by Liz Mistry
Knowles held Gus’ stare until his eyes flickered. He turned to Alice, eyes narrowed and pointed his finger as if it was a gun. ‘Watch your back, darling!’ Glaring at the group of officers, he walked away, his thick shoulders rolling as he ducked under the crime scene tape.
When he was out of earshot, Alice turned to Gus. Her face flushed and her eyes sparking, ‘Fuck, Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck! I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have done that.’
Gus shrugged. ‘No harm done this time, Al. Just try to keep a hold on your temper. He’s a sneaky bastard and he’ll have his eye on you, now. You’ve got to let Keighley go. It was yonks ago and you’ve proved yourself ten times over since then.’
Alice cocked one eyebrow. ‘Oh yeah, here speaks the master of letting things go.’
Taffy, grinning like the village idiot, lifted one hand and holding thumb and fingers together, flicked it, emitting a loud crack. ‘Wow, that was some beeeitch slap, Alice. Wait till I tell Compo and Sampson. Bloody ace, that were.’
Gus snorted with sudden laughter. Taffy’s enthusiasm, despite the American accent fading to Yorkshire by the end, had tickled him. After the night they’d had, they needed a laugh. Patting Alice on the back, he wiped the grin off his face. ‘Tone it down a bit, Taffy. We need to down-play this, yeah?’
Taffy, still grinning, ran his fingers through his gelled hair. ‘Oh yeah. Yeah, I got it, Gus.’ He cast a sideways glance at Alice and lowered his voice. ‘It were fucking sick, Al. Fucking sick.’
Gus rolled his eyes. What part of ‘play it down’ did the kid not get? ‘Right, back to business now. Alice, I’d like you to interview Simon’s friends Matty Bates and Jake Carpenter first thing tomorrow. Drop in on one at sevenish and try to get to the other before nine. I want both interviewed before they head off to school and I want the parents there, okay? Sampson can go with you. I think he’s over there somewhere interviewing the neighbours.’ He handed her a piece of paper with the addresses.
‘Taffy and I will attend the PMs with my beloved father. Morning briefing at, say, 10:30, okay? You been to a PM before, Taff?’
‘Eh, no.’ Taffy’s brow furrowed for a split second and then his usual grin was back in place. ‘I’ll be right, though, Gus. Don’t worry about me.’
Alice laughed. ‘It’s more than likely you’ll have to scrape Gus up from the floor, Taffy. He’s a wuss when it comes to PMs.’
‘Ignore her, Taffy. We’ll be fine.’ And he really hoped they would be. A thought struck him. ‘Taff, have you done a notification of death?’
The younger man’s face fell and his eyes went wide. ‘No. I’ve not done that, either.’
Gus glanced at Alice who shrugged and said, ‘Might work, Gus. Give it a go.’
Placing an arm on Taffy’s shoulder, Gus squeezed. ‘Look, Taff. PMs and death calls are crap. The worst job we have to do, okay?’ At Taffy’s nod, he continued, ‘I reckon that if you come with me to do the death call for Jade Simmonds, it’ll put the PM into perspective. Make it easier to bear, knowing what those parents are having to suffer. It’s also useful to bear in mind that the PM is one of our most useful investigative tools. It’s another way for us to stick up for the dead… to get them justice, if you like.’ As he spoke he wished he could take the words to heart. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe what he was telling Taffy. That knowledge never made the PMs any easier for him. God knows why his dad’s blood and gore tolerance had bypassed him and instead landed with his sister, who was a paediatric surgeon.
14
01:05 Holmewood Estate
Gus pulled his jacket round him and gave Taffy, who stood on the doorstep with him, a reassuring smile. Together, they walked down the path. Gus’ head was throbbing and he was drained. Nothing to what the family they’d just left were feeling. Notifying the parents of a teenage girl that she was dead was bad enough; to tell them in the middle of the night was the absolute pits. He noticed a single tear rolling from Taffy’s eye and coughed. ‘That went well, I thought.’
Taffy glanced at Gus, biting his lip. When he replied, Gus was pleased to note that his voice held only a slight wobble. ‘Well, sir, if you call the mother falling in a dead faint and the drunken father calling you an effing Paki bastard and blaming us for not finding her sooner, instead of waking them up at this time of night, I’d tend to agree with you. It did go rather well.’
Smiling at him, Gus shrugged and took a slug from his Irn Bru bottle. ‘I think you missed out “twat” and “prick”. Other than that, well reported. How do you feel?’
Taffy grimaced. ‘Like I’ve been hit by an express train? Was it obvious it was my first?’
Gus shook his head, ‘Not at all, you remained calm and unflustered, which is all you can do in these circumstances. We’re the lucky ones. When we walk out the door, it’s over, yet for those poor sods, it’s just beginning.’
They’d reached their cars before he spoke again. ‘When they’re interviewed again tomorrow, I want you there. It’ll be less traumatic for them to have a familiar face there at the interviews, as well as the FLO. Think you’re up to it?’
‘After the PM tomorrow, that’ll be a piece of cake. Thanks, sir, I’d like the opportunity.’
Lifting a hand, Gus slid into his car, turned on the engine and headed for home. He was proud of Taffy. The lad had remained calm despite the abuse flung at them by Jade Simmonds’ drunk father. Mrs Simmonds had collapsed. Fortunately, the family liaison officer had taken over, coaxed her up to bed and called a doctor. God knows, Mr Simmonds was no use to her in the state he was in. No doubt that’d just add to the guilt he’d feel in the morning.
An hour later, Gus was laid out sound asleep on his battered old sofa with Bingo taking up more than his fair share of the room. Both snored loudly.
15
03:55 Unknown Location
I open my eyes. Head’s pounding like fuck! Mouth dry as a nun’s cunt. Can’t move, though. Not right now. Aw God, I’m dying! I open my eyes again, just a little bit this time. It’s dark, the sort of dark that takes time to settle in your head. The sort of dark that makes you think you could be buried… alive?
What the fuck? Who’s put the street lights out?
Fucking green dot over there, right high up, keeps flashing; One eyed alien? Smoke alarm?
Heart’s hammering now and I raise my head just a fraction. It starts to thrum like a low volt electricity pylon. God, it hurts. When I lift my hand to touch my temple, it’s like a fucking bear yanking it, pulling my shoulder out of the socket. It’s like there’s barbed wire burrowing and gnawing into my skull, gouging my brain. I want to be sick. This is the worst hangover I’ve had in ages. It’s like I’m not really here. Maybe I’m not. That makes me laugh. If I’m not here, then where the fuck am I? I remember something for a nanosecond and then it’s gone. What is it?
Closing my eyes, I try to focus. Something’s not right. This isn’t my bedroom at home. Then, I remember… the party, kids dancing, the girl on the table, Matty, Jake… the mess. The memory of overpowering alcohol and cloying weed makes my stomach lurch. Shouldn’t have mixed the shots and the bud.
I lie motionless, hoping my head will stop spinning and I’ll be able to sit up. It’s freezing. I try to remember how I got here, that part is blurred, though. Not even sure how long I’ve been here. Despite the darkness, I know I’m alone. A groan slips from my lips, followed by a wracking shiver. I pull my other hand from under the coarse blanket and reach out to touch the canvas bed, but my fingers don’t work. I flex them trying to work the numbness from them, but they’re stiff and swollen. Vicious prickles spread to my fingertips like sheet lightening and my knuckles throb. This is bad… really bad. When was the last time I had a downer like this? Maybe that time with Matty and Jake on the Hill. Can’t believe the folks never even noticed how gone I was.
I scrunch my toes and they’re just as bad. How long have I been out? How long have I been here? I start to cough, and phlegm tinged with vomit fills my mouth
. I force myself to swallow it. It’s lumpy and tastes vile. I tuck the blanket under my back on both sides, creating a cocoon. Like that fucking Hungry Caterpillar book, she’d read to me when I was a kid. Thought she’d always be there for me. She promised!
No! No! I’m not going there. Not today!
So, I pull my hood up over my head, snuggle my chin into my neck and roll up like a baby, eyes screwed tight. Focussing on getting away is hard because of the cold and those other thoughts; the ones that won’t let me go. At first, it’s just Matty and Jake, the music, Tayyub being a div taking photos… then the bikers arrived–
No! Not going there either.
I delve deeper inside… Gotta reach my safe place right inside my head. No-one can reach me there, no-one can hurt me.
I’ll think about what to do next when I feel better.
16
06:25 The Fort
DC Sampson, Costa coffee in hand, looked at Alice’s new car. She’d chosen a Mini Cooper again, yet that wasn’t what Sampson was staring at. It was the colour of the car. It wasn’t only that she’d opted for a particularly virulent shade of purple; it was that it was damn near fluorescent and reminiscent of puke after an evening of exotic cocktails and a beetroot binge. He glanced at his half-drunk coffee wondering if he really needed it now he’d been shocked into wakefulness. ‘We could take my car, you know, Al?’
Chin jutting, Alice put her hands on her hips. ‘And why would we do that?’
‘It’s just mine’s a bit less, well…’ He shrugged. ‘… noticeable, you know?’ Apart from its toxic colour, the doors, bonnet and roof were covered by an intricate tangle of black flowers, some open-petalled, some closed, some elongated, some short and stubby. If anything, she’d gone for an even more detailed paintwork on this car than on her previous one. It was distinctive, to say the least. However, it wasn’t the vehicle’s décor that had Sampson hesitating. It was car’s abhorrent lack of foot room, combined with Alice’s erratic driving.
‘So? We’re not undercover or anything, are we?’
‘Em, well… no.’ Sampson had to concede that. He sighed, knowing that his next words would not be well received, yet he was determined to say them anyway. ‘Minnie 2 is a beautiful vehicle. You know I love her to bits. However…’ He paused. ‘She’s just too damn small for my legs. Riding in her is like being squeezed into a bloody tin of peas, or being forced into a packing crate… or,’ he strode round the car, his words spilling out fast and furious, ‘one of those puppet’s boxes where the doll’s folded in half. Why don’t you just bloody chop my legs off and be done with it?’
Alice opened her mouth, however Sampson held his hand up. ‘Oh, yeah, it’s okay for you. You’re a bloody short-ass. Hell, you need to sit on a damn cushion to see over the dash board.’ He halted and spun round to face Alice. ‘And there’s another thing. You drive too fast and you talk all the damn time and you never concentrate. You’re going to get us both bloody killed one of these days.’
Silence hung in the air between them for long seconds. Heat rushed to Sampson’s cheeks and he knew he looked like a tomato. His sisters often teased him about that after he’d had a rant at them. He didn’t regret his words, perhaps just the way he’d said them. The resentment about Alice and her precious Mini had been building up for months now. Getting it off his chest was well over-due. He risked a glance at Alice. Her pixie face was scrunched up as if she was concentrating. He waited for her to blow, bracing himself against the steaming geyser he was sure was heading his way.
Alice opened her mouth and then closed it again.
Shit, wish she’d just spit it out!
She put out her hand and patted Minnie on the roof as if soothing the car after Sampson’s harsh words.
God, could it get any worse?
‘Well, that was a bit of a turn-up, Sampson. Who’d have thought you had it in you?’ She turned on her heel and strutted off.
Uh, uh! ‘Wait, Al. Where are you going?’
‘To get a bloody pool car, you big idiot. Where do you think? You should’ve just said it was cramped in Minnie. Now come on.’
Speechless, Sampson trailed behind feeling that somehow, yet again, Alice had got the upper hand. Despite having umpteen sisters, he reckoned he’d never understand women.
17
06:45 Heaton/Cottingley
Matty: You awake?
Jake: yeah. What’s up?
Matty: Nowt. Just worried. You heard owt?
Jake: No. You?
Matty: No. Wonder where he is.
Jake: Me too. Just keep shtum, ok? It’ll all blow over.
18
06:55 Ashwell Road, Heaton
Alice turned into Ashwell Road and parked near to number forty-six in front of the church. As she and Sampson got out, she studied the row of houses before them. She loved the terraced houses that typified Bradford. They were such a sharp contrast to the pokey Lego houses she’d lived in in Brent. It was early, and although most still had their lights on behind drawn curtains, there were a few vacant car spaces where a few had already left for work. She hoped Matty Bates’ dad was still at home. Mum had died a few years previously.
Matthew Bates’ house was snuggled between the end terrace and number forty-four, where a dog yapped at them from the window as they passed. A well-tended, if basic, patch of lawn with a small shed to one side took up most of the front garden. Unlike their neighbours, who had pots upon pots of shrubs, herbs and flowers, the Bateses had a solitary rose bush in the corner. Alice would have bet her soul that it was dedicated to Matty’s dead mum.
As she locked the car, Sampson stamped his feet and blew on his hands. ‘I hate knocking on doors before the street lights have gone off, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, soon as they see us they know it’s not good news. At least we’re not reporting a family death, this time.’
She crossed the road in the dull morning light and pushed open the creaking gate, before jogging up three steps and pressing the bell. Within seconds she heard the sound of activity inside. A shadow appeared behind the glass and the door opened a crack. A middle-aged man in a dressing gown peered out. Alice made the introductions, quickly explaining that no-one was hurt, and suggesting they move inside.
Mr Bates read their ID cards, and then opened the door, allowing them access to the warm house. Alice, curious as ever about how other people lived, stepped through into a worn, yet cared-for hallway. The carpet on the stairs to the right was threadbare although it had clearly been hoovered and the air smelled of a cooked breakfast in the making. Alice examined a series of mismatched framed photos depicting a happy family of four. In each picture the presence of a plumpish woman with a ready smile seemed to light the scene. In one a gap-toothed boy and a shy looking girl in swimsuits gazed up at her, unadulterated adoration shining from their eyes. In another scene, a younger Mr Bates stood, one arm round his wife, his other on the shoulder of a young lad, probably Matty, who in turn hugged his sister. All four faces were radiant. Similar scenes were repeated along the wall and the poignancy of the photos wasn’t lost on Alice. She was in no doubt that the loss of the woman they all clearly adored must have been devastating for the family. She really hoped Matty hadn’t done anything wrong.
‘I was just getting the breakfast on the go. The kids are upstairs. It’s school today.’ Mr Bates yanked his dressing gown belt so tight around his middle that Alice was concerned he’d cut himself in two. He caught Alice’s eye and a vein of red appeared high on each cheek. Poor sod’s embarrassed to be caught in his PJs. Her smile bright, Alice said, ‘Go and get dressed, Mr Bates. We’ll wait in the living room.’
This option seemed to unsettle him even more as he shuffled from foot to foot, sending quick glances upstairs as he debated Alice’s offer. ‘I’ve got work at nine. What can I help you with?’
Realising Mr Bates wouldn’t leave them unattended in his home, Alice gestured towards a half-open door. ‘Shall we go in here and sit down, Mr Bates?’
He bit his lip and glanced from Alice to Sampson before pushing the door fully open. Alice and Sampson followed him into a small front room with a comfortable if saggy leather suite and a super huge plasma telly that dwarfed the rest of the furniture.
Mr Bates gestured to the couch. ‘Have a seat.’
Alice sat down on the couch, leaving the armchair nearest to the gas fire for him to sit on.
‘What’s all this about? Summat happened to my sister?’
Undoing her coat, Alice laid her gloves on the coffee table in front of her. ‘No, no, nothing like that. As far as we know your sister’s fine. We’re actually here to talk to Matty. Is he home?’
Mr Bates frowned. ‘Of course, he’s home. He’s upstairs. It’s seven o’clock on a Monday morning. Where else would he be? Is he in trouble or summat?’
Sampson leaned forward. ‘It’s just a few routine questions about a party he was at on Saturday.’
‘Saturday?’ Mr Bates shook his head, his jowls swinging with the action, ‘He wun’t at no party. He were at Jake’s. Never mentioned a party.’
Hearing a sound at the door, he turned and saw his daughter peeking through. ‘Do you know owt about a party on Saturday night, Sarah?’
Sarah, who looked about fourteen, studied the two officers, her eyes alert and intelligent, before backing out of the room, avoiding her father’s glance. A tactic Alice remembered from her own youth. Not that she’d encountered awkward questions from her parents very often. They were always too wrapped up in their own work.
