by Liz Mistry
‘Look, this is the last time. I promise, Jerry. Then we’re square, okay?’
Knowles tone was pleading, yet Jerry knew it was all an act. That was the thing with Knowles, you never knew quite where you stood. He’d have your balls in a vice if the mood struck. Jerry sighed and cupped his balls as if to protect them from whatever it was Knowles wanted now. ‘Right, go on, what is it?’
‘You’re a mate, Jerry. Straight up, a pure mate. Name’s DS Alice Cooper. Worked out of Brent. Something went tits up a while back. What was it? I want enough shit to cover my granny’s roses, okay?’
Jerry turned and walked back to his desk, all hope of his morning panning out as he’d planned destroyed. ‘Right, okay, give me a couple of hours?’
‘An hour, Jerry. An hour and phone me back on this number, right?’
20
07:30 Bradford Royal Infirmary, mortuary
With his usual stoicism, Gus marched along the antiseptic corridors of the post-mortem suite, hopeful that, to the casual observer anyway, he’d appear eager to reach his destination. In reality, he wished he could run in the opposite direction. After being sick in the public toilets, he’d splashed cool water on his face, confident that would disguise his nerves. Why was he getting worse every time he had to attend a post-mortem? He’d never been this bad before.
One glance in the cracked mirror above the wash basin told him he’d been unsuccessful. His angular face was tense and a slight pallor made him look jaundiced. Hell, even his blue eyes looked insipid, his dreads flat and mousey. He braced both hands against the sink and gave himself a good talking to. Taffy is coming for his first ever PM and I have to show the lad some fortitude. I can’t go being sick in front of him.
Grimacing at his reflection, he acknowledged that he had nothing left to bring up. The coffee he’d drunk that morning had splashed its way down the toilet bowl, leaving his stomach churning. This is not going to be one of my finest hours.
Over the years, Gus had developed a technique of shallow breathing during the post-mortems. Despite this, the closer he got to his destination, the more he became aware of the gradual merging of antiseptic and rotten body smells. It may well have been his overly vivid imagination, but, to his mind, there was no mistaking the odours seeping along this corridor in the bowels of the hospital that gripped him in a stranglehold. No matter how new their ventilation system, how much they cleaned and sprayed, the stench always clogged up his throat, bringing a million snapshots of previous post-mortems to mind.
Reaching the door, he swallowed, took a deep preparatory breath through his mouth and pulled the prepared hankie from his pocket. This was getting to be a damn habit – he’d need to stock up on his Vicks. Before his nostrils completely filled with the nauseating stench, he thrust it under his nose and breathed deeply from within the hankie hoping it would serve the dual purpose of disguising the god-awful smell and operate as smelling salts when the grinding and sawing noises became too much for his queasy stomach.
By the time Gus had donned his scrubs and folded his greasy hankie beneath the mask, Taffy was in the room. The lad, to give him his due, didn’t shy away from unpleasant things. He stood as close to the trolley as he could, and seemed determined not to miss anything. Gus, lacking Taffy’s enthusiasm, positioned himself at the back of the room, leaning against the metal sink which, to date, he hadn’t had to use. Still, after his earlier performance, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility and he found it reassuring to have the receptacle within easy up-chucking distance.
Should the pathologist require his observation, Gus could step forward and see the horror of the autopsy table in all its glory. Otherwise he hoped to remain as ignorant of the gore as Taffy seemed keen to investigate it.
21
07:55 Unknown Location
So fucking disorientated. Head’s thumping, and every time I blink, it’s like someone’s stabbing my eyes with broken glass. I’m in that sort of no-man’s-land, halfway between being stoned and sober; my hands shake. Mouth’s dry as fuck. Must’ve swallowed the contents of a dregs bucket. Tastes like shit. Shadows waver and weave around me. Making me fucking dizzy. Not sure if it’s all in my head.
When I strain through the grey darkness they look unfamiliar and threatening, like ghosts or demons or summat. Maybe it’s like that old bugger Scrooge. Maybe I’m being haunted by the Ghost of Christmas Past. That’d be a laugh. There’s a shape in the corner right in front of me. It’s all spindly looking, like an old man bent over. I blink twice. It’s gone and instead there’s a box. If I blink again, maybe it’ll go, too. There’s a bundle of stuff in the other corner, can’t see it at all now, maybe it’s gone… disappeared… maybe a ghost’s taken it. ‘OOOOOOH!’
Hope not. Might need it.
Green lights still there, up on the wall. Sometimes it’s red. Then it flashes green for a while, then back to red again. It’s a camera. CCTV in a fucking cell! Sickos out there watching me. What sort of fucked-up idiot gets off on watching a lad trapped in a freezing dungeon? Hope they’re enjoying the fucking show. Hope they’re happy seeing me suffer.
‘Are you fucking happy, you bastards? Fucking sick bastards!’
Shit that hurt, shouldn’t have moved. Now I’m thinking about my head again… and the cold, the fucking freezing cold. Wish I was at home right now in my own bed. I need to get up. Need to see what’s what. Need to focus, get my stuff together. God, I’m starvin’. Could eat a dozen Snickers bars right now. What is it Matty says? – ‘could eat a scabby horse.’ Tosser!
I need a piss. Jesus, think my bladder’s going to erupt if I don’t relieve myself soon. I inch myself upright, taking it real slow. Pounding head. Feel dizzy. I put out my hand. Use the wall to balance. Aw, its slimy, Yuck! Now the blanket’s fallen to my waist. The air slaps me like a blizzard, my teeth chatter, my body shivering. Didn’t expect this cold. Wrapping my arms round my chest, overlapping them, I rock back and forth, trying to quell the shivers. When it stops, and my mind clears a bit, I take a deep breath and swing my legs round to the side of the camp bed. It wobbles and for a second I think it’s going to collapse, so I stand up.
The concrete’s freezing against my bare feet, so I fall back onto the bed, making it shake even more. Need to get something on my feet and there’s a pain in my groin now, too. I scrunch up onto my knees and tilt my upper body over the side of the bed and rummage around on the floor for my trainers. Hope there’s no dead mice or owt. Hate mice… Shit, what if there are rats? What’s that sound? That’s definitely a rat… bet it’s a rat. Read somewhere once that they eat you, even if you’re not dead. Fuck’s sake. What a way to go.
The sound of my own breathing’s freaking me out now, so I hold my breath and listen. There’s nowt, though. Nothing. Not a damn noise. Maybe I imagined it… or… maybe there’s a bloody battalion of rats all holding their breath, same as me, waiting till I move before they pounce, their sharp clawed paws gouging chunks out my face and their teeth gnawing at my toes. Wouldn’t even feel it, they’re too damn cold.
Take a deep breath, Simon. Ground yourself.
Hoping the noise will dispel my fears, I laugh. The sound echoes around the room, bouncing back at me, mocking me, making me jump. I bite my lip and put all thoughts of rats to the back of my mind as my fingers ferret around, my knuckles screeching in pain every time they connect with the hard floor. Got to find my trainers, got to piss. My hands skim over something and I yank them back, nearly bricking it. Thought it were one of them rats for a minute.
I laugh again, although this time I keep it inside. I’m not brave enough to disturb the silence yet, so I grab my trainers and pull my body upright onto the bed till I can sit cross-legged. The grey seems lighter now. Must be getting used to it. The shadows are still eerie, though I can make out shapes in the corner. I inhale once, the air dries my throat even more. So damn thirsty! Needing a slash and being thirsty at the same time’s not a great position to be in.
Fuck, if I’m not qui
ck, I’m going to piss myself. Fucking tongue’s glued to the top of my mouth, can’t even swallow. Fuck’s sake! Come on! Damn fingers won’t work. Shit, no. Can’t piss myself. Not now. Not done it since I were a kid and I remember what happened then. Shit! Don’t go there, Simon. Just breath. Nice… and… slow.
That’ll do. Only got the laces half undone but it’ll do. I drop the shoes onto the floor and dangle my legs over the side before slipping my feet in one at a time, not caring that they’re my best Nikes and I’m squashing the heel. Shuffling along, I use my fingers against the moist wall for balance until my toes connect with something solid in my path. It’s cuboid and stands to just above my knee. My fingers explore the plastic and find the lid. As soon as I lift it the smell of disinfectant hits my nostrils and I release a sigh of relief. Yanking my fly open, a torrent of urine splats into the bowl in an almost never-ending flow. A flick of my dick to release the final few drops and I pack it away, uncaring that the residue soaks into my boxers. Nobody there to tell me off, now. Nobody at all. I shiver. It’s like I’m the only one left in the entire universe.
22
08:00 Bradford Royal Infirmary, Mortuary
Whilst removing Jade Simmonds’ liver, Fergus McGuire was well aware of his son’s preparations. It never ceased to amaze him that Angus had still not developed a thicker lining to his stomach. Fergus’ hopes of Gus following in his footsteps had taken a knock when at the tender age of twelve, the laddie threw up watching a cow give birth. What was supposed to have been a magical father and son bonding experience had turned into a major trauma for Angus – one that had never left him. The glance he now threw in his son’s direction was a combination of concern that Angus would actually faint this time, and admiration, that despite his revulsion, he still attended PMs, time after time. Stubborn boy! Just like his mother when she’s got a bee in her bonnet. He smiled beneath his mask.
Closing his mind to his son’s discomfort and aware of Taffy’s interest in the proceedings, Fergus directed most of the general data to him as he weighed and dissected organs. Jade Simmonds’ post-mortem was straightforward. She was normal in every respect for a girl her age, except for the fact she was dead. Dr McGuire soon pronounced cause of death to be asphyxiation on her own vomit, more than likely caused by excessive consumption of alcohol. The lab had identified traces of semen in her vomit and in swabs taken from around her mouth. Various tests would be carried out to check for the presence of drugs in her body and to ascertain her exact alcohol levels.
There were scratches on her neck. He took some skin scrapings from her nails for DNA testing. When Jade’s post-mortem was complete, he cleaned up, changed his clothing, and moved into an adjoining examination room. It may not have been unheard of for him to have to perform two PMs in one day, however, it was rare he had to conduct two on such young victims in such quick succession.
What in Heaven’s name was the world coming to? Fergus’ chest was heavy, as if a block of cement resided there, weighing him down and making his movements sluggish. He tried to shake off the inertia as he began the PM on Victim Number Two, the unidentified girl from the bedroom. How the hell was this slip of a girl still unidentified? First glance told him that although slim, she wasn’t undernourished and her young body showed none of the signs of homelessness. She looked free from drug or alcohol addiction and seemed healthy enough… apart from the obvious injuries to her chest and the absence of life. Someone somewhere was missing a daughter and they didn’t realise it yet. How tragic was that?
Fergus was glad when Gus indicated that he and Taffy had to leave. One less thing to worry about. The boy’s shoulders had slumped a little more with each incision and, not for the first time, he wished Gus would delegate the PMs to someone with a hardier stomach. Gus and Taffy would come back later to talk over the findings with him and, in the meantime, if he came up with anything notable, he’d text Gus. As they exited the room, Fergus saw Angus drop an arm round the younger man’s shoulders and ruffle his hair. It reminded him of when Angus was a laddie and he’d done the exact same thing to him.
23
08:05 Paradise Road, Cottingley
Alice drew up at the kerb in front of Jake Carpenter’s house and looked out at the quiet road that was a sharp contrast to Matty Bates’ busy Manningham Street. Jake’s house was a newly built semi-detached with a postage stamp garden at the front. Two cars sat on the drive, in front of a sizeable double garage. One was an older Audi and looked well-used, the second was a five-year-old BMW that shone as if it had been recently waxed. It was clearly the owner’s pride and joy. She turned to Sampson. ‘The three boys have very different backgrounds. Wonder how they hooked up.’
Sampson looked at his notes. ‘All three lads go to City Academy, which is more than likely where they met. School’s a great leveller and City Academy takes kids from all over Bradford.’
Alice knew the school and the head teacher there, Patti Copley. It was up Manchester Road and had earned a good reputation as one of Bradford’s beacon schools. As far as schools went it seemed friendly and efficient enough to Alice. Then again, schools were most definitely not her thing. She grinned. The mention of City Academy reminded her of Gus’ ‘big secret’. He thought she didn’t know about his dalliance with Patti Copley. Phew, Idiot! Did he really think he could keep that quiet? If there was gossip regarding Gus’ love life then she’d be the one to find out about it. Mind you, no way was she going to tell him about the bet she, the school secretary and Naila had about how long it would take Patti and Gus to hook up. No, she wasn’t daft enough to let him realise that she knew him better than he knew himself.
The curtains in the front room were open, and inside Alice could see the shadowy figures of people getting ready to begin their working week. Such a shame she was going to set it off to such a bad start. Hey-ho… one person’s annoyance was another person’s pleasure, and she would get a truck load of pleasure from seeing Jake Carpenter squirm. If Matty Bates’ account of Saturday night was accurate then this little scrote was a bit of a ringleader and Matty Bates was a damn sheep. Well, that was her take of the situation, anyway, after seeing the series of text messages between the lads since Sunday morning. Idiots! She’d keep an open mind though, just to be sure. After all, she had been wrong about people in the past. ‘Come on, then, let’s go and spread some joy.’
Sampson rammed his notes back in their folder and got out of the car. Halfway up the path, Alice turned to him, ‘You want to lead on this one? I want to be ready to do my mean and moody act if Jake’s as stubborn as Matty made out.’
Without waiting for his reply, she marched up the steps and rang the bell. Within seconds she could hear a voice from inside, getting louder as it neared the door. ‘Who the hell is that at this time? They’re going to make us late. Jake, get your damn bag and let’s get cracking. What’s got into you this morning? First you miss your bus and now you’re going to make me late, too.’
The door was flung open and a woman in a business suit and a blouse that revealed too much cleavage made to push past them. ‘Sorry. We’re running late. Whatever it is, you’re going to have to come back later or speak to my husband if you can drag him away from his damn computer.’ She turned her head and yelled back into the house. ‘Come on, Jake. If you want a lift, get a wriggle on.’ Then with a step towards the stairs she raised her voice again. ‘Danny, there’s somebody at the door.’
A young lad ran down the stairs jumping the last two and then ground to a halt. His eyes met Alice’s and his face paled. Alice tilted her head to one side and with a cold smile held his gaze for a moment, before turning it to the woman and offering her warrant card. ‘I presume you’re Mrs. Carpenter? I’m DS Alice Cooper and this is DC John Sampson, we’d like to come in.’
Mrs Carpenter looked at the card and then at Alice. ‘Look, I don’t know what this is about but you’ve caught us at a bad time. If it’s about those damn quad bikes you’re going to have to come back later on, after work.
’
Moving to block the woman’s exit, Alice spoke in her most polite voice. ‘It’s Jake we’re here to speak with. Perhaps if you’re too busy, his father can be his appropriate adult.’
A frown crossed Mrs Carpenter’s forehead and her mouth fell open. Alice stepped into the hallway, hiding the dart of satisfaction that made her heart skip a beat at having knocked the other woman off balance. Her ‘May I?’ was a redundant platitude.
As the three adults looked at him, Jake backed away, his eyes flitting from one to the other. He was bricking it and satisfaction bubbled in Alice’s chest. Little bugger deserved to feel uncomfortable. After all, he and Matty had left a young innocent girl who was in trouble without even phoning an ambulance. A little bit of squirming wouldn’t do the boy any harm whatsoever.
‘Jake?’ the single word went up at the end and Mrs Carpenter’s lips pursed. Jake ignored his mum and kept backing into the kitchen. She turned to Alice, blinking as she watched her son’s retreat. ‘What’s this all about?’
No doubt if Mrs Carpenter hadn’t had Botox, her forehead would have wrinkled with concern. As it was, it was difficult to ascertain whether the woman’s tone betrayed anxiety or annoyance. Following Jake towards the kitchen, Alice flung a bomb over her shoulder. ‘It’s about the party that Jake attended on Saturday night at Simon Proctor’s home.’ Before the other woman could ask any more, Alice added, ‘Maybe you could fetch your husband and we can get started.’ She waited till Jake’s mum was halfway up the stairs before adding, ‘Oh, and I’d call your work. Let them know you’ll be late.’