by Liz Mistry
Despite the fact that Weston had agreed to being interviewed without his solicitor, it appeared he wasn’t going to give anything away lightly. He smiled when he answered, ‘No comment.’
Alice hated his smug expression. She would give anything to shake a proper response from him, but she knew she needed to play the game. She inclined her head. ‘You do know I’m not recording this, don’t you? It’s just between the two of us, and if you help us now, I’m sure DI McGuire will be happy to drop the assault charges.’ She giggled in what she hoped was an endearing fashion. ‘After all, I don’t want my MP to have a criminal record now, do I?’
Weston raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re in Bradford Central constituency, are you?’
Alice, in a lifelong habit learned in childhood, crossed her fingers under the table and nodded. ‘Yes, Little Germany. The flats above Shimla Sizzler.’
‘Decided how you’re voting, have you?’
Alice pretended to look coy and lowered her voice. ‘It’s a no-brainer, isn’t it? The Tories can’t do jack. The Labour Party’s in chaos, and there’s no Lib Dems I’d trust with my fart. I can’t say too much in here,’ she waved her hand in the air to indicate the wider police station, ‘but, between you and me, I’m getting sick of it. Every single problem in this city is caused by them lot.’ Hoping he’d misinterpret her flushed face for indignation, Alice swallowed down her disgust at what she was saying. ‘As blacks go, McGuire isn’t too bad, but some of the ones we come across shouldn’t be allowed here. Half of them don’t speak English even.’
Weston studied her face and then leaned across the table. ‘What is it you need from me, Sergeant?’
Alice swallowed her grin, and instead, picked up her folder, as if she’d been given a list. ‘What we need is to know where Michael Hogg is.’
Weston shrugged. ‘If he’s not at the party offices or at home or at his work, then I’m as in the dark as you. Mind you, he may well be ‘visiting,’ shall we say, the wife of a colleague. Michael is prone to sowing his oats in his own stable, so to speak. I have had words with him in the past about that.’
‘You think he may be with the wife of one of your party members? Any idea which one?’
‘No idea. Michael flits between them like the proverbial butterfly. Ask his wife; she generally knows who he’s screwing, even if their husbands are too stupid to suss it out.’
‘That’s the thing, Marcia Hogg is also unobtainable.’
‘Really? She should be at work. Isn’t she at home either?’
Alice shook her head. ‘Just one last thing, and then, we’re done. You’ve been very co-operative. Did Michael have access to your business records?’
‘I don’t know where you’re going with this. Of course, he did. His wife’s my PA, for goodness sake, and Michael is a silent partner.’
This was news to Alice, and it made her heart speed up. If Michael Hogg was a silent partner, then he became an even more likely suspect. She smiled her most cloying smile. ‘I don’t suppose we could have access to your business records?’
Weston nodded his head, a huge smile spread across his face, and he extended his hands and did a slow hand clap. ‘I wondered when you’d eventually get to what you really wanted. Well done trying to butter me up, but I’m not so green as cabbage looking, if you get my drift.’ And he winked at her, before standing up. ‘Interview terminated at …’ he glanced at the clock and mimicked her voice, ‘1001 precisely.’
Chapter 90
10:35 The New Kill Site
Can’t believe the bitch is still unconscious. I thought she’d be awake by now. Alas, no. I don’t want to, but I stretch out my gloved hand and touch her skin. It is freezing, yet I can feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest. At least she’s breathing. Bet it’s because she’s smaller that the sedative’s taking longer to wear off. Well, she’d better come ‘round soon, or I’m going to have to leave her and come back later. The rally’s starting at twelve.
I suppose I could just do the tattoo now, whilst she’s unconscious. No, that’s the bit I enjoy most, hearing them scream and feeling them strain against the ties. What the idiots don’t get is that the more they struggle, the more it hurts. Mind you, with the size of their brains, I’m not surprised they can’t work it out.
I suppose I could shave her now. Most of the others were already shaved down there. Some religious thing or other, I’ve heard. Bloody stupid, if you ask me. I like a bit of hair down below. The thought of shaving her makes my stomach roll, but I know I have to. If I get it out of the way now, when I came back at four-ish, I’ll have about an hour and a half to enjoy myself, without having any dirty stuff to do.
Taking the aerosol, I spray shaving foam over her privates, and, trying not to gip, I shave the area. Dirty bitch had peed herself. The ammonia stings my eyes, so I press a bit harder. It doesn’t matter, what are a few nicks amongst friends, after all? When I finish, I fill a cup of cold water and fling it over her to get rid of the foam. Then, I pour some Dettol into a bucket with some water and do a quick mop round. There, at least it doesn’t stink now. Nice and clean for when I come back, that is, if she doesn’t go and have another accident.
Angry at the very thought, I raise my leg and kick her in the side again. She already looks to be bruising from where I’d kicked her earlier. I don’t care, though. She deserved it.
I push the rag more firmly into her mouth, and after a quick glance round the garage, I leave, locking everything up behind me, confident she won’t be found. After all, the place is deserted now. Even the vehicle is gone. No-one will be back here. Not if they have any sense, anyway.
Chapter 91
10:35 The Fort
‘Where’s Carlton gone?’ asked Gus, glancing round the room. For the past ten minutes, he’d been pacing the room, waiting for Alice to return from interviewing Graeme Weston. Nancy had refused point blank to allow Gus to watch the interview. Deep down, Gus knew she’d been right. The mood he was in, he might have been tempted to charge the room and knock the arrogant little fucker out.
Compo glanced up from his screen. ‘He headed off, muttering about a handwriting analyst at the university or something. Said he’d be back soon.’
Gus nodded and recommenced his pacing. His dad had identified a possible colour match for the vehicle he’d seen and narrowed it down to three different makes. Compo was scouring CCTV from the Cottingley junction in both directions, but without a definite make and number, it was difficult, if not impossible.
Christine Weston’s list of buildings owned by the Westons was longer than Gus had anticipated, and he’d had to send three teams out with strict instructions to check the buildings out without being obtrusive. Each team had five properties to visit. So far, six properties in total had been cleared, including the field opposite the Bay of Biscay, which Weston sublet to the owner of the horse. For good measure, they’d sent two officers to check out the owner, and that, too, had come up empty. Tara, for that’s what the horse was named, belonged to a forty-year-old woman who rode it regularly and hadn’t even met the Westons. Her story checked out.
Nancy kept telling him they were narrowing, in but it didn’t feel like it to Gus. He’d set his dad the task of going over all the forensics reports again, in case that threw up something, though more so to keep him busy. He dived for his mobile when it began ringing on his desk. ‘Hello, Sid. Okay. Thanks.’
He turned to the expectant faces looking at him and shook his head. ‘Sid just confirmed the tyre tread he found in the horse poo matched tyre treads around the Bay of Biscay field. That area was definitely visited by our killer, and I suspect this was his kill site. Tara’s owner never drove in the field, but reported seeing tyre tracks for the past few weeks. That tallies with our timeline. The SOCO team are now going over the field with a fine-tooth comb.’
Alice came into the room, and the minute Gus saw her face, he knew she’d got nothing from Weston. Her shoulders drooped, and there was a tightness around her mo
uth, yet when she saw Gus and his dad, her face brightened. Without a word, she went over to Fergus and wrapped her skinny arms around his shoulders and hugged. The older man’s eyes welled up as he patted her arms with his paddle-hands. Then, she came to Gus and repeated the gesture. Gus swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to get tearful. There was too much to do.
Fuck, when were they going to get something? Where the hell was Michael Hogg? Alice began to contact the wives of the Albion First Generals. It was a slow process, but it needed doing.
Sampson and Taffy came in with bags of butties. ‘Courtesy of DCI Chalmers,’ said Sampson.
Gus wanted to scream that there wasn’t enough time to eat, but he knew his team needed refuelling.
Sampson turned to Gus and said, ‘The Albion First rally starts at noon, Gus. Surely Hogg will be there. He organised it, after all.’
Gus was tempted to say, ‘Yeah, if he’s not torturing my mum, he might show up.’ Instead, he bit his lip. He couldn’t take his fear and frustration out on his team. Instead, he said, ‘Right, eat up, and then, we’ll all head down there, except for Compo and my dad.’
Fergus McGuire was already on his feet, his huge frame looming beside Alice. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Gus opened his mouth to object, however before he could, his dad said, ‘You can’t order me about, Angus. I’m not one of your team. I’d rather work with you, but if you ban me, I’ll just go on my own.’
Gus knew when he was beaten, so he just grabbed his jacket and said, ‘Taffy and Sampson, you go together, and Alice, you’re with me and dad.’
Chapter 92
11:20 The New Kill Site
It was freezing. Corrine McGuire shivered, her entire body was cold, and she couldn’t understand why. Had the forgotten to put the central heating on, or had the boiler broken again? She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were heavy, and her head pounded. She tried to swallow and realised there was something in her mouth. Something vile tasting and metallic. It rubbed against the back of her throat making her feel nauseous. What was wrong with her? Was she poorly?
She tried again to open her eyes, and this time managed a crack. It was dark. Not pitch black, rather a sort of shadowy grey sort of dark. A wave of dizziness engulfed her making her head swim, so she shut her eyes again and was relieved when the dizziness went. She tried to lift her hand to pull whatever was in her mouth out, again she couldn’t. It was stuck. She tried her other hand and realised they were tied together. Her eyes flew open, and the vague fuzziness left her.
She remembered the car driving up to their house. She remembered approaching it to ask them what they wanted. She remembered the sting of something in her neck, and … that was all. How long ago had that been? Was it hours ago … or days … or, God forbid, weeks?
This wasn’t good. She knew it wasn’t. Someone had drugged her, tied her up, gagged her and left her here. This was not good at all. It was then she realised she was naked, and at that thought, a familiar surge of panic rose in her chest. Tears rolled down her cheeks. No! Not again! No! No! No! No! No! I can’t let this happen to me again.
Forcing herself to be calm, she breathed slowly through her nose, trying to ignore the oily stink that went up her nostrils. There seemed to be a faint Dettol smell too. She was aware now of the pain in her side and on her face. She tried to twist her body and realised she was lying horizontally on a metal structure. Its bars dug into her back and shoulders. Her legs appeared to be tied to the bottom struts, and her hands were tied around the vertical struts, behind her. They’d lost all feeling as the weight of her body and the metal crushed them. If she wiggled her fingers, spasms of pins and needles pricked her arm. She kept moving her fingers, little by little, to alleviate the numbness. It was agony, but she needed to be prepared, in case she got a chance to use them against her captor. She forced her eyes to stay open, and as they became more accustomed to the lack of light, she could make out her surroundings.
Turning her head to the left, she realised a small amount of light was coming from four very small windows just beneath the ceiling. She stared straight ahead and saw more light coming from the bottom of what looked like corrugated metal garage doors. At least she knew it was still daytime. She couldn’t help thinking, What if days have passed? I could have been unconscious for days. Then, she thought of her husband. He’d be so worried … beside himself. He was a big lummox, but he loved her dearly, and she couldn’t bear to think of him in pain. Then, there was Angus, so tortured and full of guilt. She sighed … and Katie. Her darling daughter full of a different type of guilt. They needed her.
That thought steeled her, and she continued to peruse her surroundings. It was definitely a garage. She could see a bench with tools along one edge. In the opposite corner stood a washing machine and tumble dryer, as if someone also used it as a utility room. Maybe that someone would come in and find her. Maybe that someone was the person who’d brought her here.
She tilted her head to one side, listening. All she could hear was the ominous tick of the old clock that hung, lopsided on the wall opposite. Closing her eyes, Corrine thought about her predicament. She realised her likely captor was the Tattoo Killer and, although Fergus didn’t confide too many gory details from the morgue, she’d gleaned enough to know what was in store for her. Despite her pain, the thought of her husband made her feel better. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he’d be looking for her – and Angus would be looking too, of course. Her beautiful, damaged boy would move heaven and earth to save her. She knew he would. It was that thought that made her focus.
What could she do to help herself? She tried to manipulate her tongue around the rag to see if she could dislodge it, but that only made her feel sick, and she knew that would not be a good thing. If she could free her hands, she’d be able to pull it out. Right now, though, she could barely move them. Now she had some feeling back in them, she knew they were attached to something metal. She curved her back in an attempt to give her fingers some space and then stretched them as far as she could to assess what she was attached too. She caught her thumb on the edge of something sharp and moaned beneath her gag. She was sure she’d drawn blood. She sagged back onto the metal structure. Maybe it was one of those trollies they use in warehouses to transport stock around. Her muscles ached with the effort, and her breath caught in her throat, though at least it had warmed her body ever so slightly.
That was when it occurred to her. If she’d found something sharp enough to cut her thumb, maybe she could use the same thing to cut her ties. Taking a deep breath in, she curved her body upwards, again straining against the cables that held her. Clasping her hands, she stretched them over to her left, trying to find the sharp edge that had ripped her thumb. By the time she’d located it, she couldn’t hold herself up any longer, and she collapsed back onto the trolley, the clatter making her bones rattle.
Closing her eyes, she promised herself she’d try again and again, until she succeeded in freeing her hands.
Chapter 93
11:30 City Park, Bradford
Scowling, Gus flashed his ID at a traffic warden and got out of the car. He was beyond caring how he’d parked. All he wanted was to find Michael Hogg and beat him until he gave up his mum’s whereabouts. With his dad labouring behind him, Gus and Alice sprinted straight for City Park. There was already a police presence on the ground in anticipation of the rally. The powers-that-be had decided banning the rally would give Albion First more coverage in the news. Gus couldn’t have cared less right then. All he was focussed on was his mum.
Jez Hopkins appeared to have recovered enough to cover the rally. Can’t keep an evil little shit down, can you? A substantial group of anti-Albion First protestors had turned up with banners and stationed themselves near City Hall, whilst Weston’s supporters were gathering in and around the empty Mirror Pool and looking expectantly to the balcony above the café. Clearly the Albion First speakers were going to spout their hatred from an elevated position.
Assuming that Hogg would be one of the speakers, Gus headed in that direction, his eyes moving from side to side, alert for a sighting of the barrel-chested thug.
Chants started from all directions, and Gus hoped it wouldn’t be a repeat of the earlier demonstration. The police had begun to move among the ever-expanding crowd, stopping and questioning. Asking people to open their bags. They were on top of things, so far. Gus was pleased with their quiet determination, as they methodically moved among the crowd.
There was still no sign of Hogg, however, and Gus was getting anxious. On the drive over, he’d tried to ignore the warning black shapes dancing in his eyes. His chest began to heave and tighten. Shit, not now. He couldn’t afford to have a panic attack right now. He stopped and, ignoring Alice’s questioning glance, closed his eyes and breathed slow and steady, like Dr Mahmood had taught him.
Alice gripped his arm and waited. Gus knew she understood what was happening and was giving him time to recover. He was aware of his dad standing next to him, as he continued to focus on his breathing. After what seemed like aeons, his chest began to loosen, and his heart rate slowed. A few more skipped beats and then a steady rhythm. He opened his eyes, and with a quick nod to show them he was okay, they moved onwards. To his right, he saw Imti and his girlfriend, Serafina, move towards their friends. There was no sign of Shahid. Maybe his political conscience was appeased after the last time.
As they got near to the ramp that would lead them up to where the speakers were beginning to congregate, Gus spotted Michael Hogg. He raised his arm and pointed. As one, he and Alice broke into a run. Taffy and Sampson, who’d appeared from the National Science and Media Museum side of the road, began to run too. As they drew nearer, Gus’ progress was impeded by the growing crowd, so he yelled, ‘Hogg? Michael Hogg? Wait there.’
Hogg’s head jerked in Gus’ direction, and then, he was off, running in the opposite direction. Gus increased his speed. His regular jogging meant Hogg was no match for him. As the other man reached the Imran Qureshi Garden Within a Garden floor painting in the space above the Mirror Pool, Gus saw his opportunity and dived. Wrapping his arms around Hogg’s ankles, he wrestled him to the floor and yanked him around onto his back. Sitting on his waist, Gus snarled at him. ‘Where is my mother, you nasty little racist fuck?’