Uncoiled Lies: a stunning crime thriller

by Liz Mistry

  Jacob and her mum had been forced to make the biggest adjustments in their new life. In Poland her mother had enjoyed being a housewife, now here in Bradford she’d been forced to take on a menial job. Serafina knew she hated it. Her mother was an educated woman. She’d been a teacher before Jacob had arrived, but now, speaking little English, and needing to contribute to the household income she’d taken the only job she could find. Serafina knew it caused conflict between her parents. She’d heard her mother crying and her father’s harsh tones as he berated her for her selfishness. Once or twice, she thought, he’d even hit her mother. She loved him, of course she did, but at the same time it scared her that he could be so harsh. In Poland, he’d been away on business a lot, but now they were all packed together in this small space and he, too, was forced into a job he hated.

  Her alarm clock beeped and, pushing the covers down from under her chin, Serafina grimaced. Ouch! The bruises from that idiot at The Delius last night were making themselves felt. She sighed. She’d enjoyed going to The Delius on a Thursday night. It was something for her to do and was a welcome break from her studies. She was desperate to go to university and her parents and her two elder brothers worked so hard to make it happen for her. Sometimes she felt guilty that they were all contributing to the family income whilst she gave nothing. She knew they all wanted her and Thomas to have the same opportunities as they would have had in Poland if the recession hadn’t struck.

  It had been a huge decision to move from Gorce, from their extended families, but when her father’s business dried up, they’d had no choice. Now, he worked nightshift on a zero hours’ contract at Farmer’s Boy on Cemetery Road, cleaning the huge vats that processed the peas and other vegetables. Her mum’s cleaning job didn’t bring in much – but it was permanent. Jacob’s interest in motorbikes had paid off for him and he’d got a job at Champion Motor Spares on Leeds Road. He’d blagged his way in and shown how much he knew about engines and cars and had just been made permanent. Luka, her middle brother was happy to shelf stack at Pakeezah halal supermarket on Leeds road and was after a bar job at The Delius too. Maybe the cute guy behind the bar, Imti she’d heard the bouncers call him, would give him one if she asked. She sensed he liked her; and she liked him.

  Then she grimaced. Best not go back to The Delius for a while, not with that idiot on the loose. She touched her bruised chin and frowned. She’d seen him before. Knew he’d been watching her for a while now and she knew who he was. She really needed to avoid him. She’d heard the rumours from the Polish girls at school. He was bad news and she knew he’d not think twice about using her family to make her do what he wanted. Best if she kept a low profile for a while.

  The previous night she’d briefly considered confiding in her brothers but she knew how headstrong they could be and felt that they’d go all-out to protect her regardless of how powerful Anastazy Dolinski was. They’d all heard the rumours of his real identity and knew that he had contacts within their community both in Bradford and in Poland. They’d heard rumours of the sort of things he did and they made Serafina’s blood run cold, but that wouldn’t stop her brothers trying to protect her. No, her best bet was to avoid him and hope and pray that he’d gradually forget about her. Maybe develop a new fixation. She lifted the small crucifix she wore round her neck and, stroking it with her fingers, she sent up a quick prayer.

  08:00 The Fort

  ‘Do you like it then?’ asked Alice, startling Sampson, who was staring at her Mini Cooper. She was used to people staring at it; after all, it was a particularly virulent shade of green. Damn near fluorescent really. To crown it all, she’d added a series of aubergine coloured flowers to the intricately painted black ones that intertwined down the doors, up over the roof and down to the bonnet. She loved it. It was like an extension of her personality. She’d always felt like the odd one out as a child but, as an adult, she’d decided to embrace her individuality. She worked very hard at not letting other people’s opinions affect her.

  Sampson walked slowly round the car, studying the effect from all angles. ‘It’s different,’ he said at last.

  Alice pouted, ‘You don’t like it? Well, I suppose it’s an acquired taste. Hop in.’

  The gangly officer sighed as he opened the passenger door and bent his frame to squeeze through the opening and into the seat. Stretching his legs, he leaned back. ‘Bit roomier than your old one.’

  Alice’s old Mini had also had a garden on the paintwork but, with that one, she’d restricted herself to black flowers. The purple flowers were a new addition and had taken her ages to apply. She’d looked on it as therapy after the darkness of The Matchmaker case in February and was really chuffed with the outcome. She slid into her seat, inserted her key into the ignition and said, ‘New design.’

  Sampson grinned. ‘And does this new design include the purple pansies?’

  Alice stopped mid-way through fastening her seat belt. ‘They’re not bloody pansies, you idiot.’

  Sampson raised an eyebrow. ‘No?’

  Alice pulled her seatbelt over her coat and clicked it in place, ‘They’re lilies! You’re a peasant, Sampson, you know that?’ She started the engine before adding, ‘But at least you’re not an arse like our new sidekick.’

  ‘You got that right. Brighton’s a prize dick. He got himself in trouble last night mouthing off about the victims in front of Sadia. Word is she gave him a right earful.’

  ‘That’s not good.’

  ‘Nah, and then he had the nerve to make comments about how Sadia got onto the team.’

  Ouch, thought Alice, that wouldn’t have gone down well with Sadia. She wasn’t surprised Sadia had told him off because she was very touchy about her dad at the best of times. ‘Yeah well, don’t worry about him. Gus has got his mark. He’ll deal with him.’

  Sampson nodded and as Alice screeched out of the parking lot, he crossed himself, mumbling something about insurance under his breath.

  Alice smiled enjoying his discomfort. ‘Now, how do you want to handle this? Tell you what, we’ll start with Bazza and I’ll take the lead, okay? Then you can take the lead with the girls.’

  He nodded with a sigh, ‘As long as you stay nearby. Those girls are always touching me.’

  Alice laughed. She could see why they’d want to wind him up. He looked like a teenager with that endearing blush. Besides which, he was tall, cute and probably one hundred per cent more attractive than most of the johns they put out for. ‘Experience with the working girl then, Sampson?’

  ‘Yeah, mainly booking them and trying to get them in the cells overnight without losing any item of clothing.’ He put his head to one side and added, ‘Mine, not theirs, I hasten to add.’

  She laughed and in a mock American accent said, ‘Don’t worry, babe. I’ve got your back.’

  ‘Actually, it’s more my front I’m bothered about’ and he nodded towards his groin.

  Alice sucked in a breath. ‘Ah, I see what you mean. Never had that problem with them but I have just the thing you need.’ She brought the car to a screeching stop outside a kebab shop on Duckworth Lane and reaching behind her, she came up with a large UK road atlas. ‘Keep that on your lap during the interviews. That’ll save you.’

  Sampson laughed and got out of the car to join her on the street. ‘Not got satnav, Alice?’

  ‘Always like to have a backup, Sampson. You never know when you’ll need a good solid road map.’

  Sampson followed her as she strode along the street.

  ‘Over here.’ She nodded towards a small alley between the kebab shop and the Asian clothes shop next door. ‘He lives above the shop.’

  ‘Is the kebab shop his, then?’

  ‘Yeah, he rents it out. Same with the clothes shop, I’ve heard.’

  The alley was dank and carried an overpowering stink of urine. As they walked, Alice tried to avoid taking a breath as she dodged the puddles. The stairs leading to Bazza Green’s official residence were crumbling. Alice,
who’d had occasion in the past to visit both his gym and his ‘penthouse’ in Manningham was surprised by how neglected his flat looked. Clearly, he ploughed all his money into his business enterprises. The paintwork on the door was peeling and the knocker hung by one screw. There was no doorbell so Alice pulled her glove off and rapped with her knuckles, keeping her hand poised to knock again should Bazza be slow to respond. However, within seconds she heard the sound of an internal door opening and muttered cursing that increased in volume as Bazza neared the door. He opened it a few inches and peered out at them, then with another muttered curse, just loud enough for them to hear, Alice presumed, he yanked it open fully and stood there, proud and arrogant, in all his unkempt glory. Alice met his gaze, not bothering to hide the disgust she felt at the sight of his shrunken, pulled woollen waistcoat and stained trousers.

  Angular but stooped, Bazza ‘The Bampot’ Green was of average height. He was in his fifties and bald and grey in equal measure. When he smiled, Alice noticed that his few remaining teeth were brown and jagged. His fingers were yellow as he beckoned them through and even from this distance she could smell his BO which vied with the smoke and grease that seemed to burst from the flat in a fetid cloud of filth.

  With an exaggerated bow, he gestured for them to enter. Alice, wishing she’d thought to wear her old anorak rather than her new winter coat, marched in after him, her face impassive. The heavy, smoke-filled air and the fact that Bazza had already discarded one cigarette and lit up another confirmed Alice’s impression of a chain smoker. A wave of pity for Trixie rolled over her. Was it really worth the free rent to bed this disgusting creature?

  Once in the small living room, Bazza gestured to a stained sofa and, whilst Sampson took advantage of the offer, Alice shook her head, wary of contaminating her clothing any more than was absolutely necessary. She began to wander idly round the room, taking in her surroundings. The conglomeration of cheap knick-knacks combined with the peeling, yellowing flock wallpaper and faded floral three-piece suite told her that Bazza hadn’t done any decorating since his mother died a few years previously. She wandered over and stood in front of the gas fire that was on full burn. ‘You heard about Trixie then, Bazza?’ she asked.

  Bazza sighed. ‘Yes, very sad. One of your delightful little PC’s came with the news in the early hours of this morning.’ He shook his head. ‘Very sad indeed. A little cracker she was. Amenable.’ He glanced at Sampson and winked, ‘in every way.’

  By the time he’d glanced over to her to gauge her reaction, Alice had banished the disgust from her face, replacing it with a disinterested expression as she walked over to the heavy wood sideboard that ran along the back wall behind Bazza’s chair. Objectionable little scrote, she thought taking a deep breath which she immediately regretted when smoke clogged her throat, making her cough. Damned if I’ll ask him for a glass of water, I’d rather choke to death than risk consuming anything in here. She waved a hand at Sampson telling him to take over, until she’d recovered.

  ‘I see you’re heartbroken,’ said Sampson, deadpan.

  Bazza leaned back in his chair and flicked ash towards an overfilled ashtray. For a moment, he craned his neck to observe Alice who, having recovered from her coughing fit, was looking at the collection of tat on the sideboard. With a shrug he brought his attention back to Sampson. ‘No, not heartbroken. That would be a bit too strong a word. More like… dissatisfied.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Alice, standing directly behind him, forcing him to strain to see her.

  ‘She’s a business asset or, rather, she was. Now, she’s a loss. Causes me a lot of hassle you know? Finding a new girl and all that.’

  ‘You know pimping is illegal, don’t you, Bazza?’ said Alice, lifting a dirty ornament off the sideboard and looking at the ‘made in China’ label on the underside, ‘Nice stuff you’ve got here.’

  ‘Now, there’s no need to be nasty. I’m co-operating because I don’t like murder. I’m not a pimp. No. The girls come to me to be looked after and that’s what I do. Look at the flat I gave Trixie and Jessica. Rent free it was, though of course I’ll have to reconsider that now.’

  ‘Surely not completely rent free, Bazza?’ said Sampson ‘We heard there were conditions attached. You know, free rent for services rendered?’

  Bazza lit another cigarette, threw back his head, and laughed. ‘Now, you’ve got that wrong son. Trix and me, well, we had a relationship. I treated her right. Took her to my penthouse, bought champagne and such like and we enjoyed ourselves.’

  Alice muffled a laugh that had Bazza whirling round in his chair, ash flying from his cigarette as he moved. ‘That’s not the word on the street, Bazza. Word is that you got the enjoyment and she anaesthetised herself on the free booze to get through it.’

  He screwed up his face and turned back to Sampson. ‘She’s got a nasty tongue in her mouth, that one.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Sampson, straightening up. ‘Let’s get to business, shall we? We want to catch this guy and we wondered if you’d any thoughts on the matter?’

  Bazza shrugged and leaned back, narrowing his eyes against the haze of smoke he exhaled from his nose. ‘Well, seems to me that after that business last week it’s obvious. Some sicko punter’s out there offing the whores and you’re wasting time talking to me. I’m bereaved, I am. You should have more respect.’

  Behind Bazza’s back Alice pretended to stick her fingers down her throat. Little weasel had the cheek to pretend to be grieving over Trixie. She was glad she’d given Sampson carte blanche to take over. Somehow or other he’d managed to establish a rapport of sorts with Bazza… and, with Sampson asking the questions, she was at liberty to explore the room.

  Sampson raised his eyebrows, ‘Hmm, last week when you were questioned about Camilla Grant’s murder, you claimed that Shahid Khan was behind it to incriminate you. Changed your mind now, have you?’

  ‘Well, looks to me like it could well still be him, now I think of it. He might have thought it was me that did Camilla and that other one. He might have done Trixie. You know tit for tat like? Or he might have offed the two whores to send a message.’

  ‘A message to whom?’ asked Sampson.

  Alice wandered back to her previous position by the fire. Bazza smirked and leaned back in his chair crossing his legs, then, chin raised in a challenging manner, he stuck his finger up his nasal cavity and wiggled it around before extracting it and, like a little boy at Christmas, he studied his findings, rolled them between his index finger and his thumb and flicked the bogey ball onto the matted carpet, where it landed close to Alice’s feet.

  Alice felt her stomach heave, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting as she said, ‘You’re all class, you are, Bazza.’

  Bazza grinned and grabbed his crotch. ‘You know you want me, bitch.’

  Before Alice could respond, Sampson interrupted. ‘Answer the question, Bazza, a message to whom?’

  Bazza shrugged. ‘To any of his girls that were getting a bit bolshie. That Paki, Khan, wouldn’t think twice about offing them. Their sort never does.’

  ‘You got any evidence of that?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Nah, just offering an opinion, trying to do my civic duty, that’s all.’

  Alice snorted. ‘It says here that your alibi for Camilla’s murder was Trixie. It says here you and Trixie have a regular Tuesday night date. That right, Bazza?

  ‘Yeah, that’s right Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays were mine.’ He prodded his sunken chest with a bony finger. Wednesdays she had a rest and weekends, you know, she worked.’

  ‘So, she was with you this Monday, Tuesday and Thursday?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘Let me get this clear, the night she was murdered, she was with you?’

  ‘Eh, oh, last night was Thursday. I forgot. No, no I didn’t see her last night.’

  He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and flicked another one out of the packet, dropping
three or four onto the floor. Sampson bent to pick them up and waited whilst Bazza lit up with shaking hands. Alice moved behind Bazza’s chair and, against her better judgement, leaned on the head rest so her mouth was close to his ear. Ignoring the staleness that wafted from him, she said, ‘So, Trixie wasn’t with you last night, even though it was a Thursday and we have it on record that Thursday was one of your “romantic nights” together?’

  Bazza inhaled deeply, ‘She wasn’t well, see? She phoned. Said she was puking and on the rag too. I don’t do messy stuff like that.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Sampson, smiling at Bazza and gaining a nervous smile back. ‘So she wasn’t with you?’ Sampson wrote something in his notebook and then said, ‘So, who were you with Bazza?’

  ‘Me? Well I was on my own, like, at the penthouse.’

  Alice, still behind Bazza, grinned. Sampson was doing a grand job of getting Bazza confused. She nodded to Sampson and he continued. ‘Who saw you there, Bazza? Come on, we need to eliminate you. You need an alibi. Who can vouch for you?’

  ‘Nobody. I was there on my own, maybe Khal saw me going up at around eight but nobody after that.’

  Alice whispered in his ear. ‘What were you doing, Bazza, up there, all on your own?’

  ‘Drank the champagne and went to bed, that’s all.’ Bazza began to pull himself up from the chair but Alice gripped his shoulder and pulled him back.

  ‘Come on, Bazz,’ she said. ‘No porno films on telly last night to keep your right hand exercised, huh?’

  Bazza glared up at her, ‘You’re a cheeky cow, aren’t you?’

  Alice nodded and, releasing her grip on his shoulder, moved away.

  ‘What DS Cooper means,’ said Sampson, ‘is that if you could provide us with titles and a description of the contents of your viewing last night, we could verify your statement and that may be enough to convince us of your innocence.’