by Liz Mistry
‘Propofol?’ Gus tapped his lip. ‘Isn’t that the drug that killed Michael Jackson? What did they call it? They had some catchy name for it, I seem to remember.’
Compo’s fingers had been flying across his keyboard as they talked, and he now turned the screen so the rest of the team could see his findings. ‘Milk of Amnesia! That’s what they called it, for obvious reasons. It acts as a short-term anaesthetic lasting between ten and fifteen minutes. For our killer’s purposes, it’s very quick acting. Knocks them out in seconds. And,’ Compo screwed up his face, ‘can you believe it? It’s not a controlled drug, which probably means it’s relatively easy to obtain.’
Sampson groaned. ‘Just what we need.’
Alice, who’d continued to scan the toxicology report, said, ‘This is interesting. The results indicate the Propofol used on Razaul Ul Haq was compromised. There’s evidence of bacterial growth. Apparently, because it’s a liquid emulsion, it’s more susceptible to being compromised if it’s not stored properly, that is, in a fridge. Maybe our killer’s getting sloppy.’
Gus grinned. They’d caught a lead, and it had come at exactly the right time for them. This could be the breakthrough they needed to narrow down their seemingly bottomless suspect pool. As he glanced around at the team, he could see from their expressions that their spirits were lifted. About time too! ‘Right, Compo, I want to know who has access to Propofol, if it’s obtainable on the black market and how. Where did our killer get this from? Is he a professional who has access to it?’
Again, Compo had some of the answers before his boss had finished speaking. ‘Looks like it’s widely used as part of a drug combo for human general anaesthesia, so most hospitals will stock it. With it not being a controlled drug, who knows how well monitored the usage and supplies of it are. It’s also used in animal surgery, so vets will have access, and recent newspaper articles indicate it is becoming more widely used as a recreational drug of choice … bit risky, really, bearing in mind its main function is as a muscle relaxant, and what’s the body’s most important muscle?’
Taffy, jumping up and down on his chair, looking like a school kid eager to please his teacher, blurted out, ‘The heart, it’s the heart, isn’t it?’
Gus had an urge to tap him lightly on the back of the head, but instead said, ‘Never heard of the term ‘rhetorical question,’ Taffy?’
The young man frowned, then sighed, the smile falling from his lips and his eyes widening. ‘Oh no, I thought Compo was really asking. My bad.’
Biting his tongue at the annoying Americanism, Gus began a slow count to ten. Next the kid would be saying, ‘missing you already’ and ‘have a nice day,’ and that would really piss him off. Before he had a chance to continue, Taffy was off again. ‘Always been a bit too gullible, me. Once, when my mum went to India to look after my dadi, that’s granny in Punjabi, you know?’ He barely waited for Gus’ nod before continuing, ‘She asked me to look after her plants. They were her pride and joy, so it was a big responsibility.’
Seemingly oblivious to Gus’ growing impatience, he continued. ‘One of them started to wilt, and my mates told me it was bunged up and needed its system cleaning. They gave me a bottle of Syrup of Figs and told me to give it a spoonful day and night. By the end of the week, it were dead.’ He looked down at his hands, ‘My mum were well pissed off when she got back.’
Taffy rubbed the back of his head, making Gus wonder if the lad’s mum had employed the tactic he himself had been tempted to use earlier. Unsure of how to respond to this story, Gus was relieved when Alice let out a shriek of laughter and said, ‘You’re a right bloody wally, Taffy.’ She walked over and tapped the lad lightly across the back of his head, saying, ‘Syrup of Figs! Idiot!’ as she did so.
Taking it in good grace, Taffy, a big grin on his face, said, ‘Ouch!’ and, once more, rubbed his head.
‘Sir?’ A uniformed officer popped his head round the door. ‘Got a young woman on the phone, says her husband went out to get her some ice cream last night and didn’t come back home. She’s pregnant, like, and fell asleep waiting for him. The thing is, I thought you’d be interested because he’s black, and his car’s not in the drive. I know the others were Asian, but thought it was a bit too much of a coincidence, eh, sir?’
‘Shit!’ said Gus. Then, with a nod to the officer, he added, ‘Good work. Put her through to me now. I’ll gather the details.’
Ten minutes later, Gus hung up and turned to Alice. ‘You’re driving. I think we’ve identified another victim. Wonder where he’s been dumped?’
Gus stiffened his spine as he and Alice headed out to the car park. At some point during the day, the chances were, he would be informing this woman her husband was not only dead, but that he’d been murdered in a brutal and horrific manner. To top it all, she would discover her husband and the father of her unborn child was, more than likely, targeted because he had some sort of predilection for illicit sex she knew nothing about. That made the task of interviewing her all the more traumatic. Anger at being forced into this position by the killer made Gus want to slam his fist into a wall. The only thing that stopped him was knowing the victim had suffered unimaginable pain already, and his family were about to suffer far more. Life was a fucking bitch!
Chapter 49
09:00 Lister Mills Apartments, Manningham
Jez Hopkins turned the shower to as hot as he could bear it for ten seconds and then down to cold for five, before switching it off. He shook his head, sending water droplets splashing against the white tiles before wrapping a towel around his waist and wandering through to his open-plan living area.
En-route to the shower, he’d stripped his clothes off, dropping them at his feet as he moved towards the bathroom. Now, seeing them lying there, creased and stinking, marring the flat’s virginal plains and revealing his inner slob, his mouth curled in disgust. With rapid movements, he bundled them together and shoved them into the washer. He glanced at his desk to check that the envelope was still there – it was – and then walked to the window.
Despite the under-floor heating and triple-glazed windows, the mere sight of snow falling outside brought him out in goose bumps, and his nipples tightened. From his flat’s position on the top floor, which as it happened was only three doors down from the one occupied by mighty DI Gus McGuire’s sister and his ex-wife, he could see The Fort opposite. If he strained his neck to the right, he could see right down Oak Lane and over to Bolton Woods. Today, the view didn’t interest him. He was too busy trying to work out what to do with the anonymous gift he’d been given.
He half wondered if he should share them with DI McGuire’s team. Maybe that would earn him some brownie points from the delectable Detective Sergeant Alice Cooper. Then, he remembered just how much of a ball-breaker she was and realised it’d take a damn sight more than a few saucy pictures to get into her knickers. No, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Wandering through to his bedroom, he rummaged around in his dresser and then pulled on a pair of boxers followed by jeans and a T-shirt. Barefoot, he went back into the lounge and picked up the envelope. Plonking down onto the sofa, he spilled the photos out onto the pine coffee table that had come with the flat and fanned them out.
This was one huge scoop for him, and he had to play it just right. The only problem was, did he go national or keep it local? He was a big fish in a little pond at the Bradford Chronicle. He’d built up some loyalties there over the years, whereas with the nationals, he’d barely made a ripple to date. This would be the equivalent of a tsunami for him, however with the nationals, it was hard to judge for just how long the aftershocks would line his pockets. They were notoriously close-ranked, and he worried if he sold to them, he might have burned his bridges nearer to home for no long-term gain.
He picked up one of the images at random and turned it this way and that to get the best view. Phew! Christine Weston was one athletic bird and bloody naughty to boot. Wonder if old Graeme knew she’d spread her legs for
an Asian … well, he soon would. He glanced at the range of snaps, and grinned – she’d done it in such a variety of ways and with such evident enjoyment.
He picked up the last image, his hand already, in response to his hard-on, tugging open the zip of his jeans, when he stopped. His hand halted, and his erection withered to nothing. This was the only photo with a clear view of Christine Weston’s lover’s face, and it changed everything. Yanking his zip back up, Jez jumped to his feet, blood pumping through his veins. Shit! He glanced at the time stamp on the photo and cursed again. Now, he definitely had to take this over the road to McGuire.
Feeling the blood return to his groin area, he smirked and picked up a different photo … he didn’t have to go right away though, did he?
Chapter 50
09:30 Caroline Drive, Dudley Hill
From the outside, the house was like any other in the street, neat and well-maintained under the spattering of snow that dusted the front lawn. The expression on Alice’s face said it all as they pushed open the gate and began to walk up the path. Her face was taut and tension lines spread out from her usually smiling mouth.
Gus acknowledged he probably appeared just as serious. Nudging her, he said, ‘Try to lighten up a bit, Al. No point in taking our emotions inside too. They’ve got enough on with their own, right now. Time enough later, when we’ve got something definite, to burst their bubble.’
With a curt nod, Alice exhaled and relaxed her facial muscles, and squeezing her arm, Gus followed suit.
Two cars, neither of them belonging to the missing man, were parked in the drive. They seemed like they’d been abandoned there in a hurry and probably belonged to relatives or friends come to support the pregnant wife. Bracing himself, Gus rattled the letter box and was pleased to see it opened almost immediately by Janine Roberts, the family liaison officer he’d contacted. Her presence accounted for one of the vehicles. ‘You got here quick, Janine.’
Keeping her voice low, Janine stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her. ‘Yeah, felt I should be here for when …’ She shrugged. ‘You know.’
Gus did know. He’d have done the same in her shoes. Best, if you had the chance, to get the initial introductions over with before that raw pounding grief set in. Before death was confirmed, as he had no doubt it would be in this case. ‘How is she? Got anyone else with her?’
‘Her mother-in-law. She told me when she speaks to you, she wants to do it without the mother-in-law present. Think she’s got something she needs to tell you she doesn’t want her to know about.’
That sounded ominous; however, with any luck, whatever it was would provide them with a lead of some description.
Reopening the door, Janine stepped back into the house and led them down a hallway lined with pictures of an arrestingly handsome couple in various wedding type poses. They reminded Gus of the ones of himself and Gabriella that he’d not long since removed from his own walls. Every picture hid a story. He smiled at his cynicism as they entered a pleasant and spacious front room. An oversize leather sofa stood against the back wall. This was matched by a humungous TV that dominated the space. Good Morning TV played out in a series of silent images. Clearly, Sandra Gore wanted quiet. Two matching chairs stood on either side of the cast iron stove, which blasted out welcome heat. A bundle of baby blue wool with two needles protruding from its depths lay on one of them. A large image of Sandra and Lewis taken in Lister Park had pride of place above the fire, and Gus couldn’t help notice the frequent glances the room’s sole occupier cast that way.
Sandra Gore sat in the middle of the couch, a jumble of multi-coloured cushions supporting her back and knees. Her feet rested on a small footstool. Gus noticed her ankles were swollen and remembered Mo’s wife’s ankles ballooning with her second pregnancy. He hoped her current worries about her husband weren’t adding to her pressure. On top of a small glass-topped table lay a couple of well-thumbed women’s magazines. A discarded mug stood next to them on a coaster. It was one of those plastic personalised coasters, like the one Mo had given him at Christmas with his kids on it. Gus couldn’t see the image on this one, but judging by the others dotted around the shiny surfaces, it was of her and Lewis on their wedding day. She had worn traditional white with a voluminous veil cascading down from her corn-rowed hair, whilst Lewis wore a dark grey suit and bow tie. They were radiant, their hopes for the future displayed for all their guests to see. Gus’ heart contracted.
Smiling at her, Gus introduced both himself and Alice. Considering the fact that, after their earlier conversation, Sandra Gore appeared to have no doubt her husband was the latest Tattoo Killer victim, she appeared calm. Although her eyes were puffy, Gus assumed from tears shed earlier, she radiated composure.
The door adjoining the room opened, releasing a delicious aroma of cooking meat into the room. Sandra groaned and covered her mouth. Clearly, the smell made her nauseous. Alice walked over and closed the door behind the large woman who’d just walked in.
‘You gonna find my son?’ the older woman demanded, glaring at Gus, her eyes raking him from top to toe.
Gus smiled and indicated she should sit down. ‘That’s the plan, ma’am. And you are?’
‘Monica Gore. Lewis is my baby.’ Sitting down, she turned to Sandra and gripped the hand that rested across her swollen abdomen, nodding towards the bump. ‘This little one will be my fourth grandson.’
Sandra smiled and patted her mother-in-law’s hand. ‘We don’t know the baby’s sex yet, Monica. Lewis didn’t want to know. You know that.’
‘Psst, you’re carrying him low. Same as I did wi’ Lewis. He’s a boy. No doubt about it.’
As Sandra’s eyes clouded over, her bottom lip quivering, Janine intervened, ‘Come on, Monica, let’s get that curry cooked, shall we? Leave the officers to talk to Sandra on her own. If they need us, they know where we are.’
Monica glanced at Sandra, her face a mask of concern. ‘You sure, baby? Maybe I should stay.’
Sandra smiled and patted her mother-in-law’s hand. ‘No, Monny, you get that curry ready. I’ll be fine. When I’m finished here, I’m going up for a lie down.’
Monny’s eyes raked her face, and then, she leaned over and kissed Sandra’s cheek. ‘Ok, sweet girl. I’ll leave you to tell Lewis’ secrets to the Detective.’
She turned to Gus and waved her finger. ‘Don’t you dare be upsetting that girl any more than you need to, alright?’
Gus, sensing a woman after his own mother’s heart, just nodded and held her gaze, hoping his sincerity shone from his eyes. Seemingly satisfied, Monica Gore hefted her substantial frame upright and, hips sashaying to her own rhythm, left the room.
Sandra sighed and said, ‘Sit down. You must appreciate my mother-in-law is very upset and very protective.’
Gus waved her comments aside and sat down opposite her, leaving Alice to sit on a chair at the dining table that nestled in an alcove overlooking the back garden.
Sandra frowned. ‘Come and sit here, Detective Cooper.’
Alice smiled, ‘If it’s okay with you, Mrs Gore, I’d like to use the table to lean on to take notes.’
Perched on the edge of the chair, feeling that if he wasn’t careful he might fall backwards and be unable to get back out, Gus leaned his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. ‘You gave us most of the information we needed during our phone conversation this morning. I want you to know we activated an immediate search for your husband and his vehicle. So far, nothing has been found, but we’re still looking.’
Sandra looked him straight in the eye. ‘Are you looking for my husband’s BMW or a dead body, Inspector?’
Gus, refusing to flinch in the face of her bravery, ran his fingers through his hair. Her words, although not a hundred percent accurate, showed she was well aware of the chances of finding her husband alive. They were, in actual fact, looking for his car and were prepared for the worst. He admired her courage. Every passing hour would drain what little hope was sus
taining her now, and he was glad she had her mother-in-law’s support. ‘We’re looking for anything that may help us locate your husband.’
She glanced away with an abrupt nod and then said, ‘There’s something you need to know about Lewis. Something very important.’
Chapter 51
09:50 Bradford Royal Infirmary
Serafina had sent Imti home, and she and Shamshad had talked for hours about what the documents could possibly mean and why Neha had them in her bag. Finally flagging, Serafina had hugged Shamshad and gone home, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Sham was drained and anxious. The lead weight sat in her stomach seemed to slow her motions. Even lifting her hand to her brow took all her energy. Her head throbbed, and her eyes were sore from crying.
Overnight, a huge gulf had appeared between her and Neha, and she didn’t know how to bridge it. She’d thought they shared everything. She’d have sworn to it, if necessary, but this? It was a double whammy. First, she’d been oblivious to her sister’s self-harm. They shared a room, and still, she hadn’t noticed Neha had lost weight – again. That she was covering up in extra layers to hide her skeletal frame and concave stomach. Sham had been so pleased her sister appeared to be eating normally. She’d dropped her guard and stopped being vigilant. Since the psychiatrist had signed Neha back into primary health care, Sham had gradually stopped looking for signs she was failing.
She’d stopped searching Neha’s face for signs of disgust when her aunt brought food to the table. She no longer counted how many bites her sister took of each meal or wondered if she was moving food around her plate to deceive them into believing she’d eaten. She’d stopped hovering around in the hours after meals to prevent her from flushing all the nourishment she’d just consumed down the toilet. How had she let this happen? Why had she stopped spying on her sister as she undressed for bed – looking out for signs of new cuts on her arms and legs? For months, she’d not checked the inside of her clothing for blood or the outdoor bins for razors or bandages, and look what had happened! She was responsible for Neha, and she’d failed.