by Mistry, Liz
‘Och, come on Charles, you know as well as I do that all that touchy feely stuff doesn’t work with everyone. She doesn’t know him like I do. He’s my son and I know that what he needs is to get back in the saddle. And more to the point, you need him now.’
The continued drumming of fingers drifted down the line, then Charles spoke. ‘Look this is a Catch 22 situation. I desperately need Gus back at work but I can’t go against the psychiatric evaluation. The last one I read said that Gus was unco-operative and so, in Dr Mahmood’s opinion, was still not ready for active work. Besides this is going to be a highly emotional case and, it involves children. Is Gus really ready to be thrown into such a horrific case after what he’s been through? Christ man, he’s probably still grieving the death of his godson; what was his name now… Bobby?’
‘Billy. The wee laddie’s name was Billy not Bobby.’
‘Billy, then. That’s what I meant. Look Fergus, my hands are tied, there’s nothing I can do, sorry.’
Fergus bit his lip then, phone clenched tightly, he lowered his tone to a whisper. ‘Oh, by the way, how’s Nancy, Charles? Haven’t seen her for a while, have you? After all I know you two work very closely together, some might think too closely perhaps.’
Charles paused, then, ‘Are you blackmailing me, Fergus?
Fergus laughed. ‘Who me? No, no, not at all. I’m just looking out for my boy, Charles. Just looking out for Angus. You’d do the same if you had kids, I’m sure.’
Chapter 14
Sunday 10pm
Surveying his kingdom was rather fanciful but, it was how DCS Charles Bowles regarded his office in The Fort, in the heart of Manningham. He had an enviable 180-degree view. To his left stood the large and newly renovated Lister Mills, with its sandstone tower and Scandinavian-style one- and two-person flats securely snuggled inside a gated complex. Why the hell anyone would want to pay a fortune to live in bloody Manningham, he just couldn’t understand. Straight ahead, past the medical centre on the corner and down Oak Lane was a clear view beyond Manningham Lane to Bolton Royd woods. He loved watching the ant-people toddle round their daily business. Tonight, however, the streets were quiet because of the snow. Charles enjoyed watching the white flakes dance against the dark sky and amber street lights. It was a welcome distraction from the earlier phone call from Fergus McGuire. God but that man was insistent.
Sighing, he settled himself into the chair behind his desk and swung it round so he could continue to look out the window. A familiar sense of anticipation surged through his body and, knowing this was neither the time nor the place to become agitated, he concentrated on his breathing and the soothing effect of the softly falling snow. The scent of Chanel No 5 reached his nostrils before he’d even registered her footsteps entering the office. He quickly stood as she slammed the door behind her, flung herself into his arms and held tightly. Charles flicked a glance to make sure the office blinds were closed before returning her embrace. He felt himself harden as he did so.
DCI Nancy Chalmers was everything his wife was not. She was confident self-assured, sensuous and completely natural. His wife on the other hand was reserved, nervously solicitous and, he hated to admit it, bland. He loved Hazel. Of course he did. She was his wife and he’d do anything for her, but for years now there’d been something lacking in their physical relationship. He knew why and accepted that it was his fault. Her reticence plagued him, her dutiful acquiescence unsettled him and her obvious disassociation filled him with guilt… So, he had Nancy. He frowned. Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure he did have Nancy. Not fully anyway. Their relationship was tantalisingly uncomplicated and impulsive. No strings, and yet Charles was hopelessly addicted to her. After all, a man in his position was used to being in complete control.
Reluctantly he extricated himself from her grip and reached over to flip the lock on the door before guiding her over to the sofa in the corner of the room. He sat down and pulled her down onto his knee, enjoying her delicious curves. She pushed herself slightly back from his chest and ground her buttocks against his erection. Then she twisted her body round so that she straddled his thighs. Ever so gently she nipped his lip with her teeth. His groan deepened. She raised her hips and he gently tugged her skirt up.
As his fingers found her naked beneath her skirt, she whispered, ‘You like my surprise?’
Before he had a chance to reply, she unzipped his trousers and impaled herself on him. He held her frenzied gaze as she worked him like a rutting pig until she was spent. Then, he climaxed. Still breathing hard, he felt her lean away from him.
‘We need Gus back. Now, Charles. Now!’ Her words had the same effect as a bucket of icy water.
Trying hard to refocus, he watched her stand and smooth her skirt down. Fuck, but the woman was unpredictable. She’d barely finished fucking him and already she’d moved on, leaving him feeling like a horny school boy. He swallowed the angry words that sprung to his lips and began to put his trousers to rights. He felt thoroughly used. With a lingering frisson of desire still twitching at his penis, he watched her pour the coffee he’d prepared earlier. If it wasn’t for her mussed hair and the delicious flush spreading over her cheeks he could almost believe he’d imagined their perfunctory mating. She added milk and sugar to his drink, handed it to him and then sat down in one of the two leather chairs on the other side of the coffee table.
Gazing seriously into his eyes she continued. ‘I mean it, Charles. We need him back. Rogers is still out of action and Aziz and Panesar are tied up with the drug ring in Thornbury. We need Gus back ASAP. That stupid bloody Mahmood woman is dragging her heels. I’ve spoken to her and Fergus has spoken to her but she won’t budge.’ She lifted her coffee and took a long sip. ‘This one’s bad. Twenty kids imprisoned on our doorstep, two of them dead and the rest… well,’ she placed her cup back on the coffee table with trembling hands. ‘Well, the rest of the poor sods have been used every which way you can imagine and many ways nobody but those sick bastards could imagine.’
With a long sigh, Charles lifted his cup, crossed his legs and leaned back on the sofa before drinking. He met Nancy’s eye and in a slow drawl said, ‘Most of my DCIs just put in a written request for things like this, you know? Not saying I didn’t enjoy the extra attention to detail but, if I didn’t know you so well Nancy, I could feel decidedly manipulated.’
Nancy frowned and then laughed. ‘Oh the sex wasn’t for you, Charles. No, that was for me.’
He raised his cup in a ‘touché’ gesture.
She smiled and continued, ‘Anyway, I know you well enough by now to know that you don’t kowtow for sexual favours.’
He inclined his head. ‘Good to know you think I’m incorruptible.’
They drank their coffee in silence and then she stood up. ‘So, will you put a bit of pressure on Mahmood then?’
Charles studied the tense way she held herself as she paced in front of the coffee table. ‘Why is it all so imperative now, Nance?’
She flopped down next to him and threw her hands in the air. ‘Apart for Gus being the best there is?’ She hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Today… just took me back to Cambridge, that’s all. Seeing those kids made me think about The Matchmaker again.’
Reaching over he placed his hand on her knee and squeezed. ‘That was in 2003. You need to let it go. You can’t keep letting it affect you. You didn’t let Cathy Clegg down. Her husband did that.’
With a tremulous smile Nancy placed her hand over his. ‘You’re right, of course.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this case and I’d feel better if Gus was back.’
Placing his empty cup on the coffee table, he picked up a folder. From it he took out a print out of an email conversation and handed it over.
She glanced at it and then smiled. ‘You’ve already made the request and she’s agreed.’
Returning her smile, he nodded, noticing the tension leave her shoulders. Leaning over, she kissed him before heading for the door leaving beh
ind the lingering smell of their sex mixed with undertones of expensive perfume. As the door clicked closed, his smile faded and his eyes darkened. Charles Bowles did not like to feel controlled and now, twice in the one evening, he felt out-manoeuvred.
Chapter 15
Monday 7am
Alice massaged her throbbing temples. She’d just got off the phone to the last of her Interpol connections and had established initial contact outlining the highlights of their findings in the attic room in Heaton. She’d called in their technical whizz kid, DC Compton – Compo to his mates – who was working to match the attic children’s photos with missing children from Poland, Romania and Croatia. DCI Chalmers had provided another detective constable, Sadia Hussain, who to date, had looked down her supercilious nose and isolated herself in the corner inputting witness statements. Alice felt like she was swimming upstream through mud, with rabid crocodiles nipping her feet.
DC Sampson, on the other hand, was proving to be her saviour. He supported her decisions, made relevant and useful suggestions and above all worked like a Trojan. Still, she wished Gus was back. He’d know exactly what to do. Despite Sampson’s support and encouragement, the uneasy feeling that she’d missed crucial actions hung heavily on her mind. She stood up and walked over to the coffee machine in the corner of the room. Caffeine was the last thing she needed with her headache, but she had to keep going. With treacle-thick coffee in her Mini Cooper mug she went back to her desk, pushed her chair back and sat, feet on the table, eating an out-of-date Mars bar she’d salvaged from the bottom of her handbag.
Images of those staring, expressionless eyes kept popping into her mind, distracting her. Maybe if she let them in and ‘owned it’ she’d be able to move on. She closed her eyes and took herself back to that attic room. The first thing was the smell. She’d identified it correctly before they’d even opened the door. She was expecting a corpse. What she hadn’t expected was eighteen pairs of eyes blinking at her through the semi-darkness. As her eyes moved round the room she’d seen that the most animated bodies in there were the dead ones; putrid and writhing with maggots. The living bodies were empty, soulless, drained of vitality and so beaten they were accepting of anything. Two buckets in the middle of the room overflowed with human waste and around the walls of the room huddled on filthy mattresses were twenty children. All were clearly victims of horrific abuse. Their clothes, sodden by pus leaking sores, fell in rags from their emaciated frames. She’d spoken to them but they didn’t respond; not a flinch or a blink or the turn of a head. Stepping forward, Sampson close behind, one child, a boy of maybe eight or nine, raised his head. She stopped and knelt beside him. ‘You’re safe now. We are the police.’
He uttered one word in a hoarse voice. ‘Polski.’
Glancing at Sampson she saw the same shock reflected in his eyes. How had Sharon Asif managed to keep twenty children captive in a terraced attic in Heaton with nobody noticing? How long had they been there? And where did they come from?
Chapter 16
Monday 9am, Bradford
Gus had been looking for Nemo in the aquarium when Dr Mahmood came out from her office and wordlessly gestured for him to come in. She’d perched on the edge of the desk like she’d done on Friday, tucked her hands under her thighs and stared at him. ‘Right Angus, no messing about, how have you been since our session on Friday?’
Frowning at the damp spot on the wall, he tilted his head to meet her gaze, puffed out a breath of air and shrugged his good shoulder. ‘Same as usual.’
Despite her usual professionalism, Gus noted the slight tightening of her lips. He guessed she was frustrated with him, but didn’t care. He couldn’t spill out his woes like the rest of the bleeding hearts she treated. It just wasn’t his way. Looking away from her he sighed. ‘Truth is Dr Mahmood, we both know these sessions are going nowhere, yet still I’ve turned up religiously for every single one. Surely it’s time to let me go back to work.’
Cocking an eyebrow, she tapped a finger on her lip. ‘Would you say you’ve participated fully in the sessions, Angus?’
‘Yes, of course. To the best of my ability.’
Smiling, she shook her head slightly before reaching behind her to grab a cardboard manila folder. Tapping it once on her thigh she hesitated then, with a resigned expression handed it to him.
Slightly puzzled, Gus took it. ‘What’s this?’
Splaying her hands before her like a conjurer, she said, ‘Ta Da! Your wish fulfilled.’
Intrigued, he flipped the folder open and there, at the top, was a single sheet of paper with the words ‘Detective Inspector Angus McGuire is hereby certified fit to return to active duty.’ Underneath was Dr Mahmood’s sprawling signature.
‘You signed me fit for work?’ His voice held a note of scepticism.
She nodded. ‘With a few provisos.’
Still unconvinced, Gus read the paper once more. ‘You’d already signed me fit for work before this session?’
Jumping down from her perch, Dr Mahmood sighed. ‘Seems somebody was impatient for your return and, in all honesty, after Friday’s session I was at a bit of a loss how to deal with you. Maybe you’re the exception to the rule. Maybe immersing yourself in work will be your salvation.’ Looking unconvinced she shrugged. ‘Well, we’ll see now, won’t we?’
Slowly, he got to his feet and, aware that he was grinning like an idiot, only just managed to quell the urge to lift her off her feet, twirl her round the room and kiss her cheek. ‘Thanks, Doc.’
Smiling sardonically, she waited till he opened the door, then said, ‘Oh Angus, same time Friday?’
Eyes narrowed, Gus stopped abruptly. ‘But, I thought you said–’
She waved her hand at him. ‘I said there were provisos, Angus, and that’s one of them. You still need to see me twice a week for as long as I think you need to, ok?’
It was far from ok. But, with as much good grace as he could muster, he nodded and opened the door. Before stepping out, he turned back. ‘Well, since we’re into provisos Doc, do you think you could lose the vanilla smell? It’s truly nauseating.’
Dr Mahmood blinked twice. Feeling that he’d got the upper hand for once he continued. ‘How about a rose-scented candle or jasmine even? I don’t mind jasmine.’
Her face transformed into a huge smile that made Gus feel good. He winked at her and left the room. ‘See ya Friday.’
Now, after his adrenalin-fuelled meeting with the psychiatrist, he felt like a fizzled-out firework. His leg ached, and, as was typical of Bradford in the snow, no buses were running so he was destined to walk. With a longing glance at The Branch pub, Gus hefted his bag onto his shoulder and began to limp towards Manningham. His joy at being allowed to return to work sped him on, in spite of the sleet pebble-dashing his face as he walked.
His relief when he reached the welcoming statue of Sir Samuel Lister at the gates of Lister Park pushed him on and, as he entered the bottom end of the park he smiled, ignoring the pain in his hip and groin. This was his territory now. His old house, which he’d avoided since the attack that nearly cost him his life, nestled at the end of Marriner’s Drive, opposite the park. His habit had been to jog through Lister Park and up Oak Lane to work whenever possible. He grimaced as his foot caught some ice and he slipped sending a shooting pain through his leg and into his shoulder. He wouldn’t be jogging for a while but maybe it was time he moved out of his parent’s house and back home. Gabriella, according to his dad had taken everything she wanted from the house so there was no reason not to reclaim it.
As he skirted the boating lake, he watched two young lads dressed in woolly jumpers and hats tentatively make their way onto the frozen water. They appeared to be coaxing and daring each other in an Eastern European language to move further onto the ice where it was thinner. Gus was about to holler at them when from behind a stream of angry-sounding words flew past his ears. The boys, faces stricken, glanced up and then scrambled quickly to the side, before running off laug
hing.
The old man nodded at Gus and spoke in accented English. ‘Bloody fools. They forget that in Poland the winters are harsher and the ice thicker.’
Gus smiled, as the old man shook his head and lit up a cigarette. This was the Bradford he loved – a melting pot of culture, variety and life.
Slowly, he walked up the slight incline that ran between the statuesque Moghul Gardens and Cartwright Hall Art Gallery. He felt envious when a trio of women, chatting in Mirpuri Punjabi, power-walked past him. The contrast between their black burkhas and the flash of neon pink and orange Nike trainers made him smile. They were followed, at a more leisurely pace, by the group of elderly men Gus often spotted playing crown bowls on the green in summertime.
For months, Gus had adopted a strict regime of exercise to strengthen the muscles shredded by Greg’s attack, and the truth was he had improved greatly. His mobility was certainly better and the fact that he’d just walked about five miles battling through snow and ice should have made him happy. A month ago he’d barely been able to walk to Somerset House in Shipley because the pain had been excruciating. Now he’d even managed to reduce his pain meds. However, he was well aware that the journey ahead would be a long one. Reaching the top of the incline, he chided himself for being defeatist and determinedly trudged along the path that was lined with flowerbeds neatly tucked under a snowy duvet. When he reached the main gate leading to Oak Lane he knew he’d finally be able to rest for a bit.
Chapter 17
Monday 9am
Two tiny bundles lay abandoned on steel trolleys, flanked by another one containing a larger bundle. Fergus McGuire stood in between the two smaller bundles, suited up, masked and ready to go. His assistant, Hardeep, completed the final preparations and then they were ready. Alice, pale beneath her mask, stood to the side, her eyes filled with a steely determination not to succumb to the anguish she felt.
