by Liz Mistry
‘It’ll only take me a minute to find out who lives in those houses you’ve not named. Then, I can cross-reference it with the list from 1998 and see if any of them are still there. I’ll probably be able to get current addresses for those that’ve moved too.’
Sadia studied him. His enthusiasm was commendable but she needed to reinforce the fact that they were working under the wire on this one. ‘Did you hear what DCS Hussain said yesterday regarding this case?’ She tapped the file with her manicured fingernail.
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, but Gus also asked me to help you and that’s what I’m doing. Let’s cross-match the statements we have with the names you’ve remembered and see if any are missing. We could take it from there.’
Sadia smiled at him. ‘Two minutes on the job and you’re already taking risks. Good show.’ She lowered her head, matching the few statements she had to the house numbers, before handing him the sheet. ‘Take it from there, Sampson.’
With Sampson busy beside her, she buried herself into the file again until with a frown she threw her pencil across the table. ‘Half this bloody file’s missing. I know damn well they interviewed my dad and my mum, so where the hell are their interview statements? So bloody frustrating.’
Sampson mumbled an agreement, but was clearly concentrating on his task.
Sadia sighed, leaned back closing her eyes, and racked her brain to remember. Yes, that was right, she’d just jumped off the sofa, trying to escape from that God awful image of Millie Green burning on the pavement outside when her dad rushed in and grabbed her. Even in that short space of time, his clothes seemed impregnated with the foul stench of burning flesh and petrol.
The police constable who’d taken her parents statement was on the drugs squad in Manningham now. Sadia remembered how he’d stuttered and stammered through his questions, embarrassed at interviewing a superior officer’s daughter. She remembered her dad patting him on the arm and saying, ‘Pretend you don’t know me, lad, and it’ll be easier.’
Her mother, she remembered, had looked shocked. She’d stared straight ahead, her eyes glazed, as she answered each question in a robotic tone. Throughout the interview, her dad had kept his arms round her shoulders and held her shaking hand. Sadia doubted she’d even been aware of his presence, so affected had she been by the tragic death of her neighbour and friend.
Her parents’ statement was missing, as was Mr Malik’s from number 38 and Mr Amjad from 49 as well as Mr and Mrs Dhosangs’ from next door. Annoyed by the incompetent filing, Sadia scanned the rest of the statements.
It was quite clear from two eye-witness statements that Millie Green had been standing just inside her gate when something made her turn round. As she had turned the witnesses saw her raise her hands to her face and then back away, towards the gate. According to them, Millie then opened the gate and seemed to be trying to run away when a flash of light sailed through the air and landed on her. It was later discovered that someone had managed to cover Millie in petrol, before throwing a lit petrol filled milk bottle at her to ignite the petrol. An empty bowl, containing traces of petrol was also found later under the hedge. It was clear of prints.
Millie had run from her gate to the street engulfed in flames and screaming and, soon after, the fire brigade and paramedics had arrived bringing the police with them. By then it was too late. Jackie Oliver stated that he saw a young Asian lad run round the side of Millie’s hedge. Sadia stopped and considered. Yes, that tallied with Jessica saying Shahid appeared behind her stinking of petrol and holding her back whilst she listened to her mother’s screams. He could have thrown the petrol and the milk bottle and ran round the side to arrive through the back garden.
As Sadia made a note to check out Jackie Oliver, someone she couldn’t remember from that time, Sampson cleared his throat. ‘Got those names, for you. It looks like quite a few people still live there. Want me to ask around tomorrow? See if I can find anyone who puts Shahid Khan at the scene.
‘You don’t have to do that. You heard what Gus said: we have to play this under the radar. You could end up on the wrong side of my dad and, believe me, that’s the last thing you want this early in your career.’ She stood up and drew her coat on.
‘Yes, I got that impression today but the thing is, I’m like a dog with a bone. I can’t let it alone once I’ve started. Anyway, you can’t interview them. They’ll still remember you as the wee lass that lived in the street.’
She laughed, ‘Okay, you’ve got a point. But be careful and don’t get caught! Anyway, I’m off home now. Good work, Sampson.’
Sampson began to shuffle the paperwork together into a neat pile. ‘Night Sadia. Oh, and good luck.’
She frowned, surprised, ‘What do you mean?’
Sampson blushed, ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to get personal. It’s just, well, after yesterday I sensed a bit of family conflict between you and your dad. Believe me, I get on the wrong side of my sisters often enough to know how hellish a “family situation” can be.’
Sadia grinned, ‘Yeah, you’re right about that.’ Then realising she knew practically nothing about Sampson she asked, ‘how many sisters have you got?’
‘Only the six still at home.’
Unable to hide her surprise she said, ‘What?’
He grinned, ‘Two married sisters and six still at home… and me and my mum and dad, of course.’
*‘Hells bells! I thought us Muslims had big families.’
Sampson laughed, ‘No, the Catholics will beat you every time. Anyway, you’re an only child so obviously not all Muslims go down the big family route.’
‘Yes, but, in my parents’ case, it wasn’t through choice. They’d have liked more after me but after many miscarriages they decided it wasn’t to be.’ She scrunched up her face as, thinking that perhaps her dad wouldn’t be such a control freak if she had siblings. Then she shuddered. No, knowing her luck she’d have been lumbered with a herd of over-protective brothers who would be as bad as her dad. After all, she had friends who complained that their brothers put the kybosh on half the things they wanted to do. On the other hand, she also had girlfriends whose parents were much more reasonable than her dad had become in recent years. Suppose it’s the luck of the draw really.
Sampson settled back in his chair and began to flick through the PM report. “What the hell?” Scanning the document his eager eyes had picked out the words pregnant. How could Sadia have missed this. He shrugged. He’d known how upset she’d been just thinking about Millie’s death. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to read the gory ins and outs of it too. But bloody hell this was hot. He glanced up to see if he could see her, but she’d gone. He considered phoning her but then decided not to bother. Exciting though it was, it could wait until tomorrow.
How had it not come to light before now that Millie Green had been eleven weeks pregnant when she died? Looks like we’ve got the beginnings of a motive. Maybe Shahid didn’t want another little half-brother or sister. Or maybe his dad didn’t want to support another kid from his mistress. Well, it stood to reason. All the neighbours said he paid her rent and gave her money. It seems logical he got something in return… and, of course, he was Jess’ dad. This was certainly interesting.
15:08 Killinghall Road
Anastazy lay back on the fluffed up pillows of his king-sized bed ignoring the muffled sobs coming from the girl who lay shivering by his side. Mathilde was becoming a bit of a pain, sniffling and whimpering like a bloody kitten. The bruises on her skinny body were a real turn off, too. Maybe he’d lay off her a bit… at least for a while. He kicked off the duvet, uncovering one hairy leg and kicked the girl so hard in the kidneys that she fell out of the bed, her head ricocheting off the bedside cabinet before she landed in a heap on the floor.
‘Piss off, you little whore!’
Not waiting to be told again, the girl grabbed her clothes and stumbled out of the room as Anastazy, scratching his groin area laughed at her scared retreat. He was physically sated, yet,
still, he felt unsettled. He knew it was because of Serafina, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. He was pissed off that she hadn’t appreciated the fact that he’d come to BRI to see her after Jacob was stabbed. Ungrateful bitch! He grinned. Slapping her mother had been a real bonus. She was a cow and she deserved it, interfering. What had she been thinking, attacking him like that? He’d only been defending himself when he retaliated… self-defence, that’s what it was. Shame Serafina didn’t feel the same way, really.
He’d enjoyed his little talk with her dad though. He’d set out his intentions regarding Serafina and, although Mathias was less than happy about it, in the end, he’d agreed. What choice did he have when Anastazy had so many shots?
Now, he had to decide on his course of action. The old man wanted to increase the pressure on Shahid Khan – and he was more than happy to do that. The only thing was that The Old Man wanted him to target another girl but Anastazy had a different plan. He had a better way to increase the pressure on Shahid… one that would have a harder impact, a more personal one, than offing one of his whores. Been there done that. Time now to change the boundaries… get them on the hop, keep them on edge.
Chapter 55
13:45 Leeds Trinity University, Horsforth
The drive from Bradford through Rawdon was pleasant. The rain had stopped and autumnal foliage dressed the roadsides in a range of deep golds, yellows and maroons. Gus liked autumn. He liked the changing of seasons. His friend Mo was always going on about how he’d like to avoid the winter months in Bradford by spending them in the warmth of the Pakistani climate. Gus, on the other hand, liked the variety. Yes, he moaned about the snow and rain and wind but, in general, the changing seasons grounded him, made him more attuned to his environment, more appreciative of the beauty each season provided.
He’d gotten over his earlier annoyance at having to make the trip to Horsforth. He and Alice had already had a relatively unproductive day, so he was optimistic that this Professor Carlton would be able to give him some pointers. He’d got Compo to email over the files, such as they were, yesterday so hopefully the psychologist would have had time to give them the once over.
Despite Alice’s best efforts, Armani had remained stubbornly silent and Gus had been unsure whether to attribute her reticence to shock or fear. Her description of Charlotte’s attacker was sketchy but it had been dark, with limited lighting. She refused to comment on Alice’s suggestion that she’d held something back about Trixie during her previous interview. Gus had felt sorry for the girl who chain-smoked her way through their questions, her hand shaking, her fingers barely able to keep hold of the cigarette she seemed to rely on for sustenance. At the same time he admired her bravery; the pugnacious way she stuck out her chin and the fire that shone in her eyes.
Their trip to the hospital hadn’t garnered much more information. Charlotte was still sedated. Her internal injuries meant the chances of her being able to carry a baby to full term in the future were slim and that, apparently, was if she could even conceive. It made Gus’ blood boil that men used their superior strength to inflict such atrocities on women and it saddened him that it was the most vulnerable in society that suffered the greatest harm. However, what made him despair the most was when women themselves were instrumental in facilitating this sort of abuse. Charlotte’s mother had recently been released from a five-year stretch in New Hall prison in Wakefield for prostituting Charlotte and her sister from their home in the Canterbury Estate.
Now, sensing something in it for herself, the woman had come crawling out of the woodwork. That morning, Gus had read in one of the Nationals the story – largely fabricated, he suspected – of the miscarriage of justice that led to Charlotte and her mother being separated. He was well used to the mercenary actions of addicts and the disenfranchised, yet it still stuck in his throat when it was a mother selling her daughter out for a poxy fifty quid from an unscrupulous journalist.
They’d also been unsuccessful in re-interviewing Jessica who, according to the shop owner downstairs, was at home, but refused to answer. He understood that. Sometimes it was easier to grieve on your own. Both Jess and Armani had refused the services of a family liaison officer and Gus was damned if he’d waste any resources on Charlotte’s mother. He’d stationed a uniformed officer at the door of Charlotte’s room and issued strict instructions that under no circumstances was Charlotte’s mother to be allowed access to her daughter.
As Alice and he had been leaving the ward, the red-haired nurse from the previous day had turned up to start her shift. Gus, remembering Sadia’s comments about the man with the tear-shaped tattoos, had taken a moment to ask her about that family. She clearly remembered the man and suggested that he didn’t seem to ‘fit in’ with the rest of the family. The young man who’d been stabbed was Jacob Nadratowski and, according to the nurse, was the second of two young men to be stabbed in Bradford yesterday. She said there seemed to be a spate of stabbings recently, with a Polish man being killed in the Thornbury area only the previous week. Despite Alice’s teasing afterwards about working his charm on the nurse, Gus made no apologies for asking her to keep her eyes and ears open for any more information on the tattooed man.
He’d got Compo scrolling through reams of CCTV footage of Bradford Road as well as accessing ANPR records for that area in the hope that he could cross-match a vehicle with one picked up in the Bradford Moor area around the time of either Camilla or Starlight’s murders. He knew a lot of the information Compo came up with would only be useful when they had a viable suspect but it all had to be done. He’d also asked Sadia to call in to BRI to get an update on Charlotte. He knew she and Sampson were working under the radar on the Millie Green case but they needed to pull their weight on this case, too.
As Alice, who was driving, turned into the main entrance of the university, Gus’ phone rang. Seeing it was his mum he answered, ‘Hi, Mum, you okay?’
As Alice pulled into a vacant spot next to the university doctor’s reserved parking space, Gus listened. Rolling his eyes at Alice, who, he was sure, could hear his mum’s voice from where she sat, he wondered if he’d ever be able to get a word in. His mum, like his dad, seemed to think that you had to raise your voice to a near shout when on the phone. Gus suspected that both parents could forgo using the phone altogether and just shout their conversations the length and breadth of Bradford.
After five minutes of Gus being unable to interject, his mum got to the point of her call. ‘I’m just making sure you’ve not forgotten about Sunday lunch tomorrow, Angus. I’ll expect you at 2pm with both Alice and that lovely girl, Sadia.’
Gus rolled his eyes at a smirking Alice. ‘Well, the thing is, Mum, another woman was attacked last night and, what with the investigation into the three murders still ongoing, I doubt I’ll be able to afford the time.’
He held the phone away from his ear as his mum’s ‘Tut’ followed by a tirade, threatened to do permanent damage to his ear drums. ‘Mum, Mum, listen. I’ll see what I can do, okay? Yes, I know we all have to eat. Yes, I know you love cooking.’ At his mum’s last assertion about her love of cooking, Gus risked another glance at Alice who now sported an even bigger grin on her face and was rubbing her tummy in an exaggerated way whilst mouthing the words, ‘Yummy, Sunday lunch.’
Gus, grinning, turned away before he started to laugh and focussed on trying to wind up the conversation. ‘Okay, okay Mum, I give up. I’ll be there. Yes, yes I’ll bring the whole bloody team with me if you want.’ His tone held a note of warning. ‘But, if something crops up on this case, it may be a flying lunch date, okay?’
He could visualise his tiny mum’s satisfied smile as she ended in a sweet voice, ‘Oh that’s great, Angus. We’ll see you then.’ And he was left with the dialling tone buzzing in his ear. He turned to Alice and shrugged. ‘I’ve just been played, haven’t I?’
Alice opened her door and got out. ‘Yup, by the master. Now, let’s get a move on. Don’t want Professor Car
lton reporting back to Hannibal Hussain that we were late for our appointment now, do we?’
Gus scowled, and shoulders slumping, followed her.
Chapter 56
13:55 Rushton Crescent, Thornbury
The McDonald’s on the Thornbury roundabout was heaving because it was October half-term. Kids in clown masks carrying plastic machetes ran amok, making Sampson wonder at the sanity of their parents, bearing in mind the reported epidemic of clowns terrorising people. The children’s Happy Meal toy was one of a choice of wind-up Halloween characters. Sampson’s preference was the orange pumpkin that the little girl on the next table was playing with, but he also had a grudging admiration for the red devil with its trident and the ultra-white spook that appeared to issue a ghostly wail when wound up.
Trying to ignore the background noise he took out his notebook and began to make a list of possible questions he could ask the Dhosangs, should they prove willing to be questioned. He’d decided to get a better picture of what happened that night by speaking with some of the neighbours whose statements had apparently gone missing, regardless of the possible risk of word getting back to DCS Hussain. Despite the scone he’d eaten earlier he was hungry and the McDonalds was handy. As he was stuffing the last of his fries into his mouth, his appetite wholly unsatisfied, Sampson looked through the window and caught sight of the huge elephant that stood outside the renowned Aagrah Restaurant on the opposite side of the roundabout. To Sampson it was the equivalent of a ‘Welcome to Bradford’ sign. He wished he’d opted for their buffet instead of the Maccie D’s meal he’d just consumed.
Pocketing his notebook, he exited onto Leeds Road and, dodging two young lads on bikes, headed towards Rushton Road. Once there he walked part way along before turning off, realising that if he hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed the entrance to Rushton Crescent. As he walked into the cul de sac, he tried to imagine a dark night filled by a woman’s screams of agony and the stench of burning petrol vying with burning flesh. It was difficult in the autumn sunshine to imagine the horror of that night but Sampson hoped that the few residents who had remained living here since 1998 would still remember. It was hard to imagine they would be able to forget.