by Liz Mistry
Cup of black coffee in his hand, Gus was ready to hear a summary of his dad’s findings. ‘Go on then, Dad, let’s hear it in English. Tell me about Sue Downs’ death.’
Fergus cleared his throat. ‘I measured the depth and length of the wounds and looked for any unique markings that would offer a clue to the weapon. I also sent off the nail scrapings and so on for testing, to ascertain which, if any, drugs were in the wee lassie’s system. I’m still awaiting results from the lab. The most surprising finding was that she was around four months pregnant at the time of her death.’
That was a turn-up for the books. Perhaps her being pregnant was a contributing factor in her death? Maybe one of the lads at the party was the dad. That would be the first thing they’d check out. Not that he was looking forward to telling her parents their dead fifteen-year-old daughter had been pregnant.
‘She was a healthy teenager between fourteen and eighteen years of age. Cause of death was repeated stab wounds to the abdomen as she was lying on the bed. Lividity shows she was killed more or less in situ, although someone, presumably the killer, positioned her body in a star shape. We already knew she’d had sex prior tae her death, as evidenced by the presence of lubricant consistent with condom usage in and around the vaginal area.’
He paused and patted his jacket pockets absently. Gus continued to sip his coffee, savouring the warm deep flavours. He knew that his dad would give a detailed summary, so he had no desire to rush him. Experience had proven that rushing him only slowed everything down.
Fergus, finally finding what he was looking for, shoved a cigar in his mouth, although in adherence to the smoking laws refrained from lighting it. He sat back and crossed his legs. ‘I think the sex was consensual. Nothing to say otherwise, anyway. We’ll send both a sample of foetal tissue and the hankie found at the crime scene off for DNA testing. That’s no’ tae say that the man who she had sex with killed her, or for that matter that he’s the father of the bairn.’ He frowned. ‘Disnae even mean that the father of the bairn was the killer.’ he puffed out his cheeks and shook his head like a fat chicken disappointed to find she’s flattened her eggs.
‘Might be an idea tae get a swab from the father of the house… Proctor, was it? Might have been his tissue stuffed down the back of the bed, post coital with his wife, I suppose. Some of those posh folks can have right mucky habits. Didnae look that old though, I have to say, but best cross our T’s.’ He tilted his large head to one side and scrunched his mouth, making the cigar bob up and down as he did so, ‘Unlikely, really, I suspect, bearing in mind how tidy the bedroom was. You never ken, do ye?’
He sighed and shook his head sadly before continuing, ‘The knife was a common kitchen knife. No unusual striations. No shorter than four inches long and an inch and a half wide. The cuts themselves were purposeful with nae hesitation marks, although I would say not frenzied. “Frenzied” implies out of control and, though there were twelve cuts, each appeared quite purposefully administered. Not a queasy person, I’d guess. They weren’t particularly angled at any major body organ from what I could tell – just the abdomen – maybe the womb?’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
‘Might it have been a woman, Dr McGuire?’ Taffy sat on the edge of his seat like he was determined to be top of the class. Gus tutted and shook his head. If he didn’t like the lad so much he’d be well pissed off with his being a bloody Goody Twoshoes.
‘Aye, laddie. It could’ve been. Or a teenager – male or female. I’m not really narrowing the suspect pool for you.’
In full swing now, Taffy jotted a note in his book, ‘Not an amateur then; perhaps not their first crime?’
‘Well, I don’t know about that. Does purposeful, with no hesitation, indicate experience or just a cool head, Taffy? You’re the detectives. You work it out.’
Taffy scribbled again.
What the hell? Does the lad have the memory of a slug or something? Can’t he remember a few bits and bobs? Gus wanted to crack on and he knew his dad would happily answer inconsequential question after inconsequential question. He cleared his throat and sent a warning look in Taffy’s direction. Taffy bit his lip sank back in his chair as Dr McGuire continued.
‘The other victim, the lass we identified on sight as Jade Simmonds, was sixteen years old. She died of asphyxiation after choking on her own vomit. Again, a healthy lassie, who’s now deid.’
Gus crushed his plastic coffee cup in his hands. ‘Would you say it was an accident, then?’
Doc McGuire tilted his head to the side, and then shook his head. ‘I can’t say for certain yet, Angus. I’d like to get the DNA results back on her nail scrapings. Feels a bit off to me, particularly with those few scratches at her neck and the bruising I found on her wrists. I can’t sign off on her yet. Parents can come to ID any time after one. Now, I better get cracking on.’
He stood and plonked a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘I have faith in you super-sleuths to find out what’s gone on, meanwhile, I must say cheerio and get on tae my next PM; homeless bloke, drunk on Shipley Glen. Fell into the rocks below. Poor soul! No’ a pretty sight.’
Back in the car heading towards The Fort, Taffy tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and frowned. ‘Okay, looks like two isolated incidents to me. Jade, I reckon, will end up being accidental death; the other girl was clearly murdered. Mind you, the missing boy’s a bit of a worry. Is he another victim or maybe he’s responsible for stabbing the girl?’
Whilst pleased to see the young lad using his deductive skills, Gus couldn’t help wonder why it had taken him so long to come to the same conclusion he and Alice had drawn even before they’d left the crime scene. Experience, perhaps. At least the lad was analysing and that was a damn good start for a fledgling detective.
33
13:30 Nab Wood
‘This is the part of this job that I like least.’ Gus sat in the car beside Sampson. The rain that bludgeoned the windscreen matched his mood. ‘It doesn’t get easier. No matter how many you do… So let’s just get in there and get it over with.’
He pushed open the car door and waved a hand in greeting to the family liaison officer, notably not she of excessive cheeriness and ample proportions, who had pulled up behind them seconds before. At this rate they’d be running out of FLOs. Together, they walked up the path of the ex-council house and knocked on the door. This was a well-tended street, just up from the Cornerstone Project and a nice row of shops, with a play park for kids adjacent. Right now, the park was empty and Gus could see it hadn’t fallen foul to graffiti or vandalism like some of the parks he’d seen.
The man who answered was as tall as Gus and double his width. His arms were muscled and the grease under his nails hinted at him being a mechanic or something similar. His face seemed pinched around the lips and his nod was tense when he acknowledged that, indeed, he was Mr Downs.
As soon as he read Gus’ warrant card, a muscle started to thrum at his temple and his eyes darted towards the front room, where a woman’s voice rang out followed by quick footsteps. ‘That you, Sue? You’ve had us,’ The woman stopped when she saw the trio at the door, her hand lifted to her mouth and her face paled.
Gus saw this reaction time and time again; that moment when a hopeful parent became aware that hope had forsaken them. It never got any easier. Mr Downs swallowed hard and then stepped back from the door, waving them through the carpeted hallway into a small, tidy living room. The Downs followed and Gus took the chair opposite the sofa, gesturing for them to sit down together. The FLO made her way into the kitchen with a ‘I’ll get the kettle on’ and Sampson took the other chair, notepad at the ready.
The telly was on mute, a series of disjointed images flitting across the screen. As if irritated by it, Mr Downs grabbed the TV controls from the sofa and flicked it off. Looking round the room, Gus saw photos of the couple before him, and the girl in the morgue. It seemed that Sue Downs was an only child. This always made it seem worse to Gus. Not that he bel
ieved that a living child could somehow make up for a dead one; but he wondered if, maybe, the comfort they gained from being a family rather than just a couple could make them stronger. Most couples seemed to fall apart after the death of their only child.
He leaned towards them, but before he had a chance to break the news, Mrs Downs was in tears as if her mother’s intuition had prepared her for this moment. Mr Downs wrapped her in his wide capable arms. ‘She’s gone, hasn’t she?’
For a minute Gus was unsure whether he meant gone as in disappeared or gone as in dead, so he hesitated.
‘Tell me straight, what happened to my girl? We need to know what happened.’
Wishing he was anywhere else but here, Gus lowered his eyes. It was the only way he could afford them a modicum of privacy in their grief. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr and Mrs Downs, Sue was found last night in a house in Cottingley. She’d been stabbed to death.’ Experience had told Gus that a direct approach was often the best. Nonetheless, he prepared himself for any of a number of responses, each as tragic and heart-breaking as the rest.
Mrs Downs’ crying increased in pitch. Her husband buried his face in her hair and rocked her back and forth wordlessly. After what seemed like hours, but could only have been a minute or so, their sobs subsided. Mr Downs wiped his face with the back of his hand and looked at Gus. ‘You got the bastard that done this, then?’
Gus shook his head. ‘Not yet, Mr Downs, but we will.’
The big man looked diminished. He appeared to have shrunk, as, with gentle fingers, he wiped his wife’s tears away. ‘What was she doing in Cottingley? She told us she was staying at Maggie’s on Saturday night, and when she wasn’t back by nine last night, we phoned Maggie and she said she’d not seen her all weekend.’
He wiped his nose again. Mrs Downs clasped and unclasped her hands in front of her. When she spoke her voice shook. ‘Why would she lie to us?’
Gus shook his head before clearing his throat. ‘I have to ask this, Mr and Mrs Downs, and I appreciate it’s hard, though I really need to know. Did Sue have a boyfriend?’
It was Mrs Downs who answered. ‘No, she didn’t. She was too busy with her sports to be bothered with boys.’ She frowned and lifted her gaze. ‘Are you telling us our baby was molested?’
Gus bit his lip. ‘Look, Mrs Downs, there’s no easy way to hear this. Sue had, what we believe to be, consensual sex just prior to her death.’
Mrs Downs shook her head violently from side to side. ‘Consensual? No, never, she’s only fifteen, she must have been raped.’
‘That’s not all, Mrs. Downs. The pathologist discovered that Sue was around fourteen weeks pregnant.’
Mr Downs paled. ‘No, no, you’re mistaken, she was only a girl.’
Wishing he was anywhere other than right in that room with this poor couple, Gus shook his head, ‘I’m sorry, so very, very sorry.’
34
14:35 The Fort
Gus got Sampson to drop him off at the top of Scotchman Road, saying he’d catch up with him at The Fort in thirty minutes. So far, the day had been pretty full-on, and after devastating his second set of parents in as many days, he’d been wired and on edge. Experience told him that if he didn’t work off some of the excess adrenalin surging through him, then he’d be functioning below par for the rest of the day. He couldn’t afford to be less that one hundred percent, not in the middle of a big case. His leg had stiffened up too, again the result of too much forced inactivity. A brisk jog down Scotchman Road, in lieu of a warm-up, followed by two laps of Lister Park and a swift run up to The Fort would do the trick. Slipping into a pair of joggers and his old trainers, Gus got out of the car and waved Sampson off.
The rain felt cool on his face as he jogged past the Scotchman Road allotments. They were deserted apart from one old man in a raincoat, pottering about near one of the sheds. It seemed the owners were battening down for winter. Cars lined the streets and crowds of adults surging towards each of the two primary schools, told Gus it was nearly home-time. It seemed to Gus that schools were starting earlier and earlier in the morning and finishing earlier in the afternoon, too. Patti had told him it was so they could fit in more of the administration side of the things required by the government.
The Polish shop at the end of the road catered to the changing community in this part of Bradford and, as Gus ran past, he waved to the smokers who hung about in the makeshift centre opposite the gym. It never failed to amuse him that half the shelter’s occupants wore Lycra and trainers.
By the time he got to the ornate gates that marked the side entrance to Lister Park, Gus was beginning to regret his decision to run. Rain now pounded like hailstones against his face and by the looks of the dark clouds that hung low in the sky, it wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. Increasing his speed, he ran around the park, feeling his leg muscles straining as he did so. He may well suffer for it later, but right then it felt good to be exercising.
Cutting short his planned two laps and foregoing his stretching routine, he exited the park at Oak Lane, nipped over to Mo’s to grab a bag of samosas for the team and then pelted up the road. By the time he arrived at The Fort, he looked like his dad’s proverbial ‘drookit craw’. Rain streamed from his dreads into his eyes and his clothes were sodden as he ran up the steps, waved a greeting to Hardeep and headed for a quick shower. Boy, that was just what I needed!
Showered, changed and warm, with his batteries recharged, Gus savoured the quiet of the incident room. Alice and Taffy were en route to deliver an appeal to the pupils of City Academy. He hoped Patti wouldn’t land him in it with Alice… no, that was stupid. Of course, she wouldn’t. Patti was far too discreet to talk about personal things with his sergeant. Alice, however, was not always as circumspect and it was that thought that concerned him. He didn’t want Al with her size fives marching in and wrecking what was only just beginning to bloom. He grimaced. What the hell. If what he had with Patti was worth pursuing, then even Alice’s interference wouldn’t deter them.
A yelp from Compo’s side of the room didn’t worry Gus as he was well used to Compo’s erratic noises. However, when it was followed almost straight away with, ‘Fucking hell, Gus, you gotta see this!’ he was on his feet in an instant and striding across the room to peer over Compo’s shoulder.
‘Set my PC to notify me of any activity around Simon Proctor… and fuck me, look what’s just come up!’
The screen was fuzzy, yet Compo’s unusual lapse into profanity told him there was something of value on the screen.
‘What is it Comps? I can’t–’
As he spoke, Compo worked his magic and, the screen became clearer. There was an image of a young lad, huddled under a blanket on what appeared to be a camp bed. Compo pressed some more keys and the image enlarged on the central screen they used to share footage.
Gus stepped away from Compo and arms crossed over his chest looked at the big screen. ‘It’s Simon Proctor, isn’t it? It is him.’
‘Yep, looks like him and the site it’s come up on is a YouTube channel entitled Simon Proctor. I discovered the channel earlier but there was nothing on it. This just pinged, five minutes ago.’
‘So, what are you telling me? Someone’s set up a YouTube channel under Simon Proctor’s name and is screening this video… Is it live?’
Compo shrugged. ‘The time frame says this footage was taken at around eight this morning. Of course, it could be doctored, whoever took it could’ve manipulated the time. It’s not live. It’s been uploaded in the last few minutes, but that can be done remotely or even automatically. In terms of the channel, anyone can set up a YouTube channel and give it any name they want. I’ve got one dedicated to my dance moves. It’s got 500 followers.’
Less distracted by the thought that Compo showed off his erratic dancing on a public platform than by the fact that 500 people were foolish enough to want to view it, Gus paused to collect his thoughts.
‘Shit, this is in the public domain. Can we pull it be
fore anyone else sees it?’
‘Too late, Gus. It’s got over 1,000 views already and rising. Whoever posted it tweeted the link from a Twitter account under the name of ‘Where’s Simon?’ The image is a photo of Simon with a ‘Where’s Wally?’ bobble hat and jumper superimposed.’
‘Fuck!’ Gus’ fingers racked his still damp dreads. ‘Can you do owt about it, Comps? Link it back to the sicko who’s posted this stuff? I’ll need to let the Proctors know what’s going on. Not that this is any bloody indication of Simon’s current state of health. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.’
‘It’ll take time. I’ll see what I can do. Can’t say how much computer knowledge this joker will need till I start unravelling the layers. I’m on it.’
Gus grabbed his coat and headed out for what he expected to be a very uncomfortable chat with the Proctors. They’d just done their TV appeal and it had gone out on the local news channels and radio. Now, he had to tell them their son was incarcerated in what looked like a dank and dark cellar and was alive early this morning – but they had no indication that he was still alive now. Whoever had come up with this sick idea wanted to torment the Proctors, which opened up an entirely different suspect pool. From being a kids’ party gone wrong, this had become something far more complicated and infinitely more sinister.