Unspoken Truths

by Liz Mistry

  Gus decided to let it go – for now. With this weather, it wasn’t as if Beaumont could do a runner. ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Her demeanour? How did she seem?’

  ‘She was fine. Seemed happy. Looking forward to her wedding. I do hope nothing’s happened to her.’

  And there it was – at last. Gus had mentioned he was investigating a murder and yet it had taken Beaumont ‘till now to enquire after Izzie’s wellbeing.

  Mickey shook her head, mumbling, ‘pillock,’ under her breath as she did so. Gus grinned and, keeping his tone icy, said, ‘Actually, she’s dead. Nice of you to ask at last. I’ll be in touch.’ And cutting the other man off, mid-bluster, he hung up.

  ‘He sounds like a prat,’ said Compo shoving a biscuit in his gob. ‘Here Gus, I got that footage of Daniel. Bottom line is, he wanders along… goes into a Costa Coffee near the station… doesn’t come out.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Well, I ran my facial recognition programme for the following three hours and he didn’t leave that Costa Coffee by the front door – no doubt about it.’

  Gus walked over and looked at Daniel and Izzie’s wedding invitation photo. A love heart encompassing their faces – smiling – not a care in the world. And now Izzie was dead and Daniel, by all accounts, had disappeared into the depths of a Costa Coffee in Manchester. Not good, not good at all!

  14

  15:45 Blundering Lane, Stalybridge

  Jordan Beaumont threw his phone onto the coffee table and poured himself another large gin and tonic.

  ‘Daddy, can we play my Frozen game again?’

  Jordan downed his drink in one whole swallow. If he had to watch that stupid snowman slide down a snow covered hill even once more, he’d scream. ‘Just a minute darling, Daddy’s a bit busy.’

  He began walking round the living room. He’d expected the police to make contact – course he had. Just not so fucking soon. Damn Romanians and their stupidity. He thought he’d have some time to organise things. He glanced over to the huge picture on the wall. The concealed safe behind it now contained his burner phone. The one he hadn’t been able to ditch because of the damn weather. Fuck!

  He’d been lucky to get home this morning. He’d got behind a plough that drove right past the end of his road. If Marc hadn’t been such a wimp, he’d have stayed in the office and not risked the journey. It’s not like Marcia noticed if he was home or not. Sometimes he thought she couldn’t stand the sight of him. But, as it was, he’d been glad to get out of the office. Fucking Marc whimpering in the corner saying he’d been too rough with him. It was only a little bruise, for Christ’s sake and a bit of tearing.

  Mind you, he should have been a bit more careful, shouldn’t have let the Romanian’s phone call get to him. Now, he’d have to spend a grand making it up to the pussy or else it’d be sulks all-round on Monday at the office.

  That detective had been a bastard. Arrogant bugger with his snide tone. Not sure he believed me, but thank God it was just over the phone. He’d need to get himself together though. If there’s any blow-back from the Romanians he might need to meet with him face to face.

  ‘Daddy, can we make a snowman now? I’ve got an orange for its nose.’

  He groaned. Why the hell couldn’t Marcia occupy their daughter for a bit? Melissa hadn’t been off his case since he got back from work, ‘Daddy this’ and ‘Daddy that’. Not that he minded – just he had other things to think about right now. Like what the hell was he going to do next? No doubt Marcia was in the gym. That seemed to be her default room any time he was at home. Poor Missy. Her mother never had any time for her. Everything else was always more of a priority for her than their daughter.

  He sighed and placed his empty glass on the coffee table. Smile. ‘All right, Missy. We’ll go out in a bit, get your coat on – wrap up warm.’

  He really needed to make sure those Romanians kept schtum!

  What a fucking mess!

  15

  20:55 Epsom General Hospital, Surrey

  ‘Despite the storm blowing outside and the prospect of more to follow, we at Hospital Radio Epsom are in good spirits.’

  Alice groaned, glad someone fucking is. More damn snow!

  ‘… if you’re feeling lonely here’s a Barry Manilow track to cheer you up…’

  Her groan deepened. Barry fucking Manilow? Really? The first time since she’d got here that she was alone and she had to listen to Barry sodding Manilow. Her guard had left to answer her phone – not strictly protocol – but hey, what the hell – not like I can make an escape out the window in this condition. Only the subdued lighting from the corridor outside, the whiteness of the snow from beyond the open curtains and the glow from her monitors, cast a glimmer round her room. She found the regular lines reassuring. She was alive! Things may be bad, but at least she was alive. Morphine was a bloody godsend.

  The dull ache where they’d operated to remove her spleen was diminishing. She hadn’t had the courage to look at her breast yet. The memory of Baby Jane chewing her nipple, the look of glee on her face when she swallowed it, brought bile to her throat. She’d had to have an HIV and Hepatitis test. The way her luck was going, fucking Baby Jane Inflictor of Pain would be a carrier. She laughed. Well, that would be one way out of this damn mess, wouldn’t it? She was being stupid. She knew she was. Even if she had been infected, there were anti-viral drugs available. She’d be fine. Every time she moved, the raw area where her nipple had been, grazed against the gauze dressing.

  A slight displacement of air and the faint smell of icy outdoors were the only indication that she was no longer alone. She hadn’t heard the door open, nor footsteps approaching her bed. Yet, she knew someone was there and, what’s more, she knew it wasn’t the prison officer. That explained the phone call.

  Her fists clenched. Her stomach contracted and screamed as if a vial of bleach had erupted, filling the cavity, paring the tender lining away like a vicious skin graft, layer by excruciating layer. Her rapid breaths punctuated the silence, but she refused to be the first to speak. It was the only defiance left for her and she was going to take it. Let him speak first. Let him put his sordid cards on the table. She would give him nothing.

  It didn’t surprise her that he’d managed to wangle his way past the guard. Why should it? He’d managed to have her attacked umpteen times from outside the prison walls and had succeeded in getting her so badly injured she’d ended up here. He wouldn’t kill her. That wasn’t his aim. No, Sean Kennedy wanted to intimidate her, show her how vulnerable she was, but he needed her alive. He needed her to exonerate him so he could go back to his old life.

  His voice had changed – it had lost its rich timbre, its sexy laziness, its sardonic humour. Perhaps months with a breathing tube rammed down your throat would do that. Now, his words grated over her, making her skin crawl. It sounded faint and strained. ‘Oh, poor little Alice. Look at you, so small and pathetic in a hospital bed. What’s happened to you?’

  She refused to respond. He could say what he needed to say and leave. However, she wanted to see what the man she’d put in a coma had become. She wanted to feed off his brokenness. Make herself stronger from his weakness. She turned her head and met his eyes. Christ it was worse, much worse, than she’d expected, yet she didn’t flinch. If she hadn’t known first-hand what this man was capable of, she’d feel sorry for him. Deep inside her heart a ribbon of hate unfurled. He deserved that. That and more. He deserved to rot and she made a silent promise to herself that when she could, she would make him suffer. More than that. She would kill him, with her bare hands. Unflinching, she met his gaze. He’d got skinny and wasted, as if he had a terminal disease. If she hadn’t been hooked-up to the monitor, she’d be able to take him, even in her weakened condition.

  He coughed, dry and rattley, as if he’d got something loose in his throat. When he settled, he grabbed a blue plastic chair from nearby and pulled it right up to the side of the be
d. Reaching forward, finger extended, he stroked her face. Alice pressed her head against her pillow and gritting her teeth, wished she had the energy to punch him. Even if she thought someone would respond, she wouldn’t call out for help. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He laughed and leaned in close, his breath foul against her cheek. ‘I’m glad you kept your mouth shut, Alice.’ His coarse lips rough against her cheek, peeling away another layer of innocence. How had she managed not to shudder?

  ‘Mind you,’ his laugh was bitter, cold as his heart. ‘I’d rather you’d chosen to fight. For then, hurting your parents would have given me so much more satisfaction. Knowing your crippling guilt would plague you forever would be a more fitting punishment. However, unlike you, I’m civilised. I gave you a choice.’

  His hand darted from where he’d rested it on the side of the bed and, with one vicious yank, he gripped her wounded breast in a pincer grip and twisted. A current surged through her body as if she was being electrocuted and a spark flashed in his eyes as she screeched. Spurred on by the sheer enjoyment on his face, she bit down on her lower lip, trying to staunch the sound of her pain, all too aware of the trickle of tears escaping her eyes. Her fists clenched into her palms, the sensation did nothing to detract from the pain around her nipple. She jerked her head up, trying to connect with his, but missed.

  Grinning, he licked his lips and, before she could move her face away, he bent over and rasped his tongue over her tears. His saliva on her skin made her stomach heave. As he limped over to the door, she turned her head to the side and vomited.

  16

  21:30 The Fort

  There was nothing else Gus could do. The weather forecast was crap and there was a red alert out, so he felt he might as well head home. Compo was running things through his PC and was happy to do an all-nighter at The Fort; although Gus had told him he could have the spare room at his house if he wanted. He’d slipped the lad a spare key and told him to turn up any time. Taffy had just texted to say that he’d only just arrived home and would leave early to head back. Gus had his doubts that the lad would be able to make it back to The Fort from Bradford Three. Not if the weather forecast was accurate. How the hell was he supposed to investigate a murder in these conditions? The only saving grace was that they’d found Izzie Dimou’s body before the weather got really bad.

  Having elected to leave his vehicle in the station car park and hike home, Gus donned an extra jumper, slipped his jacket, hat, gloves and hiking boots on and with a last glance at Izzie’s photo, he left through the front door. The skeleton staff they had on duty would keep things ticking over and he was local enough to return if necessary.

  Leaving the building, Gus could barely see the glow of the street lights through the snow. The sky, dark and foreboding, seemed to be pressing down on the world. Its muffled silence was eerie and a shiver went down Gus’ spine. It was like he was in a supernatural thriller and he half expected a ghost-like figure to appear before him. When he heard a cough coming from near his feet, he jumped, his heart skittering for a few beats before slowing to normal as he peered through the dark and saw a prone figure, half covered in snow, bundled up near the bottom of the steps. What the hell?

  At least it was alive. Taking a deep breath Gus climbed down to the person and as he drew near, he saw that what he’d initially thought was one figure was actually two. Inadequately wrapped in a thin sleeping bag that had seen better days, were two shivering elderly figures looking up at him. He’d seen these rough sleepers before. They often walked around Lister Park and on occasion Gus had stopped for a chat and had even given them a drink and samosas from Mo’s. ‘Jerry, Dave, what the hell are you doing here? Couldn’t you get into one of the centres?’

  Jerry, the taller and skinnier of the two, shook his head, ‘Didn’t expect it to get so bad Gus. We’re too late for any of the centres. Can’t get there in this weather, can we?’

  Dave coughed again. His eyes were rheumy and through the layers of grime etched into his face, he looked pale. Gus shook his head. ‘Well, you can’t stay here.’

  Jerry nodded. ‘Yeah, lad we know. We’ll just rest for a minute and then we’ll move on.’

  Gus frowned. ‘No, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean you’ll have to come inside. You can’t stay out here in the cold. Let’s get you inside and we’ll find somewhere for you to keep warm till this has passed.’

  Dave’s eyes darted around as if he expected to see someone other than Gus and Jerry nearby. A tic played at the corner of one eye and he tried to press his prone body further under the pile of cardboard and sleeping bags that covered him and his friend. He began to flap his hands, and his voice was high and rushed, ‘Can’t go in a cell, Jerry, can’t let them arrest us. We int done owt, you know?’

  Gus knelt down. He recognised the symptoms, the flapping, the darting eye movements, the tic. He’d seen it with Greg often enough. ‘He off his meds, Jerry?’

  Jerry nodded. ‘Ran out yesterday and couldn’t get to the health centre. He’s got flu or summat too.’

  ‘Look, let’s get him inside. We’ve got comfy rooms. We won’t put you in a cell. You just can’t stay here or you’ll die. When you’re settled I’ll call Lynfield Mount and see if we can get some meds down here for him as soon as the weather breaks, okay?’

  Jerry turned to his friend. ‘You hear that, Dave? No cells. Just a nice comfy couch and a cup of tea. You’re not arrested. You’ve done nowt wrong.’

  With difficulty, Jerry and Gus managed to move Dave up the steps and through the doors into The Fort. It had taken all of Gus’ patience and, he suspected, every iota of energy Jerry had, to reassure his friend. The smell of unwashed clothes and bodies was enough to make Gus’ eyes water. Whatever had led these two old men to sleep rough was none of his business, but he was damn sure they would live to sleep rough again when the weather had cleared.

  Hardeep, the duty officer, rushed round to open the doors for them. Gus mouthed the words ‘Lynfield Mount’ at the officer who nodded and picked up the phone. Gus guided them to the shower room, not because they smelled, but because he suspected it was the quickest way to get them warm. He led them through to the cubicles, told them to sit on a bench and put two of the showers on full heat. ‘I’m going to wait outside. Here are towels, get stripped off and stand under there till you’re warm.’

  Dave, shaking his head profusely, backed into the lockers, his gaze fastened on the closed door. Gus looked at Jerry, ‘You need to make him. We need to get him warm.’

  ‘Don’t like it here, Jerry. They’ll lock me up.’

  The harsh light bounced off Dave’s skin emphasising its blueish hue. His entire body trembled – or maybe it was just his perpetual motion that gave that impression. Beads of sweat were visible across his unshaven upper lip and forehead.

  Laying a reassuring hand on his friend’s arm, Jerry lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘No, they won’t, Dave. Gus says he’s going to get us a drink in a bit. Just need to get you warm.’

  ‘They’ve locked that door, Jerry. Locked me in.’

  Jerry looked at Gus, ‘Can we leave the door open a bit? That’ll calm him.’

  Gus walked over and wedged the door open with a chair. ‘That better Dave?’

  Dave grunted but his hand movements became a little less frenzied.

  ‘He’s frozen – you both are. I’ll see if I can find some warm clothes. No one else will disturb you – there’s nobody here – weather’s seen to that. Just get warm and we’ll see about food and something for Dave’s cold, okay?’

  Jerry started to strip off, murmuring encouraging words to Dave who, head bowed, began to strip off his layers of mismatched garments. Gus breathed a sigh of relief as he left the shower room. At least they weren’t going to find these two frozen solid on a park bench in the morning.

  As he stood guard outside the door, Hardeep approached, his arms filled with a bundle of clothes. Gus grinned, ‘Thanks Hardeep. They’ll need something to put on.�
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  Hardeep nodded to the door, ‘You know, her up top won’t be right happy about this, don’t you?’

  From inside the room, Gus could hear Dave’s yelps followed by Jerry’s soothing tones.

  ‘There, there Dave. That’s it. Nice and warm, isn’t it.’

  Hardeep laid the pile of clothes on the chair that wedged the door open. ‘She won’t appreciate you bringing in waifs and strays off the street.’

  Gus frowned. Detective Chief Superintendent Gazala Bashir was new to The Fort, having transferred from Birmingham in a sideways move. Gus hadn’t had much to do with her to date, but word through the ranks had it that she was a stickler for protocol. Bringing two rough sleepers into The Fort to use the facilities would no doubt infringe upon umpteen of her risk assessments. ‘It’s all about how you sell it to the brass, Hardeep.’ He patted him on the arm and winked. ‘Doubt she’d appreciate the alternative newspaper headlines, ‘Two rough sleepers freeze to death in front of Bradford’s main police station’. No, I’m certain she’ll be happier with ‘Bradford’s coppers open their doors to the homeless’.’

  At Hardeep’s barked laugh, Gus added, ‘Try to get a hold of one of the Mental Health nurses who patrol with the uniforms. Might as well put one of Bradford Police’s better policies to good use. They might be able to speed up an assessment of Dave’s needs.’

  Certain that Jerry and Dave were in safe hands, Gus headed for the door. Might actually make it out of this place tonight. He’d got to the reception area and was beeping himself out when Nancy called his name. He turned and saw her hurrying down the stairs, her face flushed by the exertion. God, had the Chief Super found out about Dave and Jerry already? Well he was ready to fight his corner on this one. But…