by Liz Mistry
She had a feeling about the Rawsforth thing. Not some abstract Ouija board feeling – but one based on over twenty years of experience. The disappearing foreign woman, the idling car, the false name, they all pointed to a link to the vehicle on the level crossing, but DCI Hawes saw it differently. He’d told her she was letting her imagination run away with her. Cheeky bastard! She flung herself down on her seat and pressed the intercom, not for the first time that morning. ‘Is that footage here yet?’
The paramedics had arrived within half an hour of the first phone call – a miracle really – but they’d been in the area. They took the names of the passengers, false ones included, yet by the time the officer had been free to take their initial on-scene-statements – a mere half hour later – Rose English AKA Izzie, had vanished. Mickey had access to the initial passenger statements and she had her own notes. What she needed now was access to the statements from other possible witnesses; passers-by, other drivers, cyclists. She needed to find out where that woman had gone.
A few things from the first statements had caught her attention. One was the false name, the other was the way the other passengers had said she kept looking around her. Little darting glances – definitely edgy. Macho man Mike had said she was rude to him, but both Jess – the teacher – and Jake – the blind man – had said he was annoying the girl. Mickey was curious to see what her demeanour had been like at Manchester Victoria station.
The door burst open and a uniformed officer strode into the office, face flushed, carrying a USB stick in one hand and with a file tucked under her other arm. ‘Got the CCTV footage you wanted, Ma’am.’ She slammed the door behind her and lowered her voice. ‘Kept it on the QT like,’ she said, tapping her index finger on the side of her nose.
Mickey sighed. Why did everybody have to be so bloody melodramatic? You’d think they’d knock that out of them at training. Not like they were working on an episode of Line of Duty was it? She pointed to her computer, ‘Have at it.’
Within seconds, Mickey was looking at a nervous young woman in her late twenties, walking through Manchester Victoria station to the ticket machines. ‘She paid for that ticket by card. You’ve got the transaction time – get the details for me.’
The officer noted Mickey’s instructions in a notebook and Mickey sighed, ‘I mean now. Right now. Chop bloody chop. We’ve a missing woman to find.’ Where was the bloody melodrama when you needed it? That was the problem with today’s PCs – they were inconsistent. As the officer, red faced and tight-lipped, turned away to set the search in motion, Mickey paused the recording and zoomed in to the bridge overlooking the machines. Five people were lined up along it seemingly observing the concourse below. Were they looking for their missing woman? Maybe, maybe not, but it was certainly an option. One that needed following up. She waited till the PC, Afzal, if she remembered rightly, turned back to the screen before saying, ‘See if you can ID any of them. Get IT to help you. I want their movements traced to see if they followed her.’ When the PC got on her phone promptly, Mickey allowed herself a small smile. Training, that’s all that was needed, proper on the job training without pussyfooting around with all the time-wasting niceties. Afzal would make a good copper in the end.
Mickey zoomed in to the concourse and to the people milling around. ‘Get the tech team to do facial recognition too. I want to know if any of them followed her to the platform and got on the cross-country train. Also get them to backtrack as far as they can. I want to see where she came from. How did she get to the station? Did she get off a train? Which train? And when?’ PC Afzal conveyed the instructions over the phone and all but stood to attention. Mickey nodded at the young woman and, when Afzal was nearly at the door, she said ‘Good work, Afzal. We’ll make a decent copper of you yet.’
Afzal paused hand on the door and turned back, grinning widely. When she spoke, it was in a firm voice, ‘Anwar.’
Mickey frowned. ‘Sorry?’
‘My name is Anwar. Kaneez Anwar. I answer better to the correct name,’ and before Mickey had a chance to respond, she left the room
Mickey grinned, ‘Well, I’ll be damned. That girl’s got balls.’ Still smiling she turned back to the screen and replayed the footage. Zeroing in on the woman’s face, Mickey saw terror and nervousness. In slow motion, it was clear that her eyes were darting around as if assessing the danger around her. The sooner the techies got back to her the better.
10
11:35 Keighley and Worth valley Railway, Halifax Road, Keighley
‘So, amid the chaos caused by The Beast from the East we have a local story that demonstrates one of the benefits of this inclement weather. Police in Keighley attribute the discovery of a major drug haul to the ferocity of the storm. Dense blizzards, freezing temperatures and high snow fall led them to discover a major marijuana production factory that would otherwise have remained hidden. How? – The intense heat from the factory’s lights resulted in the snow melting from the roof, causing gutter damage to a neighbouring property. The homeowner fortunately saw the significance of this and contacted the police. As one officer quipped ‘The Beast from the East has frozen marijuana distribution in the Bradford district. Beast from the East, One, Bradford drugs gangs, Zero. You’re listening to Bradford City Broadcasting in the middle of the storm.’
The call had come in as Gus and Compo were sharing a bacon butty in the incident room. Well, Gus had one bacon butty, whilst Compo had two – both of which were slathered in ketchup, some of which had made it onto his Kinks t-shirt and his right cheek. Gus had thought he could use the time since his meeting with Nancy to bring Compo up to date on the situation with Alice. However, every time he opened his mouth to begin, he visualised the look of utter devastation on Compo’s face. He didn’t want to replicate the despair that had crumpled the lad’s face when he’d heard that, as well as losing Sampson, Alice had been imprisoned. The kid had been through enough and it was only in the past couple of weeks that he had seen a slight return to normality for Compo.
Gus could’ve kissed his mum, who regularly delivered the slightly over-done buns and cookies that Compo so loved. She took the time to talk to him and had invited him over for Sunday lunch with Taffy. Seemed that whether Gus liked it or not, his mum had adopted his team as part of the family. He loved her even more for that. She was a remarkable woman and right now, he wished she was here to soften the blow for Comps or at least to give him one of her comforting hugs.
After discarding many attempts, he’d finally managed to form an opening sentence in his mind. Compo, we need to talk about Alice. He tried not to see any similarities between that sentence and the title of a well-known book about a child psychopath, but failed abysmally. This was shit. None of those stupid leadership courses prepared you for this.
‘You’re quiet today.’ Compo said, licking the ketchup off his fingers, ‘Summat up?’
Just as he opened his mouth, determined to just get the first sentence out, a text came in. Bloody hell! Why hadn’t he switched the damn thing off? He looked at it and grimaced – Murder – in this weather – nice! ‘Come on Comps. Got ourselves a crime scene. Dead woman in Keighley.’
Gus mentally abraded himself for his relief at postponing the inevitable ‘Alice’ discussion with Compo and, to assuage his guilt, threw Compo the keys to his Landover. He steadfastly ignored the niggling voice in his head telling him he would live to regret that decision. ‘You can drive.’
As Compo caught the keys in greasy hands, Gus squashed a groan. Why hadn’t he waited till he’d washed his hands? Seeing the wide grin that lit up his face, Gus sighed. Fuck’s sake, he’s like a damn two-year-old on the dodgems. ‘Don’t forget your wellies and coat. It’s brass monkey weather out there.’
Fifteen minutes later, Compo and Gus were driving – not in his spacious Land Rover – but in Alice’s Mini, heading towards Keighley. The radio a gentle accompaniment in the background to Compo’s tales about a computer game involving both dragons and aliens a
nd, seemingly, plenty of sound effects – lovely!
‘…Blizzard conditions set to hit the North, Yorkshire grit sets in…’
Gus’ lanky frame was squashed into the seat and he thought his knees would seize up if they didn’t reach the crime scene soon. Bloody practical jokers in The Fort had noticed his road tax was out of date. Why the hell did they even bother to check? Yet another bloody thing to think about!
‘… promise of worsening conditions over the weekend…’
The buggers had clamped his wheels and ticketed his windscreen, and as a result he’d been forced to use Alice’s Mini. She’d left it in his safe keeping when she got arrested before Christmas, but as things had come to light, Gus had deserted the vehicle in the nether regions of the staff car park. Out of sight, out of mind. Now, he’d had no choice but to use it as there had been no pool cars available.
‘… gritters at the ready with the army on standby…’
What the hell was Compo doing? He’s got the wipers on so bloody fast they’re more of a hazard than the damn snow. But the lad was in heaven. Gus didn’t know whether to be miffed or amused that he seemed to prefer the aubergine Mini with its conspicuous floral adornments to his masculine red Land Rover. ‘This car’s about as much use as a bloody Tonka Toy,’ said Gus, well aware that he sounded petulant. ‘We’ll get stuck in the snow before we’re halfway there. When I get my hands on the idiots that clamped my car, I’ll kill them.’
Gus’ phone rang – Gabriella! Again! Bloody Hell, this was the sixth time already today and he was getting sick of it. He’d get the damn stag party organised, didn’t need her nagging him. He ignored the call, realising he’d pay for that decision later.
‘…keep travel to a minimum for…’
Compo grinned, ‘Always wanted to drive Alice’s car. Can’t believe I’m doing it.’ He turned from Oak Lane onto Keighley Road, ‘Hey Gus – it might be a Tonka Toy but it’s got one significant advantage over the Land Rover.’
‘Hmmph, what’s that?’
‘Valid road tax!’ Compo laughed and clicking his fingers, repeated his statement, punctuating each word with a small pause. ‘Valid. Bloody. Road. Tax.’
Gus threw him a dirty look and glared out the window, allowing the mesmerising snow to soothe his annoyance. It wasn’t Compo’s fault that he had been too preoccupied to renew his road tax, but to be honest he couldn’t give a rat’s arse. Compared to some officers, his transgression was mild.
‘… up to six inches of snowfall…’
The Mini did surprisingly well, considering the atrocious weather conditions. The snowflakes were huge as Compo pulled off the road into a pub car park just down from the Worth Valley Railway station on Halifax Road. With meticulous care, he parked without mishap between a police car and a large blue Range Rover with a Scottish flag flying from the roof. Whether they’d be able to drive out again was another matter.
Gus took in the Range Rover and groaned, ‘Just my luck. We’ve got my dad to contend with as well as a dead body. I was certain they’d find a different pathologist seeing as the body was located in Keighley.’ Gus’ dad – Fergus McGuire – insisted on viewing the crime scene and the body in situ if it was a suspected murder. Gus hoped against hope that Fergus would be on his best behaviour, at least he could be reasonably certain he wouldn’t be in his kilt – Highland dancing classes were on a Friday!
Damn phone again! Gabriella – God, she really needs to get a life and stop bothering me!
Wishing he’d added an extra jumper under his fisherman’s jacket, Gus got out of the car. An immediate chill hit his face and he regretted not picking up his gloves. Bloody weather. Just along the road where the Worth Valley Railway station stood, Gus could see the police cordons; fluttering yellow crime scene tape and police cars, all but merging into the snow drifts. On the opposite side of the road stood a neat line of four terraced houses, some of their occupants braving the cold to observe the police activity across the road, others watching from an upstairs window. Not that they could see much – the body was apparently right inside the station, on the concourse.
In his duffle coat, scarf wrapped round his neck in a python grip with a bobble hat replacing his beanie, Compo looked like a human version of Paddington Bear. Now that it was time to view the crime scene Gus became aware of the other man’s nervousness. The lad’s eyes kept flitting towards the group of officers hanging around near the tape and back to the car as if he’d like nothing better than to hop in it and drive off. ‘You’ll be right, Comps.’
Compo blinked, his gaze once more across the road. ‘You think?’
‘Look, it’s part of the job, just like any other. Just try to bear that in mind. Come on, let’s see what we’ve got.’ Together they trudged through the three-inch snow, Gus conscious of Compo’s slowing steps as they got nearer.
Who the hell had braved the Beast from the East in order to either kill someone or to dump a body? Gus grimaced as the icy breeze penetrated his jacket. Not ideal working conditions. Officers blew on their hands, gratefully accepting warm drinks from the owners of nearby houses. They were doing a grand job of keeping the gathering mob of thrill seekers under control and, hopefully, they’d be taking statements as they drank. Hissing Sid, the head crime scene investigator, was always whinging on about the effects of adverse weather on the state of the crime scene. He wouldn’t be a happy bunny. Not with the continuous flurries of snow and the forecast blizzards. It would be a race against time for his team.
Beyond the cordon at the far end of the railway station entrance, was a group of journalists huddled under huge multi-coloured brollies, all looking sorry for themselves. Gus grinned. Served them right, bloody ghouls that they were! A figure stepped away from the group and began waving. Gus could just about distinguish Jez Hopkins’ way-too-handsome face. Last thing he needed right now was to chat with the damn journalist. Turning away without acknowledging him, he signalled to Compo to join him and the pair of them signed themselves through the outer cordon. Tosser would probably want an update on Alice, and Gus wasn’t about to start chatting to him about that – no matter how jiggy Alice and he had been after the Weston case last year.
Grabbing a suit and bootees from the box at the side, Gus slipped under the crime scene tape, with Compo following. ‘Ready?’
Compo nodded, but Gus could tell from his pallor and the way his eyes darted from side to side, that his officer was anything but fine. ‘Look, this is your first crime scene involving a dead person. Be thankful that the weather conditions make it one of the easier scenes to view.’
On cue, Taffy, distinguishable by his walk from the other suited figures that worked the perimeter of the scene, appeared. ‘The boss is right, Comps. Imagine if it had been a floater bloater, or a decomposed body in a house with the central heating turned right up or…’
Sure that Taffy was about to reference a fire victim and keen to avoid anything that would bring Sampson’s death to mind, Gus interrupted. ‘Aw, shut up Taffy. Show a bit of respect here. We’ve got a victim who no longer breathes, no longer goes home to her family and no longer enjoys her life. We don’t need to go into the nitty gritty of other crime scenes.’
Compo’s face blanched even more and Gus cursed himself. Not only had he been too tough on Taffy, but he’d also made it worse for Compo. Some damn role model he was. He raked his fingers through his dreads once, sighed and turned away to get into his suit, all too aware of how inadequately he was supporting Compo. When he looked back the lad was ready. With his overall hood tight around his face he looked like a round-faced kid as he said, ‘I’m ready, Boss.’
‘Course you are.’ Gus pulled his own hood up. ‘Forget about the body for a minute. Instead, think about why we’re here, what we’re doing. Why we trawl into work. Why we pull all-nighters. Why we don’t stop till we’ve done everything we possibly can.’ He waited till Compo nodded before continuing. ‘It’s for them, isn’t it?’ He again waited for Compo’s nod. ‘So, wh
en we go over into the tent, we’ll hold it together because it’s not about us. It’s about them, those we represent. We owe it to them.’
Compo exhaled and his lips twitched in a fleeting smile. ‘Don’t worry Boss. I won’t let you down.’
If Alice could see him, she’d be so damn proud of him.
Taffy, wrapped an arm round Compo, ‘Course you bloody won’t, Bruv. We got this.’
Gus looked at the two DCs and for the first time realised that despite everything they’d gone through before Christmas, his team could still hold itself together… even without Alice. He smiled. ‘Don’t want to interrupt the bromance, but we’ve got work to do.’
He’d only taken one step through the well-trampled snow, when a familiar ring-tone cut into the cold air.
‘Shouldn’t you get that, Gus? Might be important.’
Gus glowered at Compo. ‘Bloody Gabriella! – mithering me about Daniel’s stag do again.’
