Unspoken Truths

by Liz Mistry

  From the sounds of it, Katie had put her hand over her phone and Gus could hear little snippets of conversation, muffled over the line. Seconds later Gabriella came back on the phone. ‘Ask what you want Gus, trouble is, I don’t know that much. He was my brother but I hardly saw him. I hardly knew him.’ And she started to sniffle again.

  For fuck’s sake, this is all I need. Gus gave her a moment before asking his questions. ‘I know Izzie and Daniel met in Northern Cyprus, but how exactly did they meet?’

  ‘They both worked for the University of Nicosia. He’s an archaeologist and there are loads of archaeological ruins throughout the North. You know that though, Gus. Daniel was trying to get EU funding to work on some of the sites that were becoming more and more threatened. He was researching the Roman ruins at Salamis. As for Izzie, she worked at the Uni too, doing research of some sort. I’ve no idea what department, though.’

  Gus thought about that, ‘What prompted them to come to the UK to get married? Why not just get married there? It’s not like either of them had a whole load of relatives scheduled to attend the wedding.’

  Gus could almost hear Gabriella thinking, so he gave her time.

  ‘Never thought of it like that. You’re right though. To be honest, I got the impression that they were coming over here anyway.’ She paused, ‘Something to do with Izzie’s research, I think – although I’m not certain. She was having a meeting in Manchester yesterday. That’s why she was flying to Dublin from there. No idea what the meeting was about. Daniel was going to Manchester with her though. He was meeting up with some of his old cronies from the archaeology department at Manchester Uni.’

  That tallied with the footage they’d obtained of Izzie and Daniel, although they still had to ascertain Daniel’s movements after he entered Costa. Compo had reported a rear exit near the loos and so they were trying to access footage from the back of the building. Gus hesitated. ‘Gaby. Did you know Daniel worked for MI6?’

  A snort, followed by a silence that went on for longer than Gus thought necessary. ‘Gaby?’

  ‘Sorry, Gus – just a bit shocked. You telling me Daniel is a spy? Don’t be daft. He’s too geeky. You’ve heard him going on about ruins and stuff – bore the socks of you. You must be mistaken.’

  Gus sighed, ‘No Gabriella. I’m not mistaken.’

  SUNDAY

  20

  01:05 The Fort

  It was bitter sweet for Compo to be in The Fort in the dead of night on his own. He loved the solitude, loved the way the darkness surrounded the little halo of light that emanated from his computer area. What he didn’t like so much were the ghosts that kept flitting around. Memories of him and Sampson jamming out their interpretation of Bat Out Of Hell or sharing a late night snack with Alice, distracted him. There was a huge gap in the team. A hollowness that he saw reflected in Gus’ slumped shoulders and the dullness of his eyes. Gus carried all the guilt on his shoulders, and Compo could do nothing to assuage it.

  The laughter Alice dispersed wherever she went had dissipated like a waft of smoke in a gale and Sampson’s solidity, his calmness, his humour, was gone. Taffy was a good kid, a bit cocky, but still a good kid. Even he seemed less sure of himself now and Compo had no idea how he could redress the imbalance. If he could, he would. He’d do anything to bring a smile to Gus’ lips, to lift his shoulders, to put the sparkle back in his eye. He’d had the feeling this morning that Gus was on the point of telling him something. He hoped it wasn’t that he’d asked for a transfer. He couldn’t bear it if Gus left too. Gus was the main man. He gave them direction, navigated them through the investigations. Without him at the helm, he couldn’t see them solving half as many cases.

  Peeling the wrapper off a Mars Bar, Compo pressed a button on his computer and looked to see if any other data had come up on either Izzie Dimou or Daniel Farrier. He’d had to probe deeper than he’d expected, because his initial search had raised a whole load of red flags. He wondered why the University of Nicosia in Northern Cyprus had such a high level of encryption on their data. What was so special about Izzie Dimou? And why had Daniel Farrier’s file had a red alert on it? The programme he was running would be done in a couple of hours with any luck. Then he’d have the answers to his questions.

  He picked up a can of Fanta and opened it, slurping up the fizz that landed on his hand. At this time of night, he was unlikely to be disturbed, so his fingers flashed across the keyboard, setting up encryptions, misdirecting any searches The Fort’s IT security might start. Looping them to safe sites and deleting his activity history as he went, replacing it with innocuous search sites that wouldn’t raise eyebrows. If he was caught doing this it would be instant dismissal. Compo wasn’t worried. Nobody on the tech team had a hope in hell of picking up on things – numpties.

  The site he wanted was one that heard chatter from around the world and might just have heard something about Izzie Dimou. He logged into the Justice Room using one of his hacker aliases – ReviAeternus – and drifted through, checking out who was active, who was passively watching and what topics were floating. Nothing that concerned him right now, but a few he’d keep an eye on in his own time. He typed in a query and floated it ‘Izzie hit you?’

  A few lights sparked down one side of the screen telling him his query had been noted. Jayray was the first to reply, ‘Context?’

  Compo, grinned. Typical JayRay response, always wanted more than he was prepared to give. ‘Need to know.’

  He waited… five seconds… ten seconds… fifteen seconds, then Pitbull Warrior chipped in, ‘Aw give us a clue RevAe?’

  ‘SN Dimou – that help?’

  One by one the replies came back, ‘Negative.’

  ‘No’

  ‘Nowser’

  ‘Okay, alert and report – request active, ongoing, ciao.’

  His friends would implement alerts deeper down the web. If there was anything out there, he knew they’d find it and get back to him. He minimised the screen. Now, maybe time for a shut eye for half an hour or so.

  He positioned the back rest of his chair into the most reclined position he could, propped his legs up on another chair and pulled his beanie down over his eyes. The computer would ping when it was ready, so he set his playlist on shuffle and had just settled down when the door opened with a loud click. Assuming it was Gus, Compo said, ‘Coffee’s on boss, help yourself.’

  Instead Nancy’s voice had him wheeling backwards, nearly falling of his chair and struggling to his feet. ‘Thanks, Compo, I will have some.’

  Conscious that he’d taken his DM’s off and that his toe was poking through his sock, Compo made his chair upright and shuffled his lower body under the desk. Nancy filled her mug and, skirting Compo’s computer station, sat on a chair opposite. ‘Did you get stranded, Compo?’

  For a moment, he wondered what she was talking about. He got it. The snow. Truth was he hadn’t got stranded – he was exactly where he wanted to be. The Fort was more of a home than the flat he had off Thornton Road near where the notorious Crossbow Cannibal had lived. Last thing he wanted was for Nancy to suss that out though. Much as she was approachable and all that, she was still his big boss. Well aware that he was blushing, he wanted to curl up and die. The fact that she had a coffee in her hand told him that he wasn’t going to be let off the hook so quickly. Looked like Nancy was settled in for one of those cosy chats that always made him feel awkward. ‘No, no – well, sort of, well what I mean is, Gus said I could go to his, but I thought I might as well crack on. Find out what I could about Izzie Dimou and Daniel Farrier, ready for briefing tomorrow.’

  Nancy nodded, and blew on her coffee, seemingly focussed on whatever she was thinking. Compo took the opportunity to dart a glance at his screen and was reassured that although the dark web screen was active, it was his ongoing legal search for Izzie and Daniel that was on the monitor. Last thing he needed was Nancy seeing something she shouldn’t. Not sure what to say, but uncomfortable with the silence, Co
mpo rummaged in his drawer and brought out a packet of chocolate Hobnobs. He’d been saving them, but Nancy looked like she could do with cheering up. ‘Hobnob?’

  Nancy smiled, her eyes momentarily brightening and Compo’s lips twitched in relief. He’d done something right, for once.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do. Haven’t had one of these in years and the chocolate ones are my favourites.’

  He opened the packet and placed two on a slightly stained napkin next to Nancy. She picked up the first one and began to munch with relish. Compo, still a little wary, began to munch on one too. Although Nancy sat half in the shadows, he could see that she was wearing her slippers. It made him relax somehow. If she was wearing slippers, she couldn’t be an ogre. He knew she and Gus were close, but he’d hardly spoken to her. The silence, broken only by munching sounds continued, until Nancy, placing her coffee on his desk, reached over, helped herself to the packet and took out two more biscuits. Compo stifled his sigh as she placed the packet in her lap. They were his favourites too. Oh well.

  Clearing his throat, he decided to man up, ‘Gus looked worried this morning.’ When Nancy responded with a nod, but said nothing, he continued, ‘Before we got called out to the crime scene, I mean.’

  Nancy placed her mug and the half-eaten packet of biscuits on the desk and pulled her chair a little closer. She picked up another biscuit and snapped it in half, studying it as if she’d never seen one before. A crawling sensation eased its way over Compo’s chest. This was ominous. What was she not telling him? After what seemed like ages, she popped one half of the biscuit in her mouth and flicked the crumbs from her fingers, before repeating the process with the other half.

  ‘Gus went to see Alice yesterday.’

  Compo’s face lit up, then seeing the worry etched across Nancy’s forehead it shrivelled and died, lying in his stomach like festering roadkill.

  Nancy sighed, ‘There’s no easy way to say this and Gus has got enough on his plate right now, so I’m just going to tell you. You need to be strong. For Gus.’

  ‘I know she was attacked. Was it worse than Gus said? She’s not in a coma or summat is she?’

  Nancy waved her hand, ‘She’s fine. Well, when I say fine, I mean she’s in hospital, which is why Gus could go to see her. However,’ Nancy bit her lip, slammed her hand on the desk top, ‘she’s changed her plea.’

  Compo frowned, ‘What do you mean, changed her plea. How could she?’

  ‘She’s pleading guilty.’

  The words didn’t sink in for a moment and when they did, he jumped to his feet, ‘I don’t understand this. Why would she do that? Why would she plead guilty to something she never did?’

  ‘That’s just it. Alice said she did do it. She says she was the brains behind the entire drug and weapon running ring. Says Kennedy was onto her, so she tried to kill him. Big H the drug dealer confirms it all.’

  Compo, fists clenched by his sides, glared at her. ‘You can’t trust a bloody drug dealer. They must be forcing her somehow.’

  ‘If it was just that, I’d agree with you, Compo,’ she shook her head, ‘But it’s not. They’ve found a money trail between Alice and a South American drug cartel that leads directly to an offshore bank account in her name. They’ve uncovered money transfers to and from that account supplying weapons to Syria and Afghanistan. She’s in deep, son. She’s fooled us all.’

  The roadkill in Compo’s stomach twitched, like a zombie coming back to life. Its long-nailed fingers extended and raked down his abdomen, scoring furrows of oozing acid in the lining. He picked up what was left of the packet of Hobnobs and squashed them in one hand, sending a flurry of crumbs onto the floor.

  One word erupted from his throat in a screech, ‘Nooooo!’

  21

  03:25 Premier Inn, Epsom

  Okay, it wasn’t the Hilton, but at least it was warm and had a double bed. Sean Kennedy had been lucky to get this room at the last minute and he was relieved. He hadn’t anticipated staying in Surrey overnight, but The Beast from the East had made mincemeat of his plans to return to Brent after his nocturnal visit to Alice in the hospital.

  He’d paid for two nights just to be sure. Didn’t look like the weather was going to ease anytime soon and the forecast was for worsening conditions for the rest of the weekend. In his physical condition, he couldn’t risk being snowed-in in his car for any length of time. At least here he was safe and thankfully the wonders of modern technology meant he could just as easily implement his plans from here as from Brent.

  He’d bought some toiletries from the small chemist next door and stocked up on a Domino’s pizza, a four pack of lager and a selection of sweets and crisps. Once he’d eaten and downed two of his four cans, he washed his socks and boxers in the miniscule en suite sink, with the decidedly average smelling hotel-provided shower gel. If there was one thing Sean hated, it was wearing underwear two days running. You had to have standards after all.

  Avoiding his reflection in the mirror above the sink as he scrubbed, Sean – for the umpteenth time – considered his options regarding his hair. He could shave it off completely. The only thing was, that made the angry alopecia patches more obvious and he was wary of using anything on his scalp to exacerbate his condition. So, he’d take the doctor’s advice for now, and done nothing. So what if people thought he looked like a holocaust victim? He’d long since stopped caring what others thought. He hung his boxers and socks over the shower rail and padded back into the room, where the telly played quietly. Taking off his shirt and jumper he grimaced. Ideally he’d prefer to change those too, but he wasn’t sure they’d dry in time. He hung up his shirt and sprayed it with aftershave, before folding his jumper and placing it on the desk, ready for the next day. He hated eating in the same area he was going to sleep in. Hated the thought of the food smells lingering in his clothes. It made his skin feel itchy and the last thing he needed to do was scratch. His skin was flaky enough as it was.

  After tying a knot in the plastic bag that lined the hotel room bin, he placed it outside the door, before returning and lining up his two beer cans next to the kettle and coffee-making facilities. He slid the chair under the desk and positioned the armchair snug in the corner of the room adjacent to the window. Satisfied that things were in order, he walked naked over to the window and parted the curtains slightly. The snow had drifted against the glass and ice patterns meandered up from the snow in a hotchpotch collage. Cold caressed his bare skin making a flutter of goose bumps up and down his arms. He could see little beyond the small parking area beneath and the lights from the adjoining pub.

  Everything felt deathly still and it reminded him of the hospital after he’d first come round from his coma. The first few nights afterwards had been the worst. Weak as a baby, he’d struggled to feed himself, hold a glass, sit upright in bed. He’d played it safe, took the time to formulate his plans. Used the quiet solitude of the nights to plot, while during the day he was amenable, yet frail and broken. As he gradually pieced together what had happened in the intervening months and what evidence was stacked against him, he put out feelers. First to the officers who came to take his initial statement. He pretended his memories were coming back and his doctors corroborated that that was the normal recovery from such an injury.

  The truth was, he’d wakened with a memory as clear as a bell. Alice Cooper, nearly in his sights, spinning round and kicking the gun from his hand, following through with another kick and then… nothing. Not long after that he’d pieced together the preceding narrative. His dodgy deals, building up his network, moving drugs, recruiting officers with a little ambition, threatening the gangsters, getting control of the chess board and moving his pawns where he wanted. If he hadn’t been careful, Alice Cooper’s testimony could have taken that away from him. He’d pulled in favours and, lo and behold, Big H had recanted his testimony, citing intimidation from Alice Cooper as his reason.

  Sean had bided his time and waited ‘til he had, with help from his soli
citor, everything in place. Then he set the hounds on the bitch. Alice Cooper had nearly killed him, but he’d have the last laugh. She’d be the one with a life-time in prison ahead of her, whilst Sean was fully exonerated, looked up to by the force and vindicated – lauded even.

  He pulled the curtains closed, making sure they met exactly in the middle. His skin was cool now, so he flopped on the bed, pulling the quilt over his legs. On the table beside the bed were four throwaway phones, all lined up perfectly. He picked one up and pressed speed dial. This phone contained only one number. As soon as it was answered, he spoke. ‘The doctors say she’ll be discharged on Monday, weather permitting. Make sure that when she returns, my girls still have access to her. Don’t want her forgetting her obligations now, do we?’

  The prison warden laughed, ‘Copy.’ and hung up.

  He’d every right to laugh. His cooperation in this matter was earning him enough to put both his daughters through private school. Sean knew exactly which private school – just in case! He was nothing if not prepared.

  Business taken care of, he leaned back against the headboard and flicked through the TV channels. Nothing that excited him. He wished he was in a better hotel where he could, for a fee, access some porn. Perhaps it was his little contretemps with Alice that had got him all horny. Perhaps it was the knowledge that all his plans were coming to fruition. He neither knew, nor cared. All he was aware of was that his hard-on needed sorting. Pronto!

  He closed his eyes, curled onto his side and remembered the rush of power that had surged through him when he grabbed her bruised breast and twisted. The cow deserved it. With the vision of Alice’s trembling lips and furious eyes, tears spilling down her pale cheeks, he orgasmed for only the second time since he’d come out of his coma.