Unseen Evil

by Liz Mistry

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s got a reputation.’ Gus laughed. ‘But then again – you are a bit of a wuss, Taff.’

  ‘Damn right – hate ghost stories and stuff. Rather face a serial killer any day.’

  Considering the lad, unlike Gus, had never had to face a serial killer, Gus reckoned that the lad’s perceptions might have to change one day. Gus sincerely hoped not. Bradford had had too damn many serial killers for its own good. Christ, he’d heard that some bright spark was researching whether the Bradford water was a factor in the high ratio of serial killers in the district.

  Gus surveyed the dilapidated grounds. ‘Mo made up this story to frighten the other kids away.’ He looked around. ‘What was it now? Ah that’s it – Smiling Jack. Mo told them Smiling Jack was a bogeyman who caught kids and stapled smiles on their faces before killing them and hanging them over there.’ He pointed to where the corner of the crime scene tent was visible among the trees. ‘It worked too. The other kids steered clear, and me, Greg, and Mo spent our summers being explorers and pirates and what not. It was an orchard then – full of pear and apple trees.’

  He sighed. Reminiscing about Greg always stirred feelings he’d rather only face in the privacy of his own home. It might have been over two years since he’d stabbed Greg to death, but the emotions were as raw as if it had happened yesterday. He inhaled sharply and released his breath just like Dr Mahmood, his psychiatrist had taught him. Slapping Taffy on the back, he said, ‘Well, that’s one sicko we can cross off our suspect list.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Whoever did this, it wasn’t Smiling Jack, now, was it?’

  The crime scene crew were still placing the metal treads that provided a direct pathway between the tent and the entrance, to avoid contaminating possible evidence. With the threat of thundery showers in the offing, they’d want to crack on. Gus, deciding to give them space, looked around to see which officers were at his disposal. Leaning against the boulder out of sight of the tent was a young Asian lad in shorts and a T-shirt, gripping a dog leash for grim life. Must be the lad who found the body. Someone had draped a blanket round his shoulders and Gus assumed the lad must have started to shake with the shock of it all – either that or he was a damn reptile, for Gus was sweating buckets and Taffy had a sheen of sweat across his forehead. A uniformed officer stood beside the lad – a big bloke with a baby face. His arms were crossed over his chest as if he was about to arrest the lad. Sometimes, these uniforms were a bit too damn officious. The lad would be in a sorry state. No need for heavy-handed tactics. As Gus and Taffy walked towards them, the incongruously cheery officer approached, eagerness rolling off him in spades.

  ‘Too hot in’t it, sir.’

  Gus scowled and tutted. Course it was bloody hot. Especially for the uniforms with all the tactical shit they had to carry. No need to be so damn jovial about it though, was there?

  The officer continued regardless. ‘Before you speak to the lad, sir, you need to see this.’ He rummaged in his pocket and came out with two evidence bags which he handed to Gus. Inside one was an unsmoked, rather amateurishly rolled spliff and the remnants of a weed bag and, in the other, a tin and a bud grinder. ‘Took it from the lad while he was fleeing the scene.’

  Taffy snorted and turned it into a cough, as Gus replied, ‘You think this young lad is implicated in the murder, then?’

  The bulky man frowned, his jowls wobbling slightly as he shook his head. ‘No, no. Reckon he just discovered the body, like.’

  ‘Okaaay.’ Gus stretched the word out before continuing, ‘So, he’s actually just a witness – a traumatised witness?’

  ‘Eh well, yes, s’pose so. Got all shaky and that when we brought him back here.’

  ‘Look, Officer…?’

  ‘Sayed, sir.’

  ‘So, Officer Sayed. This lad’s what, fifteen? Sixteen?’

  ‘Sixteen, sir – Karim Mirza’s his name.’

  ‘Okay, so Karim is sixteen. He’s just found a dead body and he’s shitting it. Is that a pretty fair assessment of the situation?’

  Sayed shifted on his feet. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Okay, so perhaps, we could cut him a bit of slack on the weed front – not like he’s carrying enough to supply the district is it? Maybe focus on getting his statement without traumatising him anymore, eh?’

  Sayed nodded once, blinking rapidly, face red. Gus took pity on him. ‘Look, you’re new to the job, yeah?’

  Again, the nod and blinking eyes.

  ‘Well, learn from this. It’s good to frighten the kids up if you catch them with stuff but you also need to look at the bigger picture – murder and finding a dead body trumps possession of weed for personal use, right?’

  Sayed looked deflated and Gus felt like a dick. Just because he was overheated didn’t mean he should take it out on the uniforms. ‘Don’t worry about it. Just go and check if any of the houses opposite have cameras. See if you can catch anything suspicious. I suspect they’re too far away from here to have caught anything, but you never know. We’ve got Karim now.’

  As Sayed walked away, Taffy muttered, ‘Tosser,’ under his breath. Gus nudged him.

  ‘Don’t be so damn hard on him. He’s learning, that’s all.’

  Taffy shrugged. ‘Wasn’t talking about him, Boss.’

  Gus threw his head back and laughed. ‘Cheeky sod!’ and, still laughing, he strode past Taffy and approached the young lad.

  Mirza’s eyes were swollen and red and, as Gus neared, his bottom lip began to tremble. The dog growled deep in its throat and Gus stopped a few feet away. ‘I’m DI Gus McGuire – you can call me Gus. Nice dog, Karim. She yours?’

  Shuffling his feet, Karim shushed the dog. ‘Nah, Mrs Brown’s – she’s had a hip op.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Not sure – think she’s called Felicity or summat.’

  Gus risked a glance at Taffy, who was biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. ‘I meant the dog’s name, Karim. Not Mrs Brown’s.’

  ‘Oh, eh, right – Trixie-Belle.’

  Gus stared at him. ‘You kidding me? Trixie-Belle? She’s a bloody Rottweiler, for God’s sake! She must weigh a hundred pounds. I was expecting Titan or Rocky or something. Why the hell would anyone name her Trixie-Belle?’

  As he spoke, Gus had moved closer, his hand out for the dog to sniff. All his instincts told him to run. The scars on his leg and arm from last time he’d encountered a Rottweiler began to itch. He swallowed his fear and tried not to flinch when the dog’s mouth opened, revealing razor-sharp teeth and a pink tongue. How ferocious could a Rottweiler called Trixie-Belle be?

  Karim grinned. ‘I know. It’s embarrassing when I take her out.’ He looked down at his trainers and then met Gus’ eye. ‘Sometimes, if people ask her name, I lie and tell them it’s Tyson.’

  Gus laughed. ‘Don’t blame you.’ He let the dog lick him for a bit longer, then brought his hand up to scratch Trixie-Belle’s head. ‘Now, about this bud.’

  Rubbing the back of his hand over his nose, Karim glanced round as if someone might swoop in to rescue him. ‘I…’

  Gus held out a hand to stop him. ‘Stop. No excuses. We’re going to overlook it this time, okay? We’re more interested in what you saw and how you discovered the body.’

  The lad’s shoulders relaxed, and a small grin twitched his lips. He stretched his hand out to retrieve the bags from Gus.

  Gus snatched them back. ‘Eh, said we’d overlook it this time. Didn’t say you’re getting it back. It’ll be disposed of in the normal way back at The Fort.’

  The smile faded from Karim’s face, making Gus smile. Dozy kid. Maybe he’d learn a lesson from this, though Gus didn’t really think so. He remembered too well what it was to be young. ‘So, walk me through what happened.’

  Kicking the ground, Karim, his voice little more than a whisper, explained about being forced to walk Trixie-Belle, stopping to light his cig, and the dog escaping. His voice shook when he described how
he’d entered the grounds and heard Trixie-Belle’s barks coming from the corner. ‘When I saw the body, I freaked, like. Didn’t stop – just ran.’ He sniffed and shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but Gus wasn’t fooled.

  He laid a hand on the lad’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. ‘I’d have done the same, Karim. Most folk would.’

  Brushing the back of his hand across his eyes, Karim wiggled his nose, head ducked towards the ground. ‘Thing is, I think I recognised him. He goes to City Academy. I’m sure of it. He’s in my sister’s year. She knows him, but I don’t know his name.’

  Fuck’s sake! It was always harder when it was a kid, and Gus had seen too many dead kids over the years. The City Academy link meant that Patti would have to be involved. Why the hell do our paths always have to cross professionally as well as romantically? He turned to Taffy. ‘Take the lad home, explain to his parents what’s happened, minus the weed, and take a statement. See if you can get the dead boy’s name from his sister, I’m going to see what Hissing Sid and his crew have for me in the tent.’

  CHAPTER 8

  T he sweltering night air catches in my throat, all clammy and cloying. My breath’s a series of short gasps keeping time to my feet pounding the damp pavement as I jog. Adrenalin’s still pumping. Just want to get home now… need to think… get my head right.

  What the fuck just happened? My stomach lurches, acid hits the back of my throat and I gob it out into the gutter. It’s like that releases something and I stop, my soles slipping on the concrete. As I bend over the kerb, hands on knees, a spatter of bile surges up my throat and into my mouth before spurting out. It splatters onto the road where it lies, caught in the light from the nearby street lamp.

  ‘Ho’, Jo Jo. Can’t hold your drink, eh? Ya pussy.’

  Fuck’s sake! Of all the little scrotes I could have bumped into, why did it have to be Hamid, fucking, Farooqi? Hammerhead to his friends and Fucking Hammerhead to his enemies. Reluctant to stand upright, just in case I’m sick again, I turn my head and see four pairs of identical trainers attached to four pairs of legs in skinny jeans. They’re standing in a semi-circle, crowding me, ready to move in if they feel like it. Like a huge fucking upright spider with me in the web. Hamid and his sidekicks are as toxic as a fucking tarantula too – and as ugly. Last thing I need is to have a convo with these wankers, but I’ve no option. I straighten and take a step back. Always wise to keep your distance from Hamid the Hammerhead. The knob’s always looking for trouble and I could do without any – especially right now. I send a quick glance to my left, to make sure I’ve got an escape route and brace my shoulders.

  ‘What’d you want? Bit past your bedtime, innit?’ My heart thuds, but I snarl the words at them. Best not to show any chinks. Best to put on a front. It’s the only way.

  Hamid takes a step towards me and I make sure I don’t react. Show weakness and the bastard’ll have me.

  His drongos step forward too, flanking their chief, two to the right, one to the left. Beer cans in one hand, spliffs in the other, each of them has the glazed eyes of the stoner.

  ‘You back-chatting me, Jo Jo?’ Hammerhead grins like it’s all a big joke. Head tilts to one side, displaying the love bite on his neck.

  I hold my hands out, palms up. ‘Course not, wouldn’t dick you about or owt, would I? Just heading home now.’

  He steps right up to me, his breath a combination of weed and beer with a side of KFC. His tone changes, all jokiness gone. ‘You need to get wise, Jo Jo. You know? Like my boys here.’ He gestures to his slack-faced zombies. ‘Need to sign up with either us or Razor’s lot. Make your choice. Can’t keep sitting on the fence forever. After all, you want to keep your mum and sister safe, don’t you?’

  He reaches over and grips my head; pressing hard into my scalp. He shakes it, and then let’s go before slapping my forehead with the heel of his hand. I’m still recovering from that when his knee hits me in the balls. The drongos laugh like idiots as I bend over, clutching my crotch. The vomit’s out of my mouth before I can even groan. Thank fuck the weed and alcohol combo seems to have weakened him because I’m not seeing stars or owt like I did last time.

  He’s not finished yet though. He grabs my hair and yanks my head up. ‘Decision soon, right?’

  Then he’s off, sauntering towards the park, zombies in tow, still laughing.

  I take a moment to regroup, before straightening and making my way up the road towards home.

  Ping!

  Zarqa: You all right?

  Fucking hell! Leave me alone! I fire off a reply and hope she gets the message.

  Me: Yep. Speak tomorrow.

  Can’t think about Zarqa right now. Can’t think about what we done, and I definitely can’t think about Hammerhead either. Too much else to crack on with and it’s too late now. I try to shove it out of my mind. Tomorrow will be soon enough to rake over everything I did tonight and Hammerhead’s ultimatum.

  When I reach my house, it’s in darkness. The gate creaks when you open it, so, despite my shakiness, I climb over. When I land on the other side, the slap of my trainers on the concrete seems loud. The meeting with Hamid’s gang on top of what happened earlier has me on edge. Even the sound of my key turning in the lock makes me cringe. I open the door and walk in and hesitate, listening.

  Ping!

  The sound startles me, and I jump, then look at the screen. Not again!

  Zarqa: We cool?

  Me: Yep! Tomorrow, okay?

  Zarqa: Laters!

  Fucking laters? Her and her fucking stupid laters. I put my phone to silent and breathe a sigh of relief. At least I can forget about her for now. I tune in again, hoping for no signs of movement. The only sound is next door’s telly on too loud again and the annoying buzz from the fridge. Sounds like it’s on its way out. Another fucking expense to consider. Using my phone as a torch, I slip my trainers off at the bottom of the stairs. The beam lands on Jessie’s school shoes. They’re all tattered, the heel trodden down and the sole coming away at the front. I bite my lip and glance at the time on my phone. Fifteen minutes to go. Better be quick then. Got to get ready.

  I pick my way upstairs avoiding every creak and manage to get to my bedroom door without hassle. I unlock the door and, stepping in, heave a huge sigh. Sanctuary. Striding across the room, avoiding the mishmash of wires that snake from my PC, I flick on the bedside light and fling myself on the bed. Need to get my head together before work. Get into the zone. Twelve minutes to go!

  A voice drifts along the corridor. ‘That you, Jo Jo? You’re late tonight. Help me to the loo, son. There’s a doll.’

  Fuck! I pull the pillow around my ears, blocking out her repeated call. Then a pang contracts my chest. How can I be so fucking tight? She must be starving. I made her scrambled eggs this morning and divided my share between her and Jessie, but that’s all she’ll have had to eat today. Benefits cheque’s not due until tomorrow. Wonder if she’s had her meds?

  I rise, every muscle protesting. All I want to do is have a few minutes to collect my thoughts, but she can’t wait. I can’t let her down. ‘Coming, Mam.’

  Her room smells of stale piss and roses. She looks so frail on the bed. Today’s not been a good day for her. Lines trail out from the corners of her mouth and across her forehead, like those root diagrams on the biology classroom walls. Still, she smiles when she sees me, her eyes lighting up. I paste a smile on my face and move over to drop a kiss on her greasy hair. ‘Home Help not help you shower today, Mam?’

  ‘Cancelled again, Jo Jo. Jessie brought me a cup of tea and some toast earlier.’ Her face flushes. ‘She tried to empty the commode, bless her, but it was too much for her. She spilt a bit.’

  I deal with the commode, making a mental note to get on the phone to the care agency. Don’t want to complain too much though in case they decide to take Jessie away. Then, I go back and help her shuffle through to the main bathroom. I stand her next to the toilet and then wait outside, giving her privacy. Whe
n I hear the flush, I go back inside and help her do an all-over sponge-wash and brush her teeth. She hates it. Hates that I have to do it, but folk like us have no option. No fucking choice. Not like I enjoy it either. But I’m all she’s got. When she’s back in bed, I nip downstairs and make her a tea. Only then do I sneak a glance at the time. Running well late. Three minutes to go.

  ‘Got to go, Mam. Got homework to do.’

  She grips my hand and squeezes it. ‘You’re a good boy, Jo Jo. Don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  I shrug and hand her the TV controls and pretend not to notice the glimmer of tears, or the fact that her grip is less firm than usual. Tomorrow will be a better day. It couldn’t be any effing worse.

  I smile and kiss her forehead. ‘Night, Mam.’

  So much for getting in the zone. Just have to force myself… need the dosh. I push open my bedroom door and then stop.

  Shit! Anger surges from my toes right up to my head in a red-hot flame. I close the door, so I don’t disturb Mam and try to keep my voice calm. ‘What you doing in here, Jessie? You know you’re not allowed.’

  Standing there in her too-short PJs, her ginger hair mussed, My Little Pony toy under her arm, nipple clamps in one hand and a butt plug in the other, she blinks at me. ‘Couldn’t sleep, Jo Jo. Wanted a cuddle.’ Her bottom lip trembles as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. ‘What are these, Jo Jo?’

  ‘They’re nowt, Jessie. Just some stuff for my machines. You’ve not to touch them again, okay?’ She’s so little. Still, her PJs slide up her arm and barely cover her knees. How the hell did I forget to lock the door? I never forget and now she’s standing there holding fucking sex toys.