by Mistry, Liz
After listening to Gus’s instructions to be cautious she hung up, flung her mobile onto the passenger seat and humming tunelessly to Mark Ronson’s ‘Uptown Funk’, tapped her gloved fingers on the steering wheel, her eyes never straying from the blue door. Nearby, she could hear the growl of engines at a standstill at the huge Thornbury roundabout, but Hawthorne Lane was quiet. She fidgeted, feeling chilled and wishing she’d thought to nip into McDonald’s for a coffee before turning off Leeds Road. Seeing Dobson and Singh pull up behind her she realised it was too late to ask them either. Never mind. She didn’t mind missing a coffee if they caught this bastard.
Getting out of her car she joined the two constables by the gate to the property. ‘I don’t really expect him to be in here but if he is, be prepared for him to try to do a runner.’
Singh, tall, gangly and a practised sprinter, grinned. ‘Let him try, just let the bugger try.’
Gingerly walking up the slippery path to the door of the ex-council house, Alice was alert to any signs of movement, but the house remained annoyingly still. No curtains tweaked, no lights flickered in the dulling light, no signs whatsoever of occupancy. Slipping off her glove, Alice hammered on the door with the side of her hand, then rattled the rusty letterbox for good measure. Three pairs of ears strained for sounds from within. Nothing.
Then a voice said, ‘If you’re after that bugger, yer out of luck. Saw him head off that way with one of them roller cases, t’other day, like.’
Alice turned to see a woman, in hair curlers huddled in the doorway of the next door property. Despite the freezing temperatures, she wore a crop top and a pair of skinny jeans. A cigarette hung from her lips. Blowing out a spiral of smoke, she sniffed. ‘He was a right tosser, you know. Didn’t like the way he looked at my kids.’
‘What day did you see him with his roller case?’
The woman screwed up her eyes and flicked ash from the tip of her fag. ‘Yesterday, around sixish, I reckon, because it was before I gave the little ’uns their tea.’
‘Don’t suppose you know where he was going, do you?’
‘Nah, he got the bus though. Johnny told me he saw him getting on at McDonald’s. Mucky bastard that he is.’
Unsure whether the ‘mucky bastard’ was Johnny or Sid Smith, Alice thanked the woman and turned to Dobson. ‘See if you can get CCTV footage of him from First Direct buses. We might be able to track his movements from here.’
Then with a wink she cocked her head to one side and said, ‘You know, I’m sure I can hear someone calling out in there. Can you?’
Following her lead, the two constables, copied her actions then, grinning, agreed with her.
‘Well, best check it out then.’
The neighbour watched with interest as Dobson raised a sturdy boot ready to bust the lock open. ‘Why don’t you just use the spare key?’ she said, ‘He keeps it under that plant pot ’cause he’s always locking himself out.’
Alice ignored Dobson’s smirk as he lowered his foot and, retrieving the key, she thanked the woman and unlocked the door. ‘Gloves on, boys.’
The yellow light in the hallway barely illuminated the area immediately under the unshaded bulb. Fortunately, Dobson and Singh both carried torches. The trio, Alice in the lead, walked down the hallway opening doors as they went.
Certain that the downstairs was empty, Alice sent the two constables to clear the upstairs, whilst she perused the living room and kitchen. Sid Smith was indeed a ‘mucky bastard’ she thought, wrinkling her nose against the stale acrid smell of sweat and decomposing food that hung heavily in the air as she poked through his kitchen dustbin.
Satisfied that there were no bills or paperwork in the kitchen to give clues to his whereabouts, she moved into the living room to be met with an avalanche of cluttered dirty dishes and overflowing ashtrays. Again, no clues to his whereabouts jumped out at her.
Dobson called down to tell her they’d cleared upstairs so she joined them. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom. The bathroom, Alice noted, would provide the crime scene investigators with a wealth of DNA. If they were lucky some of it may come in useful for matching purposes at a later date. Whilst Singh got out his phone to make the request for a forensic team, Alice continued to explore the bedrooms.
The largest was clearly where Smith had slept. The sheets, stained with various body fluids, made Alice shudder, but apart from that he’d left nothing incriminating behind. The second bedroom was the cleanest room in the house and had clearly never been used by Smith.
Alice sighed and moved back downstairs to await the forensic team.
Chapter 53
Tuesday 9pm, Bradford
By the time Gus left the Graves’ home and returned to The Fort, his leg and shoulder felt like they’d been savaged by a Rottweiler, yet he’d never felt more alive. Tired, sure, but alive and raring to go. He was determined to find both Molly and the bastards who’d abducted those other kids. Each of their names was indelibly engraved across his heart.
On the drive back, Sadia had maintained a stony silence for most of the way. He’d been happy to ignore her. His mind was buzzing with his own thoughts anyway. Then, without warning, two miles from Bradford, she exploded like a firework. Brown eyes flashed sideways at him as she drove, hands gripped the wheel firmly in the ten to two position. She was pulsating with anger. ‘With all due respect, Detective Inspector McGuire, I’m a Detective Constable and my job is to detect, not to make endless cups of tea and toast.’
Gus noted the formal use of his rank and hid a smile. He wasn’t really into the formal stuff. Firmly believed respect was earned, not inherited automatically with a promotion. Angling his body for a better view of her flushed face he listened to her rant, which was suitably punctuated by frequent emphases.
‘Have you any idea how demeaning it is to be asked – no ordered – to make tea and toast like some bloody lackey? That, with all due respect, is the FLO’s job not mine and I don’t expect to be put in this position again. I’m entitled to my opinion. I’m not a robot. I have skills and abilities equal to, and in many cases, surpassing the male officers.’
When she finally fell silent, Gus continued to study her. Wisps of dark hair curled at her cheek and her face was flushed a delightful pink. The only things marring her beauty were the thinned lips and the angry scowl that puckered her forehead, ageing her by ten years.
When she’d finally ground to a halt, Gus, surreptitiously rubbing his aching thigh, said, in a mild tone, ‘Look, Sadia, word is that you have trouble with authority. I get that. I got a bit frustrated myself, with all the red tape shit when I was a DC. However, you don’t do yourself any favours by not trying to mix with the rest of the team. In a tight spot they’re the ones who’ll have your back. They need to feel you’ll have theirs, too.’
Tight-lipped she continued to drive. Gus frowned. Was that a glimmer of tears in her eyes? In the fading light it was difficult to be sure. Knowing this was his best chance to pull her into the group he continued, ‘Your job is to follow orders issued by your superior officer. In this instance, me. Whether I ask you to make tea, or to mop up a pile of shit, you will do it because, rest assured Sadia, it will be because I deign it imperative to the ongoing investigation.’
He paused to let his words sink in. ‘You may feel some sort of entitlement because of your dad, but let me tell you now, so we’re completely clear about this, I do not, never have and never will hold with nepotism. I’ll treat you the same way I treat any of the other officers on this team.’
Sadia snorted. ‘My dad’s been more of a hindrance than a help with my career. I’m here despite him not because of him.’
Gus inclined his head. ‘Then all the more reason to try to fit in. Prove him wrong. It doesn’t matter to me who your dad is as long as your loyalties lie with the team.’
They continued in silence. Gus wondered if he’d hit the right tone with her. He was a bit out of practice. He sensed she could be a good officer if all he
r edges were smoothed a bit. He’d needed to exert his authority, something he hated doing, but he also needed her on-side.
When Sadia finally pulled into the police yard and parked the pool car in its bay, he turned to her and grinned. ‘Just so you know, I’m as likely to make the tea and toast in those circumstances, as to ask one of the DCs to do it. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly operating with two hands at the minute.’
She paused, her body twisted to exit the car.
‘I have many faults, Sadia, but sexism is not one of them, ok?’
She nodded and began to pull herself out of the car.
He sighed. ‘And I don’t hold grudges. This is done and dusted with a line drawn under it. We move on as if this didn’t happen… unless of course you’re going to continue isolating yourself?’
Sadia took a deep breath and then slid back into her seat. Her face flushed and her back stiff, she turned to face him. When she spoke it was in grudging tones. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have said what I did and I’d like to move on.’
Realising just how much effort that half-apology had taken, he inclined his head in acceptance. ‘It’s Gus. We’re not into formality much on my team.’
Opening the car door again, she had one leg out before she twisted back towards him. Not quite meeting his eyes, she said, ‘I know it’s not an excuse but,’ she risked a glance at Gus, ‘I guess it makes me a bit touchy when I think my dad’s influencing how I’m being treated by fellow officers.’
Holding her gaze, he smiled slowly. ‘Ok, so now we both know where we stand. Prove yourself on my team, Sadia, and you’ll get the kudos you deserve.’ He held out his hand. Sadia glanced at it and then raised her gaze to meet his. She extended her own hand and they shook.
Chapter 54
Tuesday 9:10pm, Bradford
On entering the incident room, Gus was aware of nothing but the building’s minute creaks and the soft whirr of Compo’s computers, crunching data unsupervised through the night. He was alone and glad of it. Then, moving a few steps into the room using the light from the hallway to guide his path, he heard it; the unmistakeable sound of gentle snoring coming from the chair in front of his desk. He walked closer. DCI Nancy Chalmers lay asleep, half-slouched in the chair, a thick saliva trail hanging from her chin. Her bare feet rested on the desk. Her floral skirt had flicked back, revealing the top of her stockings. She mumbled incoherently in her sleep. Smiling he went over to the coffee machine and flicked it on, before clearing his throat loudly.
Disorientated, she began to struggle upright, wiping the trail of saliva from her cheek with her sleeve. ‘What? Who’s there?’
‘It’s just me,’ said Gus as the machine gurgled and groaned through its coffee-making cycle. Spying a familiar Tupperware container next to the coffee machine, he grabbed it, deposited it on the desk and flicked on the desk light. As Nancy pulled her skirt down, blinking rapidly against the light, he tapped the tub lightly with one finger. He said, ‘Looks like mum’s been in with some offerings. We can have a burned biscuit with our coffee. Whoopey doo!’
He plonked a steaming mug in front of her. ‘Come on, dunk a biscuit while the coffee’s still hot. That way you won’t break a tooth.’ He moved to sit behind his desk.
She laughed. ‘Compo’s already eaten most of them. Constitution of an ox, that boy. Good job too, or Corrine would think we don’t appreciate her baking skills.’
Looking mournfully at the distorted biscuits Gus said, ‘We don’t.’
‘Now Gus, that’s not true. We do appreciate her efforts; it’s just the end result that we find less admirable.’
Awkwardly he bent down to pull a bottle of whisky from the bottom drawer of his desk. Pouring a generous shot of twelve-year-old Glenmorangie in each mug, he sat down and waited.
Nancy took an appreciative sip, but avoided meeting his eyes.
‘How was Cathy?’
Gus shifted in his chair. He always found it hard to remain annoyed with Nancy for too long. She’d been his mentor since she moved up from Cambridge and he trusted her implicitly. However, he was really pissed off with her right now. He couldn’t understand why she hadn’t given him a heads-up before sending him off to the Graves’s house. When he spoke, his tone was measured and taut. ‘You mean Beth. Her name’s Beth Graves now. Why the hell didn’t you give me the background before sending me off there?’
Nancy’s eyes drifted round the room. She sighed and sat forward resting her elbows on her knees, her head bowed. Pulling at her skirt she said, ‘I got a shock when her witness protection officer contacted me. I hadn’t realised Cathy, I mean Beth, was in Bradford.’ She risked a glance at Gus and when he didn’t respond she continued. ‘Jankowski thinks The Matchmaker is at work again and, to be honest Gus, Beth’s little girl going missing just confirms it.’
Gus interrupted her with a ‘You don’t say.’
Throwing him an apologetic look she continued. ‘I wanted you to hear the story from her. Not my version. Cathy – or Beth rather – was the one living through it all. I was just another sergeant making the poor girl go through hoops so we could bring down the ring. But we couldn’t even do that. The whole damn investigation was a bloody mess. I wanted you to connect with her without my influence.’
Savouring the warmth of the whisky-laced coffee, Gus relented. ‘When she mentioned Cambridge, I wondered if you’d been involved in the initial investigation.’
‘I was sergeant. Wentworth was the DI on that investigation. It was fucking awful, Wentworth was an arse and Beth,’ she heaved a sigh that spoke volumes, ‘poor Beth was a young mother, guilt-tripped into helping us in a tenuous plan to catch the entire team. We knew it was risky and far from infallible. Still, we convinced her she’d be instrumental in bringing down the whole ring. As it was she did do a lot of good. We caught her hubby, made the ring untenable so they disbanded and we caught a hoard of influential paedophiles.’
‘So how the hell did she get so rich; and why is she a target?’
Taking another fortifying sip of her drink, Nancy placed the cup back on the table before replying. ‘Well, some arse in one of the tabloids thought it would sell papers to demonise her. They got in touch with an extreme group, Parents Association of Vigilant Parents Protecting Children. They said she was as culpable as her husband and that her actions in remaining under his roof were tantamount to child abuse. Egged on, and possibly funded in part, by the press, they decided to take out a private case against her and tried to sue her for culpability in child abuse, aiding and abetting a known paedophile and knowingly endangering her child.’
Nancy’s face reddened. ‘Of course it was slung out as ridiculous. However, the tabloids jumped on it. From the day we arrested James Clegg till the day he was sentenced, Cathy was stalked by those lunatics. They pelted her with eggs when she turned up at court, posted shit through her door. No matter how many times we moved her, they found her.’
‘Leak from inside the investigation?’
She shrugged. ‘Who knows? But, she was only a kid herself and as the trial date approached, she became more and more aloof.’ Frustrated, Nancy slammed her hand on the desk. ‘The press didn’t like her. Painted her as a cold, unlikeable character and basically made her life hell. The amount of pressure that girl withstood was enormous. Good job James’s mother had the dignity to support Cathy.’
‘Yes, I wondered about that. Bit unusual isn’t it?’
Nancy smiled. ‘She was an exceptional woman. She loved her son, but she knew Beth was right to do what she did. Besides, she didn’t want to lose her granddaughter either. I’m not sure Beth would’ve survived if she’d not had that support.’
‘And the money to afford that house and Fort Knox security system?’
Sighing, she shrugged. ‘She did what she had to. Sold up her house and her mother in law’s, signed an exclusive for half a million with one of the tabloids, employed a ghost writer and got a publishing deal for another £100,000 and
then disappeared into witness protection. I’d hoped never to see her again.’ She smiled, ‘for her sake, not for mine. I liked her. For all her youth, she was strong and principled.’
‘Still is from what I’ve seen. Married again and got a newborn baby. A boy called Sam.’
‘That’s good. She’ll need a big support network if The Matchmaker’s got Molly.’
Dunking one of his mum’s biscuits into his coffee, before lifting it dripping to his mouth, he pondered Nancy’s words. ‘Tell me about the trial and this Matchmaker arse.’
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before replying. ‘At the sentencing her ex-husband James yelled an impassioned warning for her to disappear with their daughter because The Matchmaker had threatened revenge on the child. It was awful. He was screaming, tears pouring down his cheek as he was dragged away.’
‘Did you believe the threat?’
Nancy looked straight into his eyes. ‘I did, Gus. The powers that be tried to brush it off as hyperbole, but I knew.’ She banged her fisted hand against her chest. ‘I knew in here that it was true. I suspected we’d had some sort of leak in the department, because all the key players, bar James Clegg, AKA The Treasurer, disappeared without trace. There had to have been a leak.’
‘Bit of a coincidence that Beth’s in Bradford and you are too.’
She laughed. ‘You accusing me of being the leak?’
Waving his hand dismissively, he continued. ‘No, but I remember someone once telling me that there was no such thing as coincidence in our line of work.’ He clicked his fingers, grinning at her. ‘Hell, that was you.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, usually that’d be right, but in this case, I just don’t see how me being in Bradford’s linked. I followed Charlie Bowles up here from Cambridge when the DCI job came up. No-one could have planned that. Anyway, witness protection is as tight as a cow’s arse. No one could know she was here and she’s changed her appearance, so that rules out a chance encounter. Besides, The Matchmaker doesn’t leave things to chance. This has all been planned.’
