Untainted Blood

by Liz Mistry

  During Neha’s illness, she had blocked the few moves he’d made to see her sister. Now, Sham wondered if her sister had been seeing him in secret. Curling up on her sister’s unmade bed, her duvet pulled around her, breathing in her scent, Sham cried and cried, all the time wondering where she’d gone wrong. All she’d ever wanted to do was protect Neha. Seemed like she’d blown it, and now, they were back to square one. Only this time, it was different. Neha had secrets, and Sham wasn’t sure her sister wanted her help anymore. Right now, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to give it.

  Finally, she got up and tidied the mess she’d made. With one last, lingering look, she folded the photo and returned it to its hiding place. Tired of it all and feeling sticky and dirty, she headed to the bathroom for a shower. Half an hour later, Sham was in her bedroom getting dressed. Studying her face in the mirror, she was pleased to see the cuts she’d sustained in City Park were healing. She picked up her brushes and began applying her make-up. Boy, did she need to do that, because without it, her skin was wan and tired. It was then she heard raised voices coming from downstairs. Her heart sank. Her aunt and uncle rarely argued, and experience told her when they did, it was usually to do with her parents.

  Feeling the familiar butterflies in her stomach, she wondered what had happened now as she added the final flick to her eyeliner. Giving her face a last once-over and deciding she looked marginally more human than before, she braced herself to go downstairs. Whatever had happened couldn’t be any worse than what they’d been through over the last couple of days.

  The paper was lying in the middle of the kitchen table when she walked in. Her aunt’s face was drawn, her eyes dull with shock. Sham glanced at her uncle who nodded towards the paper. ‘I’m so sorry, Shamshad, beti. You should not have to suffer this on top of everything else.’

  Sham held his gaze for a second, and then, her eyes moved to the newspaper. At first, she couldn’t see its significance. She glanced at her uncle, one eyebrow raised in question. His mouth drew into a line, and he pointed at the paper. ‘Read it, Sham.’

  Sham picked it up. As she read the headlines, her hands began to shake, and the colour drained from her face. Taking a deep breath, she turned the page and groaned. Oh no! Not this! How much more were they expected to face?

  She pulled a chair from under the table and sank onto it. Looking from her aunt to her uncle, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Her aunt got up, and moving as if her body was weighted down by something heavier than mere gravity, she walked around the table. Pulling Sham’s head to her chest, she smoothed down the hair Sham had just spent ten minutes spiking to perfection. Uncaring, Sham moulded herself to her aunt’s frame and sobbed. When she finally stopped and wiped her eyes, her uncle, head bowed, appeared sadder than she’d ever seen him.

  Her aunt held her hand. ‘This will pass, Sham. I promise. And you and Neha will be stronger for having suffered it.’

  Shamshad glanced at her uncle and realised he, too, was crying. She put her hand on top of his and squeezed. ‘We have each other, and we haven’t done owt wrong. We can still hold our heads up high, can’t we?’

  Wiping the sleeve of his kameez over his eyes, her uncle smiled. ‘Insh’Allah, we will be fine.’

  Her aunt smiled at him, then turned to Shamshad, ‘Go and redo your hair and put that awful make-up back on your face. You’ve got ten minutes, okay? Your uncle will drive you to the hospital. You’ll need to prepare Neha for this.’

  Sham jumped up, and in an uncharacteristic show of affection, she kissed first her aunt’s and then her uncle’s cheek, before moving upstairs, her feet like lead, to re-apply her make-up.

  Half an hour later, walking into BRI with the offending newspaper hidden in her bag, it was like everyone’s eyes were on her, judging her and finding her wanting. She was glad she’d taken the time to put on her armour. Entering the ward, she saw Neha was sitting propped up against a sea of white pillows. She seemed frail. Her hair, unconcealed by her hijab, was spread out making her look like an awake version of sleeping beauty. Her head was angled towards the window, and her eyes were shut. Sham stopped and just stared at her.

  Sudden panic thudded in her chest, and she wanted to spin on her heel and run. Then Neha, as if sensing her presence, turned her head. Sham had no option but to do as she always had … deal with shit!

  Chapter 56

  12:35 The Kill Site

  Tara seems to sense the anger that reverberates off me. The weather matches my mood. I don’t care that rain trickles down my back, or that the wind whips my hair. Both things serve to fuel my ire, and I welcome it. Tara sidles up, and her front hoof gently paws the mushy dirt. I’d hiked over three fields to get here, not wanting to be seen in the daylight, but it was worth it. Her gentle presence soothes me. With her, I don’t need to pretend, don’t need to cover up my feelings. Just as well, because right now, I’m having a job covering up my rage.

  I’d only nipped into the Co-op to get a pint of milk and some cigs. I nearly died right there on the spot when I saw it. I wanted to slam my fist right through the flimsy sandwich board and kick it into the road. Don’t know how I stopped myself. Maybe it was the funny looks the woman behind the counter kept throwing my way. I ducked my head down in case she recognised me. No point in taking chances. Mind you, I wanted to smack the stupid bitch in the face when she sniggered and made some smart-ass comment about the article. If they couldn’t talk in proper sentences, they shouldn’t be inflicted on the general public. Who was she to take that job when there were loads of deserving Brits queued up at the job centre?

  As she handed me my change, I let my anger at her go. More important things to worry about. The humiliation of those photos was insurmountable, and I didn’t know how to react. That’s why I’d hotfooted it here. I knew I needed to calm myself. Try to think straight. God, it was one fiasco after another!

  My main concern is who leaked it to the press? I’d made sure only to send them to Graeme. To warn him to keep his tramp of a wife in line. So, he could make sure her dirty little affairs wouldn’t jeopardise the campaign, and now, some idiot had sent them to the Bradford Chronicle! I flick it open again and look at the photo. Had she done it out of malice? Had that stupid cow he called his wife done it to discredit him? After all my hard work sorting out Ul Haq, cleansing the streets to make things easier for Graeme, had she gone and made it all for nowt?

  Breathing heavily, I feel Tara pull away from me with a sharp whinny. Realising I was tugging too tightly on her mane, I ease my fingers open and offer her an apple to soothe her. For a second, she seems hesitant, and I persist, forcing myself to be calm, trying to let the tension go. Then, she gives in, her rough tongue scoops the treat into her mouth, and just like that, all is forgiven. If only life was like that.

  Well, at least when they find the body that will distract everyone from the Weston article. Not that the stupid cow doesn’t deserve to have the entire world know how sluttish she is.

  I move away from Tara, studying the paper again. The headline is seared on my retinas, and the anger wells up inside me again. I open my mouth as wide as I can, fling my head back and yell against the wind, ignoring the teeming rain that pounds my face.

  Chapter 57

  12:35 Hawthorn Drive, Eccleshill

  Like clockwork, the clatter of the letterbox accompanied by the paperboy’s off-tune whistle, signalled the arrival of the newspaper. With his rolling strut, Graeme Weston, feet bare, walked from the kitchen and along the hallway to the door. Bending down, he picked up the paper, frowning when he saw his name in the headline. What was that little toe-rag Hopkins saying about him now? Probably some follow up from yesterday’s bottle-bomb in City Park. He grinned; that had worked out quite well for him. Michael’s plan of planting one of their supporters among the Pakis to throw the bottle had been inspired. He’d taken the moral high ground. Been able to expose them for what they were … a bunch of idiots not worthy of calling themselves British
.

  With one hand, he flicked the paper open to see the headline and froze. What the hell was this? He scanned the page, his florid face losing colour as he read. Then, licking the tip of his index finger, he turned to the next page. His jaw tightened when he saw the photo and scrunching the paper up in one hand, he threw it to the floor and yelled, ‘Christine!’

  He turned and kicked open the living room door, making it slam against the wall before it rebounded, narrowly missing him as he barged his way into the room. Without stopping, he lifted his arm, and using the momentum from his motion, he swung it, backhanded, towards his startled wife as she stood holding a vase of lilies. His ring caught her on the cheek, and her head jerked backwards. With an animalistic grunt, he continued through with a shove that sent her toppling backwards towards the glass coffee table. The vase flew from her hands spilling water and flowers, before shattering. Her head followed, cracking onto the corner with a resounding thud that hung like a thunder cloud in the air for a second … and then … she was still. Curled up like a wilted petal. Blood mixed with water, drenching the white rug. It covered her hair and soaked into the pile leaving a stain like a ruby coloured tiara, discarded and askew, near Christine Weston’s head.

  Chapter 58

  13:00 The Fort

  When Nancy left, Gus walked around to the front of his desk. Feeling like an idiot, he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. He had no idea what to say. He thrust his fingers into his dreads and racked his brain for inspiration … none came, so he settled for, ‘Thanks, guys!’

  Sampson, Taffy and Alice shrugged his thanks away. Compo, who’d spent the entire episode with his headphones on, nodding to his own beat, chose that moment to tune in to the real world. A slight frown creased his forehead as he said, ‘Thanks for what?’

  Alice grinned. ‘Nothing, my darling.’

  Taking her words at face value and clearly excited about something else, Compo nodded. Jumping up, he grabbed a pile of paper the printer had just spewed out and thrust it at Gus. ‘You can thank me for this, Gus,’ he said, adding in an only half joking sort of tone, ‘Preferably with donations of food.’

  One look at Compo’s grinning face told Gus he’d come up with the goods. ‘Is this what I think it is?’

  Burgundy beanie nodding ferociously, Compo rocked on the balls of his feet, his hands clasped behind his back as if he’d been called to the front of the class to receive a special award. His enthusiasm and excitement were contagious, and unable to hold his own in check, Gus released a ‘Whoop woo’ that would have made Compo proud.

  Alice jumped and then smiled at Gus. ‘For God’s sake! Will you make up your mind if you’re clinically depressed or just going off the rails?’ She rubbed her ears. ‘That hurt.’ Moving over to join them, she added, ‘Can’t be doing with your damn mood swings.’

  Despite her light-hearted tone, Gus detected the seriousness behind her words. He grabbed her arm and squeezed. ‘Thanks, Alice. I owe you all one,’ he said, before turning to Compo.

  Compo pressed a button on his PC, and the sheets came up in the whiteboard for the rest of them to see. ‘That’s the names and addresses of all the people who have been ANPR’d in all of the first three victims’ localities. The records show activity for the month prior to their murder.’

  The list was about twenty-five or so names long. Compo pressed another key. ‘And these are the ones that made multiple journeys around that area.’

  Gus nodded, impressed. The list had shortened by about ten names, and he was just about to praise Compo, when the man himself pressed yet another key bringing a third much shorter list onto the screen. ‘And these are the ones who made more than four visits to these localities.’

  There were nine names on the list. Gus and his team studied them and their addresses, hoping a name would stand out for them … none did. That didn’t matter. This was a move in the right direction. Gus could feel it in his bones … things were moving now. They had another direction to go in.

  ‘Right, I want a team of uniforms to interview each of those on the list. Keep it light … routine enquiries … you know the drill. However, if any flags fly, we bring them in ASAP. Don’t forget we still haven’t found Lewis Gore … he’s our priority.’

  Taffy lifted his gaze to Gus. ‘Surely he’s dead by now, sir.’

  Gus stilled and then regarded the lad. ‘Look, Taffy, as far as I’m concerned, ‘til we know otherwise, Lewis Gore may still be alive. If he is, I don’t want our killer startled into doing something stupid.’

  Red-faced, Taffy nodded and turned back to his desk.

  Gus called his name and waited until he’d turned around, before continuing with a smile, ‘It’s Gus… remember?’

  ‘Gus,’ Compo sounded a bit wary. ‘I applied the programme to Lewis Gore’s locality as well, and something interesting came up.’

  Gus frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, only five of those nine ANPRs pinged for Lewis’ locality. I just wondered, bearing in mind we’ve not found him yet, if we should prioritise those five.’

  Gus moved over and fist-bumped Compo. This was even better. ‘Right, Sampson. Get moving on those five names now!’ He turned to Compo. ‘Well done, Comps.’

  Compo still stood there, grinning at him. ‘I’ve got summat else, too.’

  Running his finger through his dreads, Gus attempted to hide his impatience to be off following up their leads. ‘Okay, spill.’

  ‘Whilst you lot were off gallivanting this morning, Imtiaz Khan came in. You’ll never guess …’ Wiggling his eyebrows, he waited, presumably for Gus to guess.

  Realising it would be quicker just to humour him, Gus splayed his arms in front of him, palms up, and said, ‘No idea.’

  ‘Well, he bloody went and identified that bugger wi’ t’ bomb in City Park from the wider footage. I’ve been running the photo against the facial recognition database and look … here he is!’

  The face of a man, perhaps in his early twenties, appeared on the screen. He was laughing and had the look of any other young lad out for a good time on a Saturday night. That impression lasted all of two seconds, because next to his smiling face, Compo had added a list of his misdemeanours going back to his early teens, which included GBH, theft, vehicle theft and arson.

  ‘Name’s Niall Boyle. Lives in Holme Wood estate and is currently on probation. He’ll not be a happy bunny when we catch up with him.’

  ‘Again, well done, Comps. Get this passed on to the officer in charge of the City Park investigation, alright?’

  When Compo nodded, Gus turned to Alice. ‘See to it the uniforms tasked with interviewing the vehicle owners are briefed, Al. Meanwhile, Sampson and I have got a scumbag journalist to interview.’

  Chapter 59

  13:20 Bradford Royal Infirmary

  Shamshad took the newspaper from her bag and laid it on her sister’s lap. Neha moved her still bandaged arm, as if it weighed a tonne. Using her thumb and index finger, she moved the paper so she could see the headline. She flinched as she read, her mouth curled in disgust, and then, with an effort, she manoeuvred the tabloid until she could open it to read the rest of the article.

  When she saw the picture of their father, Sham expected her to thrust the paper away or cry out or something, but instead, Neha just stared at the photo, and then, letting her head fall back on the pillows, she whispered something that sounded very much like, ‘So, he did it then.’

  Puzzled, Sham moved closer, flicked the paper from her sister’s lap and put it back in her bag. ‘Who did what, Neha?’

  Neha just smiled and shook her head. ‘Nobody.’

  The lie struck her like an arrow to her heart. She was so helpless. This wasn’t her sister. Not the one she’d nurtured and cajoled and bullied back to health by sheer force of spirit. Not the one she’d fought for, put her life on hold for, not the one she loved beyond all else. This was an imposter. Anger gripped her, and she leaned forward and pressed lightly in Neha�
��s bandaged arm. ‘Tell me!’ she said, her voice a croak.

  Neha winced and tried to pull her arm away. Ignoring her, Shamshad increased the pressure just a little. She didn’t care if she hurt her sister. She deserved it. ‘You will tell me, Neha. I’ve had enough of this. The lies and deceit. The secrets! How do you think I feel right now? If you weren’t so fucking poorly, I’d kill you.’

  Uncaring of the tears coursing down her cheeks, she glared at Neha. All the worry and anger she’d kept inside floated to the surface. She could see the hurt in her sister’s eyes, but she didn’t care, as she ranted on. Everything she’d been feeling about her father’s death and Neha’s secrets came spewing out, and she couldn’t stop it. To be honest, right at that moment, she didn’t even want to. ‘You’ve let me down, Neha. I’ve always been there for you. Done fucking everything for you, and this is how you repay me.’

  Releasing Neha’s arm, she flung herself back in the plastic chair causing it to scrape against the floor. Poking at a hole in her jeans, she continued, ‘Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Neha. Miss bloody prim and proper, Insh’Allahing every two minutes, and now, look at you. You’re a liar! A fraud! Where in your Islam does it say that’s okay, huh?’

  Realising some of the other patients were watching them, Shamshad took a deep breath. It took all her willpower to do it, and when she next spoke, her tone was calmer. ‘Then, you go and get poorly again.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just like that … you forget all about me. You’re so fucking selfish, you know that?’ She ran her fingers through her spiky hair and then rubbed her cheeks dry. ‘Well, you know what, Neha? I’ve had enough. Enough of your petty little secrets, enough of your self-pity and self-destruction. Do you think I haven’t suffered? Do you think you’re the only one who lost their mum? The only one who lost their dad, the only one who feels alone? Well?’ She clicked her fingers in front of Neha’s face in a zig zag motion.