by Liz Mistry
On top of all that, he hated hospitals. Hated the clinical smell, the echoey hallways and the despair that lurked like an anxious patient. A sign pointed him in the direction of ward eighty-five. He took a deep breath and registered that his heartbeat had lowered a notch. That was good. The anger bubbling just beneath the surface had to be controlled if he was going to be of any use to Alice. He stepped into the lift and pressed the button.
When the doors slid open, releasing him onto a sterile pale blue painted corridor, he walked out and looked along its length. Alice, he’d been told, was in a side room. His lips tightened. He didn’t need to ask directions because near the end of the corridor, a prison officer sat outside a room. Bastards had even put a fucking guard on her door. What the hell? Did they expect her to make a great escape with her arse hanging out of a hospital gown and a drip attached? Idiots! She’d had her spleen removed, her ribs were broken and what they’d done to her nipple was just vile. Alice was no more able to make a bid for freedom than his mum was likely to provide an edible Sunday lunch.
Well-aware that he was being touchy, Gus grimaced. It was procedure to have one officer outside, but still it rankled. Alice was a police officer but the adage ‘innocent until proven guilty’ didn’t seem to apply to her.
From the flurry of activity further along on the main ward, Gus surmised the doctors were doing their rounds. White coated kids with stethoscopes dangling round their necks like a fashion accessory, were huddled round an older woman, their gazes intent, leaving their mentor’s face only to dart down to the charts they carried in their hands. As he walked towards the officer, he tried to adjust his expression. It wasn’t the officer’s fault, he was just doing his job. Seeming to sense Gus’ presence, the man stopped swinging on the chair, lowered its legs to the floor and stood up, his arms pulled out to the sides as if to emphasise his bulk. With a curt nod, Gus flipped open his warrant card and moved towards the closed door. The officer, grinning like an arse, stopped him, fat fingers moving in a ‘gimme’ gesture. ‘I’ll take that.’
Whilst Mr Arsey inspected his ID with unnecessary dedication, Gus gazed through the small window in the door. Alice was lying on a bed her head turned away from him. She had a drip and was attached to various monitors with blinking lights and beeps. Her hair was shorter than Gus had ever seen it. She’d taken a razor to it, for she now wore it as a buzz cut. With a sheet pulled up to her chest, she looked frail. Gus followed her frame down the bed and a spurt of anger made him close his eyes and count to ten. There was another officer in the room with her! What the actual fuck?
4
12:45 Rawsforth level crossing
Snow fell, getting steadily heavier as DCI Mickey Swanson, short hair spiked around her head, her ill-fitting suit just a little too tight, looked at the train wreck from the embankment. The cries of a baby reached her ears and the smell of smoke was stringent. She was glad she wasn’t too near it. Two ambulances were parked, their back doors open as the paramedics attended the people on the ground. Thank God it hadn’t been a busy train.
It wasn’t usually her remit to attend this sort of incident but the car that had been positioned on the level crossing was owned by a known dealer. As soon as the number plate had been run, it had come to the attention of Mickey’s vice team. Not the dealer’s usual sort of stunt and he had reported the car stolen last week, still, it needed to be checked out. On impact the boot had sprung open revealing its contents which necessitated Mickey’s presence – a few thousand pounds worth of heroin. She sighed. That was a drop in the ocean, but better locked up than polluting the streets of Bradford and Leeds.
There had been one fatality… the train driver. The engine had smashed into the car, pulverising it and pushing it beyond the level crossing, trapping it under its fender in the process. Catholic by birth, Mickey’s fingers did a quick dance from forehead to chest and to each shoulder and she cursed – she’d not been to church in decades yet old habits die hard.
According to the crime scene officers, there was evidence that the train driver had applied the brakes: however the distance between his first sighting of the car after the train rounded the bend, had been too short for any effective preventative action. Poor sod! They’d removed his body and Mickey was glad she wasn’t responsible for the death call this time. Meanwhile, the CSIs were working against the elements. A layer of the falling white stuff was already covering the upended carriages and they were struggling to erect a cover over the Toyota in order to preserve evidence.
Body turned side on, she half ran, half slipped through the sludge to the bottom of the incline. The train’s two carriages lay at an angle against the embankment. Chunks of metal had peeled from the carriage sides as they’d scraped against fences and pylons before skidding to a halt. Broken glass scattered the tracks and pungent smoke filled the air. Further down the track, away from the train’s carcass, a small group of dishevelled people had gathered. There weren’t many of them and she’d been told they’d only suffered minor injuries, so they’d soon be on their way to get checked over. Hopefully before this weather got any worse.
Mickey walked towards the two police constables who were keeping the log and a quick glance round told her they’d secured the area well. Crime scene tape sealed off an inner cordon and the passengers were now positioned between it and the wider, outer cordon they’d created. Beyond the level crossing, in the distance, she saw other officers re-directing traffic and questioning the small crowds that had gathered.
‘Good job, you two. Scene’s secured nicely. Now, go and find out what the good folk of Rawsforth have to offer.’
As they left, a paramedic carrying a clip board, approached. Mickey showed the paramedic her ID. ‘What’s the damage?’
The medic looked over at the engine. ‘Well, as you’d expect the train driver’s dead but other than him, they’ve been lucky. No other fatalities. Mainly minor bruising and cuts. Here’s a list of their names and contact details. We’re taking them into Bradford Royal Infirmary, if you want to catch up with them there.’ She blew on her hands, ‘Oh, hey… you might be interested to know that one of them is accusing the young Asian lad of being a terrorist. I’ve made a note of it on the back of that list.’
Mickey snorted. If there had been the merest hint of this being a suspected terrorist incident then the super ops team would have been all over it like a swarm of bloody bees. Besides… really…? She looked around at the vast expanse of rapidly whitening countryside, punctuated only by the train line and a couple of minor roads. ‘Terrorist my arse. What terrorist would target a country train in the middle of nowhere?’ She headed towards the CSIs and identified the manager. ‘What you got?’
‘Driver’s dead.’
Mickey waved her hand in front of her in a ‘get on with it’ movement. ‘Yeah, tell me something I haven’t been told fifty times already.’
The CSI rolled her eyes and pulled her mask from her lower face and in a mild tone said, ‘No need to be a cow bag, is there? I’m telling you what I know which, incidentally, is what you asked for.’
Mickey exhaled, ‘Yeah, yeah you’re right. I am a cow bag. Bloody HRT is doing me in. Let’s back space. Apart from the deceased train driver and the presence of a car on the level crossing with a shed load of heroin in the boot, have you got anything?’
The CSI grinned. ‘We’ve almost processed the car. You’ll get that info when you get it, okay? We’ve got a backlog of lab work, so this,’ she waved her hand to encompass the surrounding crime scene, ‘will just have to join the never-ending queue. Nobody reported breaking down on the level crossing so I’m assuming it was deliberate.’
Mickey thought so too. She just couldn’t work out why though. Who would leave a car chock full of heroin on a level crossing in sheep-shagging land? Didn’t make bloody sense. She turned her gaze to the train and frowned. Who in their right minds would want to derail a cross country train? What possible motivation could there be for that? She glanced down at
the list in her hand and then over at the line of passengers who were now being helped up the embankment to a waiting ambulance. Maybe one of them would have the answer for her. She certainly hoped so. Her thought process was interrupted by the CSI.
‘This your boss coming?’
Mickey turned and saw a tall man in a suit walking towards her. Although she didn’t recognise him, she did recognise the type and she swallowed a frustrated sigh. She could do without a pissing contest right now. ‘Never seen him before.’
The man raised his arm and waved. ‘DCI Swanson?’
Mickey walked to meet him, her face schooled to blandness. ‘And you are?’
He smiled a Colgate smile and winked, ‘I’m your fairy godmother.’
Bloody tosser! Mickey kept her expression neutral though she suspected what was coming. ‘Sorry?’
‘Just my little joke. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Hawes from the anti-terrorist unit. This scene is very sensitive, so I’ve come to take over.’
Ten minutes previously, Mickey had been fed up with being lumbered with another crime scene, now she was just as determined to fight for it. ‘This scene has not been identified as a terrorist incident. In fact, it seems unlikely that it is.’
Hawes held his hands out in a placatory gesture. ‘Now, now, don’t get all agitated. Just leave all this to the experts. You head back to Bradford and I’ll take over here. We need to involve the bomb squad and liaise with the arson team. It’s all very technical and we have protocols in place.’
Mickey flushed. ‘I head up Bradford’s vice unit and… you know what?’ She didn’t wait for his reply, but instead lowered her voice, so he had to lean in a little to catch what she said, ‘I’m well aware of all the protocols. Got it?’
Hawes’ face melted into toddler’s sulk, bottom lip protruding, brows pulled together, lips turned down. Mickey shook her head. Why the hell did these youngsters feel the need to patronise women who’d sucked eggs for longer than they’d been out of nappies? Okay, okay mixed metaphors, but she knew what she meant. Deciding there and then not to embark on a pissing contest, she took a step back and pasted an insincere smile on her lips, ‘You can have the scene. I’ve seen all I need to.’ No need to tell Hawes that she was off to speak to the passengers because that, she was sure, was where the answers lay – not in some imaginary terrorist attack.
By the time Mickey arrived at the Bradford Royal Infirmary, the passengers had all been released with minor injuries and were sitting together with cups of tea, in a room adjoining the Accident and Emergency waiting room. This room was usually designated for officers to keep prisoners needing medical help who may disturb the other waiting patients, but today it served to offer privacy to the still shocked passengers whilst they were interviewed.
After introductions, Mickey looked round the group. ‘I bet you didn’t expect this when you got on the train this morning, huh?’
The woman with the toddler on her lap mumbled something that elicited a tut from the older woman beside her. Glancing between the two women, Mickey noticed that the younger woman was glaring at the Asian lad sitting opposite. Remembering what the paramedic had told her earlier, Mickey sat next to the Asian lad, and leaned forward, arms resting on her knees, her gaze directed towards the woman who was bouncing the baby, in an attempt to keep him from crying. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that?’
The woman paused her bouncing, resulting in the baby’s face crumpling into a cry not dissimilar to the expression Mickey had seen earlier on DCI Hawes’ face. The woman, a Helen North, spoke in a venomous tone. ‘I said, most of us didn’t expect it,’ and she looked pointedly at the man Mickey had identified from her list as Munir Rehman.
Munir slouched in his chair, and seemingly oblivious of Helen’s toxicity, was texting frantically. However, when he looked up and saw her staring at him, his brows drew together for a second before throwing his head back, releasing a humourless bark. ‘What’s up?’ He sat up straight, ‘Oh, I get it. An abandoned car and a train wreck means the Paki must have done it? What? You think I’m a fucking terrorist or summat, do you?’
Mickey stood up. ‘Mr. Rehman that is not what we think.’ She turned to the others. ‘There was no indication of a detonator of any kind. The impact of the train hitting the car caused the damage and, as yet, we have no explanation of why the car was left there.’
The other young man, headphones hanging round his neck, cleared his throat. ‘Who in heaven’s name would want to terrorise the sheep on Rawsforth Moor like? It’s obviously some stupid prank gone drastically wrong. It’s that poor driver I feel sorry for.’
Everyone nodded, yet Helen still looked unconvinced and continued to eye Munir with suspicion whilst attempting to twist her body away from him. This was thwarted by the fact that her baby seemed to have taken a liking to Munir and held out his chubby hands in his direction, saying, ‘Da-da’
Mickey noticed a few of the passengers smirking and could empathise with them. Perhaps the mother needed to learn a few things from her baby. Knowing that they’d been interviewed by officers prior to her arrival and conscious of how weary they all looked, Mickey was keen to let them go home. She did a quick head count and frowned, ‘Is someone missing? I was told there were eight of you and I’ve got eight names here, but there are only seven.’
The older lady looked up, revealing a bruised cheek and a neat row of stitches above her eyebrow, ‘Oh, you mean the blonde? The one with the foreign accent? I don’t think she came to the hospital with us.’
The blind man nodded. ‘You’re right. She climbed up the embankment whilst the paramedics were checking the baby. Think she got into the car that was idling at the top.’
Mickey noticed the guide dog that lay placidly beside the man and checked his name on her list; Jake Brown. ‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mr Brown, but I’m wondering how you know this?’
Jake laughed. ‘I’m used to people forgetting that sight isn’t the only sense we have. The car tooted and seconds later she brushed past me, I smelled her rose perfume. She mumbled sorry and I recognised her accent. She also dislodged some stones as she went.’
Mickey looked at him. ‘Well, Sir – that answers that query doesn’t it?’
She turned to the others. ‘Did any of you notice her going?’
No-one had. ‘What about the car, Mr Brown heard. Did any of you see it?’
No one, bar the blind man, seemed to have noticed the foreign woman who’d given her name as Rose English leaving the group and all at once Mickey’s sensors were on high alert. The name Rose English was clearly a play on English Rose and was more than likely a false name. She’d get it checked. She’d also get CCTV from Manchester Victoria checked too and any from the Rawsforth area around that time – not that it would do her any good without a make or model for the car, but who knew what would come in handy further down the line? She had a feeling that the train wreck and the idling car were all to do with this mysterious woman, but for now, these witnesses had nothing more to offer. ‘Okay, I’ll let you get home. Someone will come to take an official statement tomorrow. Just let me check I have your correct details. I have the blonde down here as Rose English, does anyone know if that’s right?’
The cocky man in a suit who reeked of aftershave, laughed. According to Mickey’s list, his name was Mike Borthwick. ‘Well, that’s not the name she gave me on the train.’
‘No? What name did she give you Mr Borthwick?’
‘Izzie. That’s what she told me her name was. Stuck up cow!’
Having had her fill of testosterone-loaded males for one day, Mickey could sympathise with the missing woman if this tosser was bothering her. She frowned and put an asterisk next to Rose English’s name and wished that Rawsforth Moor had some semblance of ANPR coverage. She was really interested in the car that was idling at the top of the embankment so soon after the train crash. The death of the train driver made this a murder investigation, despite Hawes’ hopes of a juicy terrorist
incident landing in his lap. Still, wasn’t really in her remit though. The only tangible link to Vice was the drug haul in the boot of the car and murder trumped Vice every time.
Mickey was reluctant to pass this over to the anti-terrorist unit just yet and wondered if she could pull a few strings to get Gus McGuire on the case. She’d been impressed by how he’d handled himself when they’d worked together before Christmas. Shame how that whole thing panned out for him and his team though. Anyway, as far as she could see, Hawes had even less claim on this case than she did. Besides, her interest was piqued now and if you couldn’t follow your gut as a DCI, then when the hell could you? She’d stick with this one for a while.
5
12:55 Epsom General Hospital, Surrey
Hospital radio was getting on Alice’s nerves – cheesy songs intermingled with doom and gloom reports about the supposed Beast from the East – like it was going to come to much.
‘Now to take your mind off the reports from the Met office that the UK is set to receive the worst weather in decades here’s Cliff Richard and ‘Summer Holiday’ to keep you thinking past the storm.’
Idiot – half the people in this joint wouldn’t bloody make it till supper time, never mind summer time.
Alice sensed his presence at the door before he’d even pushed it open. She’d been preparing herself for this. It had been inevitable that Gus, her knight in shining armour, would hot-foot it down to Surrey as soon as he heard about her change of plea. She’d managed to convince Nancy to keep him away in the aftermath of the attack, pleading fatigue and pain. Now she’d have to face the music and, somehow, she’d have to convince him to back off. She’d have to persuade the man she loved like a brother that she’d betrayed his trust. It was that single thought that pierced her heart. By the end of this visit, Gus would believe she was a dirty cop. Worse even than Knowles. She had no choice at all, so she hardened her heart and stripped her face of all emotion as she heard the door click shut behind him and his feet padding across the room.
