Free Bleed Like Me by Cath Staincliffe Page A

saw the sense of it. ‘Running buys him time. Good. Yes?’ Gill glanced at Leonard Petty: this was his territory. She’d plenty of experience with low-lifes and losers, but whilst there was some overlap this was not their usual run-of-the-mill inquiry.
    ‘That’s right. He’s regrouping.’ Petty smoothed his tie. ‘He needs to take control again so he can play things out to his satisfaction.’
    Another three lives, Gill thought. Which would be a disaster, a nightmare of huge magnitude. Performed with the whole country watching.
    ‘Right, lads,’ she said crisply, ‘what do we know about Owen Cottam?’
    Andy began rattling off the facts collated from the spider’s web of intelligence gathering. ‘Born 1966 in Preston, one brother, Barry. Father Dennis a garage mechanic, mother a bookkeeper, left to remarry and emigrated. Owen and Barry chose to remain in the UK. Owen was unremarkable at school, member of the rugby team. Finished school at sixteen, worked with his father for the next four years, then moved up to the Lakes and worked there. First as a handyman then barand cellar man at the Greyhounds Hotel. Met Pamela Milne and married in 1993. Moved to Birkenhead in 1999 and ran the Colliers Arms for the next six years. Took over tenancy of Journeys Inn in 2005. Penny born in 2000, Theo in 2009 and Harry in 2010.’
    ‘Relations between the couple said to be generally amicable,’ Gill said.
    ‘So far,’ Rachel said sceptically.
    ‘Yes,’ Andy agreed, ‘there must be something there. She’s playing away . . .’
    Janet shook her head, gave a little snort.
    ‘. . . or she’s threatened to leave, taking the kids.’
    ‘So now it’s her fault?’ Janet sounded ruffled.
    ‘Considering motive, not fault,’ Gill reminded her. Don’t blame the victim, a holy grail. ‘Leonard?’
    ‘Infidelity, the end of a relationship, it’s often a factor,’ he said, ‘but not always,’ sounding a note of caution.
    ‘We have the eyewitness, Tessa, and Margaret Milne’s statements. Anything else from house-to-house?’ Gill said.
    Rachel found the page in her report. ‘Well known in the area, liked by some people, described as a good bloke, that sort of thing. Others pegged him as a bit moody, left the socializing to Pamela. But no bad blood. Also described as a bit quiet as in keeps to himself.’
    ‘Not quite mine host,’ Gill remarked. ‘Local bobbies?’
    ‘As we know, never any problems with his licence,’ said Pete. ‘Sorted out troublemakers when he needed to. Couple of parking fines, the odd speeding ticket. No known criminal activity or associates.’
    ‘Family.’ Gill moved them on to another element. ‘Brother and father expressed shock when told of events. Not in a million years and so on. I’ve spoken in person to the father and advised him we may want to make an appeal.’ One father to another, father to son. ‘Radio and television broadcasts.’
    ‘Cottam’s hardly going to turn himself in,’ Rachel sneered.
    ‘Very unlikely, but we have to be seen to be exploring every avenue,’ Gill said. Procedures that had to be followed, laid out in the rule book. ‘The chances of Cottam’s responding to the appeal might seem remote, but it gains us human interest, sympathy, adds to likely public efforts to assist.’ Two sides to policing – protect and serve, fighting crime and maintaining the trust of the population. The great British public needed to believe that an appeal was in their interest. A high profile case like this would be scrutinized and found wanting if people weren’t reassured as to how it was being handled. Gill could already see down the line to the case reviews to come. She needed to know that the team were doing everything humanly possible and then some.
    ‘Finances?’ She looked to Pete.
    ‘Living beyond their means.’
    Hardly the high life, Gill thought. The pub had a shoddy, tired appearance which the family flat above shared. Furniture was mismatched and