by Liz Mistry
He whistled to Bingo, who had his nose stuck in a bundle of something no doubt odorous and appealing only to dogs. The Wheaten Scottie wagged his tale good-naturedly, his entire rear end wobbling in rhythm, before turning and running back to Gus and Patti. At the back of Gus’ mind was the thought that, one of these days, Bingo would turn over a bigger, more sinister corpse than those of the dead rabbits, mice and foxes he’d found to date. He didn’t share the statistics concerning the number of murder victims discovered by dog walkers with Patti. No way was he going to spoil the precious time he had with her by being all maudlin. Since before Christmas, with everything that had happened with Alice and Sampson, Patti had become more and more of a fixture in his life. Pulling himself up short for allowing his mind to wander, he focussed on the story she was telling him about a kid who’d brought a bag of weed into school.
‘Ranjit searched her locker, found the baggie and trundled the kid along to my office.’ Patti laughed, her cheeks shining in the torchlight. ‘I gave her detentions for the rest of the week.’ Giggling, she grabbed Gus’ arm. ‘But wait till you hear the best part! The dozy cow had actually bought a bag of parsley.’ Gales of laughter halted their progress and, amused, Gus observed her as – still grinning – she mopped her eyes. He loved the way she laughed so unselfconsciously. Her face framed by her hair – loose for once, with a woolly hat covering her jet-black straightened tresses. The red of her hat complimenting her golden-brown complexion. It made her look like a warrior elf from Lord of the Rings. His heart stuttered. This is all happening too fast for me. What if I mess it up like I always do?
‘Parsley – do you believe it? Dozy cow paid ten quid for a bag of parsley. I almost wish we’d been able to make her smoke it. That would’ve taught her.’
Still laughing, she snuggled closer to him. ‘Lucky for her that it was a garden herb, cos if it had been marijuana, I’d have been obliged to exclude her. This way, she got in trouble with her parents, lost face with her mates, but didn’t have an exclusion on her school record. She’ll be pleased about that in five years’ time.’
He loved hearing the stories she brought back from the school she ran. She was firm but fair and he wished his high school headteacher had been more like her. Instead, he’d been stern and unyielding and, in retrospect, more than a bit racist. How things had changed in Bradford – and some of it, at least, was for the better.
‘… and she told us who’d supplied her. Of course, I passed that information onto your lot.’
‘Yeah, heard about that. It was one of Bazza the Bampot Green’s scrotes. The little turd was keeping it for his personal use and selling the herbs instead. We couldn’t link it back to Bazza with real evidence so, as usual, he’ll get off scot-free, and the lad’ll get a slap on the wrists. Hopefully, he won’t try to deal near your school next time.’
Patti shrugged, ‘There’s always another one waiting to take his place. We try our best, but they still manage to find a way in.’
Trouble was, weed was the least of their worries. There were all sorts of new concoctions out there and more and more kids were falling victim to them – Vallies, Spice, Oxy, Ecstasy. You name it, it was on the streets somewhere. Gus squeezed her arm. ‘Come on, let’s get a move on before we freeze.’ He whistled for Bingo and set off again. ‘Sooner I’ve updated the auld yins on Alice, the sooner we can get home and order a takeaway.’
Patti bit her lip and slowed down. Gus took a couple of extra steps before he realised she’d stopped and glanced back. Recognising her shame-faced look, he quirked an eyebrow, ‘Go on. Spit it out.’
The enormous pom-pom on top of her hat wobbled endearingly when she moved her head, avoiding his look. As she shuffled her boots in the sludge, all thoughts of a curry from Aman’s disappeared. ‘Oh no, Patti. Please say you haven’t.’
Having the grace to look a little chastised, Patti scrunched up her nose, stepped forward and linked her arm through his. ‘What was I supposed to say? She asked and she sounded so keen, I hadn’t the heart to say no. We’ll survive.’
Gus had serious doubts on that score. Patti hadn’t had much experience of his mum’s cooking, yet surely, she realised by now that it was a miracle no one in the McGuire household had yet succumbed to a serious case of food poisoning. He scowled, and with an ‘On your head be it’ sort of sniff, marched on.
Passing through the kissing gate onto Shay Lane, the sounds of the woods faded and street lights brightened their path. As they reached the McGuire seniors’ residence, Gus took off one glove. Prompted by an attack on Gus’ mum the previous year, the premises now had state-of-the-art security around it; cameras, motion sensor lights, biometric finger pads to open the metal gates to the drive – everything! Pressing his thumb to the pad next to the side gate, he waited till it swung open and he and Patti, preceded by an over-excited Bingo, entered. As soon as they’d cleared the sensor, the gate swung shut and they approached the house which was well lit in welcome.
Once inside they settled in front of a large fire, a glass of whisky in Gus’ hand and a mug of hot chocolate in Patti’s. Corrine and Fergus sat on a large sofa opposite. Gus smiled. When he saw his parent’s together they always looked like such a mismatched couple. His dad, tall and broad, with a slight sprinkling of ginger through his greying beard. He had the sparkliest, shiniest blue eyes Gus had ever seen. People said he’d inherited his blue eyes from his dad. By contrast Gus’ mum was petite, her tight curls moulded to her skull, her skin a gorgeous golden brown, like wet sand on a sunny day. In fact, everything about Corrine McGuire spoke of sunny days. She leaned forward, ‘What’s the update on Alice, Angus?’
Although her tone was upbeat, she wore her anxious frown and Gus wished he had something positive to say. He hated to see his folks so worried. All afternoon he’d been trying to think of a way to break the news of Alice’s injuries to them. Now, looking at their concerned expressions, his mother’s small hand dwarfed inside his father’s shovel-like one, he realised there was no way to sugar-coat it. He just had to tell them. Alice had become like a second daughter to them over the last few years and they deserved to know the truth.
Desperate not to betray his own emotions, he kept his tone level and matter-of-fact. The brutality of it still made him want to punch a wall, to storm down to the prison and hold someone accountable, however that wouldn’t do Alice any good. For her sake, he had to let the authorities do their thing. So, he explained to them about her injury, her refusal to have reconstructive surgery at this point, the stab wound that damaged her spleen, two broken ribs, a concussion and other minor bruising and lacerations.
‘Surely someone saw something?’
Gus glanced at his dad, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Gus understood his motivation. He too would do anything to protect his mother from unpleasantness, but some things just had to be told. He shrugged an apology. ‘As far as the other prisoners are concerned, not only is she a copper, she’s a bent one and so she’s fair game.’ As his mother’s eyes welled up, he continued, ‘We’ve got her the best solicitor there is and we’ll get her moved. This won’t happen again and, for now, she’s safe in hospital. I’m going to see her tomorrow.’
Corrine McGuire dabbed her tears with a tissue. ‘That poor child. You’ve got to get her out of there, Angus. You’ve just got to.’
Fergus patted his wife’s hand, ‘There, there, Hen. I’m sure the lad’s doing the very best he can.’ And he looked at his son, his eyes less blue and sparkly than they’d been when Gus and Patti had arrived.
Shit. No pressure then! He hadn’t explained fully to his parents about Alice pulling away from him and Nancy. Or about her refusal to see anyone from his team. It was becoming increasingly difficult to help her. Perhaps now she was in hospital things would be easier. He certainly hoped so. The silence sat heavy in the room for a few minutes. Corrine jumped to her feet, ‘The oven!’ and scurried out of the room.
As the unmistakeable smell of burning dri
fted through the open door, Gus turned to
Patti, with an I told you so look.
FRIDAY
2
10:40 Rural Rover train Manchester to Bradford
Jess sighed and directed her best retired school teacher frown at the young man sitting opposite her. It was irritating enough that the train was running late, but being forced to listen to the thrum of bass from the lad’s headphones was just too much. Surprised he’s got any eardrums left! The lad seemed oblivious to her annoyance, his head bopping to some annoying rhythm, his head, no doubt filled with inane thoughts of sweaty encounters or drug deals. She’d looked forward to having this time to read her book, now he’d gone and spoiled it. No more than she’d come to expect from the youth of today. Resigned, she slipped a bookmark between the pages of her romantic novel and closed it. Leaning back against the headrest to watch the countryside pass by, she tried to ignore his greasy blond head bobbing at the edge of her vision. His extra-long fringe flopped over his eyes making her want to cut it off. The train rattled, the lad’s knee bounced and his fingers drummed on the Formica surface, making his empty Costa cup dance across the table top – well, she hoped it was empty.
Jess glared at the offending cup and then at the boy.
His spotty face broke into a lopsided grin and he pulled his headphones off. ‘Just love that song.’ He leaned both elbows on the table and looked straight at her. ‘It’s just brilliant. Wicked. Y’know?’
In the face of his enthusiasm, Jess’ earlier irritation ebbed and she risked a small smile in return. No point in being overly friendly, she didn’t want to be engaged in a long blown-out conversation with a teenager. ‘I probably wouldn’t know the song, love. Nor the band, come to that.’
‘Course you would…’ He laughed. ‘Everyone’s heard of the Beatles.’ And he raised his hand in the air to high five her.
Jess hesitated for a second, until with a small laugh – hoping no one was witnessing this strange encounter – she lifted her own hand to reciprocate. ‘Yes, you’re right. Even I’ve heard of the Beatles.’
The lad nodded, pulled his headphones on again and was soon lost in the rhythm.
As the train clattered towards Rawsforth, Jess hummed along to the now identifiable strains of Norwegian Woods fading into Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.
Helen struggled to settle her two-year-old. Sammy had a slight cold and was tetchy. But, with her husband away, she’d decided to brave the one-and-a-half-hour journey to her mum’s rather than be home alone. Now, she wished she hadn’t bothered. A fluey headache pounded at her temples, her sinuses were blocked and she was sure she’d caught it from Sammy. The only thing worse than trying to entertain a poorly toddler on a train was trying to do it while you felt poorly yourself. The thought that when she reached Bradford, she could hand Sammy over to her parents until she felt better, helped her to hold it together.
After tantrums and tears and grumpy throwing of toys across the carriage, Sammy’s head drooped against her shoulder in a deep sleep as he sucked on his dummy. Helen breathed a sigh of relief and for the first time glanced around at her fellow passengers. Her lips tightened when she noticed that the young man opposite, so engrossed in his phone, was Asian. Would you bloody credit it? She’d left Bradford and moved to Midforth to get away from the Pakis and yet, still in the leafy suburbs, she was surrounded by them.
Well, okay it was only one of them, but still, they weren’t in Bradford yet. Everything about the man annoyed her, from his overgrown bushy beard down to his expensive trainers. God, she hated Pakis – everyone knew you couldn’t trust them but everyone was just too scared to say it out loud. Perhaps spending a few days with her parents wasn’t such a great idea after all. Maybe she should have struggled on at home on her own. Her grip on Sammy tightened a little and she angled her son away from him and tried to look out the window to distract herself. God, she felt rough.
Seconds later, she jumped when he muttered ‘fuck’ under his breath and threw his phone on the table. Almost at once, he snatched it up again and frowning, turned to glare out the window. Helen’s lips tightened. Her baby might only be small, but she didn’t want him hearing that sort of language. Sammy was heavy and, combined with the tension across her shoulders, she thought her arms would break. Pulling her handbag onto her knee she shuffled closer to the edge of her seat. That’s when she noticed the horrible black and white Paki scarf lying on top of his rucksack. Helen glanced anxiously at her watch; another forty minutes to go. After the arena attack, who knew what might be in that rucksack? And why the hell was he fiddling with his phone so much? In a decisive move she stood up, hoisted Sammy up to lean against one shoulder and swung his changing bag and her hand bag onto the other. A quick glance round the carriage and, decision made, she moved nearer to the exit, where the blind man and his dog sat.
Mike pretended to tap away on his laptop, yet all the while he was really eyeing up the woman opposite him. He’d noticed her at the station in Manchester and decided that she’d be a good person to chat to on the tedious journey to Bradford. Of course, her blonde hair, long legs and mini skirt had nothing to do with his decision to find a seat near her… or so he told himself. Truth was, a bit of female company wouldn’t go amiss. His wife was in one of her never-ending moods because the fertility treatment had failed yet again. Didn’t she get it that it was hard for him too? All the jokes about his ‘manhood’, about ‘firing blanks’, his friends who were dads gloating and sneering, his boss tutting when he had to take time off for the endless appointments. It was okay for her; she got all the sympathy, all the kind words. Her boss was fine about the time off, but shit, if he lost his job they’d be in so much debt… and now, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted a kid or not.
An hour into the journey Mike was truly pissed off. Despite numerous smiles and many conversational gambits, the blonde refused to be drawn into conversation. She was perfectly polite but each reply was monosyllabic and uttered in a sexy foreign accent. Her half smile was strained and her eyes seemed to focus somewhere above his left shoulder. Bloody snooty cow! Sitting there gripping on to her purse like she thinks I’m going grab her tits. As if – they’re not all that. Well she can swivel on one!
Jake sat near the carriage door, his guide dog by his feet. Listening to what was going on around him, he patted the dog’s head. He’d counted exactly how many people shared the carriage and was content to pass the journey forming his own images of them in his mind. He knew that the young mother with the grizzly child had moved to sit opposite him. She seemed slightly breathless and he could hear her wriggling about in her seat.
Smiling, he listened as the man with the expensive aftershave, who was tapping on his laptop, attempted to chat up the woman in the high heels with the foreign accent. Her responses were lukewarm, but Jake judged that the young man would not give up. He was right. Laptop man persisted until, finally, Jake heard her cross her legs and change position. He guessed that she’d angled her body away from her would-be suitor. Jake smiled as the women at the back hummed quietly to the tune that escaped from the young lad’s earphones. He liked The Beatles too.
10:55
2018 had roared in with a growl, stuttered around for a bit and by February had settled into a freezing freshness, only to be threatened by The Beast from the East. Of course, the upcoming weather would play havoc with Paddy Toner’s job. Nothing worse than snow and ice on the tracks…
‘Fuck!’
Paddy’s final words as the train hurtled towards the lime green Toyota Corolla that sat abandoned in the middle of Rawsforth Level Crossing were: ‘Oh, for the love of God, who left that there?’
His final actions were to apply the brakes, close his eyes and cross himself.
His final memory was of his wife’s flushed cheeks as she shuddered beneath him that morning – and he knew he’d never see her again.
The train’s brakes squealed and the passengers screamed as they were sent flying from their seats, floun
dering as the carriage began to tip to the right. Metal screeched against metal as the train hit the car and was followed by a muted explosion and overpowering burning petrol fumes… silence.
3
12:00 Epsom General Hospital, Surrey
What had happened to the weather? Gus had expected it to be a bit warmer in the South, but no – Surrey was as damn cold as Bradford had been when he’d left home that morning. Tension played along his shoulders as he walked up the ramp to the entrance of the hospital. The last visit he’d made to see Alice hadn’t gone well and he didn’t have high hopes for this one either. He took the last slug from his Irn Bru, squashed the can and tossed it in the recycling. Having Patti with him last time had given him the confidence he needed. This time though, he was on his own. A pulse beat at his temple, promising him a raging headache to follow later in the evening. This was a new phenomenon for Gus. One that had started only after his previous investigation into the deaths of two teenage girls at a house party gone wrong. It hadn’t only been the outcome of the investigation that had left him suffering these cluster headaches. It had been the loss of two close friends during the culmination of the case.
His fledgling relationship with Patti had begun just before the second most traumatic series of events in Gus’ life and he still wasn’t sure how it had survived it. She had been a large part of his coping mechanism. November had been hellish and had laid him bare. Raging against the world – the job he loved, the people he cared about – Gus was aware that he’d changed. A brittle patina created a barrier between him and the rest of the world and the only people who managed to get under that barrier were his mother and Patti. He hadn’t intended to erect it, it had happened without him noticing at first, and as he became used to it – it sat easily on his shoulders; armour, a way to distance himself from feelings that were too raw and too sharp to examine right now.
