by Liz Mistry
Maybe the party had been coincidental. Maybe kidnapping Simon Proctor was always going to happen with or without the party. Gus snorted. He didn’t believe in coincidence. His gut feeling was that two dead girls and a missing lad, regardless of the spanner they’d just been thrown via social media, were linked. Time would tell. Meantime, he was getting heartily sick of talking to desperate parents. At least this time he wasn’t making a death call.
35
14:45 City Academy
It was as if she was about to be fed to the lions. Alice stood at the podium, heart thudding like an erratic basketball player pounding up the court, and tried to ignore the 600-plus faces that looked up at her. The hall was hot and smelled of boiled cabbage and lemons. Behind her, Taffy, legs crossed and relaxed, sat next to Patti Copley, with a further two uniformed police officers sitting behind them. She didn’t think her usual technique of imagining her audience naked was at all appropriate under the circumstances, so she just had to grit her teeth and get on with it.
‘You all know why we’re here, don’t you?’
A whisper of acquiescence breezed through the crowd before they settled into dutiful attention again. Alice smiled in what she hoped was a confident, yet reassuring manner. ‘I know this must be very hard for you, some more than others, however, we desperately need your help. Simon Proctor was in Year Eleven at this school and he’s missing after the house party on Saturday night. We don’t know if he’s safe and well or not. We need your help to find him.
‘Another student, Sue Downs, was murdered at that same party and we need to find out as much as we can about her in order to discover who did this. Sue was in Year Ten. For the rest of today and all day tomorrow these two police officers, PCs Bryant and Bashir, will be here.’
Both officers’ smiles were much friendlier than the one Alice had mustered. Looking completely at ease, they raised their hands and waved into the crowd of teenagers. Why couldn’t she have done it like that?
‘You have all been given leave to approach these officers. You can tell them anything you know, whether it’s a big detail or a small one about whatever happened on Saturday evening.
‘If you were at the party and haven’t already been interviewed, please come forward. If you’ve already been interviewed and have something else to contribute, please do so. Thanks for your patience.’
As the pupils slouched out in lines, Alice turned to Patti Copley. ‘Really appreciate you letting us do that. You never know, some of them may have some critical info for us.’
With a slight wave of her hand, Patti’s lips tightened. ‘One of my pupils was murdered and another is missing, it’s the least I can do. I only hope you catch whoever has done this soon.’
Alice and Taffy left the hall, smiling at students as they went. She was pleased to see the two uniformed officers interacting with the students. Maybe they’d be lucky and pick up a clue. Meanwhile, much as she longed to quiz Patti about Gus, even she realised that would be inappropriate, so she settled for a firm hand shake and a ‘Hope to see you again soon,’ before she left.
36
16:10 Manningham
The chat with the Proctors had gone about as well as Gus had expected. Jane had dissolved into floods of tears and no matter how much he attempted to make it clear that this in no way indicated that Simon was still alive, she refused to believe it. She insisted on making references to ‘when Simon comes home’ and ‘the future’ which alarmed Gus. The more she invested in Simon’s safe return and dismissed all other possibilities, the more she wound herself up for a cataclysmic fall, should he be harmed.
Mr Proctor, on the other hand, was full of bluster and admonitions about the lack of progress on the investigation and by the time Gus exited the house his stomach felt like it had been through the wringer.
Now, he headed along Heaton Road to meet Alice at Chatsworth Place. Slipping into the passenger side of her distinctive Mini, he groaned. His muscles ached as he struggled to fit his legs into the confined space. That’ll teach me not to do a proper warm-up and stretch afterwards. Might need to find time to nip down to Sports Direct in Foster Square for a pair of new trainers. Shame, really. I’ve had those ones for years and they’re comfortable. He shrugged. That was a lie. They were well past it, he just didn’t want to take out a second mortgage to get a pair of good ones. A faint whiff of grease told him that Alice had stopped off at McDonald’s en route. God, that girl packed the food away. She is getting as bad as Compo!
Rolling his shoulders to ease the crick in his neck, Gus filled her in on the YouTube channel and the Proctors’ reaction to it.
‘Fucking hell, Gus. This is getting more screwed up by the minute.’
Looking out at a young child in bright red wellies being pulled away from a puddle by an older woman. ‘Shame things can’t be simple, like that.’ Gus pointed at the child.
Alice followed his gaze and grinned. ‘Used to love jumping in puddles when I was a kid.’
Gus raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Yeah, when you were a kid? Sure, I saw you doing just that last time it rained when you had those grotesque purple wellies on.’
Alice laughed. ‘You’re only young once, Gus. You could do with being a bit more light-hearted. Bet Patti Copley would love jumping in puddles.’
Gus shook his head and snorted, getting out of the car. Not going to reply, it’ll only egg her on.
The perpetual muggy drizzle had darkened the recently blasted sandstone row of terraces, where Tayyub Hussain lived with his half-sister, to a mucky brown. The front back-to-back house stood in a quiet cul-de-sac, secluded from the noisiness of Oak Lane by a side road, a ginnel and a row of trees ready to shake off their autumn browns for the winter. A well-trimmed hedge gave privacy to a tiny square lawn, a small shed, a few shrubs in ceramic plant pots and a menagerie of softly swaying light catchers and wind chimes, which tinkled in welcome as Alice and Gus walked up to the front door. Alice took off her glove, rapped on the door and then gave the letterbox a small clatter for good measure. She grinned at Gus as footsteps approached from inside. Seconds later the door opened a few inches and a petite woman with her hair tied back in a pony tail stared accusingly at them. Gus introduced himself and Alice as they held out their IDs.
‘We just want to have a little chat with Tayyub, if he’s at home.’
The woman looked first at Gus, then turned her attention to Alice.
‘He’s not in trouble, is he? Is it something to do with that Simon Proctor’s party? Never did trust that lad, but Tayyub thought he was great.’
Gus shook his head. ‘Tracey, isn’t it? Can we call you Tracey?’
At the girl’s nod, Gus continued. ‘We just want to chat about the party. We’re talking to everyone who was there. Did you know Simon Proctor has gone missing and we found two dead girls in the house?’
Tracey paled. ‘I’d heard he was missing. Can’t say I’m bothered about him: he wasn’t very kind to Tayyub. I didn’t know about the girls. Were they murdered?’
Gus shrugged. ‘We’re not giving out details yet, Tracey. Could you get Tayyub for us?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. He’s upstairs, but before I call him down, I’d like to have a word with you. Come inside, so I can talk to you about Tayyub.’ She led them through to a small living room, with a couch, a chair and a telly in it. A couple of paintings hung on the wall and a vase of fresh flowers was the only ornament on the dresser that stood along the back wall.
‘Tayyub’s got Asperger’s syndrome.’
Gus frowned. ‘What’s that?’
Tracey sighed. When she spoke, it was almost by rote, as if she’d lost count of the number of times she had to give the same spiel. ‘People with Asperger’s syndrome are on the autism spectrum. For Tayyub it’s fairly mild, however under stress it becomes worse. He sometimes has difficulty in social situations and stuff. He doesn’t always understand jokes and can take them quite literally and this can lead to confusion. He’s easily frightened and
can get distracted by a lot of background noise.
‘In fact, when he was younger, he used to curl up in a ball at school and rock back and forth. We eventually worked out that the normal noise of the classroom was distracting him and he couldn’t concentrate. Ear defenders made it easier for him to focus on specific things and helped him tune out the background noise.
‘He’s a really talented photographer and knows anything there is to know about it. I suppose you could say he’s compulsive about that – and his PC. He’s recently started a small business doing photography and editing and everything. It’s slowly picking up. He’s got his bedroom all kitted out with his computers and printers and stuff and he’s even converted the little cupboard under the stairs into a darkroom – hence my hoover sitting by the front door.’
Alice looked at Gus, who shrugged. ‘So, he’ll probably be nervous of us, yeah?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Okay, thanks for telling us. It’s useful to know that. Sit in with us: it will make him more comfortable.’
Exhaling, Tracey relaxed visibly. ‘I told him it was dodgy to take photos of his friends pissed and stoned but he said he was getting paid for the images and a video and it was all going to be kept confidential anyway.’
Gus and Alice exchanged glances.
‘He got paid to take photos on Saturday night?’
‘Look, I’ll go and get him: it’ll take a while because he’ll have to shut down all his stuff.’
Five minutes later, Tracey appeared at the bottom of the stairs accompanied by thudding footsteps as a tall boy followed her. She walked into the kitchen and he followed, loping in the unbalanced manner typical of teenagers who’ve not quite grown to fit their new lanky frame. Tayyub stopped just inside the door, head down, casting nervous glances at the two visitors.
‘Come on, Tayyub, sit down. You’re not in any trouble but these police officers need to talk to you.’
Tayyub shuffled into the room and grunted an incomprehensible greeting whilst Gus smiled in a friendly manner. ‘We need to ask you a few questions about the party at Simon Proctor’s house on Saturday night, Tayyub. That okay?’
Tayyub avoided meeting his gaze. Gus took it as acquiescence.
‘Okay, for starters, did you invite anyone to the party?’
Tayyub looked puzzled and glanced at Tracey. ‘Nope.’
‘Did you post any details about the party on your wall on Facebook or mention it to anyone?’
Tayyub shrugged. ‘Never posted it on my wall, I spoke about it to Si and Jake and Matty, though.’
He leaned back and took a sip of the tea Tracey had given him, then, with a splash, dunked a biscuit in it. When the sodden biscuit was fully deposited in his mouth he frowned again. This time when he spoke a shower of moist brown cookie crumbs sprayed across the table and his words were indistinct. ‘Oh, and The Young Jihadists.’
Gus glanced at Tracey and Alice, before speaking. ‘The Young Jihadists?’
Tayyub grabbed another biscuit before replying. ‘Yeah, they paid me to film bits of the party for their youth forum.’
Gus struggled to keep the surprise from his face.
‘They what?’
‘They paid me to film the party for their youth forum. Fifty quid, cash in hand.’
‘So, you’re telling me that this group wanted you to film Simon Proctor’s house party?’
Tayyub glanced up now and frowned. ‘Yeah and edit it afterwards, too. Why, have I done something wrong? They said it were only for the youth group. You know educational, like.’ Tayyub squirmed on his chair and his eyes darted nervously round the room.
‘No, no, you’ve not done anything wrong. Tell me, Tayyub, who are The Young Jihadists?’
Tayyub sniffed, stopped squirming and took another slurp of his tea. ‘Just a youth group from that new mosque off Oak Lane. All gold it is, and green. You know the one with the huge minarets and the loudspeaker that chants all that prayer stuff out.’ He laughed. ‘Not that it makes any bloody sense with all the static that comes with it. Sometimes it sounds like Darth Vader.’ He grinned at Tracey, ‘Or, on a really bad day, like our Tracey singing in the bath.’
He ducked as Tracey laughed and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Cheeky bugger!’
Gus laughed too and winked at Tayyub. ‘Do you go to The Young Jihadists group, Tayyub?’
He grinned. ‘Nah, they’re too bloody mental. Jihad this and jihad that.’
‘Mental?’
‘Yeah, that’s all they go on about, ‘our jihad as young Muslims’. Especially that Shamila.’ He thought for a minute and then lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘And bloody Tariq. Between you and me that’s only ’cos he fancies her. Shamila, I mean. Anyway, I ain’t really Muslim, am I, Trace?’
Tracey smiled. ‘You can be what you want to be, Tayyub. It’s up to you. No, you’re not really Muslim. You don’t go to the mosque or owt.’
‘Can’t sit still for long enough, can I, Trace?’
‘No Tayyub, you can’t.’ And as she spoke Gus noticed the lads leg bounce up and down and realised that he’d continually fidgeted on his chair the entire time they’d chatted.
He grinned. ‘Tell me, Tayyub, did you film a lot of the party?’
He shrugged. ‘Most of it, I guess.’
‘You reckon you’ve caught most of the people who were there on film, then?’
Tayyub beamed, his face lighting up. He was clearly at ease speaking about his hobby. ‘Probably. Party was boring and I didn’t know half the folk there so I just wandered round recording. Kept myself to myself.’
‘Do you have all the footage, still?’
‘Course I do. I always back up and keep copies. I’m professional.’ Stuffing another biscuit in his mouth he pointed upstairs. ‘I’ll show you, if you like.’
‘I would like that, Tayyub. I would like that very much.’
Tayyub grinned and began to disentangle his long limbs from the kitchen table. Gus rested his hand on his arm. ‘Hold up, Tayyub. Tell me a bit more about The Young Jihadists.’
Tayyub fell back into his chair and screwed up his face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, can you give us names and stuff?’
‘Oh yeah, I’ve got all their numbers and that.’
He opened his phone and jotted down a series of names and numbers which he handed to Gus. ‘They’re the ones I know. Come up and I’ll show you my stuff, if you like.’
Walking into Tayyub’s bedroom was mind-blowing. In the course of his career Gus had access to many teenagers’ bedrooms, however, Tayyub’s was like no other. For a start, it was neat and orderly with a single bed in the far corner and computer workstations taking up the remaining wall space. The carpet was criss-crossed with a series of wires, some of which were taped down, which must have made it a devil to hoover. On the workstations themselves was a range of computer equipment and accessories similar to the ones Compo had brought into the incident room
Tayyub, clearly in his element, sat in his computer chair, whilst Tracey brought two folding chairs. ‘What do you want to see? The beginning of the party or what? Or maybe the edited version I prepared for the group?’
Gus looked at the monitors and printers in awe before answering. ‘Well, Tayyub, let’s just start at the beginning and take it from there.’
Tayyub flicked a few switches and pressed play. It soon became clear that Tayyub was extremely skilled at his job. There was no discernible camera shake and he slewed smoothly between scenes to give a comprehensive overview of the area he was recording.
The screen showed the recording to have taken place at 21:00 on Saturday. Tayyub had focussed in on Simon, Jake and Matty, who were engaged in some sort of three-arm linked cheers. In the background the thrum of music could be heard, with frequent bursts of laughter interspersed with shouting. The three boys were flushed and had obviously had a few drinks.
Then, Si posed for Tayyub and began to roll a joint, commentating in a sligh
tly drunken way as he did so. ‘First you get the Rizla and then you carefully position the baccy along the centre.’ He looked conspiratorially at the camera, ‘you get the smoothest smoke that way.’
He then carefully took a small clear cellophane bag from his jeans and carefully dispersed some weed along the baccy. He winked at the camera. ‘Now the rolling is the most important part of the joint. It’s all in the wrist action.’
A series of guffaws accompanied his words to which he responded, ‘Dirty fuckers.’
He then licked the Rizla and sealed the joint before popping one end into his mouth and lighting the other. He inhaled deeply with his eyes closed and then slowly breathed the smoke out.
‘Aaah, that hit the spot.’
He passed it onto Jake who repeated the process. Suddenly the music increased in volume and the recording moved through into the dining room where a crowd of young lads watched a girl in stilettos gyrating on top of a shiny dining table. Tayyub focussed in on her feet moving, clearly showing the scratches she was inflicting on the table.
Tayyub pointed at the monitor, ‘Mrs Proctor will be mad when she sees that.’
The recording then moved up to the girl’s face. She had long blonde hair cascading down her back, and as she danced with her eyes closed, her arms snaked up and tousled her hair in a parody of a porn movie. Miniscule braless breasts jiggled provocatively beneath her thin T-shirt. Her hips encased in skintight jeans swayed sensuously in time to the rhythm.
Then a voice rose above the music. ‘Come on, get them off.’
Suddenly, with that one shout, the atmosphere changed from harmless giggling stupidity to testosterone-fuelled demands. Soon, all the boys were cheering, egging her on, jostling with each other for a better view.
‘Come on, show us your tits.’
‘Let’s see your cunt!’
‘Fucking whore. Give us a shag.’
Then, as one, the drooling red faced boys began clapping and stamping their feet on the floor and the chant became an insistent rhythmic, ‘OFF, OFF, OFF!’