by Liz Mistry
‘Where did she go?’
‘This bit’s not a shovel o’ shit I’m telling you, it’s a bloody great tractor full of the stuff.’
‘Okay, okay, I’m listening.’
‘Rumour has it she nearly resigned; then, instead, some smart-ass higher up forced her to have compulsory, intensive, psychiatric treatment because she lost her marbles after it all. Just fell to pieces, by all accounts.’
‘Oh, so maybe DS Alice Cooper isn’t quite the whizz kid she thinks she is. Looks like she’s got a crack in her stiletto after all, hmm? Any chance of getting access to her psychiatric report, Jerry?’
‘Oh shit, come on. I can’t be doing that. I’m not cleared for that sort of stuff.’
‘Come on, Jerry, try the back door. You can do it, can’t you?’
28
10:30 The Fort
To say Gus was disappointed would be a mega understatement. He was fuming. Alice and Sampson had reported back that he interview with Jake Carpenter had turned out to be a series of monosyllabic ‘no comments’ delivered in a dour, truculent voice, overseen by a disinterested solicitor. At the end, the solicitor had pulled a statement from his briefcase and read it to the officers. The upshot was that his client, Jake Carpenter, had been drugged on the Saturday night at the party and when he woke up he’d left the property. He had no knowledge of any dead girls nor did he know of his friend Simon Proctor’s whereabouts.
Gus was thankful, yet aware of the underlying inequality, that meant that, whilst Jake Carpenter’s family had the wherewithal to lawyer up, Matty Bate’s family had not. At least he’d been able to reason with Matty without being hindered by the bureaucracy of the legal system. Often, he wondered who exactly it was designed to protect, for sometimes, so it seemed to him, it was not for the benefit of the damn victims.
Wishing he could take a run round Heaton Woods to rid himself of the tension knot in his neck, Gus walked into the interview room. Ah, well coffee was the next best thing, and with a smile he accepted a steaming mug from Alice before pulling his chair to the front of the room and sprawling on it, legs on Sampson’s desk.
Savouring the aroma and allowing the warmth from the mug to soothe his frazzled nerves, he lifted the mug to his mouth. Before he could take a sip, though, Compo raised his head and grinned. ‘Have you let those young lads go yet?’
Sensing the boy had got something for him, Gus jumped to his feet, and carried his mug over to Compo’s workstation. Wondering whether it was worth mentioning the smear of mayo on Compo’s cheek and deciding against it, Gus said, ‘You mean Simon’s friends?’
‘Yip, them are the ones.’
‘Well yes, didn’t think we’d get much more out of them.’ Then seeing the twinkle in Compo’s eye, he grinned. ‘Unless of course you’ve got something worth bringing them back in for.’
Compo swivelled his computer chair round, extended his arms to chest height and rolled his hands over one and other like he was leading a class of five-year olds in a rendition of ‘Wind the Bobbin Up’. His actions were accompanied by a tuneless rap, with every line punctuated by one hand raising, index finger pointing upwards, before recommencing their rolling. ‘…Who’s got the dirt? Compo’s got the dirt! I say who’s got the dirt…’
Deadpan, Gus mimicked his actions and joined, ‘Compo, Compo, Compo, Compo, Compo’s got the dirt… aaah!’
Alice, Taffy and Sampson ambled over, as the pair were high-fiving. That felt good. Gus realised it was the first time in a long time that he’d done something impromptu like that…and enjoyed it. The new meds must be working.
Compo, still giggling, swung his chair back to his screen. ‘Uh, huh. I sure do got some dirt.’
Trying not to cringe at his American accent and hoping Compo hadn’t picked up the habit from Taffy, Gus, folded his arms over his chest and leaned his thighs against the table behind. ‘Go on then, Compo, spill the beans. What you got?’
Taking a swig of coke, Compo began to explain.
Gus looked at his colleague, amazed at the complicated, technical explanation being thrown at him and shook his head. ‘Cut the techno babble, Comps. Just give me the end result. I don’t really care how you got it.’ Seeing Compo’s eyes light up at his last statement, he amended it. ‘Within the constraints of legality that is.’ Then, in a much lower voice he added with a wink, ‘Unless of course it’s completely undetectable or unprovable.’
Compo’s crestfallen face broke into one of his childlike grins and he raised his arms palms upwards towards Gus. ‘Okay, boss, straight lingo. I accessed the three lads’ private Facebook conversations.’ He stopped and pursed his lips in concentration, ‘Well actually, I’ve accessed all their conversations. The only ones I’ve had time to look at so far, are the ones between Matty, Jake and Simon. Maybe one of the uniformed officers could go through the others, I’ve linked them up to the group computers so everyone has a copy.’
Gus gestured for him to continue.
Crossing one leg over the other, Compo began to tap on the table with one finger. ‘Simon and Jake had a conversation three months ago regarding the purchase of blues, otherwise known as vallies or diazepam.’ He handed a printed transcript to Gus.
‘The long and short is that Simon wanted Jake to put up some money to buy blues to sell on around the school and at gigs, et cetera. Jake wasn’t into that and told Simon not to be so daft.
‘It seems young Simon had an unnamed supplier and they could make one hundred per cent. There’s a few convos between them: it’s all there.’ He pointed at the sheets Gus was perusing. ‘Jake, good lad, held his ground. Seems that Matty was too much of a wimp to be included in this convo. Simon told Jake he knew Matty “defo” wouldn’t do it, so he kept him out the loop.’
Gus clicked his fingers. Fucking brilliant. If the mayo on Compo’s cheek wasn’t an issue, Gus would have kissed the lad, there and then. Compo bounced up and down on his chair. ‘That’s not all, boss. That’s not all.’
Gus raised an eyebrow and took a second lot of transcripts from Compo.
‘Separate conversations going on a few months. Start date March 27, 2017. Still with Jake but also including Matty too this time. The summary is that Simon saw a MILF in school one day and–’
‘MILF?’ Gus frowned whilst Alice, Taffy and Sampson groaned.
‘Duh? What planet you living on, Gus?’ Alice, jabbed him with a pointed fingernail, one for each word she uttered, ‘Mums. I’d. Like. To. Fuck! MILF. Get it? All the horny teenage lads use it these days. Girls use DILF.’
Gus screwed up his face in disgust, ‘Don’t tell me – Dads I’d like to fuck. God, what happened to the innocence of youth?’
‘The internet and social networking.’ Compo’s voice was matter of fact.
Gus sighed. ‘Anyway, go on.’
‘Well, turns out the daughter of the MILF is called A. No full name or surname. You’ll have to get that info from Jake or Matty. So, the guys have a bet about Simon and the mother and daughter.’
Gus stopped thumbing through the transcripts. ‘Really? Ugh. Horrible little bastards, aren’t they?’ His thoughts flicked to Patti Copley, who was head teacher to all three boys. Wonder what she thinks about all this. God, on second thoughts I wonder what acronym they’d use for her. HILF or TILF no doubt, as in head teachers or teachers– He had the grace to feel a tad embarrassed that the thought of adolescent males lusting after Patti irked him. He hadn’t told Alice that he and Patti had been on a couple of dates and, now that her school was on the side-lines of yet another investigation his team was involved in, he was even more reluctant to confide in his colleague. It was none of her business anyway. It was early days and the last thing he needed, with his track record, was for it to reach his parents’ ears. Pulling his thoughts away from his ‘almost’ girlfriend, he tuned back into what Compo was saying.
‘Yeah, you got it. Simon bet that he could have sex with them… the MILF, that is, and the daughter.’
What the
fuck? The more Gus was hearing about Simon Proctor the less he liked him. Maybe he was just old-fashioned. Maybe all lads were like that these days. Hell, he remembered Mo, Greg and himself poring over Playboy magazine when they were still at school. His cheeks reddened when he remembered the crush he’d had on his French teacher, Mrs Claire. She’d been hot, they’d all agreed. He supposed she’d been his MILF. Perhaps the world hasn’t changed so much after all.
Compo continued. ‘Over the last few months, he’s basically befriended the daughter, got himself included in their family life and managed to get a blow job and a fuck out of it. Dirty little bastard. Apparently, he got proof on his mobile phone of the blow job and recorded them fucking in her house. From the convos, it seems that the other two boys both saw the evidence and paid up.’
Gus exhaled and rubbed his hands together. ‘Good job, Compo. We needed a break. Seems that Simon wasn’t the little angel his teachers and parents thought. We’ll get the boys in and get an ID on which girl and her mum he’s referring to.’ He spun on his heel and then continued the movement, so he’d completed a full circle, ‘Wait a minute. You got the date he recorded the sexual activity?’
‘Early July this year, judging by their texts, why?’
‘Simon Proctor was a minor then. His birthday isn’t until the end of August. Was the sexual activity with the mum or the daughter?’
‘Unclear. Again, those lads will be able to clarify, you’d think.’
‘Taffy, I want you and Sampson chasing that lead down. We may have another offence on our hands.’ He dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘Like we don’t have enough to be going on with.’
Striding over to get a caffeine fix, he was once more halted in his tracks by Compo.
‘Oh, one more thing. The lads mentioned some unspecified group and talked about Simon infiltrating it to get to the mum. Maybe worth asking them what group it was, too.’
‘Well done.’
Blushing, Compo shrugged, his cheeks flooding with colour. ‘Right then, I’ll trawl through the rest of Simon’s convos, see what I can come up with.’
‘While you’re at it, get a warrant to access their phone records. See what’s been going on there.’ Gus turned to Sampson. ‘After briefing, pull the lads back in again. I’m done soft soaping them. They need to start co-operating. Right, let’s get this show on the road. Alice, will you do the honours.’ Gus grinned and tossed her a whiteboard marker.
Groaning, Alice made a pretence of reluctance as she caught the marker, moaning under her breath just loud enough to raise a laugh from the team. ‘The perils of being the only one with a legible hand in this damn set-up.’
Gus ignored her and continued. ‘Victim One, no ID so far. Still waiting for full PM results from Doc McGuire. Here’s a picture of the crime scene. You’ll see our killer left a calling card. Anyone got anything to add?’
He glanced round the room, before continuing. ‘Okay, actions as follows: Sampson, contact missing persons, provide a copy of photos taken after she’s been cleaned up a bit and see if any reports came in over the weekend.’
Just then the door opened and Sergeant Singh, the duty officer, popped his head round.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Gus. Just got this from missing persons, thought it sounded like your girl.’ He waved a sheet of paper in the air. Taffy, who was closest, jumped up to retrieve it and handed it to Gus, who glanced at the photo and grimaced.
‘Thanks, Hardeep, looks like you’re right. It’s our girl.’ He handed the sheet to Alice who stuck the picture next to the existing one. ‘Right. Her name is Sue Downs, age fifteen. Sampson, you’ll come with me to notify the parents, though before we do I want to find out what the rest of the post-mortems threw up. You’ll come with me to the mortuary, Taff. Afterwards, Sampson and I will do the notification. Let’s crack on with this, though.’
Walking over to the enlarged crime scene photos, Gus pointed at the red writing. ‘This is in lipstick. Sid’s seeing if it matches any of Mrs Proctor’s lipsticks. “Redeemed”. Mean anything to anybody?’
Alice crossed her legs and mused. ‘Well, I suppose it could be some religious fanatic on the loose…?’
Sampson glanced up. ‘Or the boyfriend… Maybe they had sex, and then had an argument. He flipped and stabbed her, leaving the writing to put us off track? Maybe Simon Proctor is the boyfriend?’
‘Could be anyone at this stage. We need to get her photo to the uniforms who’re interviewing friends at the school and see if we can come up with any sightings of the girl on Saturday night, and a name for the boyfriend. Those damn boys need to tell us who was at the damn party.’
Chewing on an overflowing sandwich, Compo waved his hand in the air. ‘My programme’s showing that a sizeable chunk of those saying they were coming to the party were from City Academy. Not to say they all rolled up on the night, but good enough reason to check out the school, I reckon. I’ll print off their names and addresses.’
‘Okay, Sampson and Taffy, you can follow up on that at the school later.’
Whiteboard pen in hand, Alice sucked in one cheek. ‘Sure you don’t want to go to the school, Gus?’
Gus glared at her. ‘Focus, Al. Less of your damn cheek.’ This was exactly the sort of crap he’d wanted to avoid and here he was on the receiving end of it anyway. God knows what she’d be like when she found out.
She grinned and kept writing up the actions.
He waited till she’d had finished and then pointed to the second board. ‘Meet Jade Simmonds, age 15, possibly asphyxiated on her own vomit. The pathologist isn’t ready to sign off on her yet, as he found some skin under her nails, bruises to her wrists, and a few scratches and a pressure mark on her neck. Oh, and traces of semen in the vomit around her mouth. Taffy and I notified parents last night. Alice, I want you to go back and see what else you can find out about her. Particularly about those bikers you mentioned. There can’t be that many biker groups in Yorkshire, can there? Compo, you check that out.’
Gus sat on his chair, rolling a pencil over his fingers and studied the boards. ‘For the time being, we’ll consider that Jade Simmonds’ death may be separate from that of Sue Downs. Those damn bikers bother me. Comps, check with child sex and grooming crimes. See if they’ve got owt on bikers.’
He moved along to the third board. ‘Lastly, this is Simon Proctor, sixteen years old, missing since Saturday night or the early hours of Sunday morning. He hosted the party, so he may just have split to avoid the trouble. We need him back, to rule out any funny stuff and to get his statement. The uniforms also have photos of him and his parents will do a TV appeal later on today.’
Gus glanced over at Compo. ‘See if you can work out how Simon’s interlinked with both victims. Friends in common and that sort of stuff. Any cross-over between the three of them – just in case their deaths are linked. Bloody minefield, this.’
He looked round again. ‘Have I missed anything?’
Alice, biting the tip of her tongue as she wrote, said, ‘Yeah, someone needs to interview this Tayyub bloke with the camera.’
‘Yeah, you and I’ll do that this afternoon. You go to the school first and I’ll do the death call and then re-interview the boys. We’ll meet here when you’re done. Alice, you hound the labs for the tests on the kids’ drug usage and find out what the CSI got from the garden and shed.’
29
10:35 The Fort
James Proctor realised that his wife was too keyed-up to remain at The Mansions Hotel for any longer. She’d not slept and as a result, neither had he. She’d refused to eat breakfast and spent her time phoning Simon and his friends on rotation, all the while pacing like a caged animal. The room was stuffy with three of them in it and James wished the FLO would just leave them on their own. Instead, she plonked herself down on the only comfortable chair and babbled a lot of annoying rubbish. He knew it was probably designed to distract them, but it had the unfortunate effect of making him want to tell her to ‘shut the fuck
up’ – words he’d never uttered in his entire life. Aside from that, the woman’s perfume was so strong it made his eyes sting and his nose itch.
At last, he’d had enough and insisted they leave the hotel and walk along North Park Road to Lilycroft Police Station. Perhaps the fresh air would do them all good. Even then, he’d had to battle with the FLO who wanted to drive them to the station. Seeing a chance to escape their keeper for a short time, James suggested they walk and she take the car. However, that was not to be, so the three of them had bundled themselves into warm coats and left the hotel. Was it only twelve hours ago that he and Jane had been laughing as they shagged in the car?
For the entire walk, the FLO had dawdled behind, moaning about the cold, reckless drivers and the ‘vermin’ squirrels that frolicked in the trees in Lister Park. James’ nerves were becoming more and more frazzled. He wanted to throttle the woman.
He’d hoped when she got them ensconced in a quiet waiting room, with functional, cushioned chairs and then departed, that they’d have time to recoup. Time to relax, just the two of them, and let their guard down. He was trying to work how he could broach the subject of what they should tell the police about Simon with Jane, when the FLO reappeared. Her cheerful smile irritated the hell out of him and he wanted to open the window and scream out the tension that was building through his body.
Fussing and wittering, she deposited a mismatched duo of mugs on the small coffee table between them, retaining her own mug between her fat fingers. Anticipating that she was about to sit down on one of the empty chairs, James stood up, took her by the elbow and guided her towards the door. ‘My wife and I would appreciate some privacy until DI McGuire is ready for us.’
Her face fell as if she’d suffered an enormous slight. ‘Oh, I’m supposed to stay with you.’ And she settled her enormous backside in the chair right between them.
