by Liz Mistry
‘Now look what you’ve done. Have you coppers no decency?’ William Flynn backed into the kitchen. ‘What happened between us and our lad was summat and nowt. Private business. Let yourself out … I’ve got my wife to look after.’
*
Back on the pavement, the Flynns’ door shut behind them, Nikki looked at Saj. ‘Well?’
‘Exactly … I think there’s a lot more to this than meets the eye.’
Nikki agreed. ‘Tell you what, whilst I drive, you phone in a request to get as much background info on the Flynns as you can – right back to birth certificates et cetera. There’s something iffy going on.’
‘Ha bloody ha – nearly got me then, Parekh. I’ll do the driving and you do the phoning, okay?’
‘Well, it was worth a try, wasn’t it?’
Saj unlocked the Jag and when they’d both slid in, he shook his head. ‘Bloody Bradford born that one – did you hear the “summat and nowt”?’
Nikki laughed. Saj had read her thoughts. ‘Maybe when we talk to the sisters and the younger brother, they’ll let something slip. Yes. Let’s get those interviews over with so I can get back to Bradford and take the yelling brats to the farm.’
*
In direct contrast to their parents and their elder brother, Liam’s other siblings were a complete delight – eager to talk, to do anything that might help to find the bastard who had killed their younger brother. Josie, the next oldest after Johnny, was married, but a severe heart condition prevented her from working. Desperate for company, she’d agreed to meet with Nikki and Sajid in her home and had arranged for her other sister to be present too. Josie was devastated about Liam’s death. ‘He was the bright one in the family. The rest of us are just sort of normal like. Except for poor old Tommy who’s as simple as they come. He works as a cleaner, but that’s all he’s able to do.’
Clearly keen to talk, Josie had made them tea and settled down. ‘We often say that Liam inherited all our brains because apart from him and Maria, the rest of us haven’t a GCSE between us.’ She shrugged. ‘Just the way it is really. Liam was lovely though. A beautiful kid. He doted on Tommy.’ She sipped her tea. ‘I reckon Tommy’s condition and my heart condition was what made him interested in all that genetic stuff. Can’t get my head round it meself.’
‘Did you know Liam and your parents had fallen out?’
Wafting her hand dismissively, Josie snorted. ‘They were always falling out. Dad thought Liam was getting uppity, him being so brainy and all. We kept out of it.’
Nikki realised they wouldn’t get any more information from Josie about the estrangement between Liam and their folks. Her impression was that Josie was being truthful and really didn’t know what was going on.
They were onto their second cup of tea when Maria Flynn walked in. Tall and striking, like the other Flynn siblings, she bore a strong resemblance to her dead brother. Maria was a career woman in Media City in Manchester and although amenable, she could contribute nothing that Nikki and Sajid hadn’t already learned. So, Saj and Nikki returned to Bradford convinced that whatever secret the Flynns were keeping was confined to the elder three.
Chapter 25
I didn’t expect to be back in this dump so soon, but you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. Now I’ve got my list, it’s easy to prioritise. I’ll get round to them all in the end. Any of them who threaten me, will wish they’d never been born. There’s too much at stake to let them live. But this one, I’ll particularly enjoy doing. The others on the list are more of a necessity. This one will give me great satisfaction. He deserves what’s coming to him – no argument about that. I scoped the area out a couple of days ago. Nobody paid any attention to me and my recce was quick.
I get myself a McDonald’s Drive Thru – Big Mac extra-large with a milkshake. Hungry work all of this: planning and covering my tracks. Making sure nobody realises I’m missing – not that anybody keeps too many tabs on me, but best to be sure anyway. I’m getting good at the whole swapping reg plates business. Didn’t know there was so many scrappies around – not surprising really – all those boy racers pratting around, being chased by the coppers and ending up wrapped round a tree.
The lights from Maccie D’s go out, cloaking me in semi-darkness. The only light comes from the streetlights. I deliberately park in a far-off corner and none of the staff even glance my way as they make their exit. Still, I shuffle down in the seat so the car I’ve borrowed looks empty. Don’t want to have to explain myself here, do I? I wait till the car park’s empty and then give it another ten minutes before exiting the van. I have all I need with me in my bag and with my hat pulled down over my eyes, nobody could describe me.
*
This area of Bradford’s full of young Paki lads, smoking weed and mouthing off, all big talk, but as I draw nearer to the street I need, it quietens off. The takeaway at the top of the road’s shut now and there’s nobody around on the street either.
Standing for a few minutes, just to be sure, I take in the surroundings. The lights are off in most of the houses; only a few are still on, but all the curtains are shut. It looks like the owners have put a bit of effort into their homes – all except his, that is. The one I’m heading for is a decrepit, filthy-looking atrocity amid the other well-cared-for homes. The neighbours will thank me for this. Maybe now they’ll get someone who gives a shit living here instead of him. His lights are off downstairs and I reckon he’s gone up to bed. He was in bed by half ten the last time I came and it’s nearly one o’clock now. There’s no movement from inside – no sound.
I pull on gloves and move forward. The gate’s hanging off its hinges, so I squeeze past – no point in risking it creaking. I grab the crowbar from my bag and insert it between the rotten doorframe and the door. I barely need to use any muscle as the thing’s so rotten it gives straight away, and I’m in, closing the door behind me.
I’m curious about how he lives, so I do a quick tour of the downstairs. I see the photos on the dressing table and I want to trash the whole room, but when I look closer, I realise I’ll have to take these ones with me. No point in leaving any clues behind – no point at all.
*
The old bastard lives like the piece of crap he is. Whilst I might have had a pang of regret for Peggy and maybe for Liam too, I have no such pangs for this monster. The world will be well rid of him. I push the photos in my pockets, put on the overall I’d brought with me – no point in spoiling any more of my clothes – deposit my bag at the bottom of the stairs and take out my weapon. For a second, I listen. The only sound I hear is my own breathing, loud in the silence. I creep upstairs, adrenaline making my heart beat faster, and I steady myself, before gently pushing the bedroom door open. He’s lying on his back, mouth open, a gentle puff of air leaving his lips as he sleeps. I want him to know who I am and why I’m doing it, so I put on the bedside light and put my hand on his shoulder and shake him awake.
‘Wakey-wakey, you old bastard.’
He wakes, his rheumy eyes blinking in protest against the light, his lower jaw falling open. Waves of stale sweat and urine roll off him and I flinch. Disgusting old pervert.
His voice rasps over me, deathly and sour. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’
Well, he asked, didn’t he? So, I tell him. I tell him exactly who I am and exactly what I’m about to do to him and exactly why I’m doing it. I relish his fear. I celebrate the fact that he knew he’d pissed and crapped himself, before I finish him off. I make sure I tell him that he’d be found like this – a soiled piece of worthless crap gone for good, making the world a better place.
And then I leave.
Monday 21st September
Chapter 26
Gaynor Street! The address jumped from DS Nikki Parekh’s phone like a neon beacon, taking her by surprise. Unbidden, a tune sprung into her mind and the words: We are strong. We three survived. It took her back to another place … another time. Hearing Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’ h
ad always made her blood run cold. The association between the singer and Gaynor Street evoked hateful memories, memories Nikki wanted to suppress.
One day, not long after they’d escaped Gaynor Street, the song came on the radio. Nikki, the familiar cold sweat instantly forming on her brow, jumped up to switch it off, but her sister Anika grabbed her arm to stop her. ‘Don’t, Nik. Leave it.’
And before Nikki could respond, Anika was jumping about their sparsely furnished living room, among the boxes they had yet to unpack, singing at the top of her voice. ‘We are strong. We three survived.’
Hesitating briefly, Nikki watched her sister’s flushed face, listened to her determined voice and then she too was on her feet prancing around, singing the lyrics Anika had created. Within seconds, their mum, alerted by the racket downstairs, had thrust open the living-room door. The look of momentary panic disappeared from her face when she registered her daughters dancing and singing and she joined them till they were breathless and sweaty, repeating the words over and over like their own personal mantra: ‘We are strong, We three survived.’ At the end they collapsed together onto the sofa, hugging each other.
The memory always made Nikki happy. Her mum and had been so brave … a loving constant throughout their childhood, their protector – well, when she could be. Sometimes she hadn’t been strong enough, but in the end she’d managed. In the end she’d come through for them.
Nikki exhaled. Seeing the address she’d been called to as a probable murder scene had thrown her. Of course, it had always been a possibility that at some point she’d be called to an incident at this address, but as the years passed, the worry of that happening had been buried in the back of her mind.
Glad that her partner Marcus, and Charlie, Ruby and Sunni had already left for work and school, she placed her phone on the table with trembling hands. Last thing she needed was for them to see her reaction to this. She’d always realised that this was a possibility albeit a slim one. She just wished it hadn’t happened today of all days. Not when she had to deal with the letters too – Saj would have her guts for garters if she didn’t inform Archie that she’d received them – plus she needed to get to the bottom of Isaac’s stubborn, tight-lipped attitude.
Resigned to a busy and probably emotional day, Nikki texted Saj to let him know she’d meet him there. Finally, with a deep sigh, she prepared to step back into her past to go check out the murder that had been committed in her old street.
*
Driving from Listerhills estate past Jacobs Well and Broadway to head towards Thornbury, Nikki schooled herself to take slow breaths and to keep her shoulders loose. This was a crime scene like any other. Didn’t matter what the address was. It wasn’t her old house; she wasn’t going to have to step into that. Not this time at any rate. She had a choice, whether to drive up Leeds Old Road and down Gaynor Street from the top end, or head up Leeds Road and enter the street from the bottom end.
Approaching the turning to Gaynor Street, Nikki’s heart sped up. This is it then. However, as she indicated to pull in, she realised the road had been made into a one-way, with granite bollards blocking her entry. Ignoring the hoots from the cars behind, Nikki flicked her indicator right and rejoined the line of traffic. She’d go round the Thornbury roundabout and enter the street from Leeds Road instead.
As she drove into Gaynor Street, Nikki was struck by how much it had changed. The line of terraced houses had been sandblasted and were now a rich cream colour and most had double-glazed windows. The majority of dwellings had opted to increase space by adding attic rooms, which indicated a slight change in the wealth of the area. Although some of the front gardens were unkempt, with weeds and overgrown lawns or bin bags spewing rubbish onto the pavement near their rickety gates, many were well cared-for. A few owners had opted to get rid of the small square of grass at the front and had replaced it with concrete and flower pots.
In this area most of the population were Pakistani Muslim, with a few white British families and an increasing number of Eastern Europeans. Although there was a Bangladeshi mosque, the Bangladeshi community were situated closer towards town. Nikki drove slowly up the middle of the street, the lines of parked cars on either side making it impossible to do otherwise. The house she was looking for was at the top end and Nikki could already see three police cars and two CSI vans. As she looked for space to park and finally elected to block in one of the patrol cars, Nikki watched the lookie-loos who had gathered on the street behind a string of tape, which cordoned off the house and garden as well as the pavement in front of number 111. They were fascinated by what was going on, and among them she saw uniformed officers chatting with their tablets open, making notes of what was being said. Whoever had organised them had done a good job to date.
So far, Nikki had averted her eyes from the other side of the street. The one where her old house was. The one with the lamp post right in front of it. Before she got out of her car, she inhaled deeply, and trying to ignore the sweat that had gathered on her palms because she was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, she turned her head to look at it. It was just a house. Whoever owned it now had cleaned it up big time and, if the address hadn’t been ingrained on Nikki’s mind, she wouldn’t have recognised it from the leaky, unkempt, unloved house she’d lived in for the first decade of her life.
The garden had a child’s outdoor playhouse in one corner. Pastel-coloured, it was similar to the one all three of her kids had played in when they were younger. For a second, Nikki allowed herself to imagine what it would have been like for her and Anika to play in that house when they were kids. Or to ride those little bikes she could see on the pavement leading up to the front door. As she sat lost in thought, the front door opened and a heavily pregnant woman in a niqab helped a toddler down the steps into the small garden. As the child ran off to play in the house, the woman checked to make sure the gate was securely closed and went back, lowering herself onto the step as she kept one eye on her child and the other on the police activity opposite.
A rap on Nikki’s window startled her and she looked up to see DC Anwar smiling in at her. Pulling herself together, Nikki got out of the Zafira, slammed the door shut and locked it. ‘Sorry, Anwar – lost in my own thoughts then for a moment. Is DC Malik here yet?’
‘No, not yet – oh, I tell a lie, he’s just got out of that pool car behind us.’
As usual, Sajid was as smart as she was scruffy. His shirt freshly ironed. How long does it take him to get dressed in the morning? That was a new tie he was wearing too. Light blue with flecks of a darker blue. Nikki looked down at her T-shirt. Somehow she’d managed to drop a dollop of egg on it this morning and there was a yellow splodge just where her right nipple was. She picked at the blob, succeeding only in making it larger, then gave up with a sigh. ‘Bet it matches your socks.’
‘What?’ Saj’s frown was dark, his shoulders slumped.
‘Your tie. Bet it matches your socks.’
Sajid’s cheeks coloured and he tutted. ‘Just because you don’t give a damn about how you look doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t make an effort.’
Nikki’s grin widened. Taking the piss out of Saj was just what she needed right now. ‘They do, don’t they? You matched your damn socks to your tie.’ She shook her head, then as another thought occurred to her, her grin widened even more. ‘And your boxers. Bet they match your boxers too.’
‘Sod off, Parekh. You’re never going to get the chance to find out now are you?’
Nikki studied her partner. Grumpy didn’t cover it. He was dejected and there could only be one reason for that. For the past few months, since he’d been outed to his family and community Saj had been the victim of sustained sabotage against his most prized possession. ‘Surely not again, Saj?’
Lips tight, Saj approached the two officers. ‘Wouldn’t bloody mind if they could spell – but spraying Paedo spelled P.E.E.D.O – over my windscreen really gets me. Somebody’s letting them into the complex and
not only that, they’re also covering themselves up so I can’t recognise them on the CCTV.’
‘That’s crap. Have you logged it, Saj? It’s a hate crime and it needs to be logged.’
But Saj was batting away her concern with an impatient hand. ‘No damn point, Nik. Langley and I are seriously considering moving. This is crap we don’t have to put up with.’
Nikki squeezed his arm, as Anwar handed them their crime scene suits. ‘Come on. Let’s see if a good old crime scene will cheer us up. What do we have, Anwar?’
The other officer grimaced. ‘Not sure that what you find in there will cheer you up, but it’s a murder, definitely. A stabbing. Old bloke by the name of Gerry Hudson.’
The name tugged at Nikki’s memory. Could it be the same old bloke who’d lived opposite her when they were kids? She’d vague memories of her mum warning her and Ani to stay clear of him. She made a mental note to slip it into the conversation with her mum that evening. Her mum didn’t like talking about those days, but if it was relevant to Nikki’s current investigation, then she’d just have to stiffen her spine. Despite her thoughts, Nikki was reluctant to upset her mother. Those days were part of their past and they’d all moved on. She didn’t want to distress her mum, so she’d have to be gentle with her. Besides, they’d only just made up after their disagreement over Nikki’s questions about Peggy Dyson. Pity things with Anika were still frosty or she’d be able to ask her. Mind you, with her sister being younger than Nikki, the chances of her remembering were slim to non-existent.
Pulling her mind back to the present, Nikki unpacked her crime suit. ‘Who found him?’
‘His carer …’ Anwar looked at her notes for the name ‘… a woman called Kussum Lad, found him in his bedroom this morning.’
‘She still here?’
