by Liz Mistry
Gus sighed and pulled a Wee Bru from one pocket and his anti-depressants from another. Watching the police officers beavering under the artificial light, he popped two pills into his mouth, undid the lid from his drink and slugged straight from the bottle.
Detective Sergeant Alice Cooper approached, dressed from head to toe in black, her scarf coiled a zillion times round her neck, her coat dwarfing her.
‘No sign of the press yet then, Al?’ he asked.
‘No, not yet. Thank God!’ she peered from beneath her black beanie. ‘The longer they stay away the better. Bloody parasites, especially that smarmy git Jez Hopkins. Two faced bastard – can’t trust him an inch.’
‘Thought you had a thing going with him?’
‘Duh? Only till I realised he was more interested in that drugs bust in Keighley than the finer workings of my mind.’
Gus grinned. ‘What have we got?’
‘Victim’s called Trixie – no surname so far. Runaway, according to her flatmate, who, coincidentally, found her. Apparently, Trixie’s mentioned Bridlington in the past. Maybe she came from there. I’ll get Missing Persons onto it.’
Gus nodded, turning as Sadia approached. She’d set off before him but had clearly decided to do a detour to avoid wagging tongues, ‘About bloody time, too.’
Alice jumped lightly on the spot, flapping her arms, presumably to keep warm. ‘Ignore Mr Grumpy, he’s only just arrived himself.’ She rubbed her gloved hands together before continuing. ‘Come on. The scene’s just down here.’ Shoulders hunched, she led them down a semi-lit side path that took them to the cordoned off area and out of eyeshot of the houses.
Before following, Gus pulled his jacket closely round him, partly to harness heat, but mostly to minimise the risk of contamination from the less than salubrious surroundings.
Before they’d taken half a dozen steps into the alley, Sadia stopped abruptly. ‘Shit I’ve stood in something... and it’s squishy.’
Gus smirked. She’d put on new shoes earlier because before they’d gotten distracted they’d intended to go out. She’d be well pissed off.
The path opened onto a rough surprisingly large open area, bordered by a hotchpotch of wooden panelling that divided the individual allotments. Each fence was tall, some had coiled barbed wire at the top and a few had illegally placed broken bottles sunk into a thin layer of cement at the top. Huge padlocks hung from the gates and Gus noted some walls were reinforced by criss-crossed iron bars. He shrugged. He couldn’t blame the owners for taking extreme security measures, but he wondered just how successfully they deterred unwanted visitors. In his experience the more visible your deterrent the more your premises appealed. Probably assumed there would be rich pickings inside in the form of lawn mowers and tools. The bottom corner of the square was sectioned off. Crime scene blocks were positioned at frequent intervals between the outer and inner cordons. The harsh lights made the shape of the body visible. Alice nodded towards a figure standing twenty yards to their right with a police-issue blanket draped over her shoulders, slender arms holding it together under her chin.
The girl stared straight ahead, seemingly paralysed, as she watched the activity.
‘She found the body and phoned it in,’ said Alice.
Gus nodded and looked at the girl, whose eyes never wavered from the crumpled body that lay unmoving on the floor.
‘I tried to move her up to one of the cars but she got hysterical, so I left her there. She seems calmer, now.’
‘She a user, Alice?’
Alice shrugged. ‘Didn’t see any tracks on her arms, so maybe not.’
He nodded towards the body. ‘What about her?’
‘Don’t know, didn’t get too close. We’re still waiting for the pa–’
‘Halloo all!’ came a cheery voice from behind them. ‘Ah, it’s you, Angus laddie. Good to see you.’
Gus closed his eyes and mumbled ‘Shit!’, before turning with a forced smile to greet the huge man who lumbered over, swinging his medical case by his side. Gus would have preferred almost any other pathologist to his dad. As he watched the older man approach, he said in a strangled voice, ‘What the fuck is he wearing?’
‘Looks like a kilt to me, Gus.’ Alice raised one hand to her brow in an exaggerated manner and peered through the gloom. ‘Yep, definitely a kilt.’
When the pathologist, kilt undulating jauntily, reached them, Alice turned to him and said, ‘Well, don’t you look handsome, Doc?’
Gus snorted as the man’s already ruddy face glowed even pinker at the compliment.
‘Ah, the lovely Alice,’ Dr McGuire said smiling. ‘Always ready with a compliment and the good grace to make an old man feel welcome.’ He pursed his mouth and glowered at Gus who stood, shoulders slumped, with a grudging half-smile on his face.
‘As you can see, Alice, I was at my Scottish country dance club when I got the call.’ He turned to Sadia and smiled. ‘Hallo my dear, you do look lovely tonight.’
Almost spluttering, Gus interrupted. ‘It’s not a bloody fashion parade you know. What the hell’s going on? You can’t come to a crime scene dressed like that!’ He glared at the kilt as if it was infectious.
Dr McGuire smoothed his kilt with a paddle-sized hand. ‘Och, don’t worry, Angus ma lad, ah’ll be careful. It’ll dry clean, you know?’
Gus’ mouth fell open, ‘I’m not bloody worried about your damn kilt! I just don’t think it’s appropriate for the pathologist to trundle up to a crime scene dressed like Bonnie Prince Bloody Charlie.’
Doc McGuire lowered his voice, leaned towards Gus and jerked his head towards the body. ‘Ah hate tae tell ye Angus, but the lassie’s already deid. So, ah doubt she’d be bothered if ah wore ma damn birthday suit.’
As Alice turned a giggle into a cough and lowered her mouth into the folds of her scarf, Gus realised he’d hurt his dad’s feelings. He felt a momentary pang of guilt which dissipated when he glanced back at his dad and once more saw the offending article of clothing. How long would it have taken him to pull a pair of damn trousers on? Two seconds that’s all, just two bloody seconds! But no! He’d got to turn up like some tartan avenger in a Braveheart spoof.
His scowl deepened as Dr McGuire continued, ‘I’m not a bloody eejit, Angus. Like always I’ll suit up, kilt or no bloody kilt.’ And he marched off to examine the body.
‘Well done there, Gus,’ said Sadia, trying not to laugh, ‘If you’d upset him any more that kilt of his would be swinging high enough for us all to see if he’s a true Scot.’
Gus let out a puff of air and slouched further into the coat. ‘Course he’s a bloody true Scotsman. He doesn’t do owt by half, does he?’
Alice patted him gently on the arm, ‘I’m sure he didn’t put it on just to annoy you, Gus.’
Gus looked at her, scepticism shining in his eyes. ‘You think not, Alice? I’m not so sure. I think my father’s main aim in life is to humiliate me in every way imaginable.’ He exhaled loudly and rubbed his hand through his hair. ‘Bloody silly auld goat!’
Alice laughed. ‘Why don’t you suit up and join him? At least you’ll be able to hold his kilt down for him. After all, it is a bit breezy over there.’
Gus raised an eyebrow. ‘Yeah, right.’ Trying to throw off his annoyance with his dad, Gus, shoulders hunched, turned towards the skinny girl who was now watching his dad don his white suit. Arms wrapped round her frame, she looked so alone and frail; as if a slight breeze would knock her off her feet. He felt sorry for her, knowing from personal experience that the numbness she felt right now would soon give way to something much worse. He sighed and nodded to one of the PCs. ‘Get her a cup of coffee or something and a seat. Make sure she’s okay.’
Sadia glanced over at the girl and frowned. ‘Wait a minute Gus, I think I know her.’ She continued to stare at the girl with troubled eyes and then nodded with certainty. ‘Yes, it is her. I haven’t seen her for years, but I was at school with her. She’s a year younger than me, but she li
ved next door to us when we lived in Thornbury.’
Sadia turned to her colleagues. ‘She’s Arshad Khan’s daughter.’
Gus and Alice looked at her. Seeing their blank faces, Sadia tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘God, keep up, why don’t you? Shahid Khan is Arshad’s son. Jessica is Shahid’s half-sister. They don’t get on. She hates him. Holds him responsible for her mum’s death.’
Ah, that’s why the name had seemed vaguely familiar to Gus. He remembered hearing about Arshad Khan. It was well before his time but everyone knew he’d been an evil bastard, dealing in drugs, women and weapons. For a while in the late nineties many of Khan’s rivals had ‘disappeared’ and, although Khan had never been implicated, it was widely believed in the force that he had been responsible. Shahid had a slightly better reputation than his father, but, nonetheless, he still exploited Bradford’s vulnerable, and was smart enough to get away with it.
Studying Jessica again, Sadia lowered her voice. ‘I was there that night. Saw the whole bloody thing. Jessica’s mum set fire to herself.’ She sniffed. ‘Haven’t seen Jess since then. Dad says she went to live with some relatives the other side of Bradford.’
Well, that was a memory that wouldn’t go away in a hurry, thought Gus, wishing he could comfort Sadia. He was relieved when Alice put her arm round Sadia’s shoulder. All three of them studied Jessica, the fragility of her frame, highlighted by the harsh glare of the crime scene lights.
There was something niggling Gus, though. Something just out of reach. What the hell was it? Shit! That was it. Eyes narrowed, he turned back to Sadia, ‘What did you say her surname is?’
Sadia shrugged, ‘Khan, I suppose. That was her dad’s name.’
Gus lifted his Irn Bru to his lips and swallowed a mouthful. ‘Sure it’s not Green?’
Sadia began to shake her head and then paused. ‘Shit… her mother was called Millie Green. You’re not suggesting that…’
Gus nodded. ‘Looks like it’
Alice, who’d remained silent, looked at Sadia. ‘Someone going to let me in on your little secret then? Telepathy’s not my strong point.’
Gus grinned and put the lid back on his bottle before replying. ‘Looks like Shahid Khan’s estranged half-sister is also Bazza ‘The Bampot’ Green’s niece.’
Alice’s eyes narrowed and she flicked through her note book. ‘Shit, you’re right. Uniform told me her name was Green.’
Running his tongue over his teeth to rid them of the sticky residue, Gus considered Sadia’s revelation. Looked like there was personal animosity between Shahid Khan and Bazza Green as well as ‘business rivalry’. Had something kicked off to trigger a turf war between these two? After all, for years they’d rubbed along together. Each sticking to their own neck of Bradford. Token rivalry taking the form of low level disruption that, in their infinite wisdom, they’d policed very effectively themselves. Hopefully, Sadia’s past relationship with Bazza’s niece would elicit some pertinent info. Three working girls dead in Bradford did not augur well. The papers would soon be chuntering on about serial killers and dredging through their archives for some of their favourite stories to regurgitate. Never mind the hysteria their unfounded hypotheses would cause. He sighed. If this was some sort of turf war, Gus wanted to nip it in the bud soon, before anyone else ended up dead.
He looked at Sadia, taking in her pale face and the slight furrow in her brow as she studied Jessica Green. ‘Reckon you want to re-establish the link?’
Sadia’s lips tightened. She pulled her coat more tightly round her body, and then nodded with a sigh. ‘Yeah. Poor sod hasn’t had much luck, has she? I’ll take care of her for now. Get her preliminary statement.’
Gus and Alice both said, ‘Good luck,’ as Sadia walked through the fallen leaves towards Jessica.
22:30 Killinghall Road
Soon as he’d heard her name he’d known she was his. ‘Serafina Nadratowski’! He laughed. What more proof could there be? Serafina; the snake. It was a sign from above that their destinies were linked. It couldn’t be clearer. He caressed the snake tattoo that slithered from the collar of his T-shirt. The serpent was his symbol. Their fates were sealed.
He frowned. She hadn’t been convinced though. Had back chatted him and refused to accept his logic. Maybe he shouldn’t have punched her… not then… at least not so soon… and probably not in that club where they had CCTV coming out of their ears. He shrugged. Chances were the Paki bastards would want to hush it all up anyway. They’d not pass it on to the police. Too busy hiding their own secrets and, of course, Serafina would keep schtum. Well, he hoped so anyway. The Old Man had warned him to keep a low profile, had promised him he could have Serafina if he wanted, but not now. Not till after they’d achieved what they’d set out to achieve.
He slammed his fist into the wall, sending sprinkles of plaster fluttering to the floor. He’d have to be more on top of things. He was in the UK now, not in Poland with his network of snitches. He’d have to be a lot more careful. No way did he want to be shunted on to a plane at Leeds Bradford airport bound for Poland and a lifetime in Piotrkow. Especially not with his track record with the Grypsers. If they got their hands on him his ‘life’ would last no longer than a gnat’s.
It pissed him off that he was beholden to The Old Man though. Mind you he had a lot to lose, too. So, in a way, he was dependent on Anastazy. No way did he want to reveal his true identity to the community. He’d managed to cover up for so long in Poland, portraying himself as the perfect family man. Well, until he’d messed up that is. Until he’d pissed off the wrong folk and nearly lost everything. That was when the old man had made a quick exit amid the exodus of Poles to the UK. Luckily for Anastazy, he’d needed his help to do that. Now, although the old man pulled most of the strings, Anastazy had a few of his own to pull. The Old Man may have knowledge of the upper echelons of the Polish underworld, but he, Anastazy had currency too. He knew where the bodies were buried, both literally and figuratively; The Old Man’s secrets were like gold and Anastazy knew that, in this game, loyalty was only as deep as the next power struggle.
He exhaled a long breath and turned his thoughts to Serafina again. Frowning he remembered the way she’d thrust her chin out at him so aggressively. She needed taming. He shrugged again. Plenty of time to teach her how to behave later, when he had her hooked. She’d be more pliant then. Much more pliant. He rubbed his jaw. The big beefy bouncer had hit him there and it was tender now. He wouldn’t forget. Anastazy Dolinski never forgot and he never forgave. That was his strength. The bouncer would get what he was owed.
Anastazy had managed to escape the Polish authorities. He laughed, remembering how easy it had been to evade the bumbling police with their infighting, corruption and sheer incompetence. A new passport with a new name and Anastazy had, quite literally, resurrected himself. Just like his new name, he was the resurrection.
It would soon be time to exact revenge on the families of those who’d betrayed him in his motherland. Those vermin responsible for tarnishing his name, his reputation. He would not let them off lightly and now, here in Bradford, he had, with The Old Man, created an infrastructure in which his business could rise from the ashes – a glorious phoenix of destruction. He’d ruin the status quo. The Paki and the English scum would, by the time he was finished with them, beg for his lenience.
As for The Old Man, well maybe Anastazy would turn the tables on him and take over the dynasty he was trying to recreate here in Bradford. His anonymity was what made him feared throughout Poland. That’s why he would be feared throughout Bradford, and then Yorkshire, and then throughout England as his empire extended and his reputation for ‘decisive action’ went before him and when the time was ripe, Anastazy would stab him in the back and take everything he held dear. After all the man’s family were worthless. His sons were not strong enough to take up the mantle of leadership… no, with the old man gone the way would be clear for Anastazy.
But first, Serafina. It wouldn’t be
difficult to own her, but in the meantime he’d make do with an inferior product, after all, he had money and knowledge… and the community knew the risks if they refused him. After all, everyone had wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, didn’t they?
23:15 Lilycroft Allotments
Suited up in their abominables, Gus and Alice stood next to Dr McGuire. Having swallowed down his earlier annoyance with his dad, Gus was now focussed on the job in hand and he knew his dad would be too. Gus studied the girl, who was sprawled like an unwanted sack of potatoes at his feet and said, ‘Well, what do you have for us?’
Resembling an oversized baby with his kilt bundled up like a nappy under his suit, Dr McGuire replied, ‘Well, let me see. She was strangled with her own scarf. A rather pretty pink and mauve one as it happens – cheap, but pleasant.’ He moved the scarf slightly away from her neck to reveal an angry ruddy welt.
Irritated by his dad’s commentary, Gus grunted. The pathologist turned towards him. ‘What’s that you say, my boy?’
Knowing better than to engage him in a discussion about keeping to the point, Gus waved his hand in a ‘get on with it’ gesture. ‘Any idea of time of death?’
‘Oh, that’s easy. The body was still slightly warm. Sometime after eight tonight, I’d say – provisionally though, you understand?’
Gus nodded. The only bonus of having his dad as the on-call pathologist, as opposed to ‘the old school’ Geoff Chalmers, was that his dad was happy to share his initial impressions with the team, albeit with ‘provisionally’ tacked on the end. His philosophy, as verbalised to Gus ad infinitum in the past, was that his duty was to the victim and, if his initial thoughts could move the investigation forward, he’d voice them. He was also a stickler for following up if he later found something at the PM to contradict his initial findings.
‘As you can see, there’s a wine bottle inserted into her vagina.’ He continued pointing with a gloved finger, ‘Same as the young ladies I examined last week – Camilla and Starlight, I believe they were called.’ He bent down to look at the bottle and frowned. ‘Doesn’t seem to be as much blood as with the other two. Hmm! Maybe he didn’t use as much force or maybe it wasn’t broken at the neck. Never mind, we’ll see when I do the PM tomorrow. Are you coming to that, Angus?’
