Like Ray, Michelle was immediately in no doubt about the identity of Lee’s killer. Ray hadn’t said Tracie’s name but, as he stood crying in Michelle’s kitchen, I knew he was thinking the same thing.
‘Oh, God, Michelle, don’t, please,’ I said. I knew she was only saying what Ray had thought from the moment the police had arrived at our house, but I didn’t want to believe it. I took Michelle in my arms as Steve tried to comfort Paige, a sobbing little girl unable to understand her mum’s grief.
Michelle said that the night before she had suffered a massive panic attack. Sweating profusely and unable to get her breath, she described having experienced severe stabbing pains in her chest and acute breathlessness. It had been so bad she’d had to go outside to get air and Steve had been so worried he’d thought she was having a heart-attack. The astonishing thing for all of us was that it had happened at around 10.30–10.45pm, the time when Lee had taken his last breath.
The hugs and tears never stopped that day. And, even when we took Michelle and Steve back to the hospital to see Lee, the reality of his death still really didn’t sink in.
That same afternoon, we visited the police incident room at Redditch Police Station. Mick offered to take us because, even though he couldn’t tell us very much, he knew we weren’t going to sit at home, drinking endless cups of tea. I’ve never been the type to take ‘no’ for an answer and, well, I guess, with me being me, I didn’t care what I said or who I said it to. We needed to know anything they could tell us. And, like anyone who’s gone through this, you need to feel as though you’re doing something.
I’d seen plenty of incident rooms on the telly but had never imagined that I’d end up in one in real life. And never in a million years, in one set up to investigate the murder of my own son.
It was scary because it took us all back to the horror of being told about Lee and because nothing was hidden from us. It was just like the ones you see on The Bill – police officers sitting behind computers, desks covered with files and paper, telephones and a huge white board on the wall covered with photos of Lee’s body, his car and views of Cooper’s Hill. Even the photo I’d given to the policeman and woman who’d told us about Lee’s death was pinned up. It was one I’d taken of Tracie and Lee. Ray and I had been for a meal with them at a local pub and I’d decided to capture the moment.
In the days, weeks and months that followed Lee’s death, it became a signature photo accompanying reports of his murder.
‘All we want is for you to be honest with us,’ I told Mick as we left. ‘Anything you can tell us, anything at all.’
He nodded. ‘Leave it to us,’ he said. ‘There’s more information coming in all the time. You need to go home and try and get some rest if you can. We’ll come back with you and help you deal with the media. You and Ray will need to come back and give statements so you can’t say anything to any reporters.’
It was a lot easier said than done. When we got back home, the street was full of cars and vans – reporters, photographers and camera crews who had picked up the news of Lee’s murder on the West Mercia Police crime log that afternoon were camped outside our house. Like us, they had been given the barest details based on what Tracie had told the police. At that stage, all anyone had to go on was what the police had told us when they’d come to the house: that they had been chased by two men in a car on their way from a pub. And, when Lee stopped his car and got out to challenge them, he’d been attacked and killed by one of them.
Like the police, we knew the media had a job to do and that the coverage of Lee’s murder was going to be a vital part of helping with the investigation, but we still weren’t prepared for the relentless door-knocking and interview requests that continued throughout the day. Having seen so many fleeting images of distraught, grieving faces in the media over the years, and never really understanding what any of those bereaved relatives were going through, it was now our turn in the spotlight… we now had our own tragic story to tell, and desperately needed whatever help we could get.
We saw Tracie for the first time at Redditch Police Station the next day. I broke the silence as Ray and I walked into the interview room where Tracie was sitting at a table. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked her.
She lifted her head but didn’t look at us.
‘How long have you been here?’ I asked. I was shocked by her appearance. Her hair was matted with blood and her face was swollen. There was a gash above her left eye, which had been taped, and purple bruising beneath her left eye which was spreading across her cheek.
‘All night,’ she whimpered. ‘I went home for an hour and then they brought me back here for more questioning. I don’t know why. They just keep asking me loads of questions.’
Ray and I had plenty of questions we wanted to ask her. She was the key to helping the police catch Lee’s killers.
‘I know it’s hard, but the police have to catch the people who did this to Lee,’ I told her.
I asked her if she’d been given anything to eat. She shook her head. ‘I haven’t had anything. I haven’t had any sleep.’
What a bloody shame, I thought. I felt genuinely sorry for her. She looked like shit, nothing like the perfectly made-up Tracie we were used to seeing. It was hard to imagine that this was the same person who had spent the best part of two hours in our bathroom putting her face on. Not caring that we’d be waiting to use the loo, crossing our legs outside the door. Seeing Tracie without her slap on just didn’t happen, unless you caught her unawares, like the time she’d stayed over at our house and thought no one was about when she tiptoed out of the bedroom clutching her make-up bag.
I’d thought it was hilarious when I came up the stairs and saw her on the landing. But, instead of seeing the funny side, she’d screamed, dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
I asked one of three police officers in the room if they could give her a break and some food. ‘She’s only been home for a wash,’ I snapped. ‘You could at least get her something to eat.’
When they asked her if she wanted anything, she said she’d like some tea and a sausage sandwich. Ten minutes later, I watched in amazement as she wolfed down the sandwich and drained the mug of tea. Ray and I hadn’t managed to eat a thing and yet Tracie couldn’t get her sandwich down her neck fast enough.
We were desperate to ask her questions but the police made it clear they hadn’t finished with her. And, when she’d finished her sandwich, they told us we had to leave so they could carry on questioning her.
‘We’ll see you later, love,’ I told Tracie. ‘The police need to find out who did this to Lee. It’s their job.’
‘We need to have a chat with you and Ray,’ one of the officers said, as he led us out of the room.
That afternoon, I took Anita to the hospital to see Lee. I knew it would be hard for her but it was something she needed to do. He’d been moved to the little chapel at the hospital. It was beautiful and so much more peaceful and dignified than the mortuary where Ray and I had first seen him. Anita wept as she kissed Lee’s face and told him she would never let Danielle forget him. ‘I’ll tell her how much you loved her,’ she whispered. ‘And what a good dad you were.’
As she was talking to him, telling him that we’d find out who had done this to him, I thought for a moment that I saw Lee’s head move and his eyes flicker. However irrational it sounds, I can