by Liz Mistry
‘When I was fourteen we lived in Southampton for a while. My gran was ill and she wanted me to take her to a church that had sent a leaflet to her claiming it could cure her of her cancer. Both my parents tried to convince her it was futile and that her cancer had gone too far. She insisted, but my mum refused to take her. So, I did. Every week I took her to the public Prayer Chair sessions; still she continued to deteriorate. The church, which wasn’t an official church, in fact, then asked her to attend three times a week. Against my parents’ wishes, I continued to take her.’ Alice wiped a tear from her eye. ‘I’d have done anything for my gran, you know?’
Gus understood exactly what she meant. He’d never met his own grandparents but he knew he’d do anything for his mum. And never more so than after what had almost happened to her in February.
‘It became clear that she was getting even more ill and that’s when they started to do The Prayer Chair in private. Concentrated praying they called it. What I didn’t realise was that what they were really doing was convincing her to leave her money to them when she died. They were so skilful. Whilst I waited outside, they worked on an old sick lady until she signed everything away to them. Then, not content with that, they started to blame me for the fact that she wasn’t recovering. I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better and we were keeping it secret from my mum. They started to accuse me of having impure thoughts and doing impure deeds and it was those that were poisoning my gran and making her ill.’
Gus’ chest tightened at the thought of what his friend had gone through. Not only was she trying to help her gran but she was witnessing her deterioration and being blamed her for it, into the bargain.
‘They told me the only way I could rid my gran of the toxins was to do a public denouncement of all my sins. They gave me a document with a list of questions about which boys I liked in school or if I liked girls. If I ever thought about touching myself or those boys. If I’d ever touched them, or kissed them. All sorts of private stuff that I gave them because I believed in them.’
Sensing that the worst was yet to come, Gus moved over and put his arm round her shoulder. Alice shrugged it off and glared at him. ‘I’m not a fucking kid, Gus. I can do this. I don’t need you to hold my damn hand, okay?’
Glad that Alice was still displaying some of her legendary independence, he held his hands up, palms facing her. ‘Whoa! Okay, I’ll just back off.’
Alice snorted, ‘Yeah, right.’ She sniffed, ‘The weekend after that they took me to the city centre and they got their Prayer Chair out. The minister and his disciples went round drumming up support to see a “major cleansing” and when they’d gathered quite a crowd they made me sit on the chair.’
She sighed, ‘That’s when the second biggest humiliation of my life happened.’ She glanced at Gus, ‘You already know the biggest one.’
Gus inclined his head and she continued, ‘The bastards tore into me. Using all the ammunition I’d given them. They named the boys I liked and revealed my “dirty” thoughts in front of a crowd of people in Southampton high street. They ridiculed me and demeaned me and made me feel like the biggest Jezebel there ever was, that wasn’t the worst of it. Oh no. What was worse was that in the crowd, unseen by me at the time, were some kids from my school. You can imagine what happened on the Monday morning, can’t you?’
Gus could imagine only too well. No-one was crueller than teenage kids. Alice must have gone through hell.
‘What happened to your gran, Alice?’
‘She died, Compo, and all her money went to that despicable minister. The thing is, there are all sorts of fake churches from all faiths setting up and appealing to the vulnerable. No self-respecting church would condone or initiate such self-serving nonsense. After my gran died, I went back every week for a while and watched them do similar tricks on vulnerable members of the public until one day, the police came and arrested them and took them away. Turns out someone a bit more savvy than my folks had challenged their methods and the minister was imprisoned. I think it was right at that point I decided I wanted to be a copper. Never again did I want to be in a position where someone could abuse their position over me… and I’ve only ever been in that position one other time.’
As Compo opened his mouth to ask about that, Gus frowned at him and shook his head. Compo, taking the hint for once, shut his mouth and started working his magic on the PC.
‘Looks like this group isn’t the same as you encountered, Alice,’ said Compo. ‘Looks like there are new groups setting up every five minutes and the Church of England has its work keeping an eye on it. Seems the minister has come over from the states with the aim of recruiting families. Don’t get what’s wrong with the Church of England myself; my granny says they do a lovely funeral.’
Compo clicked a switch and a video of a middle-aged man standing in the midst of a group of teens with an ornate wooden chair before them explained with an American twang that The Prayer Chair Project was a way of taking Christianity into city centre streets and to show that there was a place in church for the youth. Although it all seemed innocuous enough, Gus had never been a fan of missionary religious practices. As far as he was concerned, faith was best left for people to come to themselves and, where possible, he avoided the leaflet giving, prayer-spouting, religious folks that seemed to dot every city centre street.
Things were becoming more and more intriguing. He’d make sure they interviewed the Buttons, the Greggs and the church leader.
‘Sampson, you and Taffy check out this vicar and his band of merry teens tomorrow. We need to find out more about them especially as Jenny Gregg was taken after attending a meeting with them. Compo, see if you can access CCTV from the church in Frizinghall all the way up to Ashwell Road, for Monday night between seven and eight-thirty.’
54
18:15 Tetley Street
Steven Knowles had just about had enough for one day. McGuire was strutting around like a fucking peacock, issuing orders left right and bloody centre. Although Knowles had been relegated to data crunching shit for the vice team, he was still in earshot of DI Perfect’s comings and goings. It made his blood boil, so he’d decided to work to the clock for once. Actually, he generally did work to the clock. The only difference was, he usually didn’t let on to anyone that he was sloping off early. Today though, he’d made a point of looking at his watch bang on six o’clock, scraping his chair back and logging off his computer, before grabbing his coat and leaving. ‘No overtime for the likes of us,’ he’d said over his shoulder to the goodie Twoshoes who were rattling off files like there was no tomorrow.
Now, under cover of darkness, he’d driven via the back roads to Tetley Street. Bound to be a skanky bit of skirt willing to service a copper for nowt at this time of night. Trade would be slow this early, so I’ll not be keeping them away from their proper clients. He smirked. Do them good to keep in practice. Limber up them jaw muscles before the onslaught of dirty old men descended for a quick one on their way home from work. Just as well he’d got there early. Last thing he wanted was somebody else’s sloppy seconds. He drove down the road that separated Sunbridge Road from Thornton Road and dipped into the wasteland area to the left as he drove down. There were no cameras here, and although the road was potholed, it was clearly well-used. The girls hung out round the back, off the main street, which decreased their chances of getting caught by the police. He knew from experience that unless they were flaunting themselves on Thornton Road before dark, they were usually left alone.
As he’d expected, there were three girls huddled together, their heads bowed and the glow of cigarettes shone through the dark illuminating their faces. He didn’t recognise any of them and, to be honest, he wasn’t really fussed which of them got in his car. He allowed the car to slide to a gentle stop and waited. All three girls’ heads had raised when he’d stopped the car. He saw them exchange words and then the shortest of the three broke from the group and, hips undulating in what she, no doubt, considered t
o be a sexy appealing manner, she approached. Knowles snorted and lowered his window before flicking his cig butt into a pile of gravel. Looks like a fucking pregnant duck with haemorrhoids – good job I’m not planning on giving it to her up the arse.
She leaned one arm on the open driver’s window, ensconcing him in a bubble of cheap perfume and damp air as she fluttered her eyelashes.
Stupid cow will wish she’d left it for one of the other mingers! With a grin, he flashed his warrant card at her, relishing the way her face fell, when she realised she’d been nabbed. She glanced at her friends with an open-handed ‘What the fuck?’ gesture and sighed. ‘Okay. How can I make this go away?’
Knowles smirked. That was the sort of business acumen he admired in these girls. They knew when it was best to just count their losses and give a bloke a BJ. Sound business practice, if you ask me. He jerked his head to the passenger side. ‘Get in, then. Let’s you and me have some fun.’ He pretended not to see the scowl on her face as she wobbled round to the passenger side, with a lot less swagger than she’d had a minute ago.
Once she was in, he slid the car into gear and drove further into the derelict land mass before doing a wide spin and pointing the car back towards the entrance. Behind them the lights from the NCP carpark gave off a dull glow when he put the headlights out. He rummaged in the side compartment of his door and brought out a towel which he laid over his thighs, tucking it up and round under his buttocks. ‘Just in case there’s a spillage. Come on then, darling, let’s get those luscious lips juiced up, shall we?’
Five minutes later, job done, Knowles pulled the ends of the towel from under his bum and wiped his shaft down. The girl was wiping her mouth, spitting into a tissue as she did so. In the confined space of the car, the air was musky, so Knowles cracked the window open an inch as she looked up at him a coy smile on her lips. ‘Was that good for you, Mr Knowles?’
Knowles started to grin, pleased that the bitch knew her place. Then, he frowned. How did she know his name? He certainly hadn’t given it and she would have to have been some ace speed reader if she’d managed to catch it when he flashed his warrant card. He opened his mouth to speak, but she reached over and placed a vice-like hand on his knee. Her long fingernails almost piercing the skin. He grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’
She pouted up at him, all wide-eyed innocence, ‘Don’t you recognise me, Mr Knowles?’ This time, when she said his name she placed a special emphasis on it.
His grip loosened on her wrist and she pulled it away, rubbing it where his fingers had left a red mark. He must have visited her before, yet he hadn’t recognised her when she’d first approached. Reaching up, he flicked the inner light on and turned sideways to get a better look at her. Her emaciated frame belied the teenage chub that softened her cheeks and made her dark eyes look huge. His eyes were drawn to the love heart tattoo on the swell of her breast. She looked almost pre-pubescent. For a moment his heart skittered in his chest as he pondered the likelihood of him engaging in a sex act with an under-sixteen-year-old. Fuck! Surely not. Trouble was it was so hard to tell nowadays and he wasn’t one for asking to see their birth certificates before letting them suck his dick. Who the hell would?
His eyes lifted back up to her face. Her expression was earnest as she studied him. Shaking her head, her eyes narrowed and her lips stretched wide revealing a row of white, straight teeth, ‘I’m your Stacey’s mate, Mr Knowles. Remember me now, do you?’ Last time I saw you was when you took me and Stacey skating at the ice rink. I’m Julie. Remember me now, do you?’
A cold sweat erupted on Knowles’ upper lip. Shit. His daughter Stacey wasn’t even fifteen yet. How the hell could this be her friend? He recognised the name, though. Peering at the girl who’d just had her lips round his knob, the blood drained from his face, leaving him shaking. He could see her now. She’d lost some of her innocence along the way.
He recalled Stacey telling him Julie’s mother had got blind drunk one night and dropped her keys. They’d found her the next morning, dead under a nearby bush. The irony of that story was that the door hadn’t even been locked. If she hadn’t been so drunk, she’d have tried the lock and got in. Knowles remembered feeling sorry for the kid, then when she’d moved schools, Stacey had lost touch with her friend.
Julie was grinning at him, her eyes alight with a calculated gaze that Knowles recognised from his dealings with other desperate human beings. ‘Looks like I’ve got myself a meal ticket, doesn’t it, Mr Knowles?’ She laughed, a piercing sound that splintered the night air into a trillion fragments. ‘Unless, of course, you want me to tell them back at The Fort about how you forced me, a fourteen-year-old, to go down on your old man dick?’
He reached over and gripped her arms and shook her once. ‘You won’t fucking do that, Julie. You know you won’t.’
She flung her head back revealing a slender neck and laughed again. ‘You sure about that? Try me and see?’ With a childlike giggle she pursed her lips before saying in a sing-song voice, ‘Oh, I forgot. You already did try me, didn’t you?’
Anger flashed through Knowles and he shook her… harder this time. Her increased near-hysterical laughter taunted him. He flung her back against the door and slammed his fist into her face before sliding both hands round her delicate throat and pressing. Adrenalin made him savour her bulging eyes as her frantic fingers scrabbled for traction against his strong hands.
‘You don’t ever mess with me, bitch. Got it?’
Two hours later, headache pulsing at his temple, Knowles parked up in front of his house. All the lights were on and nobody had thought to close the curtains. Stacey and his younger daughter were dancing in front of the TV. Must be on the damn Wii again. They were always on it.
He lifted a shaking hand to his face and pulled his fingers from his cheeks down to his chin. What the hell had he done? How could he go in there and face them, knowing what he’d done? He closed his eyes and braced both hands on the steering wheel as if to ground himself. There was nothing for it. He just needed to get in there and put all of this behind him. There was nowt else for it.
He’d just opened the car door and was preparing to drag his exhausted body from the car when his phone pinged. Using any excuse to delay the inevitable he pulled his phone from his pocket and saw that it was from Jerry. Wondering what had prompted the other man to contact him out of hours, he flicked the text open. As he read, his lips lifted up and he took a deep breath. What was it they said about every cloud?
Feeling lighter by far, he got out of the car and moved over to his front door, a smile on his lips. Things weren’t so bad after all… well, not for him anyway. Maybe DS Alice Cooper would have a different slant on things. He fucking hoped so. He really did.
55
18:55 St Anne’s Road Mosque, Heaton
Tariq didn’t know what to do. On the one hand he wanted to wrap his arms round Shamila and hold her tight. On the other, he was all too aware that he was in the mosque and that, progressive though this particular mosque was, he might be pushing the boundaries a bit too far if he was caught hugging a girl who was not his sister in one of the meeting rooms. He sighed and took a step closer to the crying girl.
This was exactly the sort of dichotomy he and Shamila had set up The Young Jihadists to discuss. Their non-Muslim peers hugged each other freely as a matter of routine; in greeting, to offer comfort, hell – just because they damn well felt like it. Yet, some among their culture considered even the most innocent of physical contact between the opposite sexes haram. Tariq had uncles who refused to shake hands with women, even in a professional setting, and he couldn’t get his head round that. Especially when he knew that one of them wasn’t quite so circumspect on his weekly trips to Thornton Road. It wasn’t just the men, either. Some of the women refused to shake hands, too. What was so wrong in shaking someone’s hand in a professional capacity? These extremes of opinion within the faith elders made it
difficult for the youth to ground themselves. To find their own way. To live within both their faith and the norms of their country.
He edged closer to Shamila, whose tears had streaked her face with mascara. What the hell? He couldn’t just let her cry her heart out like this and not do something. He reached over and pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms round her heaving shoulders and mumbled words of comfort. Her body stiffened for a nanosecond and she pulled her head away from his chest and looked at him through tear-filled eyes. His lips lifted in an embarrassed smile. He returned her smile and she rested her head on his chest once more. Tariq hoped she couldn’t feel his arm shaking.
Despite enjoying the heady smell of her citrusy perfume and the lurch of emotion in his chest, guilt hung heavy in his heart. He was to blame for Shamila’s brother’s arrest. It was he who had told the police about Adnan’s relationship with Sue Downs. Shamila would be so angry if she knew what he’d done.
She was speaking now, her voice muffled, and Tariq strained to hear her words, ‘He didn’t do it, you know? Adnan would never have hurt her. He’s not like that. I don’t even understand what he was doing at the party and why he was upstairs with her.’
Tariq hesitated. How could he respond to this? Adnan’s been seeing her for weeks. I knew about it, but he swore me to secrecy? Or your brother kept secrets from you and Sue was just one of them. He probably didn’t tell you about the weed or the coke either, did he? In the end he couldn’t trust himself to say anything, so he continued holding her until a cough from the doorway made them spring apart.
A hot flame of colour flushed his cheeks. Thank Allah, it was only Shiraz. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, whilst Shamila turned away and tried to rectify the damage to her make-up with a tissue and a small mirror, Tariq said, ‘You okay?’
