Uncommon Cruelty (a DI Gus McGuire case Book 4)

by Liz Mistry

  His breathing slowed, but the pain across his shoulders that had started the previous night didn’t. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen them. Fuck, this was sore. Bitch must have been heavier than he’d thought. Gone and pulled a damn muscle now. He pressed his upper back against the rough wall and sighed with relief as the pain subsided under the pressure. Now he could concentrate. Puffing on his cigarette, he went over the steps he’d taken to dispose of Julie the previous night. The car he’d used was a pool car, so it was unlikely they’d link the car to her. He’d made sure he muddied the plates before he picked her up and didn’t clean them till he’d got rid of her. CCTV up by Cottingley Ridge was non-existent, as was street lighting. Bradford city preferred to focus on the inner-city areas, despite the fact that a fair amount of drug-dealing and dogging went on up there. He’d edged the car up to the grass bank and when he’d been sure no-one was about, he’d gone around to his boot, taken out a tyre jack to make it look like he was replacing a tyre and double-checked the area. When he was sure he was alone, he opened the passenger door and dragged the little bitch out of the car and dropped her on the grass before pouring the entire bottle of bleach over her. Soon as it was empty, he rolled her over the edge and chucked the bottle after her. He’d worn gloves, so he should be okay. If he hadn’t heard the sound of that stupid dog barking and the owner calling it, he’d have double-checked she’d gone to the bottom. As it was, he’d had to hotfoot it back to the car and drive off. When he’d got back to The Fort he’d signed the car in for a deep clean, like you do when someone’s puked up or pissed in a pool car. He grinned; no, he’d covered his tracks. Now all he had to do was bide his time and hope they’d lump Julie’s death in with the other girls and that lad’s abduction.

  Fuck though, that little bitch could have scuppered things for him. Trust her to get caught on a tree branch. Bloody hooker hooked on a fucking twig. Typical. He flicked his fag butt into the road and spun on his heels to get back to work. It was then he realised he’d missed the one very large obstacle that stood in the way of his continued freedom. His chest shrivelled as a dart of cold pierced it, the throb across his shoulders intensified and started to travel down his arm. Fuck, crap, fucking crap! How the hell could he overcome this? Instead of heading up the steps, he turned and ignoring the blaring of car horns as he ran across the road without looking. He went into The Kings Arms and ordered a double whisky. He needed to get this sorted out. A quick glance at his watch told him he’d have to wait for a few hours at least. He only hoped the press wouldn’t get wind of it before he’d had time to act. Also, that DI Fuck McGuire wasn’t on the ball.

  68

  10:30 The Fort

  Compo was jumping up and down like a Jack-in-the-box when Gus and Alice walked through the doors. Gus didn’t have time to hang up his coat and grab a coffee before the computer nerd spoke. ‘We’ve found the bikers!’

  Gus poured his coffee, took a long sip and waited for Compo to continue. The look on Compo’s face told him he’d got something good. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and for once his hands were absent of food. ‘The vice lot came up trumps. I inputted my stuff into the dark web and came up with a–’

  Gus waved a hand in the air. ‘Comps, I have spent a horrid hour with the parents of a missing boy, seen a dead teenager in situ at the dump site and interviewed another teenager who may have key information for us and all of that I’ve done without benefit of caffeine. Do you think you could cut the techie stuff and just share the highlights?’

  Compo dunked a biscuit into the mug of coffee he’d helped himself to when Gus made his and Alice’s. Gus’ eyes narrowed. There was a definite overdone darkness to the biscuit in question. ‘That one of my mum’s biscuits?’

  Compo, in his haste to reply, sprinkled some crumbs over the carpet tiles. ‘Yeah, she popped in earlier. Said she’d just made them because she thought you looked peaky.’

  Gus was pleased to hear that. If his mother had taken up her atrocious baking hobby again, that was a sure sign she was on the mend.

  Perhaps realising that he’d overstepped the mark by helping himself to the biscuits, Compo pointed at a large container near his computer station. ‘There’s plenty left.’ He held out his half-eaten one to Gus. ‘Here, have this.’

  Alice laughed as Gus grimaced. ‘You’re alright there, Comps. You just eat them.’ Not needing telling twice, Compo stuffed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and helped himself to another, before continuing.

  ‘Long story short. I IDed a minor member of the chapter. That’s what they call the regional groups – chapters – like in a book, you know?’ Heading back to his beloved computers, Compo continued. ‘Turned out he was under vice’s radar for summat else. Used to be a member of a rival gang and one of the undercover team reached out to him and “extracted information”.’ Compo made air quotes with his fingers, ‘Anyway, he gave us the chapter clubhouse details. It’s in the middle of Ilkley Moor down a track you can hardly see. Look.’ He got a satellite image up on his screen and pointed to a rectangular shape in the middle of the moor. Using his laser light, he traced the path from the main Moor Road up to the building. ‘It’s easily accessible by motorbike, not so easy any other way.’ Compo did a swivelly little dance that made his bottom swing from side to side.

  Hope I don’t have to witness that again. Gus looked at Compo. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  Compo marched over to his table and began rummaging through his paperwork, muttering under his breath as he did so. At last, he gave a yelp and pounced on a sheet of paper which he handed to his boss.

  Gus took the paper between his index finger and thumb to avoid the unidentifiable smear that covered most of it. Peering through the grease he made out a name, Mickey Swanson, and a number.

  ‘You’ve to phone Mickey. They’re planning on taking them down tonight.’ And Compo flicked his wrist so that his fingers made a loud snapping sound. ‘Yipppeee!’

  Reluctant to burst Compo’s bubble, Gus felt obliged to ask, ‘Any word…?’

  Compo’s face crumpled, ‘Nope, can’t get through the encryption. Getting closer, mind. We’ve managed to break through a few layers, but it’s just taking time… too much time.’

  Gus squeezed Compo’s shoulder, ‘You’ll get there, Comps. I know you will.’

  69

  11:30 The Chaat House

  Gus hadn’t been able to concentrate in the incident room. It wasn’t that it was noisy, it was just that it was claustrophobic in there – like a lift whose sides keep closing in until you are suffocated. He’d have liked to have gone for a jog, but he couldn’t afford the time. So, after he’d made an appointment to meet up with Mickey Swanson at one o’clock, he grabbed some files and left The Fort. Now, here he was, gazing at the files and not registering a damn thing. His mind kept wandering back to his interview with Simon Proctor’s parents that morning. He couldn’t get it out of his mind.

  He could remember that little bundle being carried from the blazing building as if it had happened yesterday. He remembered the adrenalin rush he’d experienced when they’d realised the child was alive. He’d been tiny. Small for his age. Gus’ mind rolled on and he saw the firefighter staggering out of the building, this time carrying a bigger bundle. He could hear Amina Rose’s fiancé scream, when he realised she was dead. It had been the biggest tragedy of his early career. Social services had come under scrutiny for not identifying the foster parents as paedophiles sooner, as had educational establishments. From what he could remember, Amina’s fiancé had tried to take out a civil case against social services, blaming them for the death of his wife, but Gus had moved to Bradford soon after and lost track of the developments of the case.

  At the time he’d been working with DI Sandy Panesar and he was aware that she’d visited the boy whilst he was recovering in hospital. Perhaps it would be worthwhile getting in touch with Sandy. They’d lost touch after he moved over to Major Crimes in Bradford.

  P
icking up his phone, he flicked through the contacts. There she was. Without knowing quite why he wanted to contact Sandy, he dialled and was pleased when she answered, her voice as cheery as he’d remembered it. After he’d identified himself and they’d exchanged pleasantries, Gus told her about his case. Sandy had read the highlights in the paper and was amazed when Gus revealed that Simon Proctor was the little boy from the fire.

  ‘What can you tell me about him, Sandy? Anything, you know, we’re clutching at straws here.’

  Over the phone he heard her sigh, ‘You know, Gus, I visited that little boy for months, every other day. Nobody was entirely sure what he’d gone through at the hands of his foster parents and then when you add the trauma of the fire on top… I was heart-sorry for him.’ She sighed again and Gus could hear her taking a drink. ‘He was hard work, though. At first, he wouldn’t or couldn’t speak. Then, when he did start to speak, it was as if he’d just blocked it all out. He wouldn’t talk about anything that happened before the fire. It was as if he’d decided the fire had erased his past and he was born from the flames… a bit like one of them what-chama-call-thems.’

  ‘Phoenix?’

  ‘Yeah, one of them. When I heard he was getting adopted, his social worker suggested it would be better for him if I stopped visiting. Didn’t want him forming too strong a bond with me when he had a new mum to bond with. Don’t know what happened to him after that.’

  ‘Well, now you do.’ said Gus.

  ‘Hmm, poor little blighter. You’d think he’d have been through enough in his short life. You’d think the fates would just let him be.’

  Gus nodded, then realising she couldn’t see him said, ‘What did they say about the fire in the end? Before I was transferred they were unsure of hotspots and suchlike.’

  ‘Oh yeah. There was a bit of confusion about where the fire started and where the bodies were found, but in the end, they reckoned the kid and the social worker had tried to escape and that’s why they were found away from the other kids and the foster parents.’

  As Gus hung up, he felt that he hadn’t learned anything new. Simon Proctor had had a shit life to date and now, with his disappearance, Gus reckoned it was a whole lot shittier for the kid. Where the fuck was he?

  70

  12:15 Unknown Location

  Lights on again. I peel the blanket down and pull my jumper up so the camera can see my torso. My ribs are sticking right out. They’re going to break through my skin and spill my guts all over the joint. That’d look great on camera, wouldn’t it? Like some sort of zombie film or summat. Not had a hot meal since I waved my mum and dad off nearly a week ago. They’d been full of… ‘Behave now, won’t you Simon?’, ‘We can trust you, can’t we?’… and like the dutiful son I pretended to be, I nodded and smiled and…. lied through my teeth.

  Thinking of my teeth – yuck, my gob stinks. My teeth are all furry and when I scrape my nail down them, yellow gunge comes off. Smells fucking foul. Need a toothbrush. First thing I’ll do when I get out is brush my teeth. Maybe have a bath… that all depends on everything going to plan… no reason why it shouldn’t, though.

  As soon as they’d mentioned the trip – dirty weekend more like – I knew this was my big chance. For almost a year, I’ve been working towards it, quietly, little by little. Setting things in place… and this just gave me the opportunity.

  Didn’t really care about Sue Downs. She’d been a bitch. Laughed in my face when I asked her out. Who’d she think she is? – fucking Beyoncé? Made her pay in the end. Just like I did before. Now, though, I’ve got the chance to finish off what I’d started… let all the bastards have it.

  I’m starving. Can’t face another cereal bar. My gut’s gurgling like fuck. Hope I don’t have the shits again. Chemi loo won’t hack it and then there’s the issue of wiping. Fucking gross. Had to use bloody empty crisp and snack bar wrappers. Not the most soothing for an already stinging arse and not the most hygienic either. Fingers smell of crap. Have to pull my sleeve over my hands when I’m eating. Fucking grosses me out!

  Wednesday today. Double PE, English and History. That’s what a Wednesday looks like in real time. Not today though. Today is D-Day. Or rather tonight will be. This is the most crucial part of his entire plan. If everything’s in place like I’ve planned then I’ll be home and dry before the weekend. If not… well… I’ve always got plan B.

  71

  13:00 Alibi Bar, Sunbridge Wells

  Mickey Swanson wasn’t immediately recognisable when Gus entered the Alibi bar and Lounge. The dimmed lighting and charismatic nooks and crannies packed with comfy chairs and seductive lighting made it an unlikely place for a rendezvous with a member of the vice team. He went up to the bar and was dazzled by the too bright smile of the enthusiastic bar tender, a lad who looked about twelve, but carried the boyish confidence and looks of a younger Cliff Richard. Ordering a non-alcoholic beer, Gus turned and surveyed the room. There was nobody who looked remotely like the image of Mickey Swanson that he’d formed in his own mind. With a nod to the lad, he dropped a fiver on the bar, lifted his pint, and on the pretence of searching for a quiet corner, he wandered round the room. Nope, no sign of Swanson, so Gus settled into a low chair near the open fire, stretched his legs out in front of him, and began checking his emails on his phone.

  A gentle cough made him glance up and, assuming that the middle-aged woman standing in front of him wanted to take the chair opposite, he pulled his legs in and sat up straight with a smile. ‘Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.’

  The woman frowned as if she didn’t quite believe him and then put her hand on the back of the chair, pulling it closer to the fire and sat down. Gus sighed. Life was too short to argue about the smaller things in life, so he began to heft himself back onto his feet, when she spoke. ‘I take it you’re the golden boy, Gus McGuire, everyone’s talking about.’

  Gus stopped and turned so he could see the woman more clearly. She wore, what Gus thought of as an FBI suit; Fitted, Black, Indistinctive. If she hadn’t known his name, he’d have assumed that she worked in one of the offices round the corner, or a bank. She sat back and crossed one leg over the other, resting her calf over her opposite knee in what was normally a male stance. Gus’ mouth quirked. He got it now. This woman was playing with him, challenging him for assuming that Mickey Swanson was a male. His grin widened and he pointed to the bar. ‘I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I don’t want to be shot down in flames.’

  Mickey giggled in an unexpectedly girlish way and shook her head. ‘Hell, I think we can dispense with the formalities, I’ll have a whisky.’

  Gus stopped himself from raising an eyebrow. They’d really clamped down on officers drinking on duty and he’d assumed that, like him, she’d opt for a soft drink. Her grin widened as she seemed to catch what he was thinking. ‘I’ve worked three days straight with only a couple of hours rest in all that time. If the bastards want to discipline me for having a dram, they can stuff their job right up their collective arses.’

  Gus laughed and went to get her drink. By the time he returned to the table, Mickey Swanson had settled herself with her head leaning on the headrest, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly ajar. A gentle snuffling sound drifted to his ears as he plonked her glass on the table beside her. She opened her eyes and with remarkable presence of mind reoriented herself, before grabbing the glass and taking a small sip.

  ‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do about the Fugitive Bandits. Our source has given us the location and I think we need to hammer them quick. Last thing we want is your two blokes heading off into the deep blue yonder on their Harleys; and we want to get our hands on them for the MDMA as well as the firearms distribution. Our snitch says they’re storing the stuff in a shed at the back of the clubhouse. However, we know that as well as dealing in guns, they carry them and we know they’re not afraid to use them, as they’ve taken out members of rival gangs before now. Usually because they thought their masculinity was being dou
bted.’ Mickey rolled her eyes, making her opinion quite clear. ‘So, do any of your team want in on the raid? I hear you’re arms trained, as is your DS Cooper – that’s if she’s still with us?’ She tilted her head to one side and winked. ‘It’s your call. We can draft some over from another team; however I thought you might like to get in on the action…’ she paused for a beat before adding, ‘for a change.’

  Gus bit back a smile. If she realised just how close to the action he’d been over the past few years, she wouldn’t be saying that. He was about to tell her so, when he caught the twinkle in her eye It was becoming clear that Mickey Swanson knew a lot more than she let on. She must have her finger on the pulse if she’d heard about Alice, for that was on a need-to-know basis for now. Not giving anything away, Gus said. ‘I’ll speak to DS Cooper, but I’m definitely in. I saw the recording of what those bastards did to that girl and I want to be there when they go down.’