Unquiet Souls: a DI Gus McGuire case

by Mistry, Liz

  Fergus walked round to the gurney containing Sharon Asif. ‘Might as well do them in order.’

  With Alice watching he began. Two hours later, three Post Mortems complete, Alice felt like she’d been subjected to a head on assault by a four-by-four. Her shoulders radiated tension and she felt sure her face shared the hue of the corpses.

  ‘Come on, Alice. A recuperative drink is in order, I think. Get rid of your scrubs and we’ll go to my office.’

  After a toilet stop, during which she sluiced her face in ice cold water, a dazed Alice found herself in the only comfy chair in Dr McGuire’s office, with a fine Glenlivet in her hand.

  Fergus held his crystal glass up to the light and studied the amber liquid with as much concentration as he’d studied the bodies earlier. Then, when she felt his gaze shift to her, Alice took a single restorative sip of the whisky. Immediately, she felt the warming sensation drift down to her stomach, chasing the chill she’d felt since the previous day. She looked at Dr McGuire with a smile. ‘Go on then Doc, I’m ready now.’

  Swirling the whisky round his glass, Dr McGuire sighed and settled his bulky frame comfortably in the chair. He took a sip and rolled it round his tongue before speaking.

  ‘Basically, Sharon Asif died from blunt force trauma to the back of the head from when she landed on the gravestone. The strike to her forehead is consistent with a blow from a heavy rock or stone, as evidenced by the granules of, what appear to be, sandstone in the wound. It sent her flying backwards with such force that, when her head hit the gravestone, it caved in. She would’ve died almost instantaneously. Hardly unexpected, were the usual indicators of a drug addict; mashed liver, malnourishment, kidney and heart damage.’ He waved a hand in the air. ‘My report will have all the technical details when the lab results come back.’

  Alice placed her glass on the table and leaned forward and waited.

  Dr McGuire took another sip and continued. ‘The first child, Child A, a girl of around eight or nine, pre-pubescent certainly, was severely malnourished. External signs despite the condition of the body, show extensive bruising and cuts to her torso and limbs. She had been sexually assaulted both vaginally and anally and her insides were ruptured. We’ll know more when the entomologist has processed the maggots we took from the body.’ He slopped more whisky into his glass and offered Alice some more which she declined. Doc McGuire may be finished for the day but she still had an investigation to lead.

  Inclining his head, he said, ‘I already phoned Corrine to collect me in a bit. I’ve had enough for one day.’ He gazed into space for a second then continued. ‘The wee lassie has been dead for at least a week. She probably died of a combination of infection caused by the abuse and starvation. Again the lab tests will tell us more and hopefully some of the fibres and fluids we managed to find will help when you catch the bastards!’

  Alice said nothing. What could she say? She’d seen what had been done to those children and now she needed to use whatever Dr McGuire could tell her about the dead children in order to get justice for the living.

  Dr McGuire looked at her, ‘You know Alice, maybe I’m getting too old for this. Or, maybe I’ve just seen too much of it.’ He shrugged. ‘Whichever it is, I find it increasingly difficult to deal with, to paraphrase Rabbie Burns, ‘man’s inhumanities to man’ than when I was younger.’ He reached over and patted her leg. ‘Ignore me, I’m just being maudlin.’

  Alice was unsure how to respond. She knew it had been a difficult few months for Dr McGuire, with Gus’s injuries and the situation with Gabriella as well as his own grief for Greg, Becky and Billy. She’d thought he handled it all with his usual bluff optimism, but apparently not. She placed her hand over the older man’s hand and said, ‘We’ve just got to take strength from the fact that we make a difference. Sometimes not a very big one, but all those little differences add up, Doc.’

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose before continuing. ‘The second child, a boy, Child B, exhibited similar signs of abuse and malnourishment. He was slightly older than the girl, twelve or thirteen maybe and hadn’t been dead for quite as long. Maybe a week tops. Again, trace evidence will help nail the perpetrators.’

  Alice sighed. ‘I don’t really understand this. From what I can gather Sharon Asif was a nobody, a petty drug addict, sometime prostitute, certainly no criminal mastermind. So, how the hell did she come to be housing twenty trafficked children?’ She shook her head angrily. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  Fergus shrugged. ‘Maybe she was just a pawn in the trafficker’s game. Do you reckon she was killed by the traffickers?’

  Alice shook her head slowly ‘I don’t think so. Why would they kill her and leave the children in that attic for us to find? No, I reckon her murder was coincidental; it seems more personal to me. If she’d not been murdered, those poor kids would still be there.’ She closed her eyes and shuddered. ‘It just doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  Dr McGuire leaned over and rested a huge hand on her arm. ‘Don’t dwell on this Alice. Focus on the important thing, catching these animals.’

  Chapter 18

  Monday 11:30am

  ‘Palpable,’ Alice thought as she glanced round the room; the tension was palpable and her stomach was knotted tight .

  Compo, as usual sat behind his array of IT equipment with a smile on his face and a bacon butty in his hand. The new DC, Sadia Hussain sat with her body angled away from Compo as if he was infested with a contagious disease. Sampson leant against the wall near the boards ready to add to them as the briefing continued. He nodded encouragingly and winked. Alice narrowed her eyes and frowned. What the hell was he playing at, winking at her like he was her friend?’ She barely knew him after all and she was senior to him.

  She took a deep breath and ignoring Hussain’s sullen stare, she began to outline the key points. ‘We’ve identified ten of the children, thanks to Compo’s liaison with Interpol, and their database of missing children. Three come from Estonia and the other seven from Poland. Their parents are en route as we speak. A senior detective from Poland, Inspector Detective Jankowski, who DCI Chalmers has worked with in the past, has been seconded to help liaise between the countries. He’ll arrive with the parents later today.’

  She paused and took a moment to order her thoughts. ‘This is a two-pronged case. We’ve got the investigation into who murdered Sharon Asif; and the investigation into how and why those children were in her attic and who was responsible for it.

  ‘The priority is to find her older child, Jamal. Her ex-husband is in Pakistan apparently. We’ve arranged for a trained officer to interview the younger children and we’re still compiling information from house-to-house enquiries. We’ve got a DCI Wentworth coming up from the serious child crimes unit in London to input on organised child trafficking links.

  ‘Oh, and on a positive note,’ she smiled, ‘DI Angus McGuire is returning to work later and will head up the rest of the investigation.’

  Studying the crime board with all those haunted faces staring at her left Alice feeling sick to her stomach so, when she sensed DC Sadia Hussain sidling up to her, she was relieved to have a distraction. Her smile, however, was met with a sullen look and a curt monotone. ‘Got an address for Jamal Asif’s half-brother,’ said Sadia, handing Alice a sheet of paper with a scribbled address on it. ‘He lives up Great Horton. Road. You should send somebody up there in case Jamal’s with him.’ And swivelling on one foot, she walked away.

  Alice, already stressed, was irked by the other woman’s attitude and the mild directive in her wording and she responded more aggressively than she would normally have done. ‘I’m the senior investigating officer on this one, DC Hussain, and I’ll issue the directives, if you don’t mind.’

  Sadia paused for a second and then turned to face Alice, a slight flush blooming over her cheeks. ‘Well, excuse me for making a suggestion. I thought you’d appreciate the advice, what with you being new to the job and so inexper
ienced.’

  Aware that both Sampson and Compo were ear-wigging and annoyed that her cheeks were similarly flushed, Alice stood up and stepped towards Sadia. Her smile was sugar-sweet and her tone deceptively conversational. ‘I didn’t know you suffered from IBS, Sadia. How unfortunate for you.’

  Sadia frowned, her eyes darting between Alice and the other officers. She shrugged. ‘IBS?’

  Alice’s smile widened and she winked. ‘Irritable Bitch syndrome.’ Then, before Sadia could respond she added. ‘You might think you’re too good for us because of who your Dad is but, believe me, when DI McGuire comes back, he won’t stand for your rude sullenness. In this team we work together co-operatively, regardless of how we come to be here.’

  Sadia’s face darkened. ‘How do you know who my dad is? It was supposed to be kept quiet.’

  Alice tapped the side of her nose ‘DI McGuire trains us well and I like to know who I’m working with.’

  Sadia glared at her, then with barely contained anger said, ‘My dad’s got nothing to do with me being here. I’m here on merit, ok?’

  Alice moved away. ‘If you say so, but if you want to be accepted here then start showing a bit of team spirit. Now you go and interview Jamal’s brother and if Jamal is there, bring him back for interview. You’ll need to organise an appropriate adult to accompany him if his brother can’t make it. Take a PC with you. Singh’s good with kids. Oh and while you’re at it, double check that Jamal’s dad really is in Pakistan will you? Be good to get at least one suspect ticked off our list.’

  Sadia bit her lip, then turned on her heel and marched out. Alice waited till she’d left the room before looking over at her colleagues. ‘No, don’t ask me who her Dad is. It’s up to her to tell you, even if she is a bitch.’

  Compo mumbled something that sounded like ‘spoilsport’ from behind a Kit Kat, making her laugh. She winked at him. ‘Of course it wouldn’t require a degree in rocket science to work it out, Compo, especially if you’re a clever detective.’

  Sampson grinned. ‘IBS? Sure that wasn’t just a bit too much Alice?’

  She grimaced. ‘Yeah, it was really. She got my back up.’ Alice settled in her chair behind her desk and looked at Sampson. ‘So, what are your thoughts on all this?’

  Sampson perched on the edge of Alice’s desk so they could both study the board. ‘I reckon you’re right about it being two distinct cases with an overlap.’

  Alice nodded. ‘The way I see it is that Sharon Asif was killed by someone with a personal motive – maybe a relative, maybe a punter or dealer. Shame really, that both of her ex-husbands are out of the question, considering the first is in Pakistan and the second died of a drug overdose a couple of years ago.

  ‘Sharon Asif’s not had much luck has she?’

  ‘Nope, but maybe her kids’ll get lucky now she’s dead.’

  ‘I hope so. How do you reckon the children came to be in her attic?’

  ‘Damned if I know. Hopefully young Jamal will be able to shed a bit of light on this. All I know is that it reeks of child trafficking on a grand scale and Sharon Asif didn’t have the brains to be a key player in it. Maybe we’ll be able to repatriate some of the kids and if we’re damn lucky, find the bastards behind this.’

  Chapter 19

  Monday 10:30am, Bradford

  The bright red sign proclaiming ‘MO’s sa MO’sas the best in Bradford’ beckoned from across the road. Gus waited for a break in traffic then crossed and peered through the steamed up window. Inside, he could see his friend, Mo. Greg, Gus and Mo had become inseparable during their high school years at Belle Vue Boys’ School and even though they chose different career paths after school, they’d remained staunch friends. Well, that was until Gus killed Greg. He didn’t know how Mo felt about that, having avoided him since the funerals, and truth be told, he’d been too drugged up on painkillers to have a meaningful conversation then anyway.

  When Gus had gone on to university to study forensic psychology, Mo had set up his first café here in Oak Lane, got married to his high school sweetheart and had four beautiful daughters. Greg began a law degree, dropped out, held down a variety of different jobs, met Becky, got married and had Billy. Somewhere in amongst all that, Greg’s mental health had declined and he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia.

  Mo, short and burly with full tattoo sleeves visible below his T-shirt, crashed the till drawer shut and began wiping the counter. Two young Pakistani lads, jeans halfway down their buttocks, Calvin Klein’s thankfully covering their arses, swaggered over to the plastic tables by the window carting yellow polystyrene trays filled with samosa and, what looked to be, mushy peas in one hand and cans of Rubicon mango in the other.

  Gus pushed the door open. A bell tinkled, alerting Mo to his arrival. He glanced up, did a comical double-take cloth paused mid-sweep on the counter and said nothing. Gus immediately felt like spinning on his heel and leaving. Stifling the impulse, he raised his good arm in a half wave. ‘Hi’

  A huge grin broke over Mo’s face and in one fluid movement he braced an arm on the counter and effortlessly jumped over. ‘Fucking hell, Gus! Good to see you, mate.’ He enveloped Gus in a hug that, despite the pain it caused in his shoulder, filled him with love. When Mo finally pulled away both men wiped away a tear causing the boys by the tables to dissolve into juvenile giggles. Mo mumbled ‘Shut the fuck up’ as he and Gus moved over to the high stools at the end of the counter. Mo left Gus taking off his coat and approached the kitchen door where he swept aside the beaded curtain that dangled in the doorway. He poked his head through and yelled in for some chai and samosas, before joining Gus at the counter.

  Neither said anything until after the tea was delivered by a young Asian woman wearing salwar kameez and an apron. Mo studied Gus’s face, his expression full of concern.

  ‘You alright, Gus?’

  Gus shrugged and sipped the near-scalding spicy chai. ‘Ah missed this Mo, nowt better than spicy chai.’

  Mo tipped some of his chai into his saucer, and blew on it before drinking straight from the saucer. ‘Ok, so you’ve missed the chai, but what about you? How’s your leg and arm? Have you seen Gabriella yet? When will you get back to work? Heard there’s been a murder up Heaton Hill and some kids or something found in a house. Sounds like they need you back.’

  Gus grinned, happy to hear his old friend’s infectious chatter. ‘Yeah, Dad got called out twice yesterday. Won’t say what’s gone off but … he had a few more whiskies than usual for a Sunday.’

  Mo gestured to Gus’s tea and Gus obediently took another drink before he said, ‘So, you heard about Gabriella leaving, did you?’

  Mo snorted. ‘Bitch! Picked her fucking time well didn’t she? Naila and me were furious. Wouldn’t have killed her to wait till you were better!’

  Gus leaned over and squeezed Mo’s arm, ignoring the jeers from the boys by the window. ‘You’re a good mate, Mo’ and for the first time in what seemed a lifetime, he flung back his head and laughed. Mo studied his friend with an indulgent grin on his face.

  When Gus finally stopped laughing he said, ‘Your wife leaves you at death’s door and you find it funny?’

  Gus shook his head. ‘To tell the truth, it didn’t matter much when she left. We’d drifted apart and even before all this I thought she’d found someone else.’

  Mo looked away.

  ‘You know something I don’t, big man?’ said Gus, blowing on his tea.

  Mo shrugged and began to clean the counter. ‘Not my place to say, Gus. Ask her yourself, eh?’

  Gus inclined his head and bit into the meaty samosa that had been deposited on the table. He sighed in pleasure. ‘Anyway, I’ve just been to see the psycho– oops I mean psychiatrist and… drum roll please….’

  Mo obediently tapped a rhythm on the counter.

  ‘At long last she’s signed me fit for work. After this I’m heading up to The Fort.’

  Mo grinned and clicked his fingers together ‘Yeah, man. Now y
ou can get back to normal and move on.’

  Unexpected tears filled Gus’s eyes and the thick samosa pastry clogged up his throat. Mo averted his gaze. ‘That’s something I’ll never forget Mo. Never! Killing Greg was bad enough.’ He shrugged ‘but not saving wee Billy and Beth… Well that kills me, bloody kills me!’

  Mo nodded and squeezed his arm again. ‘I know, Gus, I know.’

  Fiddling with the samosa crumbs, Gus said, ‘I miss him. I really miss him.’

  Wiping a tear from his own eye, Mo squeezed his friend’s arm. ‘I do too, but it happened and I for one am bloody glad it panned out the way it did. If he’d killed you, he’d have been locked up for good and medicated. He’d know what he’d done. It would have been hell for him and, being purely selfish, I’d have lost two best mates not just the one.’

  Considering the veracity of his statement, Gus sipped his drink savouring the warm spiciness as it spread down to his stomach.

  Mo got out photos of his girls and for a while the two of them chatted. Then, with a furtive glance towards the beaded curtain, Mo leaned over and lowered his voice so much that Gus had to hunch over to hear his words. ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem.’

  Cocking an eyebrow, Gus waited whilst Mo again looked towards the beaded curtain. ‘Business has gone through the roof recently and I’ve not been able to keep up with the samosa-making. Understandably, Naila doesn’t want to help out after working all day so we decided to get some women in for a few hours a day to mass produce the samosas.’

  Mo’s wife, Naila, was a social worker and worked long hours with the fostering service. When Gus nodded, Mo lowered his voice even more and leaned towards his friend. ‘Well, their samosa making’s fine and they work hard, but–’

  Gus swirled his hand in front of him in a get a move on gesture.