by Liz Mistry
James Proctor frowned, and shook his head. Jane bit her lip and then in a slow drawl that confirmed Gus’ earlier supposition that she’d been medicated, said, ‘I wondered if he had a girlfriend. Over the last few weeks he’s been a bit secretive. Applying more deodorant and using the shower more, that sort of thing.’ She smiled as if that was a fond memory and then the smile faded from her face and her eyes shot up to meet Gus’. ‘Do you think one of those poor girls was Simon’s girlfriend?’
At his wife’s words, James jumped to his feet and began pacing again. ‘Oh, I get it. Don’t say another word to him, Jane. He’s trying to blame Simon for what happened to those girls. Trying to say they had a lovers’ tiff and Si killed them. Well, it’s not going to bloody work, do you hear me?’
Gus allowed the man to rant until he’d vented all his energy and collapsed on the seat again, before responding, his tone quiet and sincere. ‘The information we have isn’t regarding either of those two girls, Mr Proctor. The information we have relates to two different women. Can either of you give me any information on who they might be?’
James looked at his wife. With a slight shake of the head, Mrs Proctor gave him her answer and he articulated it. ‘We’ve no idea who Simon was interested in, or even if he had a girlfriend. Jane just thought that, perhaps, he liked someone, that’s all.’
Gus waited to see if James would add anything. He didn’t and Mrs Proctor’s face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. ‘The thing is, two people have independently corroborated that Simon was acting in a predatory manner towards a mother and her daughter. Two of Simon’s friends have told us that Simon deliberately set out to engage in relations with both a mother and her teenage daughter. Simon sent footage that he recorded on his phone of him performing oral sex on a woman, whom we believe to be the mother.’
Gus took his phone from his trouser pocket and turned it to the Proctors. Earlier he’d snatched an image that showed Simon’s head and enough of their living room for them to confirm the location. ‘Can you confirm that this is Simon and that this is your living room?’
Jane Proctor raised a shaking hand to her mouth and gulped, she reached out with the other hand, one finger extended to touch her son’s head on the screen and then as if realising what her son was doing, she jerked her hand back and closed her eyes. Gus looked at James Proctor, whose face had flushed tomato red.
‘What the hell does this prove? What’s this got to do with finding my son?’ Mr Proctor glared at Gus, his eyes sparking, his fists clenched on his thighs.
Gus slipped the phone back into his pocket and shrugged. ‘According to our sources, Simon placed a bet with them saying he would have sex with both mother and daughter and from this recording and another we are in possession of, it appears that he did. Does this seem like the sort of thing your son would do?’
James exhaled and rubbed his hand over his face, whilst Mrs Proctor sat, slack-jawed, staring straight ahead. Neither of them said anything, so Gus continued. ‘The thing is, the tone of his text and Facebook messages with his friends is predatory in nature. We need to get to the bottom of whether that was truly in Simon’s nature or if it was just bravado. We need you to help us with this. Anything you can tell us will perhaps shed some light on things.’
Gus poured them each a glass of chilled water and, succumbing to the lure of the enveloping chair he leaned back and waited. James Proctor took a long swallow of water, his throat muscles gulping the liquid down at speed. He emptied the glass, refilled it and repeated the process. ‘Simon has been quite a challenge for us over the years. We adopted him when he was ten and he’d already had a very troubled childhood. He’d been abandoned by his birth mother and had done the rounds of various foster parents. His last set of foster parents sexually and physically abused him.’
He paused and refilled his glass for the third time before taking a small sip. ‘He nearly died in a house fire at his foster parents’ home. His social worker died in the fire. It was suspected that the foster parents, realising their time was up, locked all the children and the social worker inside and set fire to the house. It was tragic. So you understand the trauma that Simon endured before he came to us. He was lucky to be rescued.’
Gus thought for a moment. ‘Was this fire in Leeds?’
James Proctor closed his eyes for a second, before speaking. ‘It was in all the papers, so when we adopted him, we changed his name. Gave him a complete new start.’
Gus remembered the case. He’d been there when they’d pulled Simon Proctor from the blazing house. He remembered that poor mite. Didn’t even look half his age. He also remembered Amina Rose’s body being pulled from the house too, and her husband’s grief. It had been a terrible incident and nobody had won that night. Did it have anything to do with Simon Proctor’s disappearance now? Perhaps his childhood experiences had made him a predatory teen? On the other hand, was it even relevant? Gus reckoned that many testosterone-fuelled teens acted in a similar way to Simon Proctor. It might only have a bearing on the case if his behaviour got him into bother. Is his disappearance linked to his sexual activities?
Gus, seeing that the Proctors had had just about enough for one day, knew he had to broach one other thing with them before he left. ‘I know you have a lot on your plate right now, however, I’m duty-bound to bring something to your attention.’
Jane Proctor pushed her shoulders back as if bracing herself for whatever Gus was going to throw at them next. ‘The dates of these recordings show that Simon was fifteen when they were taken.’
The Proctors blinked, clearly not understanding Gus’ inference. Gus would rather have left it for another time, a time when they were a little stronger, maybe even after Simon was found. However, he knew he had to tell them now. ‘Simon was a minor when these recordings were made. That means that if the woman he was having sex with was sixteen or over, she has committed a crime and will be subject to prosecution by law. You need to prepare yourselves for that.’
63
07:55 The Fort
Gus was glad to escape from the Proctors’ oppressive presence. He’d felt for them. Here they were not knowing where their son was and in the same breath being given information that was probably just too much to deal with right now.
He found James Proctor difficult to empathise with, and looking at the desperation on Jane Proctor’s face drove a knife into his gut every time. She was unravelling and the only thing they could do to help was to find Simon. Where the bloody hell was the boy? There’d been no sightings of note, which made Gus think he’d been abducted. If he’d just skipped off to avoid the biggest grounding of his life, wouldn’t he have returned by now or at least contacted his parents? Gus wasn’t sure, although what he most wanted to do right now was confront the Button family.
A text from Alice had told him she was waiting for him downstairs. He sighed. She’d no doubt seen The Sun’s headlines and was keeping a low profile. Bloody Kennedy! Why couldn’t he have stayed comatose? What the hell was he playing at? Gus passed the lifts and was halfway down one flight of steps when his phone buzzed. It was Compo demanding his presence back up in the incident room telling him the ‘doo doo had hit the fan’.
Gus swivelled and texting Alice made his way back upstairs to wait for her at the lifts. At least she wouldn’t have to brave the corridor on her own.
Before he’d even shrugged his coat off, Sampson, Taffy and Compo crowded round Gus and Alice. Gus waited till they’d each given her a hug before demanding to know what was so urgent.
Compo, grabbed a piece of paper which had his juvenile scrawl in red biro all over it. ‘A girl’s body has been found near Cottingley Ridge.’
‘And?’ said Gus, ‘Don’t they think we’ve got enough on our plate?’
Compo glanced at his sheet again, ‘They say she’s young, similar age to Jenny Gregg and Sue Downs… and she’s been stabbed. Maybe it’s the same bloke.’
Gus sighed. Compo was right: another young girl found with stab
wounds couldn’t be ignored. ‘Right, I’m on my way, come on, Alice. Looks like the Buttons will have to wait.’
‘Eh, Gus,’ said Compo. ‘Initial report indicates that she’s been doused all over with bleach. Reporting officer said you could smell it a mile off.’
Well that was a turn-up. If it was the same killer, his forensic measures were becoming more sophisticated by the minute. Either way, Gus could have done without the thought of another bereaved family hanging over his head. All too often, the weight of a violent death of a child was too much to bear.
64
08:15 Unknown Location
Cold’s seeping right into my bones. Bet they’d snap like an icicle if I fell over… maybe they’d melt and I’d end up a big watery puddle on the floor. I stretch over and grab the lamp from the floor and strike a match. It takes three goes before it catches. Don’t know if the box is damp or if it’s because my fingers are numb. Not like I don’t know how to strike a match, is it? That’s funny… damn funny…
‘Burn… burn… la la la fire fire, fire, Bradford’s burning, Bradford’s burning Fuck no water, fuck no water!’
Wish I had my phone. It gives off more light than this poxy thing. Mind you, the battery would be dead by now and I couldn’t use it anyway. Last thing I need is the coppers tracing it.
‘Da da da – fire engines, fire engines la, la, la, set the fire, set the fire.’
They must have found it by now. They can’t be totally stupid, can they? This’ll do though, as long as the gas lasts.
‘Fiii… re, Fiii…re, Fiii…re, la di la di la di dah!’
I grab a bottle of water, uncaring that it spills down my front as I glug. Brain freeze! Drank too much, too quick! Throat’s sore. Must be the cold. Not many cereal bars left. I’ll have one now and another later on.
‘Pyre, fire, liar, fire, mire, la di la di la la la. Tyre fire byre, la da la da la di dah di la di dah.’
A drip had started during the night. At first it pissed me off, it was like Chinese water torture, drip… drip… drip. I got scared the rats would come so I tried not to go to sleep. Must’ve fucking dozed off, though. Now the drips are louder and faster. Must be pissing it down outside. I laugh. Maybe I’ll build a boat just in case the dripping becomes a stream and then a torrent. Oh, not a boat, maybe an ark. No point in building an ark if I’m the only one on it…
‘The animals went in two by two hurrah, hurrah.
‘The Simon and the Simaroo, hurrah, hurrah.’
What the fuck’s the line about the elephant? Fucking drips! I cover my ears with my hands.
‘Shut the fuck up!’
I’d checked months ago to make sure that no matter how loud I yell or how hard I bang on the pipes or the door, no-one can hear. It’s a strange feeling. Especially when I can hear the bells and the god-awful dripping and sometimes an occasional firework or car back-firing. Fucking cars back-firing – yeah right. Bloody drug dealers letting their runners know the goods have arrived. Shit, the coppers are thick. You’d think they’d have sussed that by now, wouldn’t you?
Wednesday morning now. How much longer can I put up with this cold and the incessant dripping?
Provisions are getting low too. Only three cereal bars left. The other problem is the chemi loo. It was half-full when I swiped it and it stinks! Not sure what stinks worst – me or the loo. Huddling in the sleeping bag for long periods of time concentrates the smells… should’ve brought a toothbrush and deodorant. Can’t fucking think of everything, though, can I? I got the main things, didn’t I? The important things. It’s all over there under the tarp.
Can’t decide whether I should do the last recording or not? Would help if I knew what’s going on. Should’ve brought a radio. Could’ve listened to local radio. They’d have been going on about it all, wouldn’t they? Maybe I’m famous? Well, I will be when I’m done, that’s for sure.
Wish Matty or Jake were here. We’d have a laugh. Mind you they wouldn’t get what I’m doing. Wouldn’t understand. How could they? Everything was hunky-fucking-dory for them. Okay, so what? Matty had lost his mum – fuck’s sake, it’s only his mum, not like he was in pain or owt. Wonder what the parents are doing to find me? – Maybe they’ve gone off for another dirty weekend. Nah, knowing them, they’ll not give up on me. They’ll keep looking. Just wish I knew how long it’s going to take. I’ve had enough, now. Not sure how much longer I can go on. Maybe time to end things!
65
08:55 Cottingley Ridge
There was always something heart-breaking about seeing a young girl discarded like a piece of rubbish. Without fail, it made Gus want to find the killer and strangle them. Seeing the body of dead girl at the bottom of a ditch, a stone’s throw from Cottingley, was no exception. She’d been rolled over the top of the ridge and would have ended up right at the bottom, if it hadn’t been for a gnarled old tree limb that had halted her descent fifty yards from the top. The indignity of this young girl lying head down, legs spread and wearing no underwear, made Gus want to punch the nearest solid object. The slashes across her abdomen intensified this feeling.
Unfortunately, the nearest solid object was his father and no matter how infuriating his dad was, Gus couldn’t vent his anger on him. So, instead, now that Hissing Sid and his cronies had laid out plates for them to walk on, he helped his old man climb down to the body. The bank where the girl lay was quite shallow and meant that Dr McGuire and Gus could just about balance despite the rain-slicked grass. After a quick check of the body to declare life extinct, Gus followed his dad back up the incline, hoping that the older man wouldn’t fall backwards or they’d both end up at the bottom.
When he’d hefted his substantial frame back up to level ground, where Alice waited, Dr McGuire explained his initial findings. ‘Ah’d say she’s been there overnight. Her hair and what little clothes she’s wearing are sodden. Och, and the poor bairn’s been stabbed, as we all saw, although, subject to confirmation at the PM, I’d venture that the stabbing was done post mortem.’ Dr McGuire frowned. ‘She’s also been strangled. The bruising round her neck is extensive. However, the cause of death is unconfirmed. The stink of bleach indicates possible forensic counter measures. Other than that, you’ll have to wait till the PM which won’t be till late this afternoon. I’ve got a wee old lady and a presumed suicide this afternoon first.’ He turned to Gus. ‘Did ye see the wee love heart tattoo above her breast? That might be a good way to ID her if no-one’s reported her missing.’
Swallowing down the retort that sprung to his lips about not telling him how to do his job, Gus bit his tongue. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Turning away from his dad, he hesitated and swung back, ‘How’s Mum?’ He asked, his voice low.
Dr McGuire raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, so now we’re allowed to talk about personal things on the job, are we?’
Gus groaned. ‘Don’t be awkward, Dad. Just want to know that she’s okay. I’ve been busy, so I’ve not had a chance to drop in.’
Dr McGuire leaned in and squeezed his son’s arm. ‘She’s fine, Angus. Nightmares are getting less frequent.’ He moved to take a step past Gus, towards his car, then stopped. He glanced over at Alice who was talking with Sid, her notebook drawn as she wrote. ‘I saw that article in the paper this morning. Am I right in thinking it’s her case?’
Gus gave an abrupt nod. ‘Yeah. We’re keeping it as quiet as we can. If her name stays out of the papers, they won’t suspend her and hopefully she’ll get proven innocent before they have to.’
His dad squeezed Gus’ arm. ‘You look after that wee lassie, Angus. She looks done-in today.’
Gus turned and studied Alice. He had to admit his dad was right. She was pale and looked to have shrunk overnight. Her winter coat seemed to dwarf her already small frame, yet it was the hollows beneath her eyes and the haunted look that really worried him. He really hoped this wouldn’t prove to be too much for her. Time would tell. With a shrug he yelled over to Sid to attract his attention. When the other man approac
hed, Gus asked, ‘You been through her possessions?’
‘Yep, no ID. Whoever rolled her down the hill chucked her bag on top of her.’
‘It’s not so much ID I’m looking for. Was there a note? Was her bag sealed?’
‘Yeah, zipped up. It were only a small one with a purse and some money in it. Nowt else.’
Gus looked down the ravine and sighed when he saw the amount of rubbish that had accumulated at the bottom. ‘Get your lot to bag everything up and to be on the lookout for a note of some description.’
If this was the work of the same killer, chances were he’d left a note behind and Gus didn’t want to risk not finding it. In this climate it’d disintegrate before too long. If it was there, he wanted it found soon. With a final glance round, he walked back to his car, Alice in tow. When her phone rang, he stopped and waited for her to answer, she looked at him as she spoke into the phone, ‘Right Compo, thanks, we’ll look now.’
Gus was already pulling his phone from his pocket, ‘Another video?’
‘Yep. Compo is not a happy bunny.’
They got the footage up on their phones and watched in silence as Simon Proctor cocooned on his bed seemed to be losing it big-time. The time stamp told them it had been taken less than an hour previously. This was getting more and more frustrating.
66
09:25 Redburn Drive, Frizinghall
Gus was glad of the short drive to the Buttons’ house. He’d got Sampson to phone them to tell them to hang on at home because he wanted to interview them about Jenny Gregg’s abduction. It wasn’t ideal. He’d much prefer to take them by surprise, but he hadn’t had any other option than to visit the scene of the unknown girl’s death. According to Sampson, Mr Button had played pop at first, until Sampson had told him that it was either a home visit or a visit to the station, he’d changed his mind and capitulated, agreeing to work from home till lunch time. Ali and his wife would remain at home until after their visit.
