by Liz Mistry
A blush warmed his face. He really needed to stop interviewing people on an empty stomach. Knowing he still had a good few hours of work before him, he said, ‘Don’t mind if I do, Mrs Weston. Not eaten properly all day.’
With a rueful head shake, Alice snaffled a chip and laid the folder containing the documents Sham had given them earlier on the table.
‘Shamshad Ul Haq came in to the station earlier and gave us some documents.’ She turned to Jacob. ‘Documents and photographs you gave to Neha Ul Haq.’
Christine gasped and frowned at her son. ‘You gave Neha documents? What sort of documents, Jacob?’
Gus felt sorry for the lad. He remembered facing similar scrutiny from his own mum at that age, and his reaction had been similar to Jacob’s now.
Shrugging, the boy averted his eyes. ‘Just stuff.’
Alice smiled at him and turned to his mum. ‘Look, Mrs Weston, perhaps you could discuss this with Jacob later, but right now, we need to ask you both a few questions.’
When Mrs Weston nodded her agreement, Alice continued, ‘Neha has been ill and is in hospital.’
It was Jacob’s turn to gasp at this news. He sat up straight, a frown drawing his brows together. So, he really cares about his half-sister, thought Gus, as the boy’s voice rose.
‘She’s ill? Neha’s ill?’ He turned to his mother. ‘We need to go see her, Mum.’
Alice shook her head. ‘She’ll be fine, Jacob. Maybe you can visit her tomorrow. For now, though, we need to talk about the things you gave her, okay?’
‘You mean my birth certificate and my medical records and my dad’s medical records?’
Oh, oh! Gus saw the shock flash across Christine’s face. Judging by her reaction, she’d had no idea her son had done that. Christine blinked. For a few seconds, she said nothing, just stared at him, her mouth half-open. ‘You gave those things to Neha?’ She shook her head. ‘Why? Why would you do that, Jacob?’
Jacob, eyes averted, studied his chips. As if hating the sight of them, he rolled the greasy packets together and flung them onto the table. His chest began to heave. Gus wondered if he should intervene. A shimmer of tears glistened in the boy’s eyes, and his mother was pale, her face taut and anguished. The last thing he wanted was for things to get out of control. He wasn’t sure he could cope with a hysterical teenager at the best of times.
However, from somewhere, Jacob appeared to gain some self-control. He glanced at his mother, his expression pleading. Gus noticed he clenched and unclenched his fists as he spoke, and a weariness sank to his stomach and threatened to overtake him. Why did some families seem to set themselves on this self-destructive mode?
Sounding defiant, if scared, Jacob said, ‘I was scared he’d destroy them, now he’s standing in that stupid by-election.’ Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he continued, ‘Thought he’d try to get rid of all the evidence. I couldn’t have him doing that, Mum. Not when Dad’s dead.’ And tears streamed down his face.
Christine put her hand on her son’s arm. ‘Oh, Jacob!’ She leaned forward and cupped his head with her hands. With her thumbs, she rubbed the tears away as they fell from his eyes. Her hands trembled as she did so, and she swallowed hard before saying, ‘I love you, Jakey … so much.’
Her words seemed to strengthen the lad’s resolve, for he took a deep breath and rubbed his tears away with the back of his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
Poor sod. He was trying so hard to be a man, but he was really still only a boy. It was hard to deal with stuff when you were on the cusp of manhood, hormones all over the place, and to top it all, Jacob Weston had all the trauma of losing his biological dad and being at odds with his mother’s husband. Not an easy situation for anyone.
Christine shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. We just need to help the police now. Sniffing, she sat up straight. ‘How can we help?’
Gus dabbed his hands on a bit of soiled newsprint, whilst Alice rummaged in her bag before handing him another wet wipe, saying in a resigned tone, ‘Here.’
Wiping his hands, he said, ‘First of all, are these documents all genuine? Is Razaul Ul Haq Jacob’s biological father?’
Christine nodded. ‘You know it’s almost a relief to admit it all now. It seems like I’ve been carting this like a weight around my neck for years. It’ll be a relief to share it at long last.’
She pulled her son close. At first, he baulked against her, and then, he gave in. It was as if he sensed his mother needed his strength in order to tell her story. The two of them, Christine Weston, bruised and battered with her teenage son cuddled into her arms, made an incongruous sight, leant back on the sofa, looking as if they were about to share a bedtime story. It was unfortunate this particular story didn’t have a fairy tale ending.
‘I’ve known Razaul since primary school. At Bolton Woods, we became close for a while.’ She smiled. ‘Of course, reality got in the way. You didn’t date outside your own culture much in those days. His family were traditional, and they arranged a marriage for him to a young girl from his parent’s village in Bangladesh. Razaul didn’t want to get married. He was young, though, and the pressure was extreme. My parents wouldn’t have been happy for me to date a Muslim, so it seemed easier for us to split up. Razaul got married, and I went to university. When I got back, we bumped into each other. He was desperately unhappy, which is no excuse for what we did.’
Gus had heard from his parents how hard it had been for them thirty years ago; seemed like attitudes hadn’t changed much. His mother had, as a mixed-race black woman, gone through the foster system in Scotland ridiculed and bullied. She’d struggled through abusive foster families and had, against all odds, managed to get the necessary qualifications to get to Edinburgh University where she met his dad. The way the auld man told it, it had been love at first sight for him … not so much for his mum, who was doubtful of everyone’s intentions. Gus smiled at the thought. His mother was still independent, although his parents depended on each other with a ferocious love Gus hoped one day to emulate for himself. His parents’ relationship had been fraught with difficulties, judgements and negative expectations from the start. Yet, they were still strong together.
Christine, wiped her hair from her brow with a trembling hand. ‘His wife had a series of miscarriages and suffered from depression. His parents had both died, and he was grieving for them. We began to meet in secret. Then, one day, he told me his wife was pregnant, and he had to stop seeing me. I agreed. This was his chance to be happy, so we split up again.’
Gus saw the sadness in her eyes, as her hand smoothed her son’s hair. They were so alike. Yet, at close quarters, he could also discern Jacob’s likeness to his dead father. What a hopeless situation to be in.
‘A couple of years later, we bumped into each other, and Razaul confided how difficult things were with his wife. They had two beautiful twin daughters of whom he was so proud, but his wife was unstable. She threatened suicide repeatedly, and eventually threatened to kill the children if he didn’t leave.’
She lifted the glass of water Alice had brought her to her lips and took a long sip before continuing. ‘Razaul went to live with his brother, but he was concerned for Shamshad and Neha’s safety. Eventually, he asked his brother to take his wife and daughters in, and he moved out. We continued to see each other. His wife’s behaviour became more extreme, and she was admitted to Lynfield Mount Psychiatric Hospital. This continued on and off for years. Razaul continually tried to make the marriage work. They’d live together for a while, and then, she’d become ill. Finally, she managed to poison the girls against him.’
‘Only Shamshad, Mum,’ said Jacob.
‘Yes, that’s right, only Shamshad.’ She took another drink. ‘Neha became ill, and he visited her regularly, but Shamshad would have nothing to do with him. However, before that, when the twins were around three, I became pregnant. I didn’t know what to do. My parents are strict Catholic, and although I was in my twenties by then, I didn’t want t
o disappoint them. For years, Graeme had pursued me, and on occasion, I’d gone out with him for a few months at a time. When he discovered my predicament, he proposed. I wasn’t keen initially, because I knew his political views, however he was insistent, and he was besotted.’
Her shoulders lifted dismissively. ‘He wasn’t so awful then. He used to treat me like a princess … like something precious. He cherished me. Of course, as his involvement with the BNP, and then later, Albion First increased, that all changed. He resented me; yet, he wouldn’t let me go.’
Gus found it difficult to imagine allowing someone else to bring up his child, and he found it equally difficult to imagine Graeme Weston bringing up a child with a Pakistani father. ‘Did Graeme know who Jacob’s real father was?’
‘Yes, he did. I think he thought it gave him one over on Razaul. He’d always been jealous of him at school. Razaul was handsome and popular. Graeme was chubby and not so popular. I think he enjoyed the power he had over both me and Razaul. He knew how awful he could make things for Razaul. He made Razaul sign an agreement to have nothing to do with Jacob. When Jacob was old enough, and it became clear that Graeme was not going to be the father to Jacob I’d hoped for, Razaul and I decided to ignore the agreement. I introduced Razaul and Jacob. My son deserved to know the father who loved him.’
‘And was Razaul happy to sign his son away?’
A flash of red spread across Christine’s cheeks, and she scowled at Gus. ‘Of course he wasn’t happy with the situation. Neither of us were. What else could we do? We had to just get on with it … none of us knew things would end up like this.’ She balled her hand into a fist. ‘We wouldn’t have done it, if we had.’
Oh, for a crystal ball.
Unclasping her fist, Christine exhaled. ‘When we registered Jacob’s birth, I couldn’t bear to put Graeme’s name on the birth certificate, and as he was disinterested anyway, he didn’t check. Well, not then, anyway. Later, when we discovered Jacob had thalassemia, Graeme insisted we cover it up. He was heavily involved with Albion First by then and didn’t want anything to jeopardise his progress. I think the business with Razaul made him more ardent, if anything.’
Although this was pretty much what he’d expected to hear, it was beyond him how Christine had been able to live with Weston when his views were so vile. ‘That must have been hard for you.’
‘It was, although I had Jacob and I had Razaul … and for a while, Graeme was happy to just cover up. In hindsight, half of the attraction was the fact he wouldn’t be outdone by an Asian. He couldn’t comprehend how I could have allowed myself to be with Razaul. It gave him a hold over me. Gave him control.’
That Gus could understand. Graeme Weston liked to be in control, and he would do anything to maintain his power. The question was, would he fabricate such an elaborate plot to get rid of Razaul Ul Haq? Gus didn’t think so. He’d no doubt Weston would eventually have disposed of Razaul one way or another, but not this way. Besides which, it didn’t fit with Sebastian Carlton’s profile of a narcissistic male with issues with his sexuality.
‘So, you carry the thalassemia major gene too?’
Christine gave a hollow laugh. ‘Would you believe it? What were the odds of a lass, with a Greek dad and a Yorkshire mum, and a Bangladeshi man each carrying the same genetic flaw that could lead to Jacob’s condition? Most times, you’d expect a broadening of the gene pool to have only benefits.’
Gus contemplated this. It was a complete fluke both Razaul and Christine carried the gene. Gus knew about it, being a carrier himself. Until now, he hadn’t really thought of the implications of it. Now, he most certainly would. Although Jacob was doing well, the condition was a serious and restrictive one. The boy would not have an easy life. ‘Couldn’t you get a divorce? After all, by the time Razaul’s wife was sectioned, you and he could have settled down together. You could have left Graeme.’
Christine flinched. ‘I was too scared. Albion First are violent, and I’d seen the sort of things they’d done to other wives who’d tried to get out. So … I stayed. I protected Jacob, and we stayed. When he was old enough, I made sure Jacob understood the situation, and he spent time with his dad … his real dad.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Had Graeme been a real father to Jacob, things would have been very different. I would have kept away from Razaul, and Jacob would have known nothing about this.’
Jacob pulled away from her. ‘No!’ His eyes flashed. ‘How could you say that? I’d never have known Dad or Neha … or Shamshad.’
‘You’re right, Jakey. You’ve got two sisters out of this mess, and that’s good.’
Gus couldn’t begin to imagine being married to a racist. How had Graeme treated Jacob? From the boy’s disparaging comments, it seemed not very well. What a bloody fiasco, and now, everything was going to end up in the public eye. ‘You do realise that some of this will hit the media?’
Christine lifted her chin. ‘I’ve got Jacob, and he’s got his sisters. We’ll muddle through somehow, Inspector.’
Gus observed the mother and her boy. He knew they would survive this, if Albion First would let them, and if the media would cut them some slack. ‘I don’t suppose you know the answer to this. Graeme books a Wednesday afternoon off every six weeks, regular as clockwork, any ideas where he goes?’
Christine snorted. ‘Oh, yes. I know exactly where he goes. He comes with us. Jacob needs a regular transfusion, and Graeme never trusted us to go alone. He comes with us every six weeks to make sure I don’t reveal anything I shouldn’t. He’d prefer to go to the Yorkshire clinic, but the specialist clinic is at BRI, and it eats him up being there with blacks and Pakistanis.’ Her eye took on a steely glint. ‘I enjoy seeing him suffer whilst we’re there.’ She lifted her fingers to her bruised cheek. ‘Mind you, he gets his own back.’
The extent of the control Graeme Weston exerted over his wife made Gus more determined to let the man rot in the cells for as long as he could. It was no more than he deserved.
Alice leaned forward and looked directly at Jacob. With an apologetic smile at Christine, she pulled the photos from the folder and showed the top one to Jacob. ‘Jacob, did you also send these to Jez Hopkins at the Bradford Chronicle?’
Christine’s face paled. ‘What? No? You didn’t, did you, Jacob?’ Apparently, the expression on his face was enough to tell her he had. Her voice wobbled when she spoke. ‘Where did you even get those photos, Jacob?’
Gus held his breath as he watched the interplay between mother and son. How horrible for them this had to be discussed in the presence of strangers. Jacob was near to tears, and Christine wasn’t faring any better. At times like this, he hated his job.
Jacob, head lowered, spoke. ‘I found them in the living room. I’d heard you arguing with him on Sunday, and I saw what he’d done to your face on Monday. I was so angry, Mum. He’d no right to hit you. When I found the photos, I didn’t know what to do, so I took them, and then, we found out Dad was dead …’
‘Oh, Jacob!’ Tears flowed unheeded down Christine’s cheek as she reached for her son.
Gulping back his own tears, Jacob allowed himself to be gathered in his mother’s arms. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I really am. I just wanted to do something to help you … to stop him. What if he killed my dad?’
Christine met Gus’ eye. ‘I don’t think he would, but if he did, then Inspector McGuire will make sure he’s punished for it.’
Feeling like he’d just been issued with an ultimatum, Gus held her gaze and nodded. If Graeme Weston was responsible for the deaths of three men, and the abduction and torture of another, he would be held to account and punished for it. Maybe it was time to consult with Sebastian Carlton again. See how recent developments had affected his profile of the Tattoo Killer.
Chapter 78
23:35 The Fort
Watching the CCTV footage from Mother Hubbard car park was beginning to do Gus’ head in. They identified Mr Blackhurst’s vehicle driving into the area, and they saw him getting
out and heading into the fish and chip shop. His vehicle stayed in vision the entire time, unfortunately the vehicle that pulled in behind it, bearing the other old man’s number plate, was partially obscured. They couldn’t get a clear vision, although they could identify a figure exiting the vehicle and moving to the rear of Blackhurst’s car. The person seemed small, and because their physique was concealed by baggy clothing, it was difficult to get an idea of their exact size and shape.
Compo had tried everything to enhance the footage to no avail, and the moving images were exacerbating Gus’ tension headache. He should call it a day, but he had the uneasy feeling this person was unravelling. The apparent carelessness with Lewis Gore made it look that way. A snatched conversation earlier with Sebastian Carlton had supported this theory. The leaked information to the press would accelerate this unravelling, Sebastian had no doubt. Like Gus, Carlton had his reservations about Weston being their man. The shadowy figure on the screen could, at a push, be Weston; however, they had nothing to link the vehicle to him. In fact, all of Compo’s searches of their prime suspects hadn’t thrown up a vehicle to match the killer. Now, all Compo could do was try to crunch numbers and try to narrow down the number of Vauxhall Vivaro panel van owners to the target zones.
With Weston in custody, Gus had put a watch on Michael Hogg. The truth was, Gus would have liked to put an officer on each of the Albion First members, but with the recent swell in their numbers, it was impossible. All he could do was keep an eye on the key players.
He was missing something, and time was running out. Sebastian Carlton reckoned the error with Lewis Gore would enrage their killer even more. He reckoned he would take it as a personal affront and would hate the idea of a black person having one up. The only problem was because they hadn’t yet come across a link between the victims, other than the Weston-Ul Haq one, they couldn’t even hazard a guess as to who the next target would be. Sebastian Carlton had closeted himself in a spare interview room and was re-working his profile. Maybe he’d come up with something definitive, and Compo was still working on trying to find links between the victims.
