
The screen was filled with the image of the grieving woman and her grey screaming mouth. Tammy sat up abruptly in the bath, causing the water to wash all over the marble flooring. Although they had been told the night before what action was going to be taken, until she had seen it with her own eyes she was not inclined to believe it. Now this woman was spoiling it all.
‘My son was murdered, he wasn’t doing any harm to anyone. He never owned a gun in his life.’
Jude sounded lucid for once. Only those who knew her well realised just how capable she could be when the fancy took her. Shame it never lasted for any length of time. She was being hustled from the room by two policemen as if she was the one in trouble. Tammy could see the toll the death of her son had taken on the woman and felt a reluctant twinge of sympathy for her.
She soon pushed it away.
The Sky reporter was saying that Judy Hatcher was under the care of a psychiatrist and that she was an ardent advocate of her son’s innocence. He said it in such a way as to make it apparent to anyone listening that Sonny Hatcher was a dangerous young man and only his mother was
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