by Liz Mistry
‘Police, hands up.’ Alice’s voice was firm.
Big H’s two thugs began to run in the opposite direction from where Alice and Sean had entered. Alice let them go. They had a team at the far entrance, too, and they’d pick them up. On the floor in front of Big H was an unzipped sports bag. Inside were glistening bundles of heroin. Caught in the fucking act!
Alice opened her mouth to repeat her earlier order to Big H when she saw his eyes move from her and a slight smile flicker at the corner of his mouth. Adrenalin pulsed through Alice’s body and a warning frisson shot up her spine. In a nanosecond she had spun round and dodged to one side. At the same moment a shot rang out and Alice registered that the trajectory of Sean’s aim was right at the spot where she had stood.
Without pausing to think, she raised her leg and kicked out in one of her oft practised ju-jitsu moves. Her foot connected with Sean’s waist. He stumbled, yet maintained his hold of the gun which he pointed at Alice. In that brief second, Alice realised that his service gun was kicked behind him and the one he was holding wasn’t an official gun. She did a double kick to his waist which landed him on his bottom with the gun still pointing her way. Allowing her weight to propel her forward at speed, she flipped her gun in her hand so she was holding the barrel and then brought the handle down on his head with as much strength as she could muster.
Seeing Sean was unconscious, Alice spun round and saw Big H, wheezing like Darth Vader on a bad day, trying to zip up his bag. She cocked her head at him. ‘Really?’
He looked at her and then plonked himself down on the crate so hard that it flattened, leaving him flat on his back like a fish out of water. Alice slipped her cuffs on him, hooked him to a water pipe and radioed for assistance.
In the time it took for help to arrive, Big H spilled all to Alice, who from somewhere, found the sense to caution him and switch her phone to record. Sean had planned it all. He’d wanted her with him so he could kill her whilst pretending to be the tragic hero who tried so hard to save her and yet failed. There was another exit that Big H and his stooges had built, leading up to the top warehouses and off to a labyrinth of back alleys. True to his word, his stooges didn’t exit at the expected point and later a makeshift ladder with a hole leading to the upstairs warehouse was found behind some pallets in the corner of the middle warehouse. Alice’s account, substantiated by Big H’s, was enough to keep her in the clear. She, however, had lost it big-time.
Although she had no recollection of doing so, Alice must have driven home, for her Mini was parked outside in the street. A vague impression of Gus’ shocked face and his outstretched arms as he tried to stop her from leaving Nancy’s office lingered in her head. She hadn’t wanted to stay. Hadn’t wanted to hear their platitudes. She knew how devious Sean Kennedy could be. After all, she’d lived with him for two years and never once suspected he was a dirty copper. When she’d got inside her dinky little two-bedroom terrace, she’d locked her doors and drawn the curtains shut. The very thought that Sean had come out of his coma petrified her. He’d tried to kill her and he’d have succeeded if something, perhaps a sixth sense, hadn’t alerted her to the danger. She’d trusted him. He’d been her lover and her boss and she’d trusted him with her life, trusted him to have her back.
How fucking naive had she been? She hadn’t seen it coming. Hell, only that morning they’d made love and he’d told her he loved her, suggested maybe it was time to make their arrangement more permanent and, like a fool, she’d believed him. The memory of how happy she’d been that morning made her feel sick. She rushed into the kitchen and dry-heaved over the sink until her stomach muscles spasmed. Closing her eyes, she slid to the floor and with her back leaning against the kitchen units, she rested her forearms across her knees and, dropping her head onto them, she broke down and sobbed in the darkness.
When she was spent, she realised just how cold she was and, feeling like a woman three times her age, she pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the pins and needles that shot up her legs and into her numbed bottom. Heaving her leaden body, she climbed the stairs and, flinging off her clothes as she moved, she went into the bathroom and put the shower on as hot as it would go. As steam rose in the bathroom, she lifted a hand and swiped it across the mirror. Two dark, kohl smudged eyes stared at her from the depths of a pallid face. She lifted her fist and smashed it into the mirror and enjoyed the strange feeling of peace that descended on her when she saw the glass break like cracking ice on a pond, fracturing her reflection into a million pieces.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to climb over the bath and into her shower, only then noticing the rivulets of blood that meandered down her fingers. She clenched her fist and, as if from a distance, studied the myriad of scratches that opened along her knuckles as she flexed. For a fleeting second, she remembered the girl Neha from their previous case. Neha had self-harmed and Alice had asked her how it felt. Neha had tried to explain the release and peace that each cut delivered for her. At the time, Alice had struggled to understand, now, however, she felt a sudden rush of sympathy for Neha, who struggled with this impulse on a daily basis. Standing, head bowed, under the shower, she savoured the warmth as it soothed her.
When, at last, she stepped out and turned the shower off, her mood had lifted. Last time, she’d been a victim. This time, she was no longer a victim. She would do everything in her power to make Sean Kennedy pay for what he’d done. If he was no longer in a coma then he should be behind bars and she would do whatever it took to make sure that’s where he ended up. Big H was quite clearly hedging his bets. Maybe Sean had something more on the gangster and was playing that card. Whatever his game was, she wasn’t going to sit back and let him win.
She was snuggling into oversized pyjamas and a fleece dressing gown when the doorbell rang. Alice grinned. Gus! He is so damn predictable… and such a worrier.
Wednesday
60
06:30 The Fort
Gus, hair bouncing like a mane as he stormed into the room, came to an abrupt halt. His eyes flashed at his team members, who had almost jumped to attention at his brusque entry. ‘What the fuck is this?’ He threw a copy of the morning’s Sun on one table and a copy of The Bradford Chronicle on another.
Sampson, who was nearest, picked up The Chronicle and read the headlines aloud:
Two dead, one missing and now a fourth teenager beaten and hospitalised.
When will Bradford Police stop twiddling their thumbs?
As Sampson and Taffy moaned about the headlines, with Compo nodding his agreement from behind a bacon butty, Gus glanced round the room. No Alice. He had told her to make a late start and, after yesterday’s events, he doubted she’d have surfaced yet. Between them they’d demolished a substantial portion of the Glenmorangie he’d brought round. Fortunately, he’d had the foresight to jog to Alice’s house, knowing he’d need to take a taxi home later, even so, she’d downed more of the amber nectar than he had.
She’d spoken at great length about her feelings for Sean Kennedy and his betrayal of her, yet was determined not to succumb to the depression that had plagued her just after the event. She’d been grieving not only the loss of her lover but also the loss of what she had believed their relationship to be. Gus knew exactly how that felt. Gabriella hadn’t tried to kill him, she’d just left him for his own sister. What Kennedy had done to Alice was much worse and now the bastard had the audacity to try to turn the tables on her. At one point she’d yelled, ‘I should have killed the bastard when I had the chance. Now, he’s bloody resurrected he’ll think he’s God and will do everything in his power to make me pay.’
With her words still ringing in his ears, Gus lifted the copy of The Sun newspaper and cleared his throat. Now that they’d seen the local headlines, Gus wanted to let the team know about the national ones, before they saw them for themselves. With everyone’s attention on him, Gus spent ten minutes explaining the situation with Alice and Sean Kennedy in detail to his team. Reassuring them t
hat Alice was still on the team and had not been suspended, he cautioned them that this may not be the position for too long. He held out the newspaper at arms’ length with the headlines visible to his team.
‘Hero officer accused of attempted murder by maligned coma cop!’
So far, they’d not printed her name, but as soon as the tabloids did, the powers that be would suspend her, pending an investigation. She was lucky, Nancy had argued the case for her continued employment until a preliminary investigation had been completed, citing the fact that a court ruling had previously declared Sean Kennedy culpable. Nancy had lined up a lawyer for Alice to see later on that day.
Compo sprung to his feet, the indignation on his face diminished a little by the dollop of ketchup at the corner of his mouth. ‘That’s not fair, Gus. Not bloody fair. Poor Alice.’
Gus raised one hand and, his expression betraying none of the doubt that had plagued him since Nancy broke the news, said, ‘This will be sorted out. Alice is not the villain here and I’m sure she’ll be exonerated before long. Meantime, for us, it’s business as usual.’
He turned to Taffy and Sampson, ‘You two need to take a statement from Jenny Gregg. The Proctors have come in, so I’ll chat to them and, when Alice comes in, she and I will interview Ali Button and her parents. I want to catch them before they head off to school and work. We’ll also check out the The Prayer Chair minister. Compo, any word on that biker gang, or identifying those bikers?’
Compo growled, shaking his head. ‘Not so far. Every time I think I’ve got something it’s encrypted. Vice have limited intel, too. They’re as keen to apprehend them as we are. They reckon they are the major suppliers of MDMA in the district and want a handle on them. I’ll keep on it. The thing is, in almost every biker photo we’ve got, their number plates are obscured and their faces are covered by bandanas. Don’t worry, though, I’m on it, like an Easter…’ looking round the room, his moon face broke into a massive grin. ‘Bonnet! You get it. Instead of car bonnet I’ve used Easter.’
Gus rolled his eyes. What the fuck? Was everyone insane?
A buzz from Compo’s PC had everyone’s eyes moving to the screen at the front. Since the last time, Compo had set up an automated notification to alert them of any new footage of Simon Proctor. As Gus had come to expect, the camera was directed at Simon’s bed. Although Simon wasn’t actually on the bed right then. Hope to God he’s okay, thought Gus wondering if this was the captor’s way of announcing Simon’s death… an empty bed in the corner of an unidentifiable bloody cellar.
‘Look, there’s some movement in the periphery – shadows… as if someone’s moving about just outside the camera’s scope.’ Compo pointed and Gus saw that he was right. As they watched, Compo’s fingers flew over his keyboard and he muttered under his breath.
‘Anything?’ Gus grimaced, suspecting that Compo’s expression held the answer to that query.
‘Nothing. Not a damn thing. Can’t break this. All we know for sure is that the footage was taken at around half-eight last night. This bastard’s playing with us.’
The fact that Compo swore told Gus just how frustrated he was. Compo rarely swore and when he did, he never, ever used that word. Gus continued to watch the screen, Sampson and Taffy standing beside him.
Simon entered the frame and shimmied into the bed. His lips were moving and he laughed a couple of times. Cracking up or talking to someone else? Gus suspected the former. Whoever held Simon Proctor in these conditions wasn’t someone the lad would be sharing a joke with, he suspected. When the lad’s hand disappeared under the blanket and moments later his head was flung back, eyes closed as his hands moved rhythmically just out of sight, Gus felt like the worst sort of voyeur. His instincts to turn the footage off were narrowly outweighed by the knowledge that it wasn’t only the people on his team that were privy to this most intimate of moments. He only hoped Mrs Proctor had somehow missed it.
As the screen faded, signalling the end of the recording, Sampson moved over to Gus, an evidence slip in his hand. ‘I wanted to tell you this last night, but it was after ten before Mrs Gregg called me and I thought it could wait till this morning.’
Gus took the evidence sheet that indicated that Sampson had sent something off to the lab. ‘What is it?’
‘Jenny Gregg’s mum was going through her daughter’s bag last night after I’d gone and found a folded piece of paper. When she opened it, she saw this.’ Sampson offered his phone to Gus. On it was a photo of a sheet of plain white paper with a crease across the middle showing where it had been folded. Scrawled over it in red was the word, ‘REDEEMED’.
‘She contacted me and I bagged it and sent it for analysis. Should get the handwriting results back soonish. The other lab tests by lunch time. Seems like there’s a definite link between Sue Downs’ death and Jenny Gregg’s abduction.’
Gus could have kissed Sampson. This was real progress. Both girls had been at Simon Proctor’s party. There was no way the three incidents could be coincidence. It was all the more imperative that they speak again with Jenny Gregg and with Ali Button and her mum. Things were finally moving.
61
06:55 The Chaat Café
The café was almost empty at this time of the morning and Knowles liked it like this. No hustle, no bustle and no trivial conversations about shite. He sat on one of the comfy seats, a croissant and a coffee on the table in front of him, The Sun folded next to his drink. His stomach rolled at the sight of the croissant, yet he knew he should try to eat it. Maybe it would avert the sickliness, calm it down. He grimaced and lifted it to his lips, but even the texture of the greasy pastry provoked a watering sensation at the back of his throat. If he ate it, he’d throw up. Instead, he lifted the coffee and took a large mouthful, ignoring its heat as it travelled down and landed with a slosh in his stomach. His stomach gurgled and his wife’s often articulated premonitions of ulcers and stomach cancer flitted through his mind.
As he lifted the newspaper up and unfolded it, he noticed his hands shook. He laid the newspaper out on top of the table and read the headlines. So, Jerry had been right. Alice Cooper was in big bother, it seemed. Although the thought lifted his spirits a little, he was all too aware of the thunder cloud hovering above his head, waiting to unload its torrent. The thing was, he wasn’t sure if he could swim to safety this time. Wasn’t sure at all and with a sigh, he flung the newspaper on the seat, drained his mug and walked over to The Fort.
Sergeant Singh was on duty and called out a greeting as Knowles walked past the front desk and used the biometric fingerpad to sign in. Knowles scowled and ignored the man. No time for inconsequential chat, today of all days. No, he needed to get upstairs and see what new incidents had been reported overnight.
62
06:55 The Fort
Gus bustled into the room, hand outstretched to greet the Proctors. ‘Thanks so much for coming in so early in the day.’ As he spoke, he noted Mrs Proctor’s gaunt expression and the fact that she didn’t move when he entered the room.
Mr Proctor, on the other hand, paced the room as if trying to burn off some surplus energy. On Gus’ entry he spun round and reached Gus before he’d taken two steps into the room. Up close, Gus saw the strain around the other man’s eyes and a very faint smell of BO told him that personal hygiene had taken a secondary place for now. Mr Proctor’s clothes were dishevelled and Gus got the impression the man may well have slept in them. Mrs Proctor’s eyes followed them, filled with a vacant, almost deathlike look that suggested to Gus she’d been medicated.
Gus shook Mr Proctor’s hand and guided him over to sit down next to his wife. As he sank into the soft cushioned couch, he looked at Gus. ‘Have you any news of Simon? Is it linked to this girl who was found in the road yesterday? We saw the headlines this morning and we’ve seen the footage.’
Gus sat down opposite the couple. He hated these couches, so he perched on the very edge, hoping that he wouldn’t have to sit there for too long. ‘The gi
rl who was found yesterday was called Jenny Gregg. I believe she knew Simon and, of course, we are investigating to see if there’s any sort of link between Simon’s disappearance and her being found. We’re working on the footage but so far we can’t break the encryption. As soon as we do, we’ll act on it.’ He knew as he spoke that his words sounded weak.
Mr Proctor looked like he was about to say something, then he collapsed back on the couch as if he’d caved in on himself. Gus had seen these types of reactions many times before and knew that if they didn’t find Simon Proctor soon, his parents would break under the strain.
‘What about the footage of Simon that was posted online? Is there any more? Have you managed to discover who posted it?’ He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at his wife, ‘Jane’s been watching it on repeat, again and again. You need to find my son. You just do!’
Keeping his voice low, Gus outlined the things they were doing to locate the origin of the video before moving onto the real purpose of the meeting. He regretted that he had to ask the questions, however there was no alternative. It was imperative that these questions were answered, no matter how difficult it might be for the parents. Clasping his hands together, Gus made eye contact with both parents, eyes moving from one parent to the other in turn. ‘I need to ask you some very difficult questions and I know they will distress you.’ He hesitated as Mr Proctor took his wife’s hand in his and squeezed. ‘If I could avoid doing this, I would. Are you ready?’
At last Mrs Proctor seemed to register his presence. She sat up straighter and her eyes met Gus’. Gus dived in. ‘It’s come to our attention that Simon may have been in a physical relationship. Do you know anything about this?’