Untainted Blood

by Liz Mistry

  Taffy scratched his head. ‘Well, it’s not unheard of for folk to lead a double life, is it?’ He shrugged. ‘Sometimes, the culture gets in the way of people leading the lives they want to. Can be a real conflict for some.’ He met Sampson’s eye. ‘I’m not only talking Asians, though, you know? Every family has its own culture. Its own way of doing things, its own ‘code,’ if you like. I had gay friends at uni who kept their sexuality secret from their families because they knew they wouldn’t accept it. Fundamentalist Christians can be as bad as fundamentalist Muslims or Hindus or Sikhs.’

  Sampson nodded. He knew only too well firsthand how hard families could be on one another. His sister had gotten pregnant fifteen years ago, and because the bloke wasn’t a Catholic, his parents had kicked off something chronic. All sorted now, of course … babies had a habit of making things alright, didn’t they? He tried to imagine what it would have been like for Asim Farooq to have family pressure to get married and to deny his true sexuality. He also empathised with his wife and family, who now had to deal with the aftermath of his secret life in the public eye. It was a complete ball-ache.

  It seemed each of the three victims had lived an ‘alternative’ lifestyle to a greater or lesser degree. Of course, that leant itself to Professor Carlton’s belief that each victim had been targeted by the killer. Now, they could start to cross-match to see if they could work out exactly how they’d come to the attention of their killer.

  Feeling that they’d been productive, Sampson was happy to call it a day and head back to The Fort.

  Chapter 32

  15:00 The Hare and Hounds, Toller Lane

  Rather than head back to The Fort, Gus had elected to try to unwind a bit after his interview with Graeme Weston. Merely being in the man’s presence made Gus want to shower, a feeling he was aware was entirely mutual. He wanted to bounce a few ideas off Alice, so they sat in the pub’s alcove near the real wood fire, nursing two mugs of coffee. Deposited on each saucer, in lieu of a biscuit, was a handful of chocolate Smarties. Their crisp coating bled a rainbow of colour through the droplets of coffee in their saucers. Alice’s eyes lit up at the sight of the sweet treat, and without asking, she helped herself to Gus’s share.

  Outside, heavy snow clouds flitted across the darkening sky, and already the cars on Toller Lane had their headlights on. For a short while, they sat in companionable silence. Gus used the opportunity to study Alice. She was pale, and her ready smile seemed to take more effort than usual. It wasn’t surprising, considering this was only her second day back. If they hadn’t been in the middle of such a big case, she’d have been able to build up to full-time hours. As it was, she’d been thrown in at the deep end. He was amazed at how well-adjusted she seemed. Unlike him, she didn’t appear to lapse into periods of brooding or struggle to interact. She seemed upbeat, just like she’d been before she was hurt. How could it be that she was so resilient, and he’d fallen to pieces?

  As if she sensed what he was thinking, Alice kicked him under the table and said, ‘Don’t get all maudlin on me now, Gus.’

  Rubbing his shin where her boot had connected, he grinned. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t wallop me on the arm.’

  ‘If you don’t stop worrying about me, I bloody well will whap you on the arm … hard. Now, get the bloody Bepanthen out, and I’ll put some on for you.’

  Fumbling in his bag for the elusive tube, he said, ‘Ah, Alice, it’s good to have you back.’ Withdrawing the cream, he pulled his jumper off and yanked his T-shirt down from the neck so she could apply the moisturiser. With gentle fingers, she spread it over the tattoo, enthusing again over its appropriateness. ‘Don’t think your mum will like it, though.’

  Gus grimaced. The mere thought of his mother’s reaction made his stomach muscles clench. ‘You promised, Al.’

  Laughing, she pulled his T-shirt back up. ‘Secret’s safe with me, Gus. Lips are sealed, and all that. She’s going to find out though. She’s sure to. You can’t keep it hidden from her forever. Anyway, for goodness sake. How old are you? Twelve? Man up. It’s your body.’

  Gus rolled his eyes. ‘You know how she is – relentless. That’s the only word for it. She’ll go on and on … and bloody on.’

  Alice snorted and flung a Smartie in the air, catching it in her mouth. ‘Idiot!’

  Shrugging his sweater back on, Gus glared at her. ‘Great, say it as it is, why don’t you? Nice to have your sympathy, Al. Don’t know what I’d do without that.’

  She clicked her fingers. ‘Knew it. You missed me. Can’t cope without me. I’m an integral member of the team. The cog without which no machine can run, the –’

  ‘Alright, alright, you’ve made your point. Now, shut up and listen. What do you think is wrong with Jacob Weston?’

  Alice frowned. ‘Don’t know. I was wondering that. He looked feverish and in pain … flu?’

  Gus shrugged. ‘Suppose it could be … Didn’t you get the impression they were being cagey about it?

  ‘God, yes! Christine was as jumpy as a flea on a porcupine’s arse. She couldn’t settle. Didn’t know where to put herself. She’s clearly grieving the loss of her lover, but she also seemed to be worried sick about Jacob. As for that arsehole, referring to him as ‘the boy.’ It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Gus sighed. ‘Jacob looked fine on Monday, so what happened overnight to make him flake out like that, and why would they need to be secretive? Why not just tell us if he’s got flu or a tummy bug or whatever?’

  Alice waved at a little girl who was sitting in a highchair opposite. ‘There’s something dodgy about Weston. I don’t care if his alibi is solid; there’s something off with the man, and as for Christine … why, when your husband’s a member of an extreme right-wing fascist party, would you have an affair with a Bangladeshi man? It’s plain stupid. Especially on the eve of his announcement as election candidate. Very dodgy.’

  ‘We really need to speak to Michael Hogg, his election manager, Al.’

  Alice clapped her hands. ‘Yippee, can’t wait. Hope he’s as nice as his boss!’

  Gus laughed and finished the dregs of his coffee. ‘Come on. I’ll buy you another coffee to fill the time. I reckon I know where Michael Hogg will be in about an hour or so’s time.’

  Chapter 33

  15:30 Hawthorn Drive, Eccleshill

  Dressed in a white terry bath robe that barely skimmed his knees and was loosely tied at the waist, revealing his substantial paunch as well as his manhood, Graeme Weston sat, legs apart on the sofa, speaking into his mobile. His hair was still damp from the shower he’d just had. The overpowering aftershave he’d splashed on filled the room. ‘Well, I think it’s important I show face. Can’t kowtow to pressure from jihadists, can we? Bradford City is mine, and City Park is at the centre of the constituency I want to represent. They cannot and will not scare me away, Michael.’

  He listened for a minute and then smiled. ‘That’s settled then, you’ll sort it. Let’s make those idiots look like the amateurs they are.’

  He lay back on the sofa, a smile on his face. Those bloody lefties could do their worst … Michael had it all in hand. It was all going to backfire on them and serve them bloody well right too.

  Slipping the phone into the pocket of his robe, he made a mental note to dispose of it at the earliest opportunity. The thing about being part of a much-maligned political party on the fringe of society was that you had to be cautious. Throwaway phones were a part of his party’s day-to-day operations. No point giving anyone ammunition against you … and definitely not when you’d just planned an illegal act with your second-in-command.

  He laughed and yelled up the stairs for Christine to make him a sandwich before he set off for City Park. She’d need to apply extra make-up again to cover the matching bruise on the other side of her face. No more than she deserved, but she could do her repair work after he’d gone.

  Chapter 34

  16:30 City Park, Bradford
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br />   It was hard to believe despite the falling snow, they’d still managed to fill City Park with more than three hundred protestors. Imti was stoked. They’d worked overnight to create banners and placards, and Shahid, despite his irritation, had mucked in and helped. Imti still worried about him. He hadn’t been the same since his girlfriend’s death, and he was pleased to see his big brother participating in something that didn’t involve The Delius. He even carried a ‘No to Albion First!’ placard, and for once, he was actually smiling. Maybe things were improving for them, and about bloody time.

  After Sunday’s announcement by Graeme Weston that he was representing Albion First in the upcoming by-election, the various youth groups in Bradford had mobilised quickly – from Woodcraft to Young Labour to various religious youth groups representing all of Bradford’s faiths. Imti had heard many of the youths who had been ineligible to vote in the Brexit referendum express their anger that Brexit had led to this. He’d also heard some of the people here today had voted for Brexit and were angry with the racist backlash that had occurred in its wake. Bradford had taken a bashing over the past couple of years with the Matchmaker scandal followed by the gang warfare that had resulted in many deaths. Imti did not want his city to be a testing ground for the likes of Graeme Weston and his fascist cronies.

  Imti grinned at Serafina who was supporting the other end of a ‘No to Racism, No to Weston!’ banner. He’d never done something like this before. In truth, he’d never really thought about what he believed in, until he’d met Serafina. Now, seeing how strong she was, made him want to make her proud. She’d been through so much, and yet, she was still here, holding her head high, getting on with her life, thinking of the future and what she wanted to achieve. As far as he could see, things were looking good.

  People from Bradford’s African-Caribbean communities were dancing as if it was carnival time, and the huge papier-mâché puppets, normally used in the lantern parades through Lister Park, bobbed about, colourful and flamboyant. Drums and whistles made it feel like a street party. Passers-by stopped to watch, smiles on their faces, as the dancers weaved among them, engaging them, entertaining them.

  Weston hadn’t even showed his ugly face and nor had any of his band of thugs – well, not as far as Imti knew, anyway. Despite a few dodgy-looking characters being around, no-one had been overtly hostile. All they wanted to do was make a statement that Bradford Central ward was not up for grabs by racists and homophobes in this by-election. The left-wing parties had jumped on the bandwagon, and there were a few Socialist Party members selling their newspapers. The local Labour councillor had agreed to speak later on the steps of City Hall, and so far, the police had kept a watching brief, leaving them to protest peacefully. No-one wanted a repeat of the Bradford riots of 2001.

  Then, as if from nowhere, there was a sudden silence that lasted for a few seconds followed almost immediately by shouting and cries. People had stopped, were pointing fingers. All at once, they surged towards the Mirror Pool. Imti couldn’t see what was happening at first then … he saw it. On the grassy bank that covered the roof of the café stood a large group of people. Some had covered their lower faces with scarves, and many of them were holding banners displaying Union Flags, St George’s Crosses, and swastikas. Right at the front, the burly forms of Graeme Weston and his sidekick Michael Hogg were clearly visible. Their faces were uncovered, and Weston’s trademark smile was in evidence, as he raised his arms in front of him like a priest in a pulpit, addressing his congregation.

  The mood of the crowd below changed as rage simmered and bubbled through them as if by osmosis. This was not good. Not good at all. As the jeers and jostling began to pick up a malevolent tempo, Imti rolled up his banner and pulled Serafina close to him. The protestors surged forward, their chants resonating across the park, and from their elevated position, Weston’s supporters responded in kind, whilst Weston himself stood still, hands held aloft. Around the periphery of the crowd, tense-looking police officers began to move forward in an attempt to place themselves between the rival crowds. All the while, they spoke in sharp tones on their radios, and with extendable batons drawn, they edged themselves through the tightly grouped bodies. The earlier party atmosphere had dissipated, replaced by the heaviness of fear and anger. The protestors continued to push ahead, angered by the way the Albion First supporters towered like avenging soldiers above them.

  All the time, Imti scoured the crowds looking for Shahid, but he was nowhere to be seen. Sensing Serafina’s fear, he smiled down at her before continuing his search. Then, as if from nowhere, someone was pulling Serafina from him and shouting something unintelligible in his ear. At first, he struggled against it, then he recognised DI Gus McGuire and DS Alice Cooper.

  As Alice led Serafina towards the Broadway Shopping Centre away from the park, Gus shouted, ‘Who are you looking for, Imti?’

  Relieved to see his girlfriend heading for safety, Imti glanced round and realised the friendly police, who had been dotted around earlier, had been replaced by officers in riot gear. His heart began to thud in his chest. Things were getting more threatening by the second.

  ‘Shahid,’ he yelled. ‘I can’t see Shahid. He was here a minute ago.’

  In a panic, he craned his neck, pushing against the force of the throng, trying not to be swept into the centre as he searched for his brother. The crowd had got ugly, and as he watched, he saw a hooded figure standing near the café entrance. As if in slow motion, the figure lifted an arm high and with barely a pause to take aim, had thrown something into the crowd standing in the empty Mirror Pool. Imti frowned. He’d seen the man in the crowd earlier and thought he was dodgy. He’d sidled past Imti and Serafina with his hood up and his head low. His eyes had cast side to side, as if scoping out the crowd, and Imti had ducked down on pretence of tying his laces and had looked up into his face. When their eyes had met, the other lad had frowned and swerved away from Imti, keeping his head and face averted.

  The missile arced over the heads of those nearest to the front, heading straight to the centre of the bunched-up people. Imti caught sight of a flame, bright against the fading light. It was a Molotov cocktail. Panic thudded against his chest, as he cricked his neck upwards to follow the trajectory. Was Shahid in the middle of the throng? He couldn’t see him, yet he had a sense of foreboding.

  Gus tried to pull him back, away from the inevitable explosion, but Imti had just seen a placard bearing the slogan ‘No to Albion First!’ He struggled to free himself from Gus’ grip. There was a sudden moment of silence, as the crowd realised what was happening and tried to reverse their forward momentum. It was too late. The homemade bomb exploded, and the air in City Park was rent with shrieks of pain and horror.

  Chapter 35

  17:00 The Fort

  Shuffling along the corridor as fast as she could, DCI Nancy Chalmers slammed open the door and propelled herself through the door, narrowly missing being hit on the face as it rebounded after slamming against the wall. ‘Riot in City Park. All officers needed. Peaceful protest gone awry. We need to be on top of this.’

  As if realising she was talking to a near-empty room, she stopped and glanced around. ‘Gus …?’ Seeing the look on Compo’s face, and the way Sampson had jumped to his feet at her words, she exhaled and counted to five before saying, ‘He’s there, isn’t he?’

  Sampson, grabbing his coat, nodded and halfway across the room, shouted, ‘And so is Alice. I’m on my way. I’ll let you know when I find them.’

  A small man Nancy had never seen before followed behind Sampson, saluting as he passed. ‘I’m DC Taffy Bhandir, ma’am. I’ll help DC Sampson.’

  Bemused, Nancy observed Compo, who, face taut with tension, had his fingers flying across the keyboard.

  ‘Compo …?’

  ‘Shh!’ said Compo, waving his hand in the air in uncharacteristic rudeness.

  Nancy moved over and stood behind him, watching over his shoulder as he worked his magic.

&nbs
p; ‘Accessed the CCTV from City Park. We’ll at least have eyes on what’s going on.’

  Nancy placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. ‘Thanks, Compo. Let’s see if we can keep tabs on what’s happening from here as it’s unfolding. Get communication up with Sampson so we can co-ordinate with him when he gets there. The riot police will have their own comms up and running, but any extra can only help.’

  With another few key strokes, Compo transferred the grid images from his screen onto the whiteboard, and he and Nancy watched images from the six cameras.

  ‘You take the top three, ma’am, and I’ll take the bottom three.’

  Nodding, Nancy scoured her three frames for sight of either Alice or Gus and was finally rewarded when she saw Gus heading towards City Library with a young lad by his side.

  With a sigh, she sat down on Gus’ chair. ‘Got eyes on Gus, Compo. He seems fine.’

  Thank God. How in heaven’s name does that boy always seems to end up where there’s some sort of trouble? She took her phone out and punched in a number. When Gus’ mum answered, she said, ‘Don’t know if you’ve seen the news about City Park, Corrine, but he’s fine. Gus is okay.’

  Corrine erupted into a series of questions, and across the line, Nancy could hear her moving around. Then, the sound of the muffled voices told her that her friend had switched the TV on to see for herself what was happening.

  Nancy smiled. Corrine was ferocious when it came to protecting either of her two children. She may be small, but Corrine McGuire had the survival instincts of a tigress. She’d had to, having suffered abuse as a child before being taken into foster care in Scotland. Nancy’s smile faded as she recollected that those childhood experiences were not the only trauma her friend had suffered. Despite all the odds, the mixed-race Scottish girl had excelled in her chosen field, and until she’d taken early retirement, had been a renowned paediatrician. Nancy listened to Corrine for a few seconds more, a faint smile alleviating the tension from her face, then promised to get Gus to phone her when he got back to The Fort before she hung up.