by Liz Mistry
Me? I’m desperate to chat, desperate to relive every awesome moment. You’d think I’d set off a firework on the pavement right in front of us with Pisces’ furtive glances. Mumbling like an idiot, head swivelling from side to side to see who’s nearby. I want to laugh, but I know that’ll knock the dumbass right over the edge. Today is all about containment… holding the boat steady, steering us out of the storm. It’s about me keeping up the charade.
I try again, keeping my tone reassuring. ‘Nobody gives a toss… not about us, not about what we’ve done… not about Pratab.’
‘That’s not what they’re saying on Facebook and Instagram. Everyone’s talking about it. Sending RIP messages.’
That’s true. It is all over social media and I love it. They’re all talking about it, every one of them and none of them know it’s me… us.
You look at me, your eye’s all red, and I hope you’re not going to give in. I grab your arm and you wince, cowering from me. ‘Remember what I know? About Billy?’ I’m still whispering, but there’s an edge now.
Fear flicks across your eyes for a moment and I change tack, smile and let go your arm, rubbing it twice to tell you I don’t mean to hurt you. You’re not sure what you saw in my eyes. Not sure if it was a threat and I like that. I cup your chin in my hand and look right into your eyes, gentle and soothing I say, ‘We got to stick together. Remember what they done… all of them… not just him… not just that dick, Pratab… but all of them.’
You smile back and then you glance round, scared that somebody will see us. I stroke my finger down your cheek and lean closer. ‘We’re invisible.’
Truth is, I’ve made us this way and the beauty of this is that you don’t see it. Among the crowds, we are the invisibles, the ones nobody sees, the ones they only notice when they want to act big in front of their mates. We are the outsiders. But soon they’ll wake up and take notice. The very thought of it excites me. My entire body is buzzing. It’s like I’m on fire, like every synapse is firing double quick. It’s like I’m on speed… that’s it… speed! Every muscle, every thought, every movement is on speed. Yet, none of the rest of them can see that. Just me. I grin and nudge you. ‘Now, stop being a wuss. We got away with it… and we can do it again.’
You shake your head, but I link arms with you and pull you on. You resist for a nano-second and then you’re there with me, side by side we walk on, through the crowds… invisible.
You stare straight ahead, like I’ve taught you, your head high, but me, I keep my head down… I want to be more invisible than you… that’s the plan.
CHAPTER 23
I see Zarqa in the distance and deliberately slow down. I don’t want to see her right now. I can’t get my head straight. Not with all that Razor shit this morning… and the other stuff.
Got another one of them weird texts last night, with a video attachment. I open it and it’s me… in my room covered in baby oil, doing what I get paid to do. The message is the same as the others. Do this or else. I’ve no choice, so I’ll do it. I’ll collect what I need after school and do it tonight. Last thing I need though is for anyone else to have owt on me. If Razor saw my room, he’ll know what I do… bad enough that I’m already paying someone off. Bad enough that I don’t even know who they are or how they know this shit about me? Sometimes all I want to do is run… and if it was just me, that’s what I’d do. But I can’t leave Jessie. Zarqa’s really pissing me off. She needs to grow up. She’s got her parents and her sisters and enough money. What shit does she have to worry about?
Fuck, she’s Snapchatting me. Stupid fucking Gif with a bear and a thought bubble with maths equations scratching his head and then flopping onto the desk in front of him. If I was in a better mood, I’d find it funny, but right now it’s all so trivial. I ignore it. I can’t be arsed adding to her story. I’d like to see her struggling on like I do… doing the shit I have to do just to survive.
I’m being tight and I know it. She’s all right, really, is Zarqa. She’s always had my back, but right now, she’s doing my head in… and after what we did last night? Fuck!
Ping!
Ping!
Ping!
I don’t need to look to see what those are. More of the fucking shit on Facebook about how wonderful Pratab was. Well, he wasn’t so wonderful when he tricked me into giving him a blow job in the lad’s toilets after school and posted it on Instagram. I’d thought he liked me… really liked me. Course he didn’t admit he actually let me do it… made out he’d pushed me away before we got down and dirty… prick didn’t admit he’d enjoyed it. Didn’t tell them he did me too. Didn’t stop him coming back for more a few weeks later. Did he really think he could just bat his long lashes at me, flash me a grin, and say sorry and that would be it? So, am I sorry he’s dead? Am I fuck? He deserved it!
Ping!
Ping!
Ping!
I can’t help myself; I look at the posts to his timeline.
RIP Mate! Bash
The Angels will look after you xx xx
Yeah right, so they will. I’m not sure he’s up there. He might be finding it even hotter than we are right now. I shove my phone in my bag. No phones allowed in the exam.
She’s looking around now, jumping up and down to see over everyone’s heads. I crouch over, trying to make myself smaller. Can’t believe we did that. Can’t believe I helped her. What was I thinking? That was some heavy bad shit. What happens if we get caught? Shit, what would Jessie and my mam do if I went to jail? Jessie would end up in some bloody home or other and my mum…? Shit… she’d just give up and die.
She’s seen me. I try to head off to the side, but she grabs my arm just as I’m heading through the door.
‘Did you hear it on the news this morning?’
Fuck, it’s on the news already? Course it is. They found out what we did. I glance round, half expecting to see two plods approaching, rattling their handcuffs. But it’s only that Mehmoona and Claire. Couple of weirdos. I keep my head down. They’re always trying to talk to me, but I can’t be arsed.
Grabbing Zarqa by the arm, I pull her to the side. ‘We can’t do this again, Zarqa… we can’t.’ But there’s something in her eye. True, she’s a bit edgy. Got in a panic last night, but there’s that look, and I can tell she wants to do it again.
‘Jo Jo, last night was scary as shit… it really was. I ran all the way home, my heart thumping and I thought it would never stop… but, you know what?’
My heart sinks as she raises her chin and looks right at me. ‘It was great. The first time in a long time I felt I did the right thing. Now they’re taking notice. We’re making a mark. Next time it’ll be even better.’
I want to shake my head and say ‘No’, but I’ve got no fight left. It’s not even half eight and I’m cream crackered. All I want to do is climb in a hole and cover myself up and come out when I’m fifty and all this crap behind me.
The buzzer goes, reminding me we’ve still got an exam to sit. ‘Later, Zarqa. Come on. Don’t want to be late.’
CHAPTER 24
D on’t see why you couldn’t have brought one of the uniformed officers, Gus.’ Compo, arms crossed over his chest, slumped like a moody toddler in the passenger seat of Gus’ car. ‘You know I’m better in the office… nearly had summat on them phones, you know? Now you’ve dragged me away. We could be missing crucial evidence as we speak.’
Driving towards Clayton, where the Patel family lived, Capital Radio blasting out a Little Mix song, Gus hid his smile. Compo had told him it would take a good couple of hours to retrieve everything off both the victim’s and Haider’s phones. He’d been happy to leave whatever programme he had initiated running away quietly on its own, until Gus had suggested he accompany him. Much as Gus would have preferred to have his old DS, Alice Cooper, with him, he was determined to continue with Compo’s training. He wanted to make sure the lad was a well-rounded officer and not just a computer nerd and for the past few months he’d been g
radually taking him more and more out of his comfort zone. Yes, there were plenty of other good officers he could have enlisted, but Compo needed to be stretched. ‘Stop griping, Comps. You’ll be great. All I need is for you to take notes on your tablet, that’s all… oh, and keep an eye out for anyone you think might be concealing information.’
Compo inhaled and Gus’ smile again twitched his lips. ‘Look on it as training. All of this looks good on your professional development record.’
‘Hmmph.’ Compo looked out the side window. He’d no need to expand on that single sound for Gus to understand that he really meant ‘sod my professional development record’, but Gus knew that they were looking to cut back and that every officer had to demonstrate versatility. He didn’t want to lose one of his team. Nancy was having enough trouble keeping Alice’s position open for now and there were at least three Detective Sergeants that he knew of with their eye on Alice’s job. The last thing Gus wanted was for anyone to say Compo had limited skills.
…still no sign of a let-up in this weather and with temperatures soaring into the twenties, with highs of twenty-nine degrees in some areas, the Met office reports that this has been…
The vinyl seat was creating a humidity that soaked through the short-sleeved shirt Gus had changed into as a mark of respect for the family. Shifting his body away from the backrest, Gus felt a dribble of sweat roll down his back and realised that, in this weather, it was near impossible to look cool and collected. The pool car’s air conditioning was no more effective than The Fort’s.
He drove along Buckingham Crescent, past a row of newly built houses that would have looked out onto extensive farmland, had someone not bordered the road intermittently with hedges and trees. Gus wasn’t surprised that this was where the Patels lived. A significant number of Bradford’s Hindu community lived in this area and he’d visited families here before. The Patels’ home was easily identifiable by the number of cars parked up outside, some spilling onto the neighbours’ drives. He drove past the house, took the first available space, and parked up. He turned to address Compo. ‘Right, this is the first house call to a grieving family you’ve made. This isn’t going to be pleasant, but just remember that however unpleasant it is for us, the whole situation must be completely unbearable for Pratab’s family.’
When he looked at Gus, Compo’s normally cheerful face was lined with worry, his shoulders slumped as he glanced away and mumbled. ‘Wish Alice were here.’
Gus took the key out of the ignition and opened the driver’s door. ‘So do I, Comps, so do I.’
There was no let-up as they left the car, the heat suffocated them as soon as they got out. A slight heat shimmer gurgled on the pavement like a stream on a summer’s day. Gus took a moment to peer through the hedges to the dry-looking fields beyond. The trees which should have offered shade and reduced the temperature, looked starved of liquid and, not for the first time, Gus wished the sky would open up with a torrent of rain.
As they approached the house, Compo’s pace got slower and he trailed behind Gus a little. Hot and sticky, Gus held onto his irritation by a very thin thread. ‘For God’s sake, Compo. Pull yourself together. It’s your job.’
Compo glared at him but straightened his shoulders and increased his pace to match that of his boss. ‘Won’t let you down, Gus. I got this.’
Gus suspected that his last words were more for his own benefit than Gus’, but he appreciated them, nonetheless.
In front of a large double garage stood two upmarket cars and below the front room window was a landscaped paved area dotted with several small, contained flowerpots. On raised decking in the bottom corner of the garden stood a wooden bench with a couple of empty glasses left there. The blinds were half shut with shapes passing the window every so often. The door was opened by the Family Liaison Officer, Amanjeet Kaur, who gestured them inside. As soon as he entered, Gus was impressed by the amount of support the family had. People of all ages moved in and out of the rooms, carrying tea, food, or flowers.
‘The family are in there. The Brahmin will be coming to conduct prayers in about an hour, so you timed this nicely. If you want to go in to pay your respects, you need to remove your shoes.’ Amanjeet, herself, was barefoot.
Gus slipped his shoes off, placing them in a pile of shoes that was near the door and waited for Compo to do the same. As he followed Amanjeet into the living room, Gus gave Compo an encouraging smile.
The room they entered was gently fragranced with incense and all the furniture had been moved to the sides of the room and the carpet covered by a cloth. Mrs Patel, wearing a sari as opposed to the jeans and T-shirt she’d worn the previous day, sat on a small pouffe next to a shrine. A large silver-framed photo of Pratab, hair spiked up with gel stood in the centre. The boy was smiling, his eyes sparkling and mischievous and it was difficult to imagine him dead. A red chandlo, the Hindu mark of respect, was on his forehead, as a blessing. The picture was surrounded by flowers and a diva candle was lit next to it.
Gus had been in Hindu homes before at such times and was familiar with the ceremonial rituals. A quick glance at Compo told him that his colleague was focussed on the photograph of the dead boy. Mrs Patel’s eyes were swollen. The police presence was an intrusion into the family’s grief, yet Gus had no choice. Following Amanjeet’s lead, he approached first Mrs Patel and then her husband, who, with his blank gaze, seemed barely aware of their presence. Gus, once more, expressed his condolences over the death of their son. Rising to her feet, Mrs Patel, showing the same stoic composure she’d demonstrated at the police station, leaned over and helped her husband up. She gestured to a boy who looked older than Pratab and a bespectacled girl who looked younger. ‘Come on, we’ll talk to the detectives in the dining room.’
The boy, wan looking, moved to his mother’s side and taking his father’s arm began to guide him from the room. The girl approached Gus, her posture straight, despite her red-rimmed eyes. ‘Couldn’t you just leave us alone for a bit? We’re grieving. My mum and dad need time.’
Seems like the Patel women are feistier than the Patel men. He wondered if Pratab had taken after his mum or his dad. ‘If we could, we would, but right now we need to do everything we can to find out who did this to your brother. It’s intrusive, I know, but we need to ask you some questions… and we need to look at Pratab’s room.’
‘Mita! It’s fine. Let them ask their questions.’ Mrs Patel smiled tightly. ‘We can grieve when we know who did this to your brother.’ She turned, sari swishing, and indicated they should follow.
The dining room was a large room that adjoined the kitchen. It held a table big enough to seat at least ten people. A woman who looked enough like Pratab’s mum for Gus to work out she was his auntie, popped her head in. ‘Chai? Tea? Soft drink?’
Gus inclined his head. ‘Chai would be nice.’
Compo following Gus’ lead nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, chai please.’
Knowing better than to start the conversation until the chai had been served, Gus took the time to look round. A fan, in the corner of the room, sent a welcome breeze into the air and Gus savoured it each time the fan rotated in his direction. Apart from the oversized table, there was a sideboard that had a display of finest whiskies and brandies as well as a well-stocked wine rack. Otherwise, the room, painted in soothing pastel green shades, was minimalist with no ornaments or other furniture. A couple of family portraits decked the walls and Gus surmised they’d been taken at a studio. A family of five, reduced by one. In both the photos the entire family was laughing, and Gus wondered when they’d be able to do that again.
Mrs Patel moved to the sideboard and picked up a photo album. She handed it to Gus. ‘These are of my son. This is the boy who has been taken away from us. I want you to look at them and remember him as you try to find the monster who did this.’
Gus took the album from her and positioned it between him and Compo. Taking his time, he studied each picture. Most were of the three siblings t
ogether; at a farm, at Harry Potter World, the seaside, Alton Towers. Some were of the whole family having barbecues, family gatherings. In each, the essence of life was poignant and clear. It wasn’t until he sensed Mrs Patel moving over to hand Compo a tissue, that he realised his colleague was crying silently. A tear dropped onto the table in front of them and then Compo, making Gus proud, said, ‘You have a lovely family, Mrs Patel. DI McGuire and I will not stop until we catch who took your beautiful son away.’ And he wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and shoved the tissue in his pocket just as the chai arrived.
Mrs Patel studied Compo for a moment and then nodded. Gus looked at her husband, but he was still gazing blankly into space. ‘Has Mr Patel seen a doctor?’
‘Yes, he’s been prescribed medication but, for now, Manoj is refusing to take it. He’ll come around in his own time.’ And she patted her husband’s hand, before placing his tea in front of him. ‘If we could get on with it. We have prayers to do soon and I don’t want to miss those.’
Gus nodded, making a mental note to get Amanjeet to keep him updated on Mr Patel’s condition. Though his condition would be worsened by grief and shock, Gus was experienced enough not to discount the possibility that Mr Patel had something to do with his son’s death or knew something about it. Being well-off or grieving was no guarantee that something wasn’t off in a family. Gus had learned that first-hand only the previous year. He waited until Compo got his tablet out before starting. ‘Do any of you have any idea why Pratab would be over in the Bradford Nine area? It’s quite a distance from here.’
As he waited for them to think about his question, Gus paid particular attention to Pratab’s siblings. If anyone knew the boy’s secrets it was more likely to be them than his parents.