Uncoiled Lies: a stunning crime thriller

by Liz Mistry

  Nice, thought Imti, jumping over the bar, and approaching the woman. She’d been helped to her feet by two girls wearing startlingly white makeup, punctuated by black lipstick and eyeliner. He grinned at them, ‘Thanks, girls. I’ve got it from here.’

  Grabbing two clean tea towels, he dumped a handful of crushed ice in each and gave her one for her cheek, which was beginning to bruise, whilst he held the other at the back of her head.

  ‘You need an ambulance?’

  She shook her head, grimacing as she prodded her cheek. Then, in a clear but accented voice she said, ‘No. When I get home my mother will look after me and...’ She jerked her head towards the back exit, ‘my brothers will look after him.’

  Despite her nonchalant head jerk, Imti thought she didn’t look convinced. To be honest, he didn’t blame her. The guy was a thug… and a big one at that. Her brothers would have to be huge to stand a chance against that brute. Hiding his scepticism, he said, ‘Just hold on. I’ll get Jai to drop you back home.’

  He walked over to the bar to buzz Jai, but by the time he’d turned back, all that was left was a blast of chill air as the fire exit slammed shut behind her. Imti lifted his eyes to the TV screen and saw her outside in the alley. She stopped to pull her coat on before, with a glance towards the shadows on her right, she began to run in the opposite direction from her earlier companion.

  21:00 Lilycroft Allotments

  The uneven earth was dotted with sludge-filled holes. Strewn amongst the filth were empty spray cans, discarded condoms, used syringes and… the woman’s body.

  Her hair trailed like long rats’ tails through the sludge. She resembled a discarded doll wantonly tossed aside. Streaks of mascara marbled her face, giving her the look of a painted Celt. A silk scarf was pulled tight enough to cut into her neck and her mouth gaped like a gargoyle revealing insufficient oral hygiene and the caries born of a drug habit.

  She wore the uniform of her trade – halter T-shirt, fake leather jacket, short denim skirt and stiletto sandals. Whoever had killed her had scrunched her skirt up to her waist and prised open her skinny, pock-marked legs to reveal the wine bottle thrust, neck first, inside her vagina.

  Jessica’s pulse pumped as she stared at the body. Then, she shoved her fist in her mouth to stifle the anguished scream that clawed for release at her chest. She shivered uncontrollably, searching the dark shadows for movement. Slowly, she backed down the alley, closer to the street lights. Hands shaking, she fumbled in her jeans pocket for her phone. Cursing her trembling fingers, she finally managed to dial 999 and blurt out the details before tears coursed down her cheeks. Wrapping her arms round her body, she squatted in a frozen huddle, her gaze focused on the shape halfway down the alley. The shape that had been her friend. She twisted toward the fence and, half falling into the weeds, she vomited until her throat nipped and her stomach muscles protested.

  21:50 Marriners Drive

  Detective Inspector Gus McGuire hardly registered the insistent whining at the door.

  He was rapidly losing awareness of his surroundings. Every nerve vibrated, as her hair tickled him. His entire body was on fire. First his thighs, then his belly and his chest, before she worked her way up until, finally, it fell curtaining their heads in dark satin, their tongues thrusting, plundering as they kissed.

  Gently… tantalisingly, she raised her hips and, taking her time, brought herself down taking his erection inside her. He groaned against her open mouth as she moved with a lazy languor. Reaching up, he pulled her to him and caught one tight dark nipple between his lips. His tongue rasped over it and, when she groaned, he nipped very gently and then moved to the other breast. He sighed, enjoying the building sensation in his stomach as she clenched her muscles around him. As their breathing quickened, the whining at the door increased, punctuated by a few pitiful yelps. Gus moaned against her lips as she teased him with a slower rhythm.

  The harsh ringing of his phone stilled them. Sadia’s head jerked up. Still panting, her body slick with sweat, she glanced from the phone to Gus and back again, before sliding off him with a sigh.

  Gus’ erection rapidly diminished. ‘Bloody Hell! Why now?’

  Sadia giggled and flung herself full length onto the bed beside him. ‘Probably divine intervention, to stop the poor Muslim girl from sinning.’

  Gus slapping her gently on the arse, leaned over her prone body to grab the phone. ‘A bit bloody late for that, my girl.’

  She pouted and, standing up, padded over to let the still whinging dog in.

  Gus took a moment to admire the perfection of her bottom and her long hair that skirted her buttocks, before, with regret, lifting the receiver at the exact same moment as Bingo launched himself past Sadia and landed right on his crotch. Gus’ ‘Yeah?’ became a strangulated yelp.

  ‘You all right, sir?’ came the voice from the phone.

  Glaring as Sadia, with a smile, lifted a struggling Bingo from his lap, Gus said, ‘Just the dog, Harry. What’s up?’

  ‘There’s been another one.’

  ‘Shit.’ Gus caught Sadia’s eye, she put Bingo down and sat next to him, her face immediately transformed from relaxed flushed lover to focussed, alert police officer as Harry continued.

  ‘Same as t’other two, sir.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Gus transferred the phone to his other hand and scratched his stomach. The last thing he’d wanted was a third dead prostitute on his hands. The damn vultures would be out in force yelling ‘serial killer’ and citing Bradford’s existing reputation with The Yorkshire Ripper and The Crossbow Cannibal. Gus didn’t need them lending gravitas to these killings. Especially when he felt his team hadn’t made much progress on the first two murders. The press had already been eager to slate them for not apprehending anyone and quick to imply their slow progress was due to lack of concern because of the women’s employment. His lips tightened as he listened.

  ‘But that’s not all...’

  Gus could hear the hesitancy in Harry’s tone. ‘Spit it out, Harry.’ He heard the other man take a deep breath before speaking.

  ‘She’s not one of Shahid Khan’s this time. ‘Barely able to contain his excitement the desk sergeant’s voice rose. ‘She’s Bazza Green’s.’

  ‘Tit for tat?’ asked Gus frowning

  Harry hesitated, ‘No, no I don’t think so. Not heard about trouble between those two for ages’

  ‘Hmm.’ Gus wasn’t convinced. Khan and Green had been enemies for years. He knew there was always trouble brewing between them. ‘Whereabouts?’ he asked, already getting out of bed.

  ‘Lilycroft allotments. Shall I contact DS Hussain? DS Cooper’s already on her way.’

  Gus glanced at Sadia and winked. ‘It’s okay, Harry, I’ll contact Hussain.’

  He slammed the phone down and rested his head momentarily against the wall before saying, ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’

  Sadia, already pulling on her bra and knickers, threw Gus his trousers. ‘Another girl?’

  ‘Yep. Bazza Green’s this time, down by the Lilycroft allotments.’

  Dragging her hair back into a ponytail and, with practised speed, pulling her clothes back on, Sadia grimaced. ‘He’s a sleazy little bastard isn’t he?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Gus pulled his jumper over his head and looked at Sadia. ‘But so is Shahid Khan. Only difference is, Khan’s a more polished kind of scum. They’re both pimps, both in the business of screwing working girls.’

  ‘Don’t start, Gus. I know exactly what Shahid is, but Imti’s not like that.’

  Gus shrugged. ‘I know you’ve got a soft spot for Imti but you need to be careful. What would your dad say if he knew you still saw them?’

  Sadia thrust her chin out, hands on hips. ‘You’re using my dad as leverage, Gus… really?’

  With an apologetic grimace, he dropped a kiss on her forehead, clicked his fingers for the dog and headed downstairs to the kitchen. ‘Come on Bingo. Go do your business in the pooey grass.’

  With a raise
d eyebrow, Sadia followed, shaking her head from side to side, as she stepped from the bottom step. ‘Distraction tactics? Shame on you, Gus, and what’s with the pooey grass? You out of your mind? Who the hell says “pooey grass”?’

  Realising that her joking hid her underlying anger, Gus avoided eye contact and opened the back door for Bingo. He was right to express his concern about her being friends with Shahid Khan’s brother Imti. On a number of levels their friendship was ill-advised. On the other hand, Gus knew by now that confronting Sadia about it was just going to make her dig her heels in even more. With a sigh he watched Bingo scamper round in circles before heading over to a small square of grass in the corner of the garden. Linking arms with her by the back door, Gus nodded to the dog. ‘I put in that little square of grass especially for him to do his doings on when I first got him. Took me ages to train him not to crap all over, but look, he learned. Now I only need to pooper scooper that area.’ He risked a glance at Sadia and was pleased to see her face relax. Despite Bingo’s dislike of Sadia, he knew she thought the dog was sweet. He squeezed her arm and grinned at her.

  Unlinking her arm from his, she grinned back. ‘Okay, okay, I admit it’s cute, but the truth is Bingo is a bit of a passion killer and he hates me.’

  Gus grabbed his over-sized fisherman’s coat from the chair and whistled for Bingo.

  ‘He’s not used to you, that’s all. He’ll get used to you.’

  Bingo, paws skittering over the lino, ran past Sadia, snarling as he went.

  She sighed. ‘I bloody hope so.’

  Taking advantage of her change in mood, Gus dropped a kiss on the top of her head and walked over to take two mini Irn Bru bottles from the fridge. Thrusting them into the pocket of his jacket, he locked up and then walked through the hallway saying over his shoulder, ‘Stay Bingo, stay.’

  Stopping only to slip his trainers on, he opened the front door and waited for Sadia to shrug her coat and shoes on, before, together, they walked outside.

  Their cars were lined up in the drive of his detached house. Gus got into his and poked his head out the window. ‘You coming with me, Sad?’

  ‘God, no! Last thing I need is us arriving together and my dad finding out.’

  Gus tutted. ‘Wish you’d just man up and tell him, Sadia. What’s the worst he can do?’

  Sadia pointed her key towards her car and waited till it beeped open. ‘You don’t want to know’ And, with a tiny wave, she headed towards her vehicle and climbed in.

  Wishing life was a bit simpler Gus watched her start up her car, and then, with a careless wave and an unnecessary rev, she was off. It’s a pity, thought Gus, following her at a more sedate pace, that her dad is also the boss.

  22:00 The Delius, Leeds Road

  ‘Pick up for fuck’s sake!’ Shahid Khan paced the floor in front of his desk, phone tight to his ear. When the number he’d dialled went to voicemail yet again, he turned and flung it, scattering the paperwork from his desk onto the floor. With a growl, he kicked the chair that stood nearby. Anger reverberated through every muscle and laboured pants wracked his body as he tried to control himself. Why wasn’t she picking up? She’d promised him she’d phone at nine. What was she playing at? Shahid didn’t know who he was most angry with – her for letting him down or himself for caring so fucking much. He’d vowed never to let a woman have the sort of hold on him that Millie Green had once had on his dad. When she’d dumped him, and who could blame her after the way he treated her, his dad had been devastated and now here he was dangling on the end of the phone like an idiot. He took a deep breath, bit his lip and reminded himself that Trixie wasn’t like Millie and he was certainly nothing like his dad, but still the anger bubbled in his chest. He knew he’d have to do something about it before he exploded.

  ‘Fuck!’ He spat the word into the empty room and strode over to the annex in the corner where his punch bag hung – a hulk of malevolent shiny black leather, dangling in ominous silence, lit by a single spotlight casting its shadow over the real oak floor. Not bothering with the boxing gloves that lay on a shelf beside his weights, he thumped a bare-fisted one-two-one rhythm into the bag making it swing widely, forcing him to jump on the balls of his toes to avoid being hit on the rebound… again… faster.

  After two minutes of pummelling, he was panting, sweat dripping from his brow. He stopped to catch his breath, relaxed his shoulders and looked at his bloodied knuckles. How many times had his trainer told him always to use the gloves? He flexed his fists, savouring the stinging stretch that made more blood ooze over his hands and gather in the creases between his fingers. Breathing steadier, he walked to the sink, flicked the cold tap on and watched as the water splashed his blood in abstract patterns onto the pristine ceramic – like one of the paint blot paintings Imti used to bring home from school when he was a kid. He smiled remembering how, in the absence of his dad’s loving presence and, with his step-mum’s indifference like a weight on his shoulders, he’d hugged the boy and carefully pinned Imti’s proud offerings all over the kitchen. He’d lost his sister years ago, but he wasn’t going to lose his baby brother – not a bloody chance!

  Now, Imti was all grown up and managing the club, like he’d been born into it. His smile faded and once more his thoughts turned to Trixie. He could thing of only one reason for her not picking up. But she’d promised him she wouldn’t. That she’d stall Bazza. He hated feeling out of control, but, more than that, he hated the thought that maybe Bazza had one up on him.

  He took a deep breath and grabbing two hand towels, he wrapped them round his fists. After a quick glance in the mirror, he walked back to his desk, flung himself into the swivel chair and cast a cursory glance over the bank of TVs which were positioned on the wall opposite his desk. This was his power station. He could work at his desk and a single glance allowed him an overview of the club without him having to move a muscle. Putting Trixie out of his mind for the moment, Shahid assessed the activity in the club. It wasn’t as busy as he’d have liked, but, then again, it was a Thursday and the weekend trade normally more than made up for a mid-week lull. After the earlier hassle with the Polish brute, things seemed quiet. He’d seen the girl slip out the fire exit when Imti went to get Jai. He’d also seen Imti’s face when he’d turned and she was gone. He smiled. Imti liked the girl. It was written all over him. He’d never been able to hide anything from Shahid. Shahid could read the boy like a book. He frowned, then reached for his phone and pumped in a number. ‘Jai, get someone to find out where that Polish bint lives will you?’

  Nothing was too much trouble for Imti. Nothing at all.

  Still unsettled, he re-checked his phone for calls or texts. Nothing! Where the hell was she? He’d made her promise not to go to Bazza’s tonight. Not tonight of all nights. Why the fuck couldn’t she just walk away from him? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t exert a bit of influence on her behalf. After all, he and Bazza had a lot of history together.

  He pumped her number into his phone again, but, like before, it rung out. Shahid glanced at his PC for the time. Getting on for 11pm. Where the hell was she? His phone vibrated in his hand and he nearly dropped it in his eagerness to answer. ‘Imti’ flashed on the screen and his heart sank. Glancing at the TVs, he located Imti behind the bar, phone to his ear, aimlessly wiping the bar down. Shahid’s smile was tight when he spoke. ‘I’ll be down in a minute, Imti.’

  He listened as Imti moaned on about how they’d be late and how he hated being late. Fuck’s sake, the boy was a real old woman at times. Cutting over his brother’s whining, Shahid said, ‘I know, I know, we’re late. We’ll get there when we get there. God, Imti, Birmingham’s only a couple of hours’ drive. Call Uncle Majid and explain we’ve been held up. He’ll understand. He knows we’ve got a business to run. Get the bags in the car.’

  Imti looked up at the camera and Shahid thrummed an impatient rhythm on his desk when he saw his brother’s frown. Imti mouthed the words, ‘Get a fucking move on’ to the screen an
d then grabbing a sheet of paper, he turned to Jai who’d just sat down on a bar stool opposite him. Shahid smiled and shook his head. Poor Jai. Looked like he was in for yet another lecture on the dos and don’ts of running The Delius for the weekend.

  22:30 Lilycroft allotments

  Emerging from the car, Gus rubbed his hands together. It was cold enough to freeze the balls off a snowman. Stuffing his hands back into his pockets, he studied the scene.

  A row of terraced houses stood behind a high wooden fence, separating them from the alleyway skirting the allotments. The houses were brightly lit, the occupants no doubt wakened by the police activity outside. At some of the upstairs windows, family groups were silhouetted against faint landing lights as they watched the scene below. Gus grimaced, feeling sorry for them. Whilst enjoying the excitement of the moment, they would soon become angered by the police’s insistent questions, frustrated by the relentless journalists and scared of the unknown murderer.

  Gus knew that in the summer these allotments were a focus for all sorts of community activities. By day, kids played in the nearby park after school. The local mosque was as well attended as the Ring O’ Bells pub, and both served the diverse needs of the community. Each allotment proudly grew a masala of Asian and English vegetables. Now, with autumn turning to winter, there were only drifting leaves and wind-blown trees casting jagged shadows over the area.

  After dark, the locals left the fenced-in allotments with their maze of interlinking paths to the night scavengers. Dense shadows provided enough cover for punters to grind against disinterested, stoned prostitutes, who remained upright solely by virtue of leaning against the wooden panels. Dealers, too, enjoyed private meetings, seen only by vagrants too pissed to bear witness to their dirty deals. Drug paraphernalia sprawled among the weeds; a detritus of bent cutlery and used syringes. Like most cities, Bradford’s dregs came to life at dusk, hidden, in the main, until some brutal act lifted them out of the darkness and into the spotlight.