by Liz Mistry
Carla smiled. ‘No. Trixie had a few minor run-ins with you lot – a bit of shoplifting but nowt serious. No, I suspect that Jessica nagged and nagged until Trixie gave in. Jessica has a persuasive way with her and has often, in the past, helped the girls take the first steps to cleaning up their act. In another life, I think she’d have been a social worker.’
What a waste, thought Sampson, allowing his mind to dwell on the what-ifs of Jessica Green’s life. ‘So, no weirdoes and no turf war between Bazza and Hussain? What else is there?’
‘Weell’ said Carla drawing the word out, ‘You know those underage girls I told you about?’
Alice and Sampson nodded.
‘I think they’re Eastern European. New immigrants. You know how it is? They come expecting a Brave New World and end up with dull Yorkshire sandstone, crap weather, no jobs, no benefits and little option but to peddle themselves on street corners. We’ve had a few Poles and Ukrainians in here, but they’ve been older and seemed to be working for either themselves, Bazza or Hussain. We’ve not seen any younger ones, but, as I said, a few of the girls did mention it.’ She shrugged. ‘And Charlotte brought a girl in one night a couple of weeks ago. She was paralytic, covered in blood and bruises; quite clearly sexually assaulted. Charlotte had heard her with a punter in the allotments and didn’t like what was going on so she created a fuss throwing stones and banging things. The bloke legged it.’ She hesitated, ‘…and so did the girl – as soon as she could. We cleaned her up, dressed her wounds, popped her a morning after pill and as soon as she was sober, she checked her phone, started getting agitated and eventually barged her way out, pockets filled with condoms. Charlotte went out looking for her, but she’d disappeared: probably got picked up by whoever is running her.’
‘So, you think there’s someone else running girls apart from Green and Khan?’
Carla shrugged. ‘Might be. Can’t be sure. Might be a cousin or brother wanted her to do it for a short time to pay some bills. Who knows?’
Sampson wondered if they could find out more about this. He might ask a few of his contacts, but, he suspected, the girls themselves were the ones with the info. Maybe they’d strike gold with them.
Alice straightened her legs in front of her. ‘Look. You know I hate to do this Carla, but can you set us up with a room and see if any of the girls will talk to us. I don’t really want to be here with my detective hat on but I reckon it’s better me and Sampson than some of the mutts we have on the team at the minute.’
Carla smiled. ‘Great minds think alike, Alice. I’ve already arranged a meeting room for you. Some of the girls are already waiting there. Most of them drifted in this morning when news of Trixie’s death reached them. They want to help, but they are wary. Don’t push too hard and they might spill something juicy.’
10:15 City Academy, Manchester Road
Where the hell was he? Serafina desperately needed to speak to Hasnain before school finished for the day and she had the sneaky suspicion his last lesson ended at lunch time. Knowing him, he’d head straight home and she might miss him.
Seeing a group of his mates bunched together by the sixth form lockers, Serafina walked up and raised her voice to be heard over their chatter. ‘Any idea where Hasnain is?’
Hasnain’s best mate Benny turned towards her, a slow grin spreading over his unshaven face when he saw who it was. ‘Well, well, well. Maybe Serafina isn’t as hard to get as she makes out, hey guys?’
Serafina rolled her eyes. ‘Grow up, idiot. Where is he?’
Benny grinned and glanced round as if to make sure he had a willing audience. ‘Ooooh, she’s getting annoyed boys.’ He stepped through the group of boys and, eyeing her up and down, said, ‘Do you want to get all hot and sweaty with Hasnain, is that it?’
Spinning on her heel, Serafina flung a dirty look in Benny’s direction and started to walk down the corridor away from them. Why the hell were boys so stupid? Full of testosterone and slathered in Lynx. Didn’t that idiot Benny realise how much of a twat he looked with that stupid patchy beard of his? She’d nearly reached the top of the stairs when two lads tumbled off the top stair and, in their haste, barged past her calling Benny’s name.
Sensing their panic, she hesitated, holding the bannister and looked back at the group of boys. For some reason her heart began to thump in her chest and a sense of dread overtook her. Please don’t let this be something to do with Hasnain she thought. She was glad that she had something to hold on to for, all of a sudden, her knees weakened and she felt as if she would slide to the floor as their words drifted back to her.
‘Fucking hell, Benny! Hasnain’s in an ambulance. It’s fuckin’ bad mate. Some Polish geezer grabbed him when he came out of Lidl. He pulled a knife on him. Fuck! It looked bad! Really fucking bad.’
Everything seemed to slow down for Serafina. Her heart seemed to jump up to her throat as she realised what she was hearing. Somehow or other Anastazy had got to Hasnain. She’d been too late. Too damn late. The story of her life. Why hadn’t she grabbed him when they got off the bus?
She saw Benny push through the crowd and head for the stairs. The other boy followed still talking. ‘There was blood everywhere man. All we could do was phone the pigs. Fuck, Benny, what if he dies?’
Benny turned and lunged at the boy, grabbing him by the throat and thrusting him up against the wall. ‘Shut the fuck up, right? Just shut the fuck up. Hasnain’ll be alright, okay?’
Tears welled in Serafina’s eyes as, when Benny released his friend, she saw him wipe a sleeve across his eyes. Then, taking a deep breath he spoke in a more controlled tone. ‘Did they get the bastard?’
The other boy, visibly pale and shaken shook his head as he adjusted his T-shirt. ‘Nah. The bastard ran off. He just looked at Hasnain lying on the ground. He fucking spat on him and kicked him in the ribs. Then he said “That’ll teach you to mess with my girl, you Paki bastard” and he kicked him again and ran off.’
Benny took a deep breath and turned towards Serafina. With her heart thumping in her chest, she met his eyes, watching as Benny, all trace of swagger gone, walked towards her. ‘This got summat to do with you, bitch?’
10:45 Killinghall Road
It had been so fucking easy to deal with the Paki. Anastazy could, of course, have ordered it done but where would be the fun in that? This was a message he wanted to deliver in person. He’d plenty of minions who could do it but it was good to keep his hand in and, despite the risks, he felt it would be well worth it to deliver this particular memo. After all, recently all his ‘work’ had been completed by a third party. He was wise enough to realise that, for the big issues, he needed to keep a distance between himself and his ‘people’.
He was determined to gain a steely hold on the Bradford punks. Punks like Shahid Khan and Bazza Green were slowly but surely being dealt with. Eliminating competition was just phase one of the plan. Phase two; saturating the various markets with their produce and cornering the more specialised markets was already underway. He was pleased. In fact, the only blight on the horizon as far as Anastazy was concerned was Serafina’s reluctance to submit gracefully. He grinned, making his teardrop tattoo crinkle. He didn’t really mind. He liked them feisty; all the better to break!
He’d gone for a fry-up first. Planning always made him hungry. When he’d finished his breakfast, he’d jumped on his motorbike and headed up Manchester Road. He was smart. He knew they had CCTV all over the Lidl car park, so he’d ridden up to Morrison’s and parked up, then jogged back down the hill to the Lidl opposite the school. He was wearing his biker’s helmet and leathers so they’d have no way to identify him if they did happen to catch a fleeting glance of him on one of their cameras. He didn’t go into the shop but hung about at the bottom end of the car park. He knew it was only a matter of time before the little bastard left school and headed over to the shop. He’d seen him do it before – strutting over the road with his poxy mates, full of swag and shit. Thought he was a
ll that, didn’t he? Well, he’d soon discover that meddling with Anastazy’s belongings was not a good idea.
When he seen the boy cross the road to the supermarket, Anastazy had thrown his half-smoked cigarette away and dodged behind a car. The boy was so full of himself, laughing and joking with his mates; the idiot didn’t even see him. Anastazy had waited, shuffling his feet as the anticipation built. At last, he’d spotted him as he left the shop carrying what looked like a bag of doughnuts. He’d drawn his knife from the leg of his biker’s boot.
He’d considered just blasting the bastard but, in the end, decided that Hasnain’s crime warranted a more close-up and personal approach. Looking like any other shopper, he approached the group of lads. God, but they were so stupid. Never paid him any notice at all, too busy being jerks. When he got close enough, he waved the knife in their faces, enjoying the way their smiles died. The tingle in his crotch told him the adrenalin was kicking in. As he took a step towards Hasnain, his hard on pushed against his leathers. He felt great. Invincible. Strong. He flung his head back and laughed, a rough guttural sound that started in his belly and erupted like a volcano of bad breath from his snarling mouth. The boys started to back away, stumbling over their feet in their haste, but he stepped forward and thrust the knife right into the Paki bastard’s stomach. Blood, warm and metallic spurted onto his hand. He breathed deep, letting the scent stimulate him even more.
As Hasnain fell to the concrete, his fingers cupped his stomach but the blood was already pouring between them. Anastazy studied the startled look on the boy’s face and, with his sleeve, wiped away the drops of blood that had landed on the visor of his helmet when he’d pulled the knife out. Turning his head, he noticed, with satisfaction, that the other boys had begun to run, snatching at their phones, trying, no doubt, to phone for help. Anastazy laughed at them and turned back to Hasnain. The other boy’s cowardice meant he could devote the little time he had before the pigs showed up making sure the Paki got the message.
10:45 Prossie Palace, Manningham
Alice led the way back downstairs to the room Carla had designated for their meeting with the prostitutes. She hadn’t expected much more information from Carla, but it was good to get some background on Trixie. The more she heard the more inclined she was to think it was some sort of whacko serial killer. Just what Bradford needs. She dreaded to think what sensationalist headlines would greet them over the next few days. They really needed to get a handle on this. Hopefully the working girls downstairs would come up with something useful. Her thoughts were interrupted when Sampson spoke.
‘Do you think she’s right about it not being a turf war between Bazza and Hussain?’
Pushing open the fire door at the bottom of the stairs and starting along the corridor, Alice sighed. ‘Well, let’s put it this way, Carla knows these girls. They trust her and as a result word gets back to her. I’d say she’s pretty much on the ball. As for the “sicko” theory – just because there have been no earlier reports of sicko behaviour doesn’t mean we don’t have one on our hands. These sick bastards have to start somewhere, don’t they?’
When they reached the door labelled Meeting Room Three, Alice popped her head round. ‘Hi all,’ she said with a smile and marched into the room, leaving Sampson to follow.
‘Woho, Alice, who’ve you brought for us to play with today?’ The girl who sat straddling a chair, arms draped casually along its back, rose to her feet and kicked the chair away. Alice grinned as the girl eyed Sampson with a predatory look in her eye.
Despite Alice’s earlier suggestion that he show no weakness Sampson blushed as the tall blond with multiple facial piercings approached him, every part of her slender body undulating suggestively as she moved.
Alice grinned and tutted in mock disapproval. ‘For God’s sake, Armani, can’t you see he’s too green for you? You’re old enough to be his granny. Now, just sit down and behave.’
The other girls in the room dissolved into raucous laughter. Under cover of their catcalls, Alice gestured for Sampson to move over to the table, where he pulled a chair out and wedged himself behind it, looking to Alice like he was barricading himself in. Probably a good strategy, she thought, concealing her smile. She turned her attention to the rest of the girls in the room. There were ten of them and Alice wasn’t surprised to recognise only about half of them. Their line of work was transitory and the turnover of clients attending the Palace was high. The women sat around the table. Some were slumped in a mock relaxed pose on chairs, some on adjoining tables, using their elevated position, Alice knew, to show their opposition to any authority she may have thought she had. Truth was, Alice didn’t want to hold authority over these women. Too many people already had power over them and she was damned if she was going to be yet another one. So, she sat down next to Sampson and waited.
When they quietened, Alice stood up intending to kick off and frowned when Sampson also stood up. His hand on her arm indicated he wanted to speak. Alice frowned at him. Her eyes asked him if he was sure. When he nodded, she shrugged and sat down. If he wanted to present himself as a lamb to the slaughter, then that was all part of his learning curve. He needed to toughen up and this was a sure way of doing that.
Sampson cleared his throat and slid his gaze round the room. Alice thought he looked ready to run. She didn’t really blame him but, to give him his due, he held his ground. He looked at each woman individually and Alice realised he was implementing his training from the ‘crowd control and public speaking’ course he’d attended. Hats off to him: he had guts. Realising that she’d inadvertently crossed her fingers, Alice uncrossed them and sat up ready to intervene if necessary. Sampson started to speak, his voice calm with just the right amount of self-deprecation to sound authentic. Alice glanced at the woman and saw they were all looking at Sampson, listening, she thought, as he spoke.
‘Well, now that you all know I’m the “new kid on the block”, I hope you’ll be gentle with me.’ Some of the women giggled and Sampson winked at them, letting them know he’d set himself up on purpose.
Alice grinned and relaxed. He was fine. He could handle this. Now, she could just sit back and enjoy the floorshow.
‘My name’s John Sampson and, despite my rather obvious embarrassment earlier, I am out of nappies and I am old enough for this job.’
The room erupted in laughter. Alice groaned wondering if she’d relaxed too soon. Was he about to lose them? Armani struck a pose with one hand on her hip, chest stuck out in provocation, ‘Well darling. You’re one John I’d do for free. What do you think girls?’
More laughter and whoops of ‘Hell yeah’ reverberated through the room. Alice was pleased to see Sampson just ride them out in silence, a benign smile on his lips.
When their catcalls faded away he continued, ‘I’m as serious about catching this sick fucker as Alice is. I’m pleased to meet you all and hope we can find him before he strikes again.’
He began to sit down, but seemingly as an afterthought he stopped and said, with a brilliant smile, ‘Oh by the way. My granny didn’t look like anything like you, Armani.’ Amidst hoots of laughter, he continued, ‘And for that, I thank God. For, sure as hell, me and my mates would’ve been down to see Father Lowry every day to confess our filthy thoughts.’
The girls nearest Armani jostled her teasingly.
Alice stared at Sampson and then, under cover of rummaging in her bag she whispered, ‘Well done.’ He’d broken right through their defences and she reckoned they would trust him now. Sampson smiled and took out his notebook, ready to take notes.
‘Right,’ said Alice, remaining in her chair. ‘Are you all happy to speak to us in a group?’
‘Don’t usually do groupies,’ said one girl, to the accompaniment of a few nervous giggles, ‘but for you, Alice, I’ll do anything. Just ask away’
Alice raised her eyes heavenward and grinned. ‘All right Cat, enough of the gutter humour. Let’s be serious shall we? First, is there anyone who
isn’t here who you think might have something to contribute?’
Armani spoke up. ‘Only Jess. Her and Trixie were mates.’
A babble of catcalls and jokes began, ‘And the rest, Armani, and the rest,’ said one woman.
‘That’s a new name for it,’ said another.
Armani glared at them, ‘Shut the fuck up, you lot, this is serious. Trixie’s dead and who knows? It could be one of us tomorrow.’
They settled down and Alice said, ‘Yes, we know about Jessica. Someone else is interviewing her.’
‘Hey, Alice is it true, she found Trixie?’ asked an emaciated woman with greasy black hair.
Alice bit her lip and nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’ She waited a moment to give them time to digest this before continuing. ‘Any ideas who Trixie was meeting last night at the allotments?’
With a few furtive glances at each other, they remained silent. One woman tapped ragged nailed fingers on the table until Armani stretched over and placed her hand over hers. Alice watched as the woman cast a glance at Armani and then drew her hand away. Wonder what she knows, thought Alice, deciding to ask Carla a bit more about her later. Might be worth catching her away from the other women.
‘No ideas at all?’ asked Alice looking round the group. Again silence. Deciding to mix things up a bit Alice changed tack. ‘She was Bazza Green’s current pet, wasn’t she?’ and was pleased when this was met with a few nods of agreement.
‘Well, shouldn’t she have been at Bazza’s last night? It was a Thursday and that’s one of Bazza’s nights, isn’t it?’
Again silence and then another woman spoke up. ‘Yeah, she should have been at Bazza’s, but she’s been making excuses for not going. Saying she was on the rag or summat.’
‘Why, Charlotte?’ asked Alice, leaning back in her chair and holding her arms by her sides in what was a classic “I’m being open with you, please confide in me stance”. Hell, if Sampson could employ trust tactics then, so could she.
