by Liz Mistry
‘So, Simon Proctor. How did that come about?’
A couple of tears rolled down her cheek, so Gus pushed a box of tissues in her direction. Perhaps after he’d heard her story he’d be able to muster up some sympathy for her. Right now, though his sympathies lay with her daughter and to a lesser extent, her husband.
She plucked a tissue from the box and rubbed her cheek with it. ‘I don’t know how it started. Not really. Simon joined the church a few months back and he made friends with Ali. I was so pleased – overjoyed in fact. Ali had found it difficult to make friends apart from with a couple of the girls from church,’ she nipped her lips together. ‘Kyle and I didn’t want to encourage any more of those sorts of friendships.’
Gus frowned. ‘Those friendships?’
She wafted her hand in the air, her mouth screwed up. ‘You know? Those sort of “friendships”.’
‘I’m afraid, I don’t know.’ Gus was pretty sure he did know what she meant, but he’d no intention of letting her off the hook by allowing her to breeze over it. He’d no time for people who rolled their attitudes back a few centuries in the name of their religion and then displayed a total disregard for its dictates in their personal life.
She lowered her voice as if she thought she’d be struck down if she spoke in normal tones. ‘Lesbians! Ali told us she “liked” girls, and that sort of thing is against our religion.’
Gus wanted to wipe the smug expression off her face, instead he inclined his head. Wasn’t committing adultery with an underage boy also against her religion? He hated this sanctimonious crap, however he was too well trained to allow his personal feelings to vent when he knew he could extract some valuable information if he kept schtum.
Mrs Button continued. ‘Simon was interested in Ali. I could tell. He kept watching her and making excuses to sit next to her in church. We thought if she was involved with him, she’d stop all this silly “fancying girls” stuff. We even consulted with Anthony – that’s the vicar – and he agreed with our strategy. He was even going to incorporate her renouncement of those thoughts on The Prayer Chair on Saturday in City Park.’
God, the poor kid! Maybe she’d be better off with a different family after all. Trouble was, there weren’t many who’d take on a fifteen-year-old.
‘She pretended she wasn’t interested in him, but we thought that was just a ploy. She was just attention-seeking with the other stuff. Who wouldn’t want a good-looking, well-spoken lad like Simon?’
Well, Ali for one, by the sounds of it! Gus’ expression didn’t waver as he listened to her explain about inviting Simon over for tea, despite Ali’s protestations.
‘He was polite and well mannered, helped with the dishes, commented on my new hairdo and such like. Ali was obstinate. Sometimes I couldn’t understand her wilfulness – not at all.’ Her gaze drifted upwards and she began wringing her hands. She was getting to the crux of the story now.
‘Simon started to call round when nobody else was home. He’d be polite and we’d just chat. Sometimes about things at the church. Then,’ she frowned, ‘I’m not sure exactly when things changed. He started to comment on my clothes or my make-up. Sometimes, he’d brush past me just a little too close. Then he began to tell me how attractive he found me. It was…’ She paused and rubbed her nose with the tissue. ‘Exciting. He made it seem exciting and dangerous. He’d look at me as we chatted, his eyes never leaving my face. He made me feel like a woman again. He made me feel desired.’
‘You must have known it was wrong, though. You’re not stupid. You knew how old he was.’
‘Of course, I did. I knew he was a child but he was so… charismatic… so insistent… he made it easy to forget his age.’
Gus felt the familiar wave of nausea build in his throat. He’d heard more than his share of paedophiles saying similar things… blaming the minor for their inability to control their desires – their warped urges. It didn’t matter how manipulative Simon Proctor had been, she was the adult in this. She should have called a halt to it all before it became physical.
He glanced at the recorder. He needed her admission on tape so he just went for it. ‘Did you knowingly perform oral sex on a minor?’
She lifted her head, her eyes swimming in tears. ‘Yes, I did… but you don’t understand. He made me do it.’
‘Are you saying Simon Proctor raped you?’ He’d seen the tapes and to his mind there was no evidence of coercion to be seen. Maybe a jury would decide differently. You could never tell.
‘No, no, it wasn’t rape. It was…’ She threw her hands up in the air. ‘I don’t know what it was. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of me for a few weeks. We’d even spoken about moving up north, maybe to Scotland, when he turned sixteen and then, all of a sudden… he dropped me. Stopped returning my calls and my texts. Just nothing.’
Gus frowned. There had been no record of calls from Mrs Button’s phone to Simon Proctor’s. ‘What number did you phone him from?’
Exhaling a loud puff of air, she grimaced. ‘He gave me what he called a “burner” phone and he had one as well. It was so his parents and Kyle wouldn’t find out.’
‘He supplied the phones?’
‘Yes.’
The fact that Simon Proctor supplied the phones was intriguing, however, no matter how manipulative he might have been, the law was the law and Mrs Button had committed a crime.
73
17:15 The Family Church of Christ, Frizinghall
The lay preacher, who called himself the Reverend Anthony Evans, welcomed Gus and Alice into his home with a joie de vivre that had Gus wanting to gip. Why couldn’t folk be normal? There was no need to display an effervescent bonhomie all the time and especially not on such a grizzly day. The minister had a faint American accent and Gus knew from his research that he’d come as a missionary from Ohio to spread the word of God in the UK.
Home, to Anthony Evans, was a converted church known as St Augustine’s, which now stood on deconsecrated ground. From The Family Church of Christ’s website, Gus had discovered that Anthony Evans had taken over the derelict building a decade ago and restored many of the church’s original features, whilst making it into a home for himself, his wife and his family. The back of the building, where Gus and Alice had entered, was the church and the front was the family’s living quarters.
Where the original church had no doubt had wooden pews and cold sandstone slabs, the restoration had created an open carpeted area with many comfortable seats dotted around. In the back corner stood a stack of foldable chairs, that Gus recognised from his research as being the ones used for Sunday services. Judging from the video clips they were Evangelical in nature and involved a lot of repentance, with stirring exhortative sermons, led by the Reverend. Nothing like the sermons he remembered from school assemblies, which were so lacklustre and constrained, he’d often been in danger of falling asleep.
The website made it clear that should you join the Family Church of Christ, your entire life would revolve around the church, its activities and its members. That worried Gus. Its lack of transparency brought the word ‘cult’ to mind, although there had been no such allegations levelled at the church. He knew other small churches existed in Bradford, but most of these had links and worked with the larger established churches. The Family Church of Christ, however, did not. Memories of Alice’s story about her experience with another Prayer Chair organisation that had been exposed as fraudulent, rang alarm bells for Gus.
Not a church goer himself, he had no problem with faith itself. His best friend Mo was a devout Muslim and he had other friends who were equally devout Christians. It was the insularity of this church, the lack of scrutiny from the outside world, that alarmed him. There’d been too many instances of mosques in Bradford abusing their standing in the community for Gus not to be dubious about this organisation. Fundamentalism could rear its head in any community.
A stove sent out a warm glow from the far end of the room and spotlights and candle
s made the space seem airy and bright. What fascinated Gus, though, was the way Evans had hollowed out the area leading up to the bell tower and made a feature of the huge ropes that hung down and were fanned out and hooked along the circumference of the hollow. The pastor followed his gaze and said, ‘We’re not allowed to ring them on a Sunday, so we make up for it on a Tuesday night. They make a lovely sound that carries as far as Bolton Woods, I’m told.’
They must be the bells Gus often heard from Mariner’s Drive, which wasn’t far from here. He turned to the self-appointed minister, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, wearing jeans and a crew-neck jumper. He looked ordinary, with his easy grin and frequent hand gestures, and Gus wondered what had driven him to set up his own church in England. ‘How large is your congregation?’
With a polite smile, Evans, his voice a low drawl, said. ‘We have around twenty families and another twenty or so individuals,’ He gestured to a group of three well-worn Chesterfield chairs and waited till Gus and Alice had sat down before joining them. ‘We’re quite dynamic as a church. We organise many social events for all ages and we’re like one large family unit. If one of us is in trouble, we are all in trouble.’ He lifted his hands, palms pressed together and touched his lips with his fingertips, ‘We’ve been praying for Simon and feel his disappearance most acutely.’
‘What were your impressions of Simon?’
‘He was keen and eager to please. He had a thirst for knowledge and understanding of God. He revelled in his communion with God and thrived in our care.’
‘And his parents? They weren’t church members?’
The pastor’s lips tightened. ‘No, they were not members and having met them since Simon’s disappearance in my capacity as Simon’s mentor, I better understand why Simon considered us his true family.’
‘They didn’t respond well to your visit?’ asked Alice, her eyebrows raised as if in surprise. Gus knew that this was an act. Knowing Al, she sympathised with Jane and James Proctor’s reaction.
‘No. In fact they were quite rude. Seems they had no idea Simon was spending so much time with us and were, shall we say, unhappy with it. I extended my sympathies and told them our door was always open. Simon’s dad got quite enraged and I left straight away.’
Gus took over the questions. ‘We’ve been talking to the Button family. Seems they were close to Simon. Ali comes to your Prayer Chair group with her friend Jenny, the young girl who was abducted after attending your meeting, doesn’t she?’
A fleeting frown crossed his face and was replaced almost straight away by a smile, ‘I’ve already spoken to your officers about that night. Jenny said she had a headache and left early. She told me she had a lift, otherwise I would have insisted on getting my wife to drive her home. We have an old run-around van that we use for church business.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen your statement about that. It’s not really Jenny I want to speak with you about: it’s Simon.’
‘Oh? I’ve also given a statement about Simon to your officers.’
‘We wanted to check that nothing further had come to mind regarding Simon or his demeanour or the relationships he had with other members of the church.’
‘Simon was well liked in the church. He was friendly, social and outgoing. He got on well with everyone. I think Ali had taken a particular shine to him.’
Gus pressed his lips together. ‘Mmm, about that, you do know Ali is gay, don’t you?’
The pastor again clasped his hands together and touched his lips once more with his fingertips. ‘She’s a child. She doesn’t know her own mind.’
Evans’ sanctimonious tone irritated Gus. It was easy to brush away teen concerns under the auspices of the ‘he or she is a child’ label. As if being a young adult meant your issues, concerns or problems were somehow less important or worthy of addressing than an adult’s. If he ever had kids, he would do his utmost to make sure he listened to them. In an effort to maintain a neutral tone, Gus forced a smile to his lips. ‘I’m aware of the advice you gave to her parents regarding her sexuality. Very Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, wasn’t it?’
The preacher hesitated, his gaze never leaving Gus’ face, as if he were sizing him up before responding. ‘The advice I offer my flock is private and I can’t discuss it with you.’
‘Oh, that’s okay, Ali and her mum told us that you advised that Ali denounce her sexuality as a sin on Saturday as part of your Prayer Chair recruitment in City Park. I’m here to tell you that, should that go ahead with Ali still under the protection of the adoption services, I would be compelled to investigate the matter as possible abuse. Do I make myself clear?’
Anthony Evans eyes narrowed. ‘Abuse? The girl has been traumatised and is “acting out”. I’m saving her from committing an abomination in the eyes of God.’
‘That may be your personal opinion, however, the laws of this country override that. Ali has a right to her sexuality and if you continue on this course of action, I will intervene. By the way do you have a permit to take your chair into City Park? I’d suggest you make sure your paperwork is in order.’
They left the church premises a few minutes later and stood in the drive between Alice’s Mini and the vehicle the minister had mentioned earlier.
‘Bit trusting of them,’ said Alice, nodding towards the battered old Ford transit van.
‘Eh?’ said Gus attempting to squash his legs into the passenger side footwell of Alice’s car.
Alice slid into the driver’s side and smirked, clearly enjoying Gus’ muffled curses, ‘They’ve left the keys in the ignition… very trusting of them?’
As Alice started up the Mini, a tall lad with long dank hair and enough spots to warrant a dose of Acne-Clear strode down the steps from the church, yanked open the van’s door and jumped in. Without glancing to either side, he drove off, tyres shrieking in protest. Gus tutted and then when the lad braked momentarily at the gate, indicated left and then turned right, Gus tutted once more. ‘I’ll have him for that. Can’t they tell their rights from their bloody lefts these days? Go after him, Al.’
Alice, mumbling something that sounded like ‘mardy-arse’, followed the mucky old van. As they reached the traffic lights at the top of Frizinghall next to the grammar school and opposite Lister Park, the lad once more indicated left but got into the right-hand lane.
Alice drew up parallel to the lad. Rolling down his window, Gus tried to catch the lad’s eye. However, he was too busy bouncing his head like an Iron Maiden fan to notice Gus. Gus flung open the Mini’s door and, with effort, extricated himself, pulled his warrant card from his pocket and rapped on the driver’s window. The lad started and looked up, his face paling when he read the card that Gus had pressed against the window.
Ignoring the paaps from the driver’s behind them, Gus waited till the lad rolled down the window and directed him to move through the traffic lights onto Emm Lane and into The Turf car park.
When he got back in, Alice said, ‘We really have time for this, Gus?’
Having the grace to admit to himself at least that he was reacting to Evans’ superciliousness as much as anything, he shrugged. ‘It’ll only take a minute. I’m not going to book him, but he does need a reminder to indicate; besides, I’ll need to check his licence. Looks barely fourteen to me.’
‘Hmm, that’s what the traffic officers are for.’
Alice followed the van, which was now being driven with overzealous care. She pulled in and parked up beside it. ‘You’re on your own, Gus. I’m reserving my strength for later.’
Scowling at the reminder of the operation later that evening, Gus got out of the car and approached the lad, who was shivering by the side of the van. The boy handed Gus his driving licence, which named him as Paul and showed he was, in actual fact, almost nineteen. They all look so young these days. Must be getting old. Not sure if the lad’s shaking was a reaction to his scowl or the fact that the lad wore only a thin T-shirt, Gus made an effort to smile. Before he had
a chance to say anything, the boy spoke.
‘Reverend Evans lets us use the van. It’s a communal one. I in’t stole it or owt. He’s got it insured for some of us. Helps us get our licences and all.’
Bloody hell, of all the stupid irresponsible things to do! ‘You’re telling me that the van’s left there for any of you lot to help yourselves to?’
Rubbing his arms, which Gus saw were now covered in goose bumps, the boy managed to spit out between his chattering teeth, ‘Yes, that’s right.’
Idiot! ‘The keys are always in the ignition, doors open?’
Again, the lad agreed. Gus shook his head. Who in their right mind would leave a vehicle unattended for the use of a bunch of teenage drivers? It was ludicrous. He was sure that, if he wanted to, he’d find a number of things to book him on, but his earlier bad mood had dissipated. It wasn’t the lad’s fault that Anthony Evans was a jackass. ‘Look, Paul. You indicated left, but turned right when leaving the church premises and again on approaching the traffic lights at Keighley Road.’
Paul grimaced. ‘Indicator’s fu– Eh broken!’
Gus scowled. ‘What do you mean “broken”?’
‘It’s swapped over. I keep forgetting that I should indicate left if I want to go right and right if I want to go left. Wires are crossed or summat.’
God’s sakes. Can it get any worse? ‘Does the Mr Evans know about this electrical fault?
‘Yeah, been like this for weeks. He says he’ll get it fixed when he’s got time, but he’s a busy man, you know.’
Too damn busy to ensure the safety of these kids? It’s like giving them a loaded gun that was always going to back-fire. Irresponsible git. ‘Look, give me the keys. The vehicle’s unsafe to drive. I suggest you go into the pub and get someone to pick you up.’
As Paul walked off to the pub, phone to his ear, Gus slid back in beside Alice. ‘Negligence. Sheer bloody negligence. I’ll have the pious pastor for that. Needs teaching a lesson, that one. Endangering kids’ lives like that. As if Bradford doesn’t have a bad enough reputation for youth traffic violations and accidents.’