by Liz Mistry
Shiraz snorted and, his gaze flitting round the room, focussing on anything except Shamila, said, ‘You okay, Sham? Heard about Adnan. Sucks, dun’t it?’
Shamila straightened her back, walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down, her hands sifting through a sheaf of papers she’d put there earlier. When she spoke, her voice was resolute, making it clear she did not want to discuss her brother. ‘Yeah, it does. He didn’t do it and they’ll soon prove that, so let’s just get on with this meeting. Where is everybody?’
She’d no sooner asked the question, when the door opened again and a line of teenagers drifted in. Tariq hoped Shamila hadn’t noticed the nervous glances each of them sent her way. It was clear they’d all heard about Adnan. They’d more than likely have been talking about it ad infinitum since the news broke. Each of them would have their own perspective on it, although most, he hoped, would realise that, Adnan, despite being an idiot some of the time, was at heart a good lad. He wouldn’t have killed Sue. Tariq knew he’d been besotted by her, trailing after her like a lovesick puppy. He tried to still the insistent thought that The Crossbow Cannibal hadn’t been on the police’s radar either… until he had.
As they sat down, some slouching over the table, hoodies up over their head, some with prayer hats on ready to pray after the meeting, he smiled. He was proud of the group he and Shamila had created. It encompassed a range of kids from the area all with different views of Islam and how they could keep their faith and yet live within the wider communities. There had been, from the start, a tacit agreement that they wanted to be part of a wider society. Not just this little neck of the woods here in Bradford Nine. The discussions had been heated at times, yet Shamila’s quiet persistence had made them confront and discuss things they hadn’t been able to before. That was why they’d asked Tayyub to record Simon’s party. They wanted to experience the sort of parties the white kids had. See what they did, how they behaved when they were drunk.
Mind you, glancing round at some of the lads, Tariq knew fine and well that some of them had experienced a lot of those things for themselves. His gaze rested on their youngest member, fourteen-year old Zarqa. Her dad ran Mo’s Sa’MOsas on Oak Lane.
Zarqa had been quiet for a few weeks now and today she looked pale and distracted, as if she wasn’t really with them. He hoped things were okay with her. He’d make a point of asking her at the end of the meeting.
‘So, we can’t see Tayyub’s recording as the police have confiscated it. Beside which, when we’ve got two girls dead and with Simon still missing, it would be in bad taste to talk about it tonight, anyway,’ said Shamila.
Shiraz snorted, ‘Yeah, especially since your brother’s the number one suspect for one of the murders. Maybe Adnan’s bumped off Simon, too?’
The rest of the room gasped as Shamila turned to Shiraz, but before she could answer, Zarqa, lifted from her reverie, swung in her chair towards Shiraz. ‘That’s not funny, Shiraz, and you know it. You’re a dick!’
‘Who you calling a dick, Zarqa? Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, huh? What about your mother? We’ve all heard about her, haven’t we, lads?’
‘Aw, shut up Shiraz, you’re well out of line,’ said Liaqat, casting a nervous glance towards Zarqa as she jumped to her feet, and shouldered her way past Shiraz.
Wrenching the door open, she turned. ‘You know summat, Shiraz? You’re an idiot.’
As the door slammed behind her, Tariq thought that the thud signalled the beginning of the end of their group and he wanted to run after Zarqa and replay the entire conversation without Shiraz’s taunting words.
For a moment there was silence and then Shamila stood up, rested her knuckles on the table and, glaring at Shiraz, she addressed the entire group. ‘Anyone else got any wisecracks like that one?’
56
20:05 The Fort
Throwing the incident room door open so forcefully that it banged against the wall, ricocheting and almost hitting her in the face as she marched through, Nancy Chalmers yelled, ‘Gus!’
Jolting upright, Gus jerked his neck and cursing under his breath, he scowled at Nancy. Couldn’t she have entered like a normal person? There was no need for her to storm in like a whirlwind, making everyone jump. A quick glance round the room told him that, in fact, he’d been the only one affected by Nancy’s entrance. Everyone else was intent on their jobs and hadn’t even glanced up. Gus, on the other hand, had been so focussed on the crime board that her entrance had surprised him. He told himself that it was nothing to do with him being on edge, yet he had the grace to admit to himself that the opposite was true.
He’d been staring at the crime board, fully immersed in trying to work out what the connection was between Simon Proctor’s disappearance, Sue Downs’ murder and Jenny Gregg’s abduction, torture and subsequent release. None of it made sense. They’d more or less cut Jade Simmonds out of the equation on the grounds that she was a victim of the bikers they were still tracking down. Tayyub’s video footage showed that the bikers had left the premises not long after they’d forced Jade and the other girl to perform oral sex on them. Gus’ fists clenched. He hated misogynists and these ones took the fucking biscuit.
He could still see the footage. Hell, he wished he could un-see it. The biker with the skeleton on the motorbike tattoo had grabbed Jade’s hair to try to rouse her, yanked her head right up and shook it hard before pushing it back to her chest when she didn’t respond. Not content with that, the bastard had aimed a kick at her legs which made Jade’s entire body lurch forward, before landing back into the position in which they’d found her. Had she been dead then? If that bastard had just checked, maybe she’d still be alive. He’d be glad when Compo had ascertained their whereabouts. Gus, for one, was ready to blow apart their perverted little faction. He looked forward to getting justice for Jade Simmonds’ family and, if one of them resisted arrest, well so be it, they’d have to use a little bit of force to bring them back in line.
He looked over at Compo, willing him to have located their headquarters, and saw that Compo, head bobbing in time to The Boss’ Born To Run, from the strains drifting from his head phones was engrossed.
He wondered if he should have gone to see Ali Button and her parents tonight, but he wanted to be sure he had all the details of her adoption at his fingertips before he went. When he’d contacted social services on his return to The Fort, he’d been told that Naila, Mo’s wife, was Ali’s named social worker. As luck would have it, Naila was in meetings all afternoon, however a hurried text had told him she’d make time to drop into The Fort in the morning to speak to him. Good old Naila. She was very perceptive and he looked forward to getting her perspective on Ali Button. He wondered if Ali might have been the figure who pulled Jenny Gregg off the table in the Proctor’s kitchen. Haleema Tariq had described her as a bit of a tomboy and Jenny had confirmed her attendance at the party and that Ali was the friend she’d gone to the church meeting with on Monday night. Yes, he was looking forward to seeing what light Ali could shed on things.
Recovering his equilibrium, Gus glared at Nancy, ‘You gave me a damn fright. Can’t you be a quieter?’
Nancy harrumphed, ‘Man-up, Gus. We can’t all scoot about like bloody ghosts, can we?’ She looked round the room until her gaze rested on Alice. ‘Cooper. You and Gus, my office, now!’
Alice pushed her chair back and grimaced in Gus’ direction. Gus shrugged and shook his head. He’d known Nancy for years, yet he still didn’t think he’d ever get used to her erratic personality. Twisting the crick out of his neck, he sighed and gestured for Alice to lead the way through the fug of Chanel that Nancy had left in her wake.
‘Wonder what you’ve done wrong now,’ he said to Alice, in a voice that was only half teasing. Despite her brusqueness, there had been a tell-tale tautness to Nancy’s frame as she’d marched back out of the room. Summat was up, of that he was very sure.
57
20:25 Unknown Location
&
nbsp; Jumping up, I pace the room. Can’t focus on my safe place. I’m going stir crazy. I stop where the girl had lain. There are droplets of blood on the floor. They were just visible in the dimmed lamp light.
I start jogging on the spot, building up a sweat. Knackered. No energy… too weak. I walk round the circumference of my cell until I see where the ropes wound up. I’d thrown them in the corner and forgotten about them. I grab them. They’re stained. Curious, I lift them to my nose and inhale the metallic scent of her blood. My crotch twitches.
Shaking them out, I hold one end in each hand, testing their length. It’s ages since I’ve done this. I start skipping… stumble… rope tangles round my leg, try again. Then, I’m doing it and the slap, slap, slap of the bloody rope on the concrete makes me smile. It’s like the echo… like a long-lost friend… like Matty or Jake, I suppose. A new feeling of resolve swamps me. I speed up… faster… faster… faster. I can do this. Everything will work out.
Sweat drips from my brow, salt nipping my eyes as I flop onto the bed. It wobbles, thank God, I’m used to it now. Know it’ll withstand my weight. Do owt for some weed right now. Anything to pass the time. The exercise has left me shaky. Sweat’s turning cold and I shiver. In the distance, the church bells ring.
Diiiiiing, Doooooong!
‘Ding dong dell, pussy’s in the well.’
Fucking pussy! Pussy must be wet if it’s in the well!
‘Ding dong dell! Wet pussy in the well.’
Must be about half-eight or so. Used to hate them before… the bells. Me, Matty and Jake couldn’t see the point of having a practice for ringing church bells. Now though, it’s comforting. We called them all saddos and weirdos before. Mrs Clements, my maths teacher is one of them. Wonder if she’s there tonight?
‘Hi Mrs Clements, don’t yank too hard… Wet pussy’s in the well.’
She told me once that bell ringing had a special name. Fucked if I can remember it, though. Bloody waste of time, yanking on a cord for an hour. I giggle. Can think of better things to yank on. I hold the bloody rope near my nose with one hand, I close my eyes and slip my hand inside my boxers. Who cares if the fucking green light’s on – give some perv a treat.
58
20:45 The Fort
Gus and Alice, walking side by side, followed Nancy along the corridor to her room. It was like being a kid in school again, being transported to the head teacher’s for some damn nonsense or other that Mo had gotten Greg and him into.
Gus grinned. It had always been Mo that got them into trouble. Not that they’d ever done owt too serious. On one occasion, Mo had convinced them it’d be a good idea to hide their teacher’s specs. Mrs Parkside had been livid; and when she’d found them in Mo’s lunch box covered in raita she’d been even more livid. Mo had been one of those kids who, when they were told off for anything, couldn’t help laughing. The more Mrs Parkside had yelled, the more Mo’s skinny little shoulders had shuddered with nervous laughter, which enraged the teacher more.
What had gotten him and Greg involved in the punishment was that they’d stuck up for Mo when she’d grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him from his desk. Gus could remember it as if it had happened yesterday. He and Greg had jumped to their feet at the same time and yelled, ‘Leave him alone. He doesn’t mean to laugh, miss. He’s sorry. Tell her you’re sorry, Mo.’
Mo had been too caught up in the nerves of the situation and couldn’t stop his nervous giggling. Mrs Parkside had marched the three of them down to the head teacher’s office and left them there. Three seven-year-old boys who’d do anything for each other, silently sat on the wooden bench outside the office determined to take their punishment together as one. The memory gave Gus a warmth in his heart and he realised that, for maybe the first time since Greg’s death, he was able to remember him with affection that wasn’t over-ridden by guilt.
Coming back to the present, Gus was aware that a couple of the officers they passed were looking at Nancy and grinning. Gus looked at her and saw what was making them so amused. Nancy was marching along the corridor in high dudgeon… in a pair of pink fluffy slippers. Gus caught Alice’s eye and the two of them smothered smiles as Nancy flung open her office door and waited for them to enter.
Sure enough, the first thing Gus saw when he went in were her discarded shoes, kicked into a corner of the room. This was a clear indication that whatever had prompted her to leave her room and storm along the corridor to get them, without slipping her shoes on again, was something very serious indeed. He tried to remember if he’d done anything he shouldn’t but the only thing that came to mind was Alice slapping Steve Knowles. Well, he’d got her back on that one. No way was Alice going to pay the price for Knowles’ stupidity.
Tucking her skirt under her bottom, Nancy slid into her chair and gestured for Gus and Alice to take the two chairs opposite her desk. Again, the feeling of being back at school prevailed, as he snuck a conspiratorial glance at Alice. I’ve got your back, it said.
Nancy sucked in one cheek and chewed on it. Gus heart sank further. This was yet another of Nancy’s tells. She was really freaked out by something and no amount of fresh flower fragrance or soothing windswept Yorkshire Moors scenery on her walls was going to calm him till he knew what was up.
‘Spill.’ The word shot out more clipped than he’d intended, thankfully, Nancy seemed not to notice. Shit it must be bad! Had Knowles gone to the papers or internal affairs or what?
Nancy jumped up and began pacing the room, the incongruous slippers no longer a source of amusement for Gus. He found he was clenching either side of his chair and made a conscious effort to relax his fists. Alice had one leg crossed over the other and despite her calm expression, the way the supporting leg jiggled up and down betrayed her nerves.
Nancy, thrust her fingers through her hair and walked to the front of her desk. Placing herself equidistant between the two of them, she hefted herself up onto the desk and focussed her gaze on Alice. Gus’s fingers re-clenched. That bastard better not have made trouble for Al. He just better not have! However, when Nancy spoke, Gus realised that his fears had been unfounded for the reality was worse… much worse than he’d anticipated.
Seemingly unhappy with her position on the desk, Nancy eased herself to the floor and got down on her knees beside Alice, grasping one of the younger woman’s hands in her own. Alice’s leg increased its jogging tempo.
‘I’ve had a call from DCS Machalski from Brent.’
With an abruptness that surprised Gus, Alice’s leg stilled and her face paled. For a second he thought she was going to faint, instead she took a deep breath and moved her other hand to Nancy’s where she held her two-handed grip like a limpet.
Nancy’s voice as low and calm, ‘God, Alice. I never dreamed I’d have to tell you this. Never in a million years did I think this would happen.’
Alice swallowed and bit her top lip before giving a single nod for Nancy to continue.
‘The bastard’s woken up, Al. He’s fucking woken up.’
Time stood still for a moment and then, Gus saw a single tear roll down Alice’s cheek. In an instant, he was off his seat and round the other side of the chair, his arms wrapped round her, holding tight. Alice shrugged him off and held Nancy’s gaze. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’
More? What fucking more could there be? Wasn’t this bad enough?
Nancy flicked a glance at him and then patted Alice’s hand. When she spoke next, it was in a rush as if she was desperate to get the words out. As if they were scalding her mouth by remaining unspoken. ‘He’s blaming you, Alice. The bastard’s blaming you and they’re reopening the investigation. Seems Big H is changing his statement to implicate you. Says you threatened him if he didn’t back you up as opposed to Kennedy, and with Kennedy being in a coma, he decided to back you.’
59
21:50 Alice’s House, Titus Street, Saltaire
Alice was in that cellar again.
She could smell the sewers and t
he rat piss. She could hear the rodents scampering across the rafters and it took everything she had to stop herself from shuddering. She preferred to take the lead. It had always been her position of choice on entering buildings where there was a possible threat.
Sean was behind her. His quiet footsteps keeping time with her own and the sound of his breathing, which again seemed to be synchronised to hers, was reassuring. Their intelligence was that Big H and two of his thugs were waiting to meet their snitch in the back of the cellar. The cellar ran along the bottom of four disused warehouses and was massive. A few dull lamps punctuated the dark with yellowing circles of light. Alice could see just enough to dodge the packing crates and detritus that dotted the floor. Sean had the easy job this time, because their team was outside scoping the place and would let them know if anyone else showed interest in entering the premises.
Heart thumping in her chest, Alice was aware of the familiar pooling of sweat under her armpits as she moved, arms outstretched before her, scoping the corners as she moved, gun finger ready at the trigger should she need to use it. Up ahead she heard voices, deep and low. She paused trying to work out how many different voices she could hear, but they were too quiet. Risking a quick glance behind her, she winked at Sean and then continued. A huge wooden crate barred her view of the space beyond, so with slow deliberate steps she eased her way to the side and when she had visuals on the trio of men, she stepped forward, her double-handed grip firm on the gun and her eyes focussed on Big H. His fat belly rolled over the top of his jeans, obscuring his crotch area. It was a wonder the crate he sat on withstood his weight.
