Unquiet Souls: a DI Gus McGuire case

by Mistry, Liz

  McCulloch stood and walked round her desk. ‘Well, as it happens, you’re in luck. Gogs Redwood reoffended and is currently serving an eight-year stretch at Her Majesty’s pleasure.’

  Head on one side, Gus held crossed fingers up to her. ‘Please tell me he’s in Littlehey.’

  McCulloch threw back her head and laughed. ‘He certainly is. I’ll arrange for you to see him this afternoon. He’s got a therapy session that can’t be changed this morning.’

  Gus rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

  Chapter 70

  Wednesday 10:30am

  Opening her eyes felt like the most difficult thing Molly had ever done. She’d wakened a few minutes previously with the sinking dread that the horrible man in the Scream mask had come back while she was sleeping and she didn’t even know if it was night or day. She remembered him slitting the cable ties on her wrists and legs, fluttering his fingers in a cheerio gesture and saying, ‘Can’t wait to see what fun we’ll have tomorrow, Molly, can you?’

  For ages after the roll down door had clanged shut behind her tormentors, she’d been too scared to move from the chair. Her soaking jeans clung to her legs and an acrid urine smell assaulted her nostrils. Finally, the robotic voice had beamed eerily into the room, telling her to get off the chair and sit on the mattress. Legs stiff with cold and fear, she’d hobbled over and perched on the edge, away from the area where she’d weed when Scream man came in. Reaching behind her, she’d bundled up the sheet and scrubbed the damp mattress with it, before tossing it on the floor. Then, using her old trick with the blanket, she’d peeled her sodden jeans and pants down her legs and over her feet. Shuffling over to the barely aired radiator, she’d draped them over it.

  The sudden sound of the doors opening had her running, stumbling as she went, back to the mattress. He, the one who pretended to be her dad, had come into the room carrying a plastic bag. He’d thrust the bag at her, handed her a bottle of water and two pills and told her to swallow them. Too scared to object Molly had put them into her mouth, one at a time and swallowed them. Maybe they were poison and she’d die. She didn’t really care right then. All she wanted to do was see her mum, or if that wasn’t possible, curl up into a ball and pretend this wasn’t happening.

  ‘Eat,’ he’d said, and left as abruptly as he’d arrived. She’d eaten an egg and cress sandwich from the bag and wrapped herself tightly in the duvet and blanket and that was the last she remembered.

  Now, she listened to the quiet drip of water from the leak and strained to hear signs that she wasn’t alone. There were none, so she slowly opened her eyes and without moving the rest of her body she scanned her peripheral vision. Winter sunlight shone through the windows casting shadows that she identified as belonging to the chair and table. She appeared to be alone so she stuck her skinny arms out from under the blankets and then when the cold air hit them, quickly pulled them back under the covers and shimmied herself to a seated position, keeping the blankets tight round her small frame.

  For a long time, she sat motionless, her eyes vacant, then nature’s call made her shift to the edge of the bed till her feet in their mucky socks dangled over the edge. She wriggled forward till her toes swung just above her boots and pushed herself off the bed, hooking her toes into them and shuffling over to the foul-smelling bucket that stood in the corner. She hoiked her blanket up, held on to it with one hand and positioned the blanket round her thighs with the other, before squatting over the bucket. She’d nothing to wipe herself with so when she stood up a warm trickle dribbled down her leg. Feeling dirty for doing it, but with no option she used the corner of the blanket to dry herself.

  Shuffling back to the mattress, Molly touched the area where she’d weed earlier. It was nearly dry, but it stank like the boys’ toilets at school. She curled her nose up, bent over, yanked the carrier bag onto the mattress and plonked herself down before rummaging inside. He’d left her crisps, more Snickers bars, a Mars bar, a packet of Jaffa cakes and some cans of Pepsi. She ran her tongue over her teeth. They felt furry and the taste in her mouth made her feel sick. Maybe if she had something to eat she’d feel better. Listlessly, she took a packet of crisps, a can of Pepsi and the Jaffa cakes from the bag, screwed it shut and placed it at the top of her mattress before crossing her legs and snapping open the can. Her nose crinkled as the fizzy liquid tickled her nose.

  With indifference she opened the crisps and shoved a few in her mouth and chewed slowly before swallowing them. Then, she stuffed a Jaffa cake in her mouth, washing down its gluggy sweetness with another sip of Pepsi. Her head throbbed from when he’d yanked her hair up from her head and a small scab had formed on her ear where he’d nipped it with the shears. Remembering her snipped hair, she lifted her fingers up and ran them through the uneven greasy mess that sat roughly over her tingling scalp. Her eyes narrowed and under her breath she said, ‘Bastard, fucking bastard!’ She grinned, the unfamiliar words giving her strength, as she repeated them. ‘Bastard, bloody, fucking Scream bastard!’ She punched the mattress once, then again and again and again until her breath came in rasping puffs. Molly knew what the Scream man did. She’d seen bits of it at Charlotte’s house when she had a sleepover once. Charlotte’s big brother had let them watch it. She’d been terrified, but she hadn’t shown it, not in front of Malcolm. No way was she going to let him call her a baby. She frowned. It had been scary though, she remembered the music and the way Scream man just suddenly pounced. She shuddered. At least this Scream man hadn’t killed her. She put her head to one side remembering his tool bag and thought, ‘Not yet, anyway.’

  After she’d finished her unhealthy breakfast she felt a bit better. ‘Probably the sugar rush,’ she thought, recalling her mother’s words when she’d got a bit giddy after eating Smarties. She shuffled back off the bed and over to the radiator. Her jeans smelled bad, but they were nearly dry. With a few contortions she managed to pull them back on and immediately, despite their rich aroma, felt better. She slipped her feet into her boots and walked over to the huge window with her laces trailing behind her. The window was covered in a velvety sheet of ice, so Molly, standing on tiptoe, leaned up and breathed on it through her cupped hands till the ice began to melt. Then taking the edge of her blanket, she wiped at it till she could see through. It was snowing. A real blizzard so hard she could hardly see beyond the window. Her heart sank. No-one would be out there in that.

  She sighed heavily and turned away tapping her foot impatiently on the concrete floor. That was when she remembered the slamming doors and cries she’d heard yesterday before Scream man came in and cut her hair. She was sure it had sounded like other kids. She tapped her foot again and then turned to her right and went over to the breeze-block wall and began to bang on it with the flats of her hands. She cocked her head and listened… Nothing.

  So she banged and banged again and then opened her mouth and yelled as loudly as she could. ‘Halloooooooooo!’ Again nothing. The palms of her hands stung and her throat felt hoarse but still there was no response. Frustrated, she lifted her foot and kicked the metal pipes that ran from the radiator, up the wall and along the tall ceiling. A loud echoing crash made her jump as the metal reverberated. With a smile, she kicked and kicked them again and again and again, till her foot throbbed. Then, in frustration, she strode back to the mattress flung herself down and began to sob so loudly, that at first she didn’t hear the distant metallic sound. When it finally penetrated her grief, she sat up, rubbed her eyes and looked round the vast space. Then, forgetting her blanket and her bruised foot, she ran back over to the pipes and kicked them again.

  She waited hopping from foot to foot, her hands nervously pulling at a tuft of hair. There it was again, another clink of metal, someone else was there. She kicked her pipe again and waited for the clinking reply. There it was. Grinning she kicked again and then putting her mouth near the pipe, she shouted. ‘Halloo, who are you?’

  The pipe clanked again, then with her ear to the pipe, Molly h
eard a very faint voice. ‘Halloooo!’ Molly kicked the pipe, her heart beating excitedly. ‘Hallo, I’m Molly who are you?’ Then she heard the unmistakeable sound of the door along the corridor scraping open, followed by a bang and a scream and finally the sounds of the door scraping shut again.

  Moments later the voice of the man who wasn’t her dad came through the weird tannoy system. ‘You little bitch! Try that again and they’ll be punished, ok? No more shit from you, you little cunt. And don’t forget I can see you.’ And with that, the camera placed high on the wall, spun round with a creak. ‘Get back on the bed, right now.’

  Molly stared defiantly at the camera for a second and then, shoulders slumping, she walked back to the bed and sat down. She’d forgotten he could watch her and now he’d hurt the other kid. She wrapped her arms round her body, rocking back and forth, as hot tears ran down her cheeks. Why were they doing this to her? Why had they recorded her tied to the chair? Then it clicked. They were going to send that recording to her mum. Something halfway between a groan and a snort of relieved laughter gurgled in her chest. If they sent that recording to her mum, then she’d get the police to look for her. All Molly had to do was make sure that the next time Scream man came she had a clue to give her mum. Thinking back to her Jane Casey books, she realised what her protagonist Jess Tennant would do. She’d find a clue and then find a way to deliver the clue.

  Pulling the blankets right over her head, Molly clenched and unclenched her fingers until she was exhausted. She would stay on the mattress for a while and then risk going back to the window. After all, he couldn’t watch her all the time could he? She knew the window was her best chance. She’d been sure when she’d looked out yesterday that she’d recognised the area. All she needed to do was work out where they were before Scream man came back.

  Chapter 71

  Thursday 11:30am

  Pleasantly surprised by the absence of the odour of male sweat and over-cooked meat and veg, Gus sat on an uncomfortable red, plastic chair in the interview room. A clean pine detergent smell lingered in the room, making Gus think it had been recently mopped. Maybe we should employ these cleaners at The Fort. He’d been impressed by Governor McCulloch’s demeanour during their interview. She had a difficult job to do in impossible circumstances and he felt she did it well. The men in here, regardless of their crimes, were under her care and, as unpalatable as their crimes were, they were entitled to her protection.

  The door opened to admit an emaciated male with a receding hairline, a stoop and a permanent tremor in his hands. His pallor had the unhealthy tinge of a man who saw too little sunshine. He shuffled over, hoiking up jeans that kept slipping down his skinny hips and sat down in the chair opposite Gus. His eyes flicked from Gus to the floor and back again with the occasional spin round the perimeter of the small room. The guard who’d accompanied him in backed out of the room saying, ‘Just give us a knock when you’re done.’

  Keeping his gaze focussed on the man opposite, Gus nodded. He’d tried not to build a mental picture of Clegg, but even so he was shocked by how different he looked from his trial photos. He let the moments stretch until Clegg could stand the silence no more and shuffled briefly on his chair, before speaking in a rapid panicked rush ‘What’s happened, why’re you here?’

  Gus took his time before answering. He leaned across the table and in a low firm tone said, ‘Look at me, James.’ He waited till the other man lifted his gaze to meet his steady eyes. Almost immediately, they flicked away again. Gus clicked his fingers and the other man’s gaze lifted again. ‘You need to look at me, ok?’

  Clegg nodded and with obvious effort kept his gaze on Gus. All the while his hands kneaded the fabric of his jeans in his lap.

  ‘Your daughter has been abducted and an email video of the perpetrator slicing off her hair has been sent to your ex-wife.’

  If it was possible, Clegg’s face paled even more. ‘No.’ His trembling hands flew to his greasy hair and raked through it, his face contorted in pain. As his eyes began to flick round the room, Gus clicked his fingers again. ‘Focus!’

  The word was like a gunshot in the quiet room and Clegg, visibly jumped before his gaze returned Gus. Breathing heavily, he tried to speak but his words came out rough and muddled as if his throat was parched. Silently, Gus pushed a plastic cup of water towards him. ‘Drink, then speak.’

  With hands barely able to hold the cup he lifted the water to his dry lips and drank. Replacing it on the table, he began again. ‘It was my mum, wasn’t it? That’s how they found them.’

  His voice held desperation and Gus knew that this man would give him any information he had, if it helped to find his daughter. He nodded. Clegg moaned deep in his throat before straightening in his chair. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Tell me about the day Gogs Redwood shanked you.’

  Involuntarily, Clegg rubbed his side. He’d been stabbed repeatedly by a prison-made shiv and lost his spleen as a result. He’d be on medication for the rest of his life. He swallowed. ‘Gogs never said so, but I know he was paid to do it. See we got on ok, me and Gogs.’ His kneading hands took on a new fervour. ‘They arranged it… He arranged it.’ His voice lowered. ‘The Matchmaker.’

  ‘How could The Matchmaker have arranged it?’

  Running his hands through his hair again, Clegg hesitated. Then, he took another faltering sip of water. ‘He’s got contacts everywhere.’ He straightened in his chair again. ‘He– no not just he, but we… the organisation had many contacts in high places. At least one of them was high up in the police force. I’m sure of it, but I’ve got no proof. That’s how they escaped, The Matchmaker, The Provider and The Facilitator. None of us knew each other, but The Matchmaker.’ He stopped his kneading action and tapped one finger on the table for emphasis. ‘He knew everyone. He was the lynchpin that kept everything running.’

  Resuming his kneading motion, he continued. ‘I’m certain he paid Gogs to do this to me, in the hope that my mum would break the witness protection,’ he bowed his head and groaned, ‘and the stupid bitch did.’

  Gus gave him a moment to recover.

  ‘You’re sure there was no other reason for Gogs Redwood to attack you?’

  Shaking his head slowly side to side, Clegg propped his forehead on the table and sobbed.

  Despite his knowledge of the atrocities this man had committed Gus felt sorry for him. His anguish was clear. Gus leaned over and squeezed his arm until he stopped crying. ‘You’re going to go back to your cell now and you’re going to write down every single thing you can remember about The Matchmaker or the others and the things you did. I need names, places, feelings, hunches, anything. Your daughter’s life is at stake, ok?’

  Chapter 72

  Thursday 1:30pm

  Gus’s head was throbbing. He’d escaped to grab some lunch, giving the Governor time to organise his interview with Gogs Redwood. He’d already delayed his return train to Bradford by two hours and was determined to catch the later train. He’d had to delay his meeting with Battacharya. He desperately needed to get back, but not until he’d found out what Redwood had to say for himself.

  Unlike Clegg, Redwood had the cocky stature of a recurring offender. He was likeable and probably popular among wardens and fellow prisoners alike.

  ‘What’s up?’ His Scottish accent was undiminished by his years in an English prison. Taking the chair, turning it round and straddling it so his tattooed arms rested across its back, he studied Gus across the table. Gus leaned back casually in the chair ignoring the twinge across his shoulder. He’d taken his strap off for this interview, determined to show no weakness. He grinned at the prisoner and flung a packet of twenty cigarettes across the table.

  Gogs’s eyes lit up. One colourful arm snaked out and snatched the cigs quickly, before Gus could reconsider.

  ‘I need you to cast your mind back four years to the time someone contacted you and arranged a substantial payment in exchange for you jibbing James Clegg in the spl
een.’

  Proudly displaying a set of yellowed ferrety teeth, Gogs said, ‘Don’t know what you mean, Inspector.’

  Gus nodded. ‘Ok, so when I tell my colleagues north of the border where the money in a certain bank account really came from, you’ll still have no idea what I’m on about?’

  Gog’s eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘You lost me, mate, sorry.’

  Gus winked at him and touched the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Oh, I get it. You’re trying to keep quiet about the large payment that went into your account in 2012, am I right?’

  Nail-bitten fingers rasped Gog’s stubble as he considered his options. Gus raised an eyebrow and smiled. ‘Police Scotland accessed your bank accounts. They’ve reported unusual spending by your wife.’ Gus took a sip of the lukewarm coffee he’d brought in in a Styrofoam cup. ‘The purchase of a new car… a Porsche, I believe. A large deposit on a house in Morningside and a holiday booked to Disneyland, Florida. You can explain it all away, can you?’

  Gogs’s face flushed. ‘Stupid fucking bitch, I told her to lay low and not draw attention to herself. What the fuck’s she thinking?’

  Gus kept his smile hidden. He’d not had the chance to liaise with Police Scotland on the matter and he’d fabricated everything he’d just said in the hope that Gogs was stupid enough to take the bait. He leaned forward and made his final thrust. ‘The thing is, I can arrange for a blind eye to be turned, if you come clean about this, ok?’

  Gogs glanced round the room.

  Smelling the scent of fear on him, Gus continued. ‘If you don’t co-operate, we’ll drag your wife through the courts. Your kids’ll go into foster care and well, with you being in the nick, it wouldn’t be too hard for them to get a court order to take them away from her permanently now, would it?’