Unquiet Souls: a DI Gus McGuire case

by Mistry, Liz

  Sampson leaned over cupping his hands on the glass to peer through the grimy window. ‘Can’t see a bloody thing through this muck.’

  ‘Never mind, we’ll have to go in regardless. Can’t risk leaving her kids in there alone.’

  She tried the wobbly handle and was pleased when the door opened easily. ‘Fuck!’ She stumbled back from the stale whiff wafting through the door. ‘Bloody stinks!’

  With Sampson following, she entered the kitchen. Their feet stuck to the lino and it didn’t take long to identify the source of the stink. A pile of soiled nappies flung haphazardly in the corner of the room. Alice raised an eyebrow as Sampson coughed and cupped his nose with his hand.

  ‘Yuck, how the other half lives.’

  She shook her head. ‘Welcome to the real world, Sampson.’ Then, frowning she cocked her head to one side. ‘You hear that?’

  The muffled sound of a TV drifted through from behind the door leading into the hallway. Alice sneaked over and pulled the door open revealing a dark hallway with a staircase going up to the right and a door leading into the living room just beyond it. She put one finger over her lips and edged forwards.

  ‘Peppa Pig.’ Sampson had joined her by the door and his breath tickled her ear as he spoke.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Kids TV programme. My sister’s kids love it. It’s about a pink pig called–’

  ‘Peppa. Yeah, yeah I get it. If her kids are in there, get straight on to social services and get someone over here. ASAP!’

  With Sampson on her heels, Alice moved along the threadbare carpet to the living room door. She pushed the handle down and the door opened to reveal a huge flat screen TV in one corner of the room and a grubby sofa opposite with three young children huddled on top. The oldest of the three, a girl of around eight, glanced at Alice for a second before turning back to Peppa Pig. ‘She’s not in.’

  Alice smiled and glanced surreptitiously at Sampson, who with a brief nod, got out his phone and edged into the hallway to make the call. The oldest girl sat in between two younger children; a girl of around five and a boy who, judging by the eye-watering shitty smell that had Alice gipping was clearly still in nappies and in desperate need of a change. All three, wearing too-small well-worn pyjamas, huddled tightly under a thin blanket.

  The older girl held an open tin of best buy baked beans in one hand and, in the other, a spoon which she loaded with cold beans before offering it to each sibling in turn. Alice’s heart hitched momentarily. As an only child with no cousins and parents whose only friends were of the four-legged variety that ran around cages in a sterile science lab, she felt hopelessly out of her comfort zone. She could hear Sampson murmuring behind the door and knew she was on her own. Teeth gritted, she willed herself to ignore the smell and stuck a smile on her face. ‘Think someone needs their nappy changing.’

  The older girl, eyes glued to the screen said, ‘None left. She was meant to get some last night but she didn’t come back.’

  ‘Okaaay.’ Alice mentally cursed Sampson for taking so long. ‘What are your names?’

  Still focussed on the antics of the pink pig, the girl sniffed and shoved an overflowing spoon of lurid orange sauce into her brother’s mouth. ‘I’m Rehana.’ She pointed, first at her sister, then at the toddler. ‘That’s Maryham and he’s Imam.’

  Alice released a long slow breath, desperate now for Sampson to get his arse back into the room. Children were an alien species to her and she’d no idea how to proceed. Give her a dead body any day over this. As he came back into the room Alice sighed and raised both hands upwards in a what should we do with the kids? sort of gesture. Sampson’s grin, in her mind, was a bit too gloating but as he quickly moved past her, crouched down next to the couch and began speaking to the kids she decided she’d let him off.

  ‘You know, if Imam doesn’t get his bum changed it’ll get really sore.’

  No response.

  Alice raised her eyebrows. Sampson shrugged, ‘I know it’s not strictly procedure but we’re going to have to sort this out.’

  Alice blinked rapidly. ‘We?’

  Sampson turned to Rehana. ‘Well, me.’ He winked at the girl, ‘… and Rehana.’

  Rehana continued to shovel beans into mouths that opened as automatically as chicks in a nest receiving regurgitated worms from their mum’s beak.

  ‘So, can you help me clean him up?’ said Sampson

  Rehana glared at him, then, just when Alice thought she was going to refuse, she shrugged pitifully bony shoulders and said ‘Okay.’

  Alice watched Sampson lift the small wriggling boy who immediately began to sob, arms stretched towards his sister. Sampson held him at arm’s length, manfully managing not to grimace. Alice shuddered when she saw the brown sludge trailing down the leg of the toddler’s Thomas the Tank Engine PJs.

  She followed them through to the kitchen, cleared mouldy dishes from the sink and stood back to watch as Rehana, with the air of an expert, put on the tap and let it run for a minute, flicking her hand under the flow of water periodically. She turned to Sampson, who was making faces to distract Imam. ‘It’s as warm as it’ll get’

  Holding her breath against the foul smell, Alice watched Sampson remove the nappy flinching at Imam’s screams when the dried up shit pulled the tender skin. Ferocious blisters caked in faeces covered his butt. Alice, bit her lip as Sampson lowered the boy into the barely warm water. Imam whimpered and struggled in Sampson’s arms until, finally, he lifted him from the water. Alice handed him the cleanest towel she could find and watched as he gently dried the open sores before wrapping a tea towel loosely round him.

  They returned Imam to the settee, where Rehana hugged him close, murmuring soothing words as she rocked him. Alice, copying Sampson’s earlier actions, squatted beside the children and spoke quietly. ‘Someone will come soon to take you somewhere safe.’ Then, remembering that there was an older, fourteen-year-old brother, she asked, ‘Is there anyone else in the house?’

  Rehana bit her lip and shook her head, but Maryham, who’d remained silent till now spoke for the first time. ‘Rehana…?’

  Rehana glared at her sister and in a sharp tone said ‘Choop curr. Chup kar’

  Maryham stuck her thumb in her mouth and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

  Alice pursed her lips and exchanged a glance with Sampson.

  Chapter 7

  2003

  Tuesday 3pm, Cambridge

  The Matchmaker was at work. Wary of the flow of people around him, he channelled his anger into his tapping fingers as he re-read the damning report. ‘Fucking idiot, fucking damn idiot.’ The refrain pulsed in his head until, unable to bear it any longer, he thrust the report into the shredder imagining it was the idiot’s head. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but if it did… so be it.

  Desperate for fresh air, he slung on his coat and left the office. He walked briskly through the drizzle towards the canal and, turning into a park three streets from his office, found a secluded seat before pulling out his safe phone.

  The Facilitator answered almost immediately. ‘You just caught me. I’d just finished with a client. What’s up?’

  ‘Two things,’ said The Matchmaker, his voice low as he glanced around making sure no one was in earshot. The first is annoying and concerns The Provider. Fortunately, for his sake, it should be relatively easy to deal with, so I won’t bother you with that. The second is much more serious and needs urgent attention.’

  ‘Hmm, sounds ominous.’

  ‘You could say. My sources tell me that The Treasurer has been compromised. He has been careless. His wife discovered incriminating data and reported it to the police, who now have access to his computer activity. Fortunately, thanks to your genius, we are safe. However, many of our clients will be compromised and scrutiny of his activities will be intense.’

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘Exactly.’ The Matchmaker’s leg did its involuntary jig as he once more glanced around.

&n
bsp; ‘What shall we do?’ asked the other man.

  The Matchmaker laughed. ‘That’s easy. We cut him loose and let him take the fall for all of us, but, I’m telling you now, I will exact revenge on the idiot’s wife. We will lie low for a while till I discover the extent of the damage. Dispose of this phone, transfer the accounts, leaving only shadow ones so as not to alert him and then sever all links with The Treasurer immediately.’

  ‘Right, I’m on it.’

  The Matchmaker hung up and took a deep breath, before dialling a different number. It rang for ages but just as he was going to hang up, it was answered. He spoke quickly not allowing The Treasurer to speak first. ‘We’ve got a couple of issues to resolve.’

  The Treasurer sighed. ‘Hold on, let me get my laptop and some privacy.’

  The Matchmaker heard a child’s voice in the background and then the sound of his colleague repositioning the phone before he spoke. ‘Sounds serious, what’s up?’

  A moment’s silence as The Matchmaker chose his words. He wanted The Treasurer to deal with The Provider’s mess before he cut him off completely.

  ‘The Provider has left a smell in Poland.’

  ‘Fuck! Traceable back to us?’

  The Matchmaker frowned. ‘Well, the murder of a young Roma girl and her missing brother have been referred to Interpol and then circulated to Europe. It’s potentially trouble for us, but if he can be contained it might blow over.’

  ‘Stupid little fucker. Why does he always take extra for himself?’

  ‘Hmph! Because he lacks finesse, that’s why. His appetite needs curbing.’

  The Treasurer grunted. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘His behaviour warrants a freeze on his cash flow till he toes the line.’

  ‘Ok, I’ll sort it now.’

  ‘See you do.’ He paused. ‘Dump your phone too, time we used some new ones.’ He hung up, took the battery out of his phone and walked back along the river towards his office. Stopping on the bank, he dropped the battery into the water and then repeated the process with the phone a few hundred yards later. Shoulders back, he headed away from the river, feeling satisfied that, once more, things were under control.

  Chapter 8

  2015

  Sunday 1:30pm

  Alice and Sampson crept upstairs and were faced by three closed bedroom doors, a bathroom door and one that led up to an attic space. The door was padlocked. Alice could hear the two social workers’ voices, drifting upstairs, as they escorted Sharon Asif’s three children out of the house. She turned her attention back to the doors, her heart thudding as she eyed the heavy padlock. Biting her lip, she made her decision and turned to the first of the unlocked doors. Catching Sampson’s eye she nodded towards it and in unison they moved to either side of the door. Alice raised her voice. ‘Police! If anyone is there, please make yourself known to us now!’

  Silence.

  ‘We’re coming in, please make yourself known to us.’

  No response. Alice quickly turned the handle and pushed. In the darkness she fumbled for the light and quickly flicked the switch. The single bare lightbulb emitted a jaundiced glow, revealing a double bed with no sheet and a dishevelled duvet. The broken side board held a scattering of cruddy make up and cheap jewellery. Empty spirit bottles and dirty clothes were strewn over the threadbare carpet. Alice scrunched her nose and moved in to look under the bed.

  Nothing.

  With a shrug she gestured to the second door and was about to repeat the process when a bang from above made her pause. She looked at Sampson. ‘Upstairs? Attic room?’

  He nodded and Alice studied the padlocked door. ‘Where’s the fucking key?’

  She moved towards the bedroom, but turned back at Sampson’s sudden, ‘Got it!’ She watched as he stretched his hand up to a ledge above the door and grinned when he turned and presented her with a small key.

  Taking the key, she slotted it into the lock. Soundlessly, she threw the padlock aside, yanked the door open and peered up the dark narrow staircase. There was just enough light for her to see another padlocked door at the top. With Sampson following her, she crept up listening for any further sounds, but the silence hung heavy.

  Nearing the top of the stairs, a familiar smell hit her. She’d smelled that smell once before when she worked in London. She’d been one of the first responders to a crime scene involving a homeless man who’d set up home in a huge disused pipe. Trying not to breathe in too deeply, she took two pairs of nitrile gloves from her pocket and silently handed one pair to Sampson.

  On tiptoes she reached up and felt along the door frame for the second key. With trembling fingers, she undid the padlock and thrust both the lock and key into an evidence bag.

  With a final glace at Sampson, she thrust the door inward till it hit the wall, fully releasing the contained stench. Behind her, Sampson slapped his hand over his nose and coughed. Alice schooled herself to take shallow breaths through her mouth and, when her breathing settled, she stretched her hand into the darkness and flicked the light switch. Her eyes darted round the room and, before she could fully absorb the scene, an anguished cry escaped her lips. She stepped back, knocking Sampson off balance and sending him stumbling backwards down the stairs to land in a wide-eyed heap at the bottom. She looked down at him. ‘Get an ambulance and DCI Chalmers down here now!’

  Chapter 9

  Sunday 2:15pm, Bradford

  Fergus McGuire opened the door of his refurbished, fully modernised farmhouse and was greeted by the aromas of singed meat and over-boiled vegetables and by the sight of his diminutive wife coming out of the kitchen, afro hair wild and even more tightly curled than usual due to the humidity.

  He’d signed the body off at the morgue and dropped in to check on Gus’ house on Marriner’s Drive. Gus hadn’t been back there since the incident and Dr McGuire took it upon himself to check it out at least once a week. As always, when he saw his wife Corrine, his heart lifted and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She stood on tiptoe, kissed his chin and with a hand on either side of his stubbly cheeks, she pulled his head down till she could repeat the kiss on his lips.

  ‘You’re just in time. Lunch is ready when you are.’

  Enveloping her in a bearhug which allowed him to bury his face in her coconut scented hair, he hid his grimace. Much as he adored his wife and marvelled every day at his good fortune in being her husband, he had a hard time coping with her culinary endeavours. Intelligent as she was, she was unable to master the art of cooking edible food and equally unable to realise that, what she considered culinary masterpieces were actually indigestion-inducing atrocities that her doting family felt unable to reject. As he continued to inhale her special scent, Fergus McGuire knew he would rather eat her worst concoctions than ever be without this remarkable woman.

  Laughing she patted him lightly on the arms till he reluctantly released her.

  ‘That bad, was it?’ she asked.

  He shook his head and followed her towards the kitchen. ‘Actually, no. Well, no more traumatic than the usual waste of life from a drug-propelled existence.’

  ‘Prostitute?’

  He nodded. ‘Probably. Definitely a drug addict though. Where’s Angus?’

  Corrine McGuire’s face fell as she flicked the kettle on. ‘He left an hour ago for one of his walks.’ Her blue eyes, unusual for a black woman and so like their son’s, studied him intently from her smooth café au lait face. ‘Did you hear him again last night?’

  Fergus grimaced; he’d been wakened at around 3am by his son thrashing about in bed, and had been unable to get back to sleep even when Gus’ nightmare had abated. He nodded. ‘It was bad last night.’

  Corrine wrung her hands and her blue eyes filled with tears ‘What can we do Fergus? He can’t go on like this for much longer. Whatever happened with that psychiatrist on Friday has just made him worse.’

  ‘I know, my darling.’ He moved over to hug her but was interrupted by his phone ringing.
With a ‘tut’ he grappled in his pocket for the offending item. ‘McGuire!’ Head cocked to one side, he listened intently. ‘Ok, Alice, I’ll be right there.’

  He turned to his wife. ‘Seems they discovered a lot more than they expected when they visited the dead woman’s house.’

  Corrine frowned, ‘Another dead body?’

  Fergus nodded. ‘Two it seems.’ He shrugged back into his jacket, ‘and they’re both children. Alice seems upset. Very upset indeed.’

  Corrine leaned over and patted his arm ‘Off you go, then. I’ll save your roast dinner for later.’

  Fergus grinned ‘Don’t wait for me. You and Angus eat yours. Don’t know how long I’ll be.’ He headed back out to his car, knowing he could grab a burger or something on his way home.

  Just as he was about to climb into his car he saw his son approach the house from the woods. Fergus hesitated for a moment, studying him, noting that although he still had a slight limp it was less obvious than it had been a month ago. But what worried him was Angus’ rounded shoulders and sullen expression. Even his usually ebullient dreads seemed flatter and less awry somehow.

  Fergus lowered himself into his car and decided he would exert pressure to get his son signed fit for work as soon as possible. He knew his son and he knew he needed something to occupy his mind, never mind the namby-pamby stuff the shrink spouted about ‘sharing’ the experience. Why the hell should Angus have to share the gory details of the day he failed to prevent his schizophrenic paranoid childhood friend from executing his wife? Why should he relive the moment he stabbed his sick friend to death to save his own life, whilst trying to stop his godson bleeding out?

  No, an active case was what Angus needed to help him move on and he’d bloody well pull in favours until they let his son back to work.

  Chapter 10

  2003

  Monday, 10am, Cambridge