by Liz Mistry
‘So, she uses the name Ali? All the other students and teachers call her Ali?’ When Haleema nodded, Gus continued. ‘What about Claire Ann Brown?’
‘Oh, Claire’s another lovely girl. Tries her best, not as academically gifted as Ali.’
Patti cleared her throat. ‘I think the inspector’s asking if Claire uses her middle name or her first name.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Haleema turned to Gus. ‘No, Claire’s called Claire.’
‘Okay. You said Ali was new to the school, is that right?’
‘Yes. She came in January, transferred from a school in Leeds. When the adoption was finalised, her parents wanted to move her to a school near their home so she could make friendship groups in the area.’
‘And has she made friends in the area?’
Haleema folded her arms and sat back in the chair. ‘Well, to be honest, I don’t think she’s extended her circle of friends beyond what it was before. You see, the Buttons are part of a church called The Family Church of Christ. We have quite a few families in the same church and Ali seems mainly to have been friends with those pupils.’
‘What about Simon Proctor? Did she know him?’
‘Well, she may have known him, I suppose. He’s in Year Eleven so there’s a bit of an age gap there, still, it is possible.’
‘What’s she like?’
Haleema glanced at Mrs Copley.
‘Ali’s a bit – oh I don’t know – eccentric, I suppose?’
‘In what way?’
‘She finds it difficult to make friends. She’s very quiet and she’s always scribbling in a book. The Individual Needs Department have tried to involve her in groups. However, she’s not interested. Academically she’s very bright although she doesn’t contribute in class.’ She hesitated and again looked to her head teacher for permission.
‘It’s not really that surprising. From the limited information the adoptive parents have given, her biological parents were overly controlling and restricted contact with her peers. They hinted at some sort of abuse, but were reluctant to divulge very much as the move here was supposed to be a new start for Ali. The theory being, to leave her baggage behind with the adoption.’
‘So, she must have a social worker? Is she on the “at-risk” register?’
Patti answered. ‘We can’t give you details of Ali’s social worker. I know she will have been removed from the at-risk register when she was deemed she was no longer at risk and the adoption process began. You would need to approach social services… perhaps even the family.’
‘Well, what are the parents like – the adoptive ones?’
‘Very involved in her learning, very supportive. Mum doesn’t work, Dad’s a vet. Does a lot of the work at York race course, I believe.’
‘How old are they?’
‘Hmm, Hard to say. I think she’s probably mid-thirties and he’s possibly a few years older. She’s quite pretty, dresses fashionably, and tries to get Ali to dress nicely too. I’ve seen them arm in arm in Top Shop looking at clothes, Ali refused to buy anything.’ She laughed. ‘Her mum was really disappointed, but Ali said she was comfortable in her jeans. Dad’s a bit quieter than mum, greying slightly at the temples. All in all, a nice family.’
‘Any other children?’
‘No, Ali’s the only one.’
52
15:50 Bradford Royal Infirmary
Sampson was pissed off. Why did he have to take the girl’s statement, just because Knowles was an arse? It wasn’t as if he’d nowt else to do. After all, he was investigating two murders and a missing person. He shrugged and took a deep breath. Nowt he could do about it, after all. Gus said it would be good experience for him and he wanted to keep on his good side.
A&E wasn’t as busy as he’d seen it. Too early for pub brawls and not late enough for the after-school rush. Still, a fair amount of blood, nausea and moaning as he walked up to the reception area to enquire after his witness. He was directed along beige corridors randomly dotted with bright paintings at eye level, into an asthmatic lift and finally to a ward where a pretty, yet no-nonsense, sister scrutinised his ID, before escorting him to a side room at the far end of the corridor. She knocked perfunctorily and entered, smiling widely at the girl’s visitors, her parents presumably. She introduced him in a far friendlier tone than the one she’d spoken to him in.
Sampson looked at the girl and saw tears rise in eyes that were sunk beneath high cheekbones, coloured in varying shades of purple. He paused and frowned, wondered if he’d seen the girl before. He looked around for a chair to give the girl time to compose herself, and when he sat down next to her, he smiled at her and then at her parents. ‘I know this is difficult for you. I’m here to take your statement, love.’
Her father ran great rough hands over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘God, can’t it wait? She’s been through enough. Look at her. Just let her rest.’
His wife put out her hand and gripped her husband’s arm tightly. ‘Gordon, they’ve got to act quickly. You know that. We want them to catch the bastards that did this, so they have to question her.’ She raised worried eyes to Sampson, before turning back to her husband. ‘Look, you head out and get us all some coffee, I’ll stay here with Jenny, okay?’
As he looked at his daughter, his eyes filled up. Clumsily, he crossed to her bed to kiss her, then hesitated, seemingly when he realised there was barely an area of unbruised skin. With a sigh, he blew her a kiss. ‘I’ll be back soon, honey.’
Jenny’s mum watched her husband leave and then held out her hand. ‘I’m Sally Gregg, Jenny’s mum.’
Sampson shook her hand. ‘Thanks for your help there. It’s a difficult time, you’re right. However, we do want to catch these buggers.’
He turned and studied Jenny, who lay with her eyes closed. ‘Can you hear me, Jenny?’
Her eyes flicked open and looking straight at him, she swallowed with difficulty before speaking. ‘Do you know what they’ve done to me?’
Sampson shook his head.
Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. ‘Neither do I. All I know is that every inch of my body hurts. I’ve got concussion, three broken ribs, numerous fractures, two in my skull, four broken fingers, a broken wrist, a dislocated knee, a fractured cheekbone and I still don’t even know if I’ve been raped.’
Sampson glanced at her mother who held a glass of water and angled a plastic straw to her daughter’s mouth. Jenny sipped and attempted a lopsided smile at her mum. However, the pain was clearly too much and she soon let her head fall back onto her pillow.
‘I’ll tell you what I remember, though it’s not much. I got in from school, dumped my stuff, grabbed my bag and left.’
‘This was when?’
‘Around 4.15 Monday night. I walked up to Ali’s house and we had our tea.’
‘Ali?’
‘Oh, Ali Button. She’s a friend of mine. I was having tea at hers and sleeping over after we’d been to The Prayer Chair Meeting.’
‘The what?’
Jenny’s mum offered her daughter another drink and explained, ‘The Prayer Chair is an activity organised by the Youth Brigade of our church. They take The Prayer Chair into shopping centres and towns on a Saturday and encourage people to use the chair to seek redemption from their sins.’
Jenny looked at him. ‘We were meeting to discuss where we would go on Saturday.’
‘Who else was at the meeting?’
Mrs Gregg handed him a piece of paper with names, addresses and contact numbers of all the group members. ‘I anticipated you’d need this.’
Sampson folded it and put it in his pocket. ‘So, you got to the meeting at…?’
‘7pm.’ Jenny frowned. ‘It finished about 7:45 and I felt a bit tired, so I told Ali I was too tired for a sleepover and I’d just go home and really, that’s about all I remember.’
Sampson read his notes. ‘Did you leave the meeting with your friends?’
Jenny frowned and shoo
k her head, ‘Don’t know. I suppose so. We usually walked together and split up at Ashwell Road near the top of Emm Lane to go our separate ways.’
‘You can’t remember?’
A small sniff, ‘No.’
‘They’ve taken her bloods to see if she’s been given anything. You know drugs or something.’
As Jenny began to weep, her mother moved over and took the girl’s hand in hers, talking all the while in low soothing tones.
Realising he wasn’t going to get much more from the girl, Sampson stood up. Something niggled at the back of his mind, just out of reach. He took a step towards the door before it clicked. He knew why Jenny Gregg looked familiar. Although, covered in bruises as she was now, he could have been forgiven for not making the connection. ‘Jenny, were you at Simon Proctor’s party on Saturday night?’
Jenny’s body stiffened and she pulled her hand from her mother’s. ‘Yes, yes, I was. How did you know?’
Mrs Greg stared at her daughter, her mouth an O-shape. ‘You were supposed to be at Ali’s on Saturday, Jen. Why would you go to a party instead?’
Sampson wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained. When would parents realise that their kids only told them the half of what they got up to?
Jenny’s mum, brow gathered even tighter, her eyes dull and a single circle of colour on each cheek, turned to Sampson. ‘Has she done something wrong? Why are you asking about that party?’
‘Look, Mrs Gregg, we need to speak with everyone who was at the party. Simon’s still missing and two girls lost their lives that night. Have you any idea where Simon is, Jenny?’
Tears, coursed down Jenny’s cheeks. Like a toddler about to throw a tantrum, her head moved from side to side in denial. ‘No, No. I don’t know anything about Simon. I can’t remember owt, okay?’
Despite the girl’s obvious distress, Sampson had the impression she wasn’t telling him everything. Memories of the footage Tayyub had taken showed another girl pulling Jenny off the table. He wondered if that was her friend, Ali.
Deciding to report back to Gus before asking any more questions, Sampson said his goodbyes and left the room. Jenny Gregg wasn’t going anywhere in the near future and, perhaps, Gus could convince her mum to let her talk to them with another adult present. That would be the best solution.
53
17:15 The Fort
‘Eureka!’
Compo appeared from the depths of his computer station like a bear from hibernation, clutching a sandwich of indefinable origin and wearing a haggard, yet satisfied, look. He moonwalked across the room, twirled and, realising he had an audience, glanced down at the floor, his ears pink. ‘Got a hit on the bikers!’
Gus contained his smile. Compo’s enthusiasm was just the tonic he needed right now. Things didn’t seem to be going anywhere very fast but at least Compo seemed to have come up with something. ‘The floor’s all yours.’
Compo looked at Gus, his ears becoming even pinker. ‘You mean, you want me to tell everybody?’
By everybody, Gus took it that Compo meant, himself, Alice, Sampson, who’d just returned from Bradford Royal Infirmary, and Taffy. Not exactly an intimidating audience, still Compo hated reporting from anywhere other than behind his computer. It would do him good to venture out from his comfort zone every so often and this was a safe environment to test the waters. Gus leaned back on his desk, arms crossed over his chest. ‘Seems the quickest way to disseminate info, Compo. On you go.’
Compo glanced round the room and then moved to the front, pulling at the bottom of his Beatles ‘Eleanor Rigby’ T-shirt and dragging his feet like a recalcitrant toddler. He cleared his throat and concentrated his gaze on an area far above their heads. ‘Used Tayyub’s video to narrow in on the tatts for the Blow Job Guy.’ As if realising how bad his words sounded Compo made an eek expression with his mouth and shuffled his feet.
Gus had to admit the expression ‘Blow Job Guy’, wasn’t the most sensitive of descriptors, but what the hell? It was only amongst the team and it was clear which guy Compo referred to. As Compo hesitated, biting his lip, Gus rolled his hand in a get-on-with-it gesture.
Standing a little straighter, Compo continued, rephrasing his description this time. ‘The guy with the skeleton dressed in leather and riding on a motorbike tattooed on one arm and on the other a skull-wearing a helmet with the letters FB interlaced across the forehead. I thought the letters might mean summat, so I cross-referenced in the dark web and found a bikers’ organisation called the Fugitive Bandits. It seems to be a less organised, more self-serving unit than the Hells Angels and has no links with them. It deals in drugs of all categories, has financed meth labs and imports heroin for distribution. Recent reports from vice show leanings towards grooming girls via the internet and possible child prostitution. Also, they have links to the bikers who rampaged in Kirkstall Road in Leeds in 2016. I’ll keep trawling to see if I can find a location in Yorkshire for these guys.’
Taking a deep breath before wiping his forearm across his brow, Compo continued. ‘I also cross-referenced Jade Simmonds’ social media activity and came up with an internet name for our dude. Appears he’s called Hard Rock. Jade had been PMing him for weeks and from the printout, which I’ve sent to your individual PCs, she arranged to meet him on Saturday. She also mentioned Simon Proctor’s party.’
‘Any real name yet for the guy?’
Compo shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’ve set up a cross reference with known biker dudes, circulated the tatts images to tattoo parlours and contacted vice. Shouldn’t be long till we get the bastard.’
Looking embarrassed and uncertain, Compo began to make his way back behind his screen until Gus stopped him. ‘Hey, Compo.’
He turned and Gus smiled. ‘Brilliant work.’
Compo’s ears went pink again and a shy smile hovered round his lips before he disappeared behind his PC. Soon a tell-tale rustle told the rest of the team that Compo was comforting himself with food.
Just as Gus was about to share what he’d learned at the school, Sampson cleared his throat and moved to the front of the room. ‘I think I’ve got something, too, Gus.’
Gus inclined his head and repositioned himself on the edge of his table and gave Sampson his full attention.
‘I went to BRI like you asked and interviewed the girl. Her name is Jenny Gregg.’
Much as Gus was happy for Sampson to have his minute in the spotlight he wished the lad would just get on with it. They’d loads to do and he didn’t have time for all this pussyfooting about. They should all just get to the damn point. He took a deep breath and released it, slow and long. He had the sense to realise that his impatience was a symptom of stress and, having no intention of going back to how he’d been earlier in the year, he took another breath and focussed on what Sampson was saying.
‘Seems she was at Simon Proctor’s party on Saturday. I think she was the girl dancing on the table, you know. The one that the other person in the hoodie pulled off.’
Gus frowned. ‘You think? Didn’t you ask her?’
Sampson flushed. ‘Yeah, I did… well, I asked her if she was at the party and she said she was. Her mother was in a right tizz about that and the girl’s well beat-up, so I thought maybe we could try and interview her with a non-related adult present. I reckon we’d get more that way.’
Exhaling, Gus gave a reluctant nod. Much as he wanted the information yesterday, Sampson had made the right call.
‘Poor kid’s been beaten up and is doped up on morphine. The results of the rape kit have been inconclusive so she doesn’t even know if she’d been raped and she was near-hysterical when I was there. I decided we could tick that box tomorrow and just work on the assumption that she was the girl. I’m fairly certain she is.’
Much as it would have been ideal to have positive confirmation that it was Jenny Gregg on the table, Gus agreed that there was no point on upsetting the girl when she’d just been through a vicious attack that could have left her dead. ‘You did
right, Sampson. Now how does this tie in with Simon Proctor’s party, the two dead girls and Proctor’s disappearance? Connected, do you think?’ He turned and glanced round the room at each of his detectives in turn.
Alice slurped some coffee and shoved a digestive biscuit in her mouth before replying. ‘Course it’s related. Too much of a coincidence for it not to be. Well, that’s what you’re always banging on about, anyway, Gus, isn’t it?’
Gus shook his head in mock despair. ‘Banging on about? I think you mean I make the valid point that there is no such thing as coincidence in our line of work.’ He turned to Sampson. ‘What else did you get from her?’
‘Only that she was supposed to sleep over with her friend Ali on Monday night, but didn’t. I sensed they may have fallen out and that’s how they got separated.’
‘Aaah,’ Gus clicked his fingers. ‘That’s the name that I got from the school this afternoon. Ali Button’s family are involved with a church called The Family Church of Christ.’
Lips turned down, Sampson continued. ‘Seems that she’d been at a youth meeting at some weird church or other to discuss Prayer Chair sessions in town.’
Gus sensing that he was going to like Sampson’s reply as little as Sampson did, said, ‘And those are?’
Before Sampson could reply, Alice jumped to her feet, eyes flashing, ‘It’s a fucking exercise in public humiliation in the name of religion, that’s what it is.’
The room went silent. All eyes turned to Alice who stood clenching and unclenching her fists, her small chin raised, her eyes darker than Gus had ever seen them.
He lowered his voice, his tone calm, ‘Okay, Al. You want to share what you know about it with us?’
Alice gave an abrupt nod, gulped in some air and paced back and forth for a minute. Gus sensing she needed the time to collect her thoughts, moved over to grab a coffee. By the time he’d perched himself, yet again, on the edge of his table and was blowing into his mug, Alice was ready to begin.