by Liz Mistry
Corrine understood her son so well. He was hurting, not just because of this, but because of everything with Gabriella and his sister Katie. He had every right to hurt, but she was also aware that her son was very like her in that his past hurts left lasting scars. She could only hope that the many mental scars he’d suffered over the past few years, combined with the ones inflicted by her secrecy, wouldn’t create a gulf between them. That was something she’d be unable to bear.
Alice, as familiar with the senior McGuire house as she was with the one she shared as a house mate with Angus, made the coffee and suggested they sit outside. Now, sipping it, Corrine braced herself for the interrogation about to take place. Although Alice was compassionate, she was a police officer first and foremost, and there was something in the professor’s eyes, behind his thick glasses that told Corrine he could be both insightful and incisive. Earlier, she’d waved her husband off, saying she would prefer to do this on her own. Now, she regretted that decision.
As if prearranged, Carlton took copies of the sketches from a folder he had put on the table and placed the sketch of the group of children with her standing apart from the group in front of Corrine. ‘Can you tell me a little about this sketch, Corrine. You don’t mind if I call you Corrine, do you?’
Eyes fastened on the image, Corrine shook her head. ‘No, no that’s fine.’
‘We know that it was your foster brother Rory Robertson who sketched this. Was he your friend?’
Corrine frowned, frustration making her bite her bottom lip. ‘I … I didn’t really have friends – not then. I had a difficult time in foster care because I became selectively mute for a long time. I also have memory gaps for long periods throughout my childhood.’
Carlton sipped his coffee, a benign smile on his lips when he replaced his cup on the saucer. ‘Do you remember Rory?’
Corrine nodded. ‘I spent a lot of time with him. He didn’t mind that I didn’t speak, and I enjoyed watching him draw. He was so good – so talented.’ Her hands were kneading together now, her eyes, so like her son’s, darting about the garden.
‘Did he protect you from these children?’
Corrine looked down at the photo that Carlton had tapped with his forefinger. And a raw snort came from her mouth. ‘No, he didn’t protect me. Rory was as much of an outcast as I was – anyone who was different was and he was different because he’d rather draw than do anything else.’
‘So, you stuck together, yes?’
Corrine nodded, then her breathing became shallow. ‘We did, for a time – then something happened and…’
Carlton replaced the first sketch with another one. The one with a naked woman hanging from a hook. ‘Is this why you were separated? Why you were moved to a different foster carer?’
Corrine, seemingly unaware of the tears trickling down her cheek, shook her head from side to side as if trying to dislodge something from her brain. ‘I just can’t remember.’ She looked right into Sebastian’s eyes, almost as if she’d forgotten Alice was there too, and sobbing said, ‘I know Rory’s mum hung herself – I know that. I know that because I was told. I just don’t remember it – there’s so much that’s just a blank and it scares me.’
Sebastian Carlton studied Corrine McGuire for a long time, his expression kind, his eyes thoughtful. Taking off his glasses, he used the edge of his T-shirt to wipe them before speaking. ‘I think you need to address these gaps in your memory, Corrine. I can help you to do that. I know an excellent psychiatrist trained in trauma and releasing memories through hypnosis. I think it’s time, don’t you?’
Corrine bit her lip, her gaze drifting off into the distance. Would it make her freer to know the truth or would it cripple her? She knew enough about psychology herself – after all, she was a child psychologist – to be aware of both the benefits and the risks. In agreeing to open up her past like a tin of beans to be picked out and examined one at a time, she could drown herself in years of therapy. Now that the lightening had struck leaving her exposed, Corrine was aware of those suppressed memories festering inside her head. The uncertainty of them robbed her of sleep, stole her peace of mind and taunted her. She thought of her rock – her Fergus – big and bumbling and gruff – he held her together and he would do so through this. Really, she had no option. A smile fluttered through Corrine’s tears as she exhaled, pulling her shoulders back a little. ‘Yes, I think you’re right, Professor Carlton. I think you’re right.’
‘Good.’ The professor jumped to his feet. ‘In the meantime, you’ll think about the people in that sketch – see if you can come up with any names. I need details of the school you were at, anything that will help us locate some of these people’s present whereabouts. I’ll be in touch.’
‘You don’t think one of these people is responsible for sending me these sketches do you … of killing that poor girl?’
With a shrug and a wave, Carlton began trotting off down the yard back to Alice’s Mini, leaving Alice to reply. ‘We don’t know, Corrine – we’re still just exploring every lead open to us. You being sent those sketches and then one being placed at the crime scene is too much of a coincidence to be ignored.’
Corrine grabbed the younger woman’s hand. ‘How is he, Alice. How is Angus?’
Alice shrugged. ‘Not good, Corrine. Not good at all. He needs time.’ She turned to go, then turned back. ‘He’ll be removed from the investigation, you know. He’ll hate that.’
Corrine nodded, understanding the unspoken inference of Alice’s words. Gus would react even more badly to being removed from the case and that would mean more … possibly much more, time before he’d feel able to process his mother’s revelations. More time for the hurt to concrete itself in his heart.
Chapter 20
Bradford
‘I just can’t risk it, Gus. That’s all I’m saying. We’re under too much scrutiny after the scandal last year with DCS Bashir’s sudden resignation and the scrutiny that elevated you from a bog-standard plod to the sex symbol of Bradford Police.’
Gus wasn’t quite sure which of Nancy’s statements to address first. He’d never considered himself a bog-standard plod – not even when he’d still been in uniform – and he certainly didn’t think the leaked photos of him and Patti on social media the previous year made him a sex symbol. But those assertions were secondary to what was coming. He’d not considered the possibility of being removed from the case, so wrapped up in all the sketches and possible serial killer stuff as well as his mum’s huge secrets that he hadn’t taken the link to its logical conclusion. Not until Alice had sat with him last night over a glass of his finest malt and in a roundabout way pointed out the inevitability of it. Still, he’d hoped for a few more days before Nancy trounced him from the case. He remained silent. The Nancy he knew – the one who was his friend rather than his boss would hate doing this, but that didn’t mean he’d make it easier for her.
Exasperated, she slammed her hand down on her desk and padded bare foot round to the chair that sat adjacent to Gus. Leaning forward, her action giving Gus more of a view of her décolletage than he was comfortable with, but well aware that this was not a distraction tactic. Nancy was wholly unaware of her appearance; she simply chose not to succumb to the grey suit brigade that younger female officers adopted, but revelled in bright colours and feminine flowing dresses, even if her style seemed out of place in a police station. ‘Look Gus. I can’t say it any other way – I can’t make it any clearer – You’re off the case. Alice will take over as SIO – she’s more than ready for the experience…’
Gus opened his mouth to make a protest. He was resigned to being ignored, but as expected, Nancy wafted his words away before he’d even uttered them. ‘Give in gracefully, Gus. I’m officially taking you off the case.’
She shrugged and allowed the emphasised word to sit between them before continuing. ‘I’ve given the same instruction to DS Cooper. That you are officially off the case. I don’t want your name appearing on any �
� I repeat any – documentation other than your hand-over report to the new SIO. Got it?’
Aware that this was the best he was going to get, Gus got to his feet, and made to leave the room. With his hand on the door, he paused, as Nancy, in her ‘friend voice’ spoke again. ‘Cut your mum some slack, Gus. She loves you and like any of us, she’s allowed her secrets … doesn’t mean she’s betrayed you because she didn’t let you in to a horrid part of her life. As ever, she was protecting you. Phone her. Let her know you love her.’
The muscles on Gus’s jaw worked and he hesitated. Then, without responding, he opened the door and walked out.
Chapter 21
Bellbrax Psychiatric Facility, Scotland
Iwonder what that woman wants – sniffing around like a hunting dog – a bitch! Something’s happened and I need to do something. It’s been weeks since his last visit and now she’s here – all the time smiling and chatting and pretending to be on our side. I keep remembering the photo with her eyes scored out and I know something’s wrong. But I’m stuck in here. I can’t help her. I just can’t help her – I can’t even help myself. It’s a catch 22 situation: I want him to come back so I can find out what he’s done, but I don’t want him anywhere near Rory. It kills me to see him being all nice to Rory. Makes me want to smash his head in, but I can’t do anything. Not in here. If I do attack him, he won’t be allowed back, and I won’t know what’s happening.
Poor Rory doesn’t like him. He doesn’t like anyone really. He puts up with me and Bernie but anyone else makes him nervous. I know what my visitor’s game is. He gets off on seeing Rory in such a state. That’s why he insists on sitting near Rory, touching his drawings. Rory doesn’t like his things being touched.
My fists clench and I know I can’t withstand the urge for much longer, so I make sure my nails dig right into my palms, that’ll help – a little. Not for the first time do I curse my drunken maudlin ramblings. Why did I tell them about Rory and Coco? Why did I tell them about his exhibition and the sketches of his mum? He kept asking questions and I was too drunk to realise how obsessed he’d become … how unnatural his queries were. I described those beautiful drawings to him, not realising that he did not see the poignant beauty of them, the reverent way Rory drew them, the exorcism of Rory’s childhood trauma but rather he enjoyed the macabre death scene, in the same way he enjoyed poking his brother’s hamster to death.
Before I can stop myself, my fists are out slamming into my head, battering this fucking useless skull of mine. Thump, thump, thump!
I know who took the sketches. I should tell someone, I know I should, but I can’t – no one would believe me. Nobody trusts me and I don’t deserve to be trusted.
Thump, thump, thump. I can’t work out what he wants with them. Why would he take them? The only thing I really know is that whatever he does, it will be bad. He kept talking about an end game.
Thump, thump, thump.
Why can’t I work it out? What’s his endgame? What is he going to do? It’s bad though. It’ll be bad and I don’t want him to hurt her. She escaped. She got away from all the badness and she deserves to be happy. I don’t want him to hurt her. This has always been my problem – who to protect? – and now I can’t protect anybody.
Thump, thump, thump.
I need to sleep. I need to rest so I can think. So, I can work out what I can do to save her, so I do what I need to do.
Thump, thump, thump.
I hear Bernie shouting, now they’re running towards me – two of them. It’s all my fault. I’m to blame for everything that’s happened. Bernie yells something, but I can’t hear what he says. I look at my fists and they’re all smeared with blood. My knuckles ache and my head throbs, so when they sedate me, I welcome the drift into oblivion, for it’s the only peace I get these days.
Chapter 22
Bradford
Nancy had made the correct decision for the investigation and Gus was well aware of that fact. He also had complete faith in Alice’s ability to lead the team. None of that stopped him being frustrated and angry. He’d been sidelined in an investigation that had personal significance for his family, and he hated that he was excluded. If his mum was under threat, then he really needed to be a part of it, but if he wanted to gain any concessions from Alice he’d have to tread carefully. The fact that Nancy had consistently stressed the word ‘officially’ told Gus that she was not going to send him to purgatory for the duration of the case, but the implication was clear that he would have to stick to the outskirts of the case.
Entering the incident room, Gus was aware of an immediate increase in the buzz of activity from his team. While Compo dived behind his wall of electronic equipment, Taffy tried, less successfully to shrink himself behind a PC screen. Alice observed him from her desk, her expression wary. The only person in the room who seemed unaware of any sort of tension was Sebastian Carlton.
‘Ah, there you are, Gus. Just spent an enjoyable morning with your delightful mum. Such a pleasure.’
Adjusting to the other man’s intense scrutiny and the smile that almost outglared his clothing today, Gus just nodded. But Carlton wasn’t done. ‘Hear you’ve been replaced as SIO by the delightful DS Cooper. Good move I’d say, now we can really get this investigation started.’
Gus glowered at the man, what the hell did he mean? Was he insinuating that Gus had been tardy in executing actions for the investigation? Seemingly unaware that he’d just insulted Gus, Carlton continued. ‘Yes – now you and I can head all over the place doing unofficial things and ferreting out info we can feed back to the official team. Much more efficient to have someone not constrained by official protocol by my side. Much more efficient.’
Alice cleared her throat. ‘I am here, Prof. You can’t be going on about unofficial stuff when I’m here.’
Turning to Alice, Carlton clapped his hands. ‘Oh, so sorry, Alice. I just got overexcited for a moment. Of course any unofficial business Gus and I get up to will be kept from your ears.’ He pressed his index finger and thumb together and in an affected twisting movement, he drew them across his mouth. ‘Lips sealed.’
Stunned by the byplay, Gus wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but as images of him and Sebastian Carlton as a male modern day version of Thelma and Louise flooded into his mind, he shuddered. ‘For Goodness sake, Carlton. I’ve not been sacked. I’m still a police officer, still an investigator – just not on this case. Doesn’t mean I don’t have to follow the rules.’
Carton winked at him and then giggled before turning back to continue his study of the sketches on the back wall. Shit, the idiot thinks I’m saying that for Alice’s benefit. With a sigh, he walked over to Alice. ‘Looks like you’re in charge, Al. Do you want me to move out of here?’
Alice’s dark eyes met his, assessing him. Gus refused to flinch under her intense scrutiny. Finally, she spoke. ‘No, no I don’t expect you to move out. I also don’t expect you to be an active investigator in this, but I’m also wise enough to realise that your expertise could help move the investigation forward. You have no official capacity in this room. You will investigate whatever else lands on your desk. You won’t have access to any evidence so your name is not on the chain, but I’m not going to exclude you.’
This was more than he’d expected. And he appreciated it. ‘Thanks, Al.’
She shrugged. ‘I get to use your brains, and I’ll get all the credit when we catch this fucker. Win win, I’d say.’
She handed him a file. ‘Just got a call in about a suspected murder near Keighley. This one’s got your name on it.’
Gus accepted the file with a shrug, flipped through the meagre contents and winked at Alice. ‘Laters?’
Chapter 23
Bradford
Gus hated domestic murders. They were the worst kind. Usually the result of overindulgence in alcohol, drugs, or a combination of both and he was dreading this. He pulled in behind the CSI vans and waved to the uniformed officer who was skilfully runni
ng the cordon. As he approached it, ready to sign himself into the crime scene, Gus saw a familiar figure, hands in pockets and shoulders slumped standing nearby. For a moment he couldn’t place why the man was familiar, then it struck him. It was Hissing Sid. He looked very different without his CSI suit on. Gus moved over to stand beside him. ‘What you doing here, Sid? Day off and can’t keep away from work, eh?’
Sid’s face didn’t break into its normal smart-ass grin as he turned to Gus. Instead, he nodded towards the bungalow. ‘That’s one of my team in there.’
For a second, Gus was confused. Why was Sid outside if his team was inside? Then it dawned on him. ‘You mean the victim is one of your team?’
Sid nodded. ‘Yep. Been on the job for over fifteen years and never have I had one of my own as the victim. Plenty of your lot, and that were bad enough, but never one of my own.’ He exhaled. ‘That’s why my team’s not here processing the scene. But…’ He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t not be here, not for one of my own, like. Erica Smedley had been on the team for a few years. Couldn’t just leave her on her own, like.’
Gus remembered Erica. He hadn’t taken to the woman – a bit too full of herself for his liking – but that was immaterial right now. Standing in respectful silence for a few moments, he and Sid observed the comings and goings from the front door of the small bungalow. Finally, Sid spoke again. ‘She didn’t turn up for her shift nor did she answer her phone. That’s not like Erica, so I came over.’
