by Liz Mistry
Alice drove up and stopped at a latched gate. A mish mash of tyre tracks showed Gus’ expectation of regular traffic to the field was accurate. They got out, and as they approached the gate, Gus was pleased to see it wasn’t padlocked. No need for a repeat performance of his earlier indignities. As they walked through, closing it behind them, a large brown Shire horse, with eyes to match, shied away from them and joined two other horses standing in a copse of trees further down the field.
‘What do you think?’ asked Gus.
Alice shrugged. ‘Not sure. Let’s have a proper look in the barn. It’s accessible enough, and look, there are tracks leading towards it.’
‘Probably the vehicle that drops off the horses’ food,’ said Gus, pointing to the corrugated roofed lean-to that adjoined the barn.
Inside the sizeable structure, three netted bales of hay were hooked onto the brick wall. A trough of water stood outside, presumably to harvest rain water for the animals. The muddy ground was pitted and churned by horseshoe marks which obliterated the evidence of any human presence in the form of boot treads. A heady horse manure smell hung heavy in the air, and the absence of too much dung in the vicinity confirmed the horses were well tended. Very unlikely to be the kill site! Gus suspected their killer would not want his activities interrupted by the horses’ owners. Unless, of course, he was their owner. ‘Has Compo got details yet on who owns these fields?’
‘On it,’ said Alice, opening her phone and texting.
Gus surveyed the field and barn. ‘It’s accessible, and clearly, it is well-used.’ He pointed at tracks in the churned-up muck. ‘Let’s head inside the barn itself. See what we find there.’
As they moved round to the gap where a door should have been, the Shire horse sidled up, its wise eyes watching their every move. The other two horses, with studied indifference, ignored them. Gus watched as Alice approached it. He’d never been comfortable around large animals. As a child, summertime farm trips with his parents and sister, Katie, had been fraught with fear for him. Even now as an adult, despite the disparity in size being diminished, he was uncomfortable … disadvantaged. It wasn’t just the animals’ size, though. It was something about their wildness, their unpredictability. He’d seen a herd of cows stampeding as a child and had the sense nothing human could stop them. Once, at Knowsley Safari Park, he’d seen the elephants thunder from one end of the enclosure to the other. It had petrified him. All that dust swirling in the air, and their bellows long and, to him, rabid sounding. He’d clutched his dad’s hand so hard his father had seemed to sense his terror and lifted him into his arms, squeezing him tight.
In fact, one of the last arguments he’d had with his ex-wife, Gabriella, had been because of his refusal to go on a Kenyan safari with her. Why the hell would he want to go to Kenya to see animals that were not only enormous, but possessed claws and teeth sharp enough to eviscerate a man? No chance! In his job, he’d seen enough people eviscerated by human animals without tempting fate by putting himself in the way of a completely different, but equally unpredictable, species.
At first, the big animal shied away from Alice. Then, as she continued to talk softly, it allowed her to approach. From a safe distance, Gus saw its ears twitch and its nostrils quiver. He also saw the huge rippling muscles in its legs and imagined the power of its jaws. He shuddered. Soon, Alice was rubbing her palms along its nose and burying her fingers in its mane. Shoving his fists in his pockets, Gus headed toward the barn itself. With any luck, she’d think his haste was more to do with an eagerness to crack on, than a nervousness of horses. Who was he kidding? Alice was as sharp as a bloody tack. She’d know exactly what was driving him inside the barn right now. Hearing her low laugh, he turned, just in time to see the horse bumping her with its nose, telling her not to stop scratching. Despite himself, he smiled. Cute!
Continuing into the barn, he peered around, using his phone for light again. There was nothing to indicate it had been used as a kill site. The concrete floor was damp in patches where flurries of snow had drifted through the open door and melted. There was nothing to show the building had been used for anything other than shelter by the horses … and most telling of all … no tattoo machine and no Lewis Gore! He heaved a sigh of relief and exited the barn.
Alice left her new friend and joined him as he walked back to the car. ‘No tattoo machine covered by a tarpaulin lurking in the corner, then?’
Gus shook his head. ‘… and no body either, thank God.’
‘Shall we count this one out?’
Gus hesitated and peered around again. He bit his lip. ‘No, not yet, Al. Let’s be thorough. We know it’s been accessed recently; we know it’s remote enough for our killer’s purposes. Let’s investigate this a bit further. Find out who owns it, who owns the horses and see if they’ve seen anything strange, before we cross it off our list.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. The other two were definite no-nos. This, though, is a possible maybe.’ She got into the Mini. ‘We’ve made some progress, Gus.’
Gus nodded. ‘Maybe … although we haven’t found Lewis Gore yet.’
As far as he was concerned, some progress wasn’t enough. Not for Lewis Gore and not for his family!
Turning around in her seat to reverse out of the lane, Alice said with a smile in her voice, ‘And you needn’t think I didn’t spot you edging away from the horse, Gus. Big bloody baby, scared of a little gee-gee.’
Gus spluttered, ‘Little? … Little? Bloody great hulking thing is more like it.’
Chapter 54
12:35 The Fort
The weather had taken a turn for the worse. From nowhere, a dark cloud had scurried across the sky skidding to a halt directly above Bradford. Right on cue, it released its load in a torrent of pelting rain at the exact moment Alice and Gus parked up in The Fort car park. Laughing, they made a mad dash for the door and, like a couple of bloodhounds, shook themselves off in the doorway before taking the stairs up to the incident room.
They’d no sooner got in and warmed up with mugs of coffee when Taffy burst through the door, his dripping hair splattered across his forehead. Clenched in his hand was a somewhat sodden copy of the Bradford Chronicle. Panting, Sampson followed the younger officer into the room, wiping rain from his face as he stopped in front of Gus’ desk. Amused, Gus watched as Taffy bent over, rested his hands on his knees and inhaled huge gulps of air. A quick glance at Sampson’s serious expression wiped the smile from Gus’ face. Realising his officers’ hurry had something to do with the newspaper, Gus strode over and snatched it from Taffy’s unresisting hand.
Still breathing heavily, Taffy said, ‘Thought you should know, ASAP.’
Tension gathered across Gus’ shoulders as he unfolded the newspaper to read the headline. Alice stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. ‘What the fuck,’ she said, her voice reflecting Gus’ horror. ‘Who leaked that?’
Voice tight, Gus said, ‘Who, indeed?’
Having finally caught his breath, Sampson said, ‘That’s not the worst of it, Gus. Turn to page three where the article’s continued.’
Wondering what could be worse than the garish headline on the front cover, Gus pulled the sodden pages apart. His heart sunk. It was worse than he’d imagined. It was clear the photo had been cropped and manipulated to make it suitable for inclusion in the local newspaper, nevertheless, it left little doubt what Christine Weston and Razaul Ul Haq were getting up to.
Gus closed his eyes for a second. What a bloody nightmare. Last thing he needed was for this to have exploded when they still had Lewis Gore to find. His mind flashed to Razaul’s twin daughters. The feisty gothic one, Shamshad, and the more reserved Neha. What would having that crap in the public domain do to them? Bloody irresponsible … no, it was more than that … much more. It was deliberately malicious. No doubt he’d have Weston hammering on his door in a minute, demanding he sort out the media bias. God only knows what that thug would do to his wife – he’d already hit her once, t
o Gus’ knowledge. What a massive fuck-up this was! Nancy would have a mega fit.
He flipped back to the front cover. ‘Jez fucking Hopkins,’ he said, reading the by-line aloud. ‘What the fuck does he think he’s doing? He should have come to me with this. Where did he get these images from?’
Alice, angry red blotches on her cheeks, slammed her hand on the desk. ‘Bloody immoral paparazzi. No fucking concern for the Ul Haq girls and their extended family or the Westons, for that matter … Bloody toxic. ‘Wife of Albion First candidate Graeme Weston Gets Up Close and Personal With Murdered, Razaul Ul Haq’? Makes me sick.’
Samson nodded. ‘And the subheading’s worse.’
Alice scowled. ‘Ugh. ‘Sleeping with the enemy takes on a whole new meaning for the Westons.’’
Gus had listened to his team in silence. A vein pulsed on his temple betraying his anger. As he read the article, his chest tightened, until without warning, he took his mug and hurled it at the wall. He raked his fingers through his dreads while pacing round the room like a caged lion. Alice gawped at him, open mouthed, whilst Taffy, after a quick glance at Sampson, shuffled his feet. Sampson stood stock still. Each pair of eyes moved from the broken mug and the liquid that rolled in rivulets down the wall, to their boss. Silence pounded in Gus’ head as he realised what he’d done.
Alice took a tentative step towards him. ‘You okay? Come on, sit down. Everything’s getting a bit intense. You’re under a lot of pressure at the minute, what with Lewis Gore still missing and a killer at large, to say nothing of Weston’s links to both the bottle-bomb in City Park and Razaul Ul Haq.’
Taking their cue from Alice, Samson rushed over and began to pick up the broken mug, whilst Taffy grabbed a wad of kitchen roll and began wiping the wall down.
Gus exhaled and stretched his neck back, rolling it to release the knots that threatened to strangle him. ‘Shit, guys, I’m sorry about that. That was uncalled for.’
He rubbed his forehead. Then, realising his hand was shaking, he thrust it into his pocket instead and moved over to his desk. Embarrassed by his display of temper, he tried to rein in the anger that had erupted from nowhere. Truth was, he’d allowed the frustration to build up all day. From the minute he’d taken the call from Sandra Gore, he’d been trying to hold it together. The knowledge that Lewis Gore was lying dead somewhere ate at him. He felt helpless and responsible. If he’d caught this killer already, Lewis Gore and his wife would be looking forward to the birth of their new baby without a care in the world. He knew he’d not been coping well for months. This seething anger wasn’t new … wasn’t just the Tattoo Killer case or Jez Hopkins’ article, although this had certainly exacerbated it. Maybe he wasn’t up to the job anymore – maybe he’d burnt out. He’d seen it before, albeit usually with older officers. Maybe he should just walk away from it all. This bubbling simmering tension was … different. Worse than he’d been after Greg. At least then he’d not had this unpredictable anger to control. Fuck, what was he doing? He’d acted out in a way he’d never done before in front of his staff. That was unacceptable.
The tension in the room was palpable. No-one knew what to say … they avoided looking at him, instead sending furtive glances to each other, their faces strained and pale – and he was the cause. What sort of leader was he? The kind who has an outburst when reading a bloody newspaper article by some tosser? In his mind, he tried to formulate an apology … words that would express his feelings without making them pity him. The last thing he needed was their pity. They’d all, bar Taffy, been through the mill over the past few months. Each of them had suffered media scrutiny and public condemnation. They deserved better.
Hell, Alice had nearly lost her life, and here he was, acting like a spoilt child. He hadn’t had it any worse than they had, so why was it so difficult for him to hold it together? Needle pricks jagged at the back of his eyes and tried to blink away the tears before they became visible to his team … how humiliating would that be, on top of everything else? Swallowing hard, he accepted the steaming mug of coffee Alice had brought to him and opened his mouth to say something … anything to stop them all looking at him like that.
He didn’t have the chance, though. The door burst open yet again. Nancy Chalmers, in high dudgeon, as his father would say, strode through, a copy of the offending article held high in her hand. She glared at Sampson, and her frown deepened. He was holding the base of the broken mug filled with ceramic shards and had a sheepish look on his face. She turned to Taffy who, with a brown stained pile of soiled kitchen roll, still dabbed at the wall. Her mouth tightened. Lowering the paper, she glanced round the room, her eyes narrowed, assessing. Honing in on the discomfiture that resonated between them, she said, ‘Right, what’s gone on here?’
Her gimlet eyes raked over each of them in turn, resting finally on Gus. Knowing he had to own up, he opened his mouth to explain the coffee stain on the new paintwork. However, before he had a chance to speak, Sampson stepped forward. ‘Taffy and I were mucking about, and I tripped and dropped my mug.’
Taffy glanced at Samson and nodded, looking too terrified to speak. Sampson continued, ‘It smashed against the wall, ma’am. Don’t worry, though, Taffy and I are going to clean it up.’
Before Gus had a chance to refute Sampson’s words, Alice’s small hand clenched around his arm, just where his tattoo was, and squeezed. He turned and saw the warning look in her eye at the same time as he registered the slight increase in pressure around his tender arm. Her eyes narrowed. Turning to Sampson, he was greeted by another almost imperceptible nod. Then, the younger man tossed the broken ceramic pieces in the bin. ‘No harm done,’ he said.
Nancy, apparently still attuned to the tension in the room, seemed unconvinced. However, she shrugged and let it go. ‘Hmm, well, we’ve got more important things to worry about than that.’ She slammed the paper down on Gus’ desk. ‘What the hell is this about?’
Still feeling off-kilter, Gus examined the newspaper for a second and then turned to Sampson. ‘Get uniforms to bring in Jez Hopkins.’
Hardeep Singh, the duty officer, popped his head around the door. ‘No need. He’s just walked in demanding to speak with you, Gus. I’ve put him in interview room two, that okay? Thought after that shit he’s published, you’d want to turn the screws on the little bastard.’
Gus smiled. ‘Thanks, Hardeep, you did the right thing.’
He turned to Nancy. ‘When we’ve got a minute, Alice and I will speak to him.’
Nancy, her face stern, walked back over to the door. ‘No rush. Let the little fucker sweat.’
Chapter 55
12:35 Thornbury/ Bradford Royal Infirmary
Shamshad had gone home to shower and change. She’d barely had the chance to speak to Neha before she’d left. There would be time for that later. Besides, in her sister’s absence, she wanted to take the opportunity to search their room. She wanted … no, she needed to know if Neha was keeping any other secrets from her.
So, bottling down her hurt, she shut their bedroom door and leaned against it, surveying the room with a calculating eye. She hadn’t had to spy on her sister for a long time now, but the tricks she’d learned before flooded back to her in that instant. She knew exactly where to look, where to find any secrets Neha wanted to keep hidden. Later, when she had the chance, she’d search her school locker too.
Ignoring the feeling she was violating her sister’s trust, Shamshad told herself Neha had betrayed her first. That she was only doing it to protect her sister. Steeling herself, she started. First, she skimmed her hand under the mattress protector, pushing her arm under as far as it would go. Then, she pulled the sheets off and flipped the mattress on its side. With a practised eye, she checked it thoroughly, looking for signs Neha had created a hiding place in the wadding … nothing. She progressed to the headboard. Next, the pillows and duvet… again nothing. No microscopic slits to store razors or other secrets. So far so good.
Next step – her sister’s
books. She checked the spines of each for evidence Neha had concealed a razor inside, and her heart sank when she felt a slight lump on the spine of Neha’s physics book. Using tweezers, she prised the spine away from the book, and inserting the tweezers, she fumbled about until they gripped something. For a second, the item resisted the pressure, and then, it plopped out, expanding in the space of its new-found freedom. Her brow knitted together. It was a photo that had been folded into six. With gentle fingers, Sham opened it out on their shared desk. Flattening it with the palm of her hand, her frown deepened. Her lower lip trembled as she drank it in, and tears welled in her eyes. Then, she placed two fingers to her lips and kissed them before pressing them to three of the four faces in the photo; her sister, her mother and her father.
She hadn’t known Neha had this family photo. They had barely been three when it was taken. She and Neha wore identical pink shalwar kameez … sparkly two-tone ones with sequins covering the yoke and around the bottoms of the shalwar. Their mum had scraped their dark locks back into ponytails and they each had intricate floral clips in their hair. She and Neha held hands and grinned at the camera, without a care in the world. If you looked close, you could see Henna patterns decorating their small arms, meandering up past their wrists. It must have been a family wedding or Eid or something like that to warrant such detailed mehndi.
Their parents had all the freshness of youth in their smiles. Her mother wore her hair down, her head uncovered. Shamshad couldn’t remember a time when her mother had been so carefree. A time when she hadn’t covered her hair. She wore make-up. Lipstick shone on her curved lips, and her eyes, looking up at her husband, were warm and smiling. Her dad had one arm on each of his daughter’s shoulders, and he wore a traditional suit too. His smile was direct and charming. How things had changed in fourteen years.
Whilst Sham, understanding it had been beyond her mother’s control, had forgiven her for the things she’d done to her daughters, Neha had not. For a long time, Neha had pinned her hopes on their father. Sham had never held onto that hope. Their father had been unwilling or perhaps unable to commit to them, and so it had fallen on their uncle to take them in. Their father had let them down repeatedly. Trips and outings cancelled at the last minute. Promises to pay for school trips were reneged on. His daughters were left to watch in silence, heartbreak hidden behind their quiet stoicism, as other children visited museums, farms and shows organised by their schools. So, finally, Sham had treated her father like a boil and lanced him from their lives.
