The Betrayer Read Online Free PDF Page A

OK, she handed him to Sandra. ‘Look after him and keep an eye on Susan for me, mate.’
    Sandra nodded. None of the women would leave the house until Maureen returned. They were her friends and would tidy the place up and be there for her when she got home. ‘Good luck, Maur. There’s bound to be some cock-up. Your Tommy might be a little sod, but he’s no fucking killer.’
    Maureen wasn’t allowed to travel with her son on the journey. The police had called in reinforcements and she was shoved into a car on her own. She didn’t know where Ethel or the others were, so maybe they were with Tommy. Everything had happened so quickly, she’d had little time to think about the actual accusation. It couldn’t be true. The Old Bill must have been desperate to pull someone in and, knowing her Tommy was a local tearaway, had picked on him. Maybe they thought her son was in the know. Being so streetwise, they probably thought that he’d heard a whisper and would grass up the real killer.
    Sandra ordered Susan to put James to bed and then go to bed herself. She needed to discuss the situation with the others and didn’t want to say too much in front of the kids. James was too young to really take in what they were talking about, but Susan had ears like a bat.
    Most of the neighbours had gone now. The men had been sent home with the older kids and the other little ’uns were up in the bedroom with Susan and James. There were now just four of them left and they all considered themselves to be Maureen’s best friends. Sandra had been insistent that they didn’t discuss stuff with anyone they didn’t know that well, or trust. Chatting amongst themselves, all the girls were positive that there had been some kind of mix-up. They all knew Mary Smith. Like themselves, she’d had it tough and was one of the old school. None of their kids, including Terry or Tommy, were angels, but none of them were cold-blooded killers. There had to be some mistake.
    Tommy sat in the interview room next to his mum, feeling confident. ‘I’ve already told yer, I was round at Lenny Simpson’s all night. I was with Michael Tibbs, Ben Thompson and Dave Taylor. We had a few beers and were listening to David Bowie records. If yer don’t believe me, go and ask ’em,’ he said cockily.
    Sitting next to her son, Maureen squeezed his clammy hand. Her Tommy might be a fucker, but he certainly wasn’t capable of what he was being accused of. The pigs had a bloody liberty, trying to put the blame on her son.
    Maureen stood up; she’d had enough of this shit for one night. If it wasn’t bad enough that the bastards had ruined her birthday party, they now seemed content on keeping them there till the cows came home. ‘Look, you ain’t got nothing on him, so why the fuck won’t you let us go home?’
    DC Perryman smiled at his colleague. He’d given Hutton twenty minutes to stew, wonder and make up stories. Now it was time to show him the real evidence and watch the little bastard crumble.
    As the bag of evidence was shown, Maureen’s heart sank, and she let go of Tommy’s hand. Her son’s clothes she recognised immediately. He didn’t have that many and the ones he did have, she’d had to scrimp and save for. For months he’d driven her mad for a pair of flares and here they were, ripped and covered in blood. She stared at the knife – she didn’t recognise that, but he could have got it from anywhere.
    ‘The clothes aren’t mine. Tell ’em Mum. Tell ’em they ain’t mine,’ Tommy said frantically.
    Maureen couldn’t speak. Her voice had disappeared and her mouth wouldn’t open.
    As DC Perryman put the school letter on the table, Tommy broke down in tears. ‘I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me, I swear I didn’t do it,’ he sobbed.
    DS Arnold tried a different tactic from his colleague. He was always a big believer in the nice and soft approach. ‘Look, son, we know the blood is Terry’s and we know the clothes are yours. All we