by Mistry, Liz
Aware of the extensive CCTV coverage around the house, he pulled into the side of the road just outside camera range and studied the entrance with its high ornate gates with sloping spikes on top to discourage climbing and the equally oppressive fence that fanned out from the gates and circled the entire property. Amazing what selling your story to the papers can give you.
His breathing quickened. Slamming his fist on the steering wheel he imagined Cathy Clegg living in the lap of luxury, whilst her husband rotted in prison. ‘Bitch!’ He hated that woman. He hated her spoilt brat and her new life too. But, more than anything, he hated her for being the instrument that caused their downfall twelve years ago. He slid the car into gear and still breathing angrily he moved off. ‘Stupid bitch, did you really think we’d let you get away with it? Did you really think we’d let you off the hook?’ He laughed aloud, executed a five-point turn in the tight space and drove back towards the main road and Keighley. ‘Your time has come, Cathy Clegg. Your time has come and you will pay dearly for your actions!’ he said aloud.
When he arrived back in the Wetherspoon’s car park he deliberately parked the Fiat two spaces away from the spot he’d liberated it from an hour earlier. A cursory glance around the driver’s seat satisfied him that he’d left nothing incriminating behind, so he slammed the door shut and walked away, hood obscuring his face from any CCTV cameras. He felt good. Very good.
Chapter 38
Tuesday 8:30am
Holding a plastic bag packed with bacon butties in one hand, his bag hanging over his good shoulder, Gus stood by the kerb, waiting for the flow of traffic to allow him to cross. He’d just left the warm Chaat Café with its mouth-watering aromas and cheery familiarity and was keen to eat a proper breakfast after feeding half his mother’s offerings to the dog earlier. His heart sank as glancing across the road he saw the unmistakeable presence of the journos huddled on the pavement outside The Fort. Hopefully they hadn’t sussed out that he was senior investigating officer in what they’d dubbed ‘the babies in the attic’ case.
‘Fucking miserable weather,’ said a voice behind him. DCI Wentworth in a raincoat, his breakfast in a similar carrier bag dangling off a wrist that held a massive black umbrella. His smile was much too bright for 8:30 on a Tuesday morning. Gus, mindful of the briefing he was about to conduct, nodded brusquely and concentrated on the traffic. The man hadn’t endeared himself to Gus the previous day and Gus didn’t have the time or the inclination to offer second chances.
From the corner of his eye he saw a familiar BMW pull onto the road to his left blocking the oncoming traffic and giving him the opportunity to cross the road. His sister, Katie, sat in the driving seat. Ignoring her tentative smile, he glared at her.
‘Someone you know?’ said Wentworth.
Gus strode across the road, Wentworth following on behind. ‘Not any more.’
Head bent against the rain, he’d barely reached the steps to the Fort before the flurry of bedraggled journalists flocked round him like flies to a turd.
‘DI McGuire, is it true you’re leading on the murder at the graveyard and the babies in the attic case?’
Gus’s heart sank. He’d hoped for at least a few days’ grace, time to find his feet, before being hounded. He lowered his head and ignored them.
‘DI McGuire, are you fit for work after the tragic events of last year?’
‘DI McGuire, have the children discovered on Sunday been identified yet?’
‘Is a paedophile ring at large in Bradford?’
Hunching his shoulders, customary scowl in place, Gus shouldered past them, followed by Wentworth who, taking Gus’s lead, remained silent. Cameras flashed around them and the strident voices vied with one another to be heard. Gus tuned them out, concentrating instead on the children he was desperate to avenge.
Aware of Wentworth following him along the corridor Gus, having forgotten to take his painkillers earlier, felt pain gnawing just below his groin with each step he took. At the far end of the corridor a trio of men stood in a semi-circle, backs to the huge water cooler watching his progress with interest. Gus groaned inwardly when he saw them. There was no way he could access the water to take his medication without interacting with them and he was in no mood for their stupid one-upmanship. DS Steve Knowles was no friend to him and neither were Knowles’s two sidekicks, DCs Jazz Panesar and Alfie Redmond. Envious of Gus’s place on the university fast track scheme and jealous of his solve rate in the Bradford Major Crime Team, they took every opportunity to taunt him.
The smile on Knowles’s stubbly face told Gus they were waiting for him. Straightening his shoulders, he held the other man’s gaze as he approached. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, like the idiots they were, cast sycophantic looks to their glorious leader.
As he drew level, Gus nodded abruptly. He’d taken only two steps past them when they burst out laughing and whispering, raising their voices so he would only hear part of their conversation. With the words ‘dyke’ and ‘carpet muncher’ hanging in the air Gus clenched his fists. Visions of him landing one on Knowles, breaking his already bent nose and sending his arrogant head flying backwards to rebound, with a sickening crunch, off the wall behind, ran through his mind. He imagined turning his attention to the other two pricks that, master down, would cower like the cowards they were. Only the knowledge that their pet, DCI Hussain, would relish such a reaction from him kept Gus from making good on his thoughts.
A sudden shout of. ‘Oi, watch where you’re going!’ made Gus turn round in time to see DS Knowles bent double and DCI Wentworth hands splayed before him in apology.
‘So sorry, didn’t see you there. Did my elbow get your stomach?’ Wentworth grimaced. ‘Fuck, have I winded you?’
Realising who Wentworth was, Knowles red faced and still clutching his stomach backed away, but not before throwing a threatening look in Gus’s direction. Gus frowned, wondering what had prompted Wentworth’s action. Maybe he wasn’t such an arse after all.
Wentworth, checking to make sure he hadn’t damaged his bacon butty shrugged and said to Gus, ‘Always been clumsy, me.’
Chapter 39
Tuesday 8:45am
The space was dire, damp and smelling of must and old cat piss but hopefully it was only for a short time. He kicked the grubby settee, releasing a cloud of dust and cursed. Fucking crap idea, doing this in such a rush. He’s finally losing it, and it’s not his neck on the line. It’s me doing the bloody kidnapping. The Distributor with barely disguised anger, mumbled and cursed under his breath.
The plan was in place, had been for months now. Making the initial contact with the girl had been easy. Preying on her insecurities about the new baby, building up how much her dad loved her and how bad her Mum was for lying, telling her he was dead, not letting her have contact with him.
He smiled, he liked kids, not just for the money they made him and his friends, or even for the fantasies they fulfilled for him, but also as small people. He was good with them. Got their trust easily, which of course had had its benefits over the years. Pity The Matchmaker had warned him off touching the girl.
Anyway, it was all systems go now. He’d given her a secure pre-paid phone and she’d been keen to meet up with him for short amounts of time. This time he was counting on her sneaking out from that fortress they called home and meeting up with him at the end of the road where there was no CCTV. He doubted she’d tell anyone. Why would she? She knew what was at risk and the last thing she wanted to do was lose the daddy she’d missed for so long. But he didn’t want to be hanging around for too long either. Too many nosey parkers in this sort of area. No, she’d better be quick and then they’d be off, change car a couple of times before heading to their final destination and the final reality for little Miss Clegg! He rubbed his hands together and set off, adrenalin pumping at the thought of what was to come.
Chapter 40
Tuesday 9am
Molly Graves was fed up. It was half-term and all everyone did
was coo over that stupid baby. Her Mum was too knackered to take her anywhere and Granny Jessie only wanted to help with her brother. Never mind, though. She had a secret, one that none of them would ever imagine. Not even in a million years. One that was more precious than that stupid bawling kid. Even if Mum and her stepdad, Alex, didn’t love her, she knew someone who did. Someone who’d spent a long time trying to find her and who listened to her and wanted to spend time with her.
In the privacy of her en suite bathroom she carefully locked the door before taking the phone from her pocket. It wasn’t a fancy one like her iPhone. No, this was a poxy, cheap one, but she didn’t care. Her dad had given it to her, besides, she’d not need it for very much longer anyway. Closing the toilet seat she sat down and switched the phone on, keeping her fingers crossed that there’d be a message. The screen flashed and then she smiled. There it was – a text. Her fingers flew over the keys and her message came up on the screen. She raised one fisted hand and punched the air. He was going to pick her up at the end of the street at 10:30. Now all she had to do was escape the grown-ups. That shouldn’t be too difficult, for all the attention they’d given her since ‘it’ was born.
A frown spread across her face for a second. She knew she’d be in real trouble when she got back. Mum was so bloody strict… too strict, always checking up on her and not letting her out of her sight. She shuddered. Too damn claustrophobic, yes, that was the word.
She brightened. It would be worth being grounded, anyway, to spend some time with her dad. The dad her mum had told her was dead.
Flushing the toilet, she left the bathroom and began hatching her plan to get out of the house and away before anyone spotted she was missing. Easy. She’d done it before, after all.
Chapter 41
Tuesday 9:15am
Fuelled by a bacon butty and strong coffee, Gus leaned against the desk at the front of the room and, despite feeling slightly nervous, was keen to start his first briefing in many months. Compo, sat behind his suite of computer equipment, a splodge of ketchup on one cheek, devoured his third bacon butty of the day. Frowning slightly, Alice scoured the incident board, checking for omissions that Gus knew weren’t there. Efficient and intuitive, she’d done a good job in his absence. The newbies to the team, DCs John Sampson and Sadia Hussain, were checking through witness statements and the visiting officer DCI Wentworth hovered at the back of the room. Inspector Jankowski was on his way back to Poland, having facilitated the transport of Andrzej Bielski’s body on the same flight as his parents. The other children were being repatriated when they were fit to leave the hospital. Gus had never seen so much despair as he did in the faces of the parents. They still needed to ID the dead girl, but hopefully with Europol and Interpol on the case that should be soon. Jankowski had left behind strict instructions to keep him in the loop with the rest of the investigation.
Clearing his throat, Gus rustled his notes and began. ‘Any word on the photo from Jamal Asif?’
Sampson stood up. ‘It’s been shown to neighbours, shops et cetera in the village, but so far no hits.’
‘What about Jamal’s school and the builders that were there?’
‘Schools are on holiday this week so we’re still trying to get hold of someone. The head teacher’s on maternity leave. We’re dealing with the deputy who’s acting head and didn’t oversee the building work. She’s getting back to us as soon as she’s found the building records.’
‘What about the transit van? Anyone see that?’
Sampson shrugged. ‘Vague recollections of a van from a few neighbours, but no sightings of children getting in or out of the van.’
‘Shit!’ Gus pushed himself away from the table and began to pace. ‘Surely someone, somewhere, noticed the repeated presence of a bloody van with a mattress logo on the side.’ Dragging his fingers through his hair he stopped. ‘Right Sampson, you and her.’ He frowned at DC Hussain. ‘What’s your name again?’
Her eyes narrowed, but she answered promptly. ‘DC Hussain, sir, Sadia.’
‘Right, you and Sampson will get out on the streets and magic up a sighting of the van and the guy driving it. We need an ID on him ASAP!’
He turned to Alice. ‘Al, you still on to observe the child psychologist interviewing the Asif children?’
Grimacing, Alice nodded.
‘Right after that I want you to chase up the acting head teacher and follow up on the builders. Compo, I need you liaising with Interpol and individual detectives involved in the original missing kids investigations. We need to know how these bastards get the kids out of their countries without detection.’
Alice raised a hand. ‘I’m on that, Gus.’
‘What’s the status on the other children? Any chance of interviewing them?’
Alice said, ‘It looks like our best lead from those kids will be through evidence acquired from their clothes and bodies. None of them are fit to be interviewed and the results aren’t back from the lab yet.’
Taking a sip of coffee, Gus turned and tapped the picture of Sharon Asif. ‘Now, on to the Asif murder. Anything from the door to doors on that?’
Alice sighed and shook her head. ‘Both her and Jamal were spotted in front of the Chinese Restaurant. The restaurant confirms that Jamal bought chips. The King’s Arms confirms that Sharon Asif was in making a nuisance of herself at around eightish. She’s banned from there so they chucked her out. She went to The Delver’s Inn, just down the road, but nobody can confirm she left with anyone. No one’s come forward on the hotline either to say they saw her heading to the graveyard.’
Pausing, she shuffled the papers on her desk. ‘We did get one interesting phone call from the old folks’ home that overlooks Sharon Asif’s terraced row. An old woman was interviewed by a PC yesterday and couldn’t remember anything. She phoned back last night to say she remembers something now, but will only talk face to face.’
Gus shrugged ‘Well, I’m not getting my hopes up that she’ll have anything concrete for us, but it’s worth a shot.’ He turned to Sampson. ‘You’ll manage to fit that in, won’t you?’
As Sampson scribbled in his notebook, Gus noticed Sadia Hussain’s scowl. What’s her problem he wondered? Surely she’s not petty enough to resent Sampson having the lead on that interview. After what Alice had told him the previous evening he wouldn’t be surprised. If she expected to continue working on his team, though, she better acquire some team spirit pretty damn pronto.
‘Anything else?’ Gus asked.
‘Yes, a car reported missing yesterday fits the description of the one used in the attempted shooting of Jamal Asif. It was discovered in the Asda car park on Cemetery Road. Forensics are on it.’ Alice grinned. ‘They found a coke bottle filled with piss so maybe they’ll get some DNA to go with the fingerprints they found on the underside of the driver’s seat, where it looks like someone adjusted the seat.’
‘Not to burst your bubble Al, but the most info we’ll get from that urine sample will be the sex of the pisser. Urine doesn’t carry much DNA. However, let’s hope the fingerprints don’t belong to the car owner. We could do with a break.’
Glancing round the room, he rubbed his hands together. ‘Right, let’s crack on.’
Chapter 42
Tuesday 10:15am, Ilkley
The Distributor preferred Bradford with its hills and mills. It was like home to him. Well- used like one of the older prossies you’d get on Thornton Road, but great value for money.. Ilkley, on the other hand was all arty crafty and designer boutiques. He preferred Bradford’s Aldi, Lidl and pound shops. Couldn’t see the attraction of Marks and Sparks, Waitrose or that over-priced Betty’s Cake Shop. What was wrong with a good Greg’s? He’d yet to see a clump of dog shit on the pavements, although he had seen plenty of dog owners pooper scoopering up their dog’s shit. He felt like jumping out of his car and hoiking up a green gob and depositing it in front of one of the snooty cows who wiggled her arse out of the hairdressers. He laughed aloud. That’d
show them how the other half lived.
He parked in a side street. It was nearly time, anyway, so he engaged the clutch and, driving the car he’d scoped out the previous evening and had hotwired this morning, he moved past a gourmet pub called The Duchess of York. The trio of medium-sized residences on his left told him it was time to turn off and within seconds he trundled over a cattle grid and into the sparsely populated wooded area of Dales Way Link, where a near-neighbour lived a good twenty-minute walk away. Very secluded and very lonely, he thought. Especially for a young girl. From the miles of snow-covered fields and moorland sprung the occasional large custom-built house, cleverly designed to reflect traditional Yorkshire architecture.
Here the properties were elevated in price range from expensive to exorbitant and security was de rigueur. Unfortunately, for the owners that is, public money didn’t stretch to CCTV cameras on this isolated road. Mind you, strangers stood out like a sore thumb here so he hoped the little bitch wouldn’t keep him hanging around. He didn’t need the owner of one of the properties further up to pass by and notice him parked here. Peering along the icy road he saw a small figure in leggings, knee-length boots and a red coat approach. With a sigh of relief, he plastered on a smile and started the engine. Molly was right on time.
