by Liz Mistry
Watching the steady rise and fall of her sister’s breathing and the slow movement of saline crawling down the drip into her sister’s arm, she wondered if Neha would ever forgive her … she wondered if she’d ever forgive herself.
The urge to scream bubbled in her chest, constricting her breathing, making her dizzy. She rose and moved over to the small sink in the corner of the room. Turning the tap on, conscious she should not disturb the other patients, she splashed some cold water on her face and patted it dry with a paper towel. The intravenous antibiotics had worked. Neha’s fever had abated a little, and as she slept, sustenance was being pumped into her body. Sham almost envied her sister’s oblivion.
Plonking herself down in the other chair, she opened the near transparent curtains that provided scant privacy from the rest of the ward. Despite their flimsiness, she’d been claustrophobic huddled up behind the fabric with only her sleeping sister, the backdrop of hospital white noise and her own thoughts for company. The sights of the ward coming to life around her were a welcome distraction.
The nurses had allowed her to stay overnight., Their sympathetic glances and soothing tones made Sham want to shrivel up into a ball and hide. Past experience told her they’d soon make her go home. Concern for her health would compel them to call her uncle to collect her. She wished Neha would wake up so she could ask her about the documents in her bag. Why did she have copies of someone else’s birth certificate and medical records? Who was this person, and what connection did they have to her sister?
She’d read the medical records, but hadn’t understood them. If the signal in the ward hadn’t been so bad, she’d have Googled some of the words. She made a mental note to do that later. In the meantime, she couldn’t help thinking her sister was in some sort of trouble. The sort of trouble that had driven her to abuse herself again. To punish herself. Worse, though, was the realisation she hadn’t asked her for help. Never mind, she didn’t need to ask now. Sham would insist. There was no way she’d allow Neha to keep any more secrets. She tried in vain to come up with answers to the various questions that had hummed in her brain all night. At last, the rhythmic ebb and flow of the ward soothed her, and she drifted off into a deep sleep.
Chapter 52
10:35 Tetley Street, Bradford
Gus was aware of Alice casting little looks in his direction as she drove. He was mulling everything over in his mind, so despite knowing she was desperate to discuss what Sandra Gore had just told them, he ignored her.
The bombshell that Lewis’ wife had dropped had repercussions for all of Bradford’s police. As soon as she’d said it, Gus had been on the phone, first to Nancy and then to Lewis Gore’s handler, for the secret Sandra Gore had not wanted her mother-in-law to hear was, Lewis, working undercover, had infiltrated an international drug ring. Gore’s handler revealed his contact was a prostitute called Gloria Styles, and their meet up point was just off Thornton Road.
They weren’t talking little operations, like Shahid Khan or Bazza Green’s. No, this time, they were talking about a multi-million-pound international operation that was happy to use Bazza and Khan as cover, without them even knowing it. This organisation had established ‘houses’ up and down the length of the country and exported internationally. They supplied to legitimate businessmen and focussed on the leafy suburbs of each city, where the real money was, rather than the inner city. They used their contacts in inner cities as drug mules. Bradford had become a hotspot for them – cheap labour, willing pushers and discontent. That was how they kept under the radar.
Lewis Gore, though, had been working as part of the covert operation to infiltrate the organisation. According to his wife, Gloria Styles had set up a meet with Lewis the previous evening. He’d promised to return with a McDonald’s Cadbury chocolate McFlurry for her, but she’d fallen asleep, and only realised he hadn’t returned on waking this morning.
Just as they were leaving the Gore house, after reassuring Sandra they would keep her updated, a phone call came in, telling them Lewis’ BMW had been found in a disused car park off Tetley Street near Thornton Road. The previous victims’ vehicles had also been discovered in similar areas and combined with the fact Lewis was black, Gus was pretty sure Gore had been abducted by the killer. He quickly gave instructions for Gloria Styles to be located and interviewed straight away.
Approaching from the bottom of Tetley Street, they nearly missed the small entrance into the parking bay. Had it not been for a police officer positioned at the entrance, who guided them through, they would have driven past. Slowing down, Alice turned into a pot-holed road. Gus smiled as she cursed under her breath about the fate of the suspension on her beloved Mini Cooper.
Proceeding over sludge-filled ditches as slowly as she could, grimacing each time her wheels hit a particularly bad one, Alice said, ‘Next time, we take a bloody pool car, ok?’
The end of the narrow lane opened up into a sizeable tarmacked area which extended to both sides. Gus saw that the crime scene tape had been stretched from a fence post on their right to a corresponding one to their left. A number of police cars, marked and unmarked, were parked up. A uniformed officer supervised two kids with skateboards near one of the police vehicles.
As Gus stepped out of the Mini and stretched his back, another officer approached, his hand extended in greeting. Gus gripped it, listening as the other man explained the kids, bunking off school, had decided to ride their skateboards in the parking area. Apparently, they’d done so before and found the potholes, old pallets and discarded rubbish a challenging obstacle course to test their skills. When they’d seen the BMW with its 66-plate abandoned in the far corner, they thought it strange, but dismissed it as none of their business. It was only when they approached the vehicle and saw it had been bashed in at the back and left with the driver’s door ajar and a wallet discarded on the floor that they decided to tell someone. So, they’d phoned it in.
Gus thanked his lucky stars the boys had possessed a degree of honesty. The previous victims’ vehicles weren’t discovered until after their bodies had been found. This way, at least, they had a bit of a head start. Gus had already asked Compo to add Lewis Gore’s details to the programme he was still running.
Ducking under the tape, Gus approached the scene. Whistling under his breath, Hissing, Sid dusted for prints. Gus had a momentary pang of guilt as he remembered the way he’d spoken to the other man at Razaul Ul Haq’s crime scene. Sid, on the other hand, appeared to have forgiven him, for he winked as Gus approached. ‘Doubt we’ll find anything much. There’s a bit of white paint lodged in the scrapes at the back of Gore’s car. If you can find the vehicle that rammed him, we’ll be able to match it. As long as it doesn’t get its bumper repaired in the interim.’ He wafted his hand in the air in a circular motion. ‘I had a look around, and there are no cameras or owt here to give us many more details. Looks like we’ll have to rely on good old fieldwork.’
Gus grinned, relieved his relationship with Sid hadn’t been affected by his bad temper. ‘Any tracks or anything?’
‘Just a mishmash of sludgy indecipherable tracks, except for this …’ He took Gus over to where a dog turd lay squashed to the side of Lewis Gore’s BMW.
Sid was beaming at him, so Gus rose to the bait. ‘Okay, I’ll bite. What have you got?’
Seemingly oblivious of the shitty stench that Gus could smell from a standing position, Sid knelt beside the excrement, his nose inches from the offending article as he spoke. ‘Fortunately for us, whoever walks their dog here, A, doesn’t pooper scoop and B, owns a rather huge dog.’
‘You’ve lost me, Sid. I don’t get the relevance. You think this dog walker saw something?’
Sid laughed and gestured Gus to move closer. Pointing with a pencil at the large squashed turd, he said, ‘Looks like a tyre ran over it.’
Seeing the tracks that Sid pointed to, Gus grinned. ‘Brilliant … and you can match them to a vehicle, can you?’
Sid sighed. ‘Well, n
o. Not a vehicle. They’re too thin to be from a vehicle … and they’re not textured enough to be from a bike. My reckoning is a trolley or wheelbarrow of some description.’
Gus studied the proximity of the dog crap track to where the marker indicated Gore’s wallet had been found. What did this mean? Had the killer used a trolley or barrow to move Gore, who, by all accounts, was a large bloke, to his own vehicle? Did the trolley even belong to the killer? Perhaps they were snatching at things … perhaps not. ‘Any database on these sort of tracks, Sid?’
Still studying the poo, Sid shrugged. ‘Of course. Later on, we’ll get you a match to the type of trolley this belongs to. We may even get a brand name too.’ Stretching his hand out, he pulled Gus’ trouser leg, indicating he should come closer to the smelly pile. When Gus closed his nostrils with two fingers, Sid snorted. ‘Thought you’d be used to worse than this by now. Anyway, this is where you just got lucky, Gussy boy. This nick here is quite distinctive …’
Gus studied the mark that showed this particular tyre had a small nick in it, before speaking in a nasal tone. ‘So, what you’re saying is, if I find you a killer who owns a trolley with a tyre matching that distinctive nick –’
‘– and bearing traces of this shit. Then, yes, you’ve got him.’ Sid followed through on his statement with a rumbling fart that made Gus groan.
Standing a couple of feet away from them, Alice shook her head and took a step back. ‘You’re an animal, Sid. Do you know that?’
Gus, moving away from the combination of canine and human toxic smells, said, ‘Good work, Sid.’
Sid nodded. ‘Oh, not going to rip me a new one today then, Gus?’
Dipping his head, Gus exhaled a long slow breath and stepped towards Sid. ‘About that. I’m really sorry. I was out of order the other day. Won’t happen again.’
Sid waved his blue gloved hand. ‘Forget it, Gus. I have. We all overreact on occasion. Look, I’ll keep myself available on this one, you know? Until we find him.’
Ignoring the fact that had Sid forgotten his bad behaviour, he wouldn’t have felt the need to mention it, Gus nodded. This was the other man’s way of offering support, despite feeling miffed. Gus still had some work to do to make up for it. He reached over and squeezed Sid’s arm. ‘Appreciated, mate.’
As he walked back towards the tape, he saw that Alice was now talking to a girl in jeans and trainers, with a hooded coat that stretched over her distended abdomen. She’d pulled the hood up over her hair and was smoking a cigarette. Gloria Styles, he presumed. By the time he joined them, Gloria had given Alice all the information she had … which was zilch.
She’d met Gore by appointment and driven to this spot, as they did every time. She’d given him the names of two business men she’d heard the other girls taking about, and they’d hung out for fifteen minutes to make it look like she’d done business with him. When she left, she’d cut through the side street that led back out onto Thornton Road where she continued her shift. She hadn’t noticed any other vehicles or anyone hanging about. Gus told her to hang on until Gore’s handler came along so she could update him, but to all intents and purposes, she had nothing more to offer him.
‘Come on, Al, let’s get cracking on that list of secluded premises Compo compiled. The sooner we find Gore, the more chance we have of finding this sick fucker.’
Neither of them voiced the words they were both undoubtedly thinking; that Lewis Gore was well and truly dead by now.
Chapter 53
11:55 Haworth moors/Harden/The Bay of Biscay, Wilsden
Compo had come up with nine possible secluded buildings in the targeted area. The plan was to extend the criteria if none of the nine panned out. Alice and Gus had taken three of them, Taffy and Sampson another three, and two uniformed officers had been charged with looking at the final three. Time was of the essence now, and Gus didn’t want the trail to go cold. Judging by the times of death for the previous victims, he was sure they were looking for a dead body rather than a live one. However, if there was even the slightest chance Lewis Gore was still alive, then Gus would move mountains to find him.
Deciding to drive to the furthest point first, Alice headed along Thornton Road through Denholme and onto Haworth moors, where they took a winding lane to the disused farmhouse identified by Compo. It sat on the very edge of the moors. The rain had brought out that foliage smell Gus always associated with Bronte country; windswept and raw. He took a deep breath, savouring the freshness through the half-open window, as he gazed out at the uneven moor.
As Alice drove over three separate cattle grids, she spoke in soothing tones to her Mini, ‘Come on, Minnie. You can do this. I’ll make it up to you at the weekend. We’ll have a spa day, you and me. A nice bath and a massage. Hell, if you’re lucky, maybe the firefighters in Bolton will be out with their hoses doing a charity car wash.’
Used to Alice talking nonsense to her vehicle, Gus butted in, ‘Don’t listen to her, Minnie. She’s full of false promises and wishful thinking. There’s no way the Bolton firefighters will be out doing their charity thang in this weather.’
Alice braked and threw him a look which told him in no uncertain terms she was pissed off with him. He laughed and unfolded his legs from the car. Their way was blocked by a padlocked metal gate attached to a barbed wire fence that appeared to skirt the property.
Joining him, Alice examined the wilderness of bracken and gorse that spread out to either side of them. ‘Very Heathcliff,’ she said and peered under the chassis to check the suspension.
Gus approached the gate and rattled the padlock. It seemed old and rusted, but secure. He doubted that anyone had opened it in a long time. Jumping onto the lower ring of the gate, he craned his neck until he could see the dilapidated farmhouse that stood just beyond a curve at the end of the overgrown track. He cursed. ‘Looks like this one’s a dead end. Compo’s map shows this is the only entrance to the property.’
Alice nodded and turned to head back to the car. However, a yelp from Gus followed by a muffled curse, had her spinning around. Gus glared at her. ‘For fuck’s sake, don’t just stand there gawping at me with that stupid grin on your face, come and help me then.’
He’d jumped onto the gate, swung one leg over and, repeating the process with the other, had managed to get his trousers caught on the padlock. Balancing on one leg, he had gripped the top bar with both hands and tried to kick the fabric free. This, in turn, caused him to wobble even more.
‘For goodness sake! Can’t you even climb a simple gate without getting in bother?’ Huffing and puffing, Alice wandered over and yanked at his trousers. This action caused Gus to sway even more on top of the fence.
‘Watch my bloody chinos, Al. They’re new.’
As a loud ripping noise rent the air, Alice’s mouth tightened in an insincere ‘I’m sorry’ sort of expression as she said, ‘Oops, oh dear.’
Gus narrowed his eyes, and swinging his freed leg over, he jumped down onto a clump of urine coloured grass. Mouth curled, he glared at her. ‘Thanks very much. Glad you were there to help.’ Looking towards the distant building, he continued, ‘Thought whilst we’re here, we should make doubly sure.’
Ignoring the hand Gus extended towards her, Alice climbed onto the gate and, with rather more finesse than he’d managed, swung her leg over and jumped down beside him. ‘Nobody’s been here for months, Gus. You can tell by the way the grass is all springy. Look, it’s grown up over the bottom rung of the gate. I doubt we could open it, even if we had the key.’
‘You’re probably right, but let’s just check.’
Shrugging, Alice followed him as he walked the short distance to the old house. It was completely uninhabitable, with holes in the roof and partly collapsed walls. Gus walked through the open door into a dank smelling room which must once have been the kitchen. Alice was right. This place wasn’t the kill site, but now he was here, he might as well do his job properly. Taking his phone out, he activated the torch and
began to explore. The ground floor rooms were empty, and as the stairs had buckled, there was no way to check upstairs, and no point, either. He couldn’t imagine the killer bundling his victim over that gate and transporting him along the uneven track to tattoo him.
‘Come on, Al. We can cross this property off the list. Let’s head to number two.’
Once back in her Mini, Alice reversed all the way back down the track until they reached the main road. Next stop was a small, disused industrial plant outside Harden. Gus suspected this property wasn’t quite remote enough for the killer’s purposes, but it was worth checking anyway. When they arrived, he saw immediately it was a no go. It was too close to the main Harden road, and apart from that, a trio of travellers’ caravans had parked up outside the empty building. According to the oldest man present, who appeared to be their spokesperson, they’d been there since November. There was no way they would have missed someone trundling up with subdued bodies and a boot full of tattoo equipment.
‘Another one struck off,’ said Alice, with a sigh. ‘Last one for us and then back to The Fort.’
Gus put his seat belt on and nodded. ‘Okay, on we go.’
The final disused building on their list was a barn just outside Wilsden. It stood in the top end of a series of fields on the opposite side of the road from a small row of houses bearing the delightful street name Bay of Biscay. Its distance from civilisation made it slightly more promising than the other buildings. Still, Gus didn’t hold out much hope. The barn was remote, and it did have secluded access via a side road, but it was barely accessible and easily missed. On top of that, three horses occupied the field, making it likely there were regular visitors to look after the animals.
