by Liz Mistry
22
03:15 The Fort
Compo’s eyes were blurry. He’d been at the computer all night, rarely leaving his seat. Nancy’s words about Alice earlier had left him devastated. Alice was the glue that held the team together and it had been bad enough when she’d got arrested, but now? To have everything he held dear brought into question, Compo’s world had crashed.
The team were his world. He could barely remember his parents – just a series of foster homes with bullies and perverts all ready to take it out on the wimpy kid – the weirdo. He was the one they laughed at and, after what seemed like millions of unsuccessful attempts to fit in, he’d given up trying. He was ‘the geek’, the one who was always slightly out of the loop. The one who ran away from everything – until he joined Gus’ team that is. He hadn’t run away from here. This team was his family and Gus’ mum and dad were his extended family. He was part of something – a valued part of something and that was because of Al. She’d looked after him. Teasing him, not minding if he got ketchup on her paperwork, looking out for him – and now they were saying this crap about her.
It had taken him a long time, three Mars Bars, a gallon of Sprite and a lot of music to calm down, but he’d begun mulling things over. He plugged his ear buds in and resorted to The Doors for inspiration. If Jim Morrison couldn’t inspire him no one could. He was half way through Riders On The Storm when he realised that if Gus and Nancy weren’t going to weather ‘The Storm’ for Alice, he would have to.
He’d always looked up to Gus – thought he was infallible – but maybe he wasn’t after all. Maybe he was too loved up or too worn down. Compo wasn’t sure. But he was sure of one thing and that was that the ache in his belly and the hurt in his heart wouldn’t go away unless he did something for Alice.
He thought long and hard about his friend and the one thing he did know was that she was nobody’s fool. The second thing he knew was that she was as honest as he was. This had to be some sort of mistake. Alice – his humorous, bouncy friend – would never betray herself, never mind her team in that way. Never! No way was Al a bent copper. No fucking way! She was too good, too straight down the line to be bent.
So, no matter what Gus thought, he was going to sort this damn mess. Prove that he was as good a copper as the rest of them. That being the case, Compo set to work on jobs he could do only in the dead of night with no-one else around. At one point he considered trekking to his flat, but the thought of its cold atmosphere compared to the warmth of The Fort convinced him the hour-long hike through freezing blizzards just wasn’t worth the effort. Besides it was like Alice was here beside him, watching over him. There was no way anyone would be able to trace what he was doing. However, just to be doubly sure, he got his personal laptop out of his rucksack and got cracking.
With the Izzie Dimou search still humming in the background, he dimmed the lights, plugged in his ear buds and set his music to Dark Side of The Moon, which, in the present circumstances, was quite apt. Oblivious to the snow drifting against the window, creating a barrier between him and the outside world, Compo set to work. He was going deeper than he had in years. Deeper than he was comfortable with but, with quiet determination he put all thoughts of what could happen to him out of his mind. Sometimes friendship was more important than a job – even a job he loved.
23
04:05 Saddleworth Moor
The cold had seeped into Daniel’s bones and he couldn’t stop shivering, yet he was determined to either find a way out of this room or find a way to survive. That meant keeping warm, finding something to drink and making sure he could protect himself when the snow thawed and his captors returned. Food, he could do without for now. He was fairly sure he was on his own. If his captors were here they’d have made some noise by now, or he’d have seen even a faint light shining through the downstairs windows. Earlier, when the snowing had stopped for a short time, the moonlight reflected enough light for Daniel to see that there was no sign of a vehicle outside. He reckoned his room faced out over the front of the farmhouse because he could see, if he stood on tiptoe and craned his neck, the peak of a porch and snow-covered side buildings making a sort of half square round the building in which he was imprisoned.
Every so often a flutter of fear bubbled in his chest. Each time it did, Daniel swallowed it down and tried to focus on his own immediate needs. Worrying about Izzie and where she was, was pointless, he told himself. Yet it was too difficult not to worry. He’d sought her out in Nicosia. He’d inveigled himself into her life. He’d got her to confide what she’d discovered in her lab and he’d led her to Manchester.
The need to wee was getting progressively more desperate. He had to make a decision – designate a toilet area, because who knew how long he’d be trapped here, or wet himself. After weighing up his options, he whipped out one of the drawers from the old dressing table, tipped its contents in a pile on the floor, to be gone through later, and put it inside the wardrobe. Next, he’d grabbed the wardrobe’s contents, a varied collection of mainly female clothing, and flung them on the bed. Aware that the wooden drawer was porous, he lined it with the old plastic sheet he’d found covering a chair near the window. Perhaps that might be enough to prevent any leakage. He used, with great relief, the makeshift loo shutting the wardrobe doors on it when he was done God only knew how he’d cope when he needed something more than a pee, however, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
Immediate needs taken care of, Daniel picked up some of the items of clothing. He didn’t care how he looked, there was no heat in the farmhouse, so fashion was irrelevant. He picked up two misshapen, hand knitted jumpers and pulled them over his head. They were a bit tight, so he looked for a larger item of clothing he could put on top. When he found a slightly mouldy-smelling duffle coat, he put it on with no hesitation and feeling a bit like a Teletubby, he began to sift through the contents of the drawer he’d tipped out.
The previous farmhouse inhabitant had clearly been a woman, and judging by the clothes and trinkets, an elderly one who didn’t get out much. His headache persisted, but that was a minor worry. He needed something to collect the ice he scraped off the window. Feeling dehydrated earlier, in a burst of stupidity, he’d tried to lick the ice off the window. His tongue had stuck to the ice and he’d had to rip it off, causing it to bleed slightly. As a result, he had a stinging tongue to add to his list of worries.
He picked up a jewellery box, opened the lid. Inside was a Wedgewood trinket box, its pigeon-egg blue with the trademark cameo on it, was of minor importance. Daniel had other plans for it. He took the ceramic container over to the window and, with the edge of an old black comb he’d lifted from the dressing table, he scraped a depressingly small amount of ice from the window into the container. It wasn’t a lot, but he could repeat the process. Once it thawed he’d be able to drink it.
The thought that he was being proactive cheered him up, and he continued sifting through the contents of the room. When he found a box of matches, his heart nearly stopped. Who would have thought anyone could ever be so excited about such a small thing?
If the worst came to the worst, and he had to break the window pane to get snow to melt, he could at least light a fire to offset some of the cold. He looked at the heavy-duty old-fashioned furniture which looked so well cared for, as if it had been lovingly polished for generations and he imagined it had been in this family’s possession for a very long time. Never mind. If it came to it, Daniel would cheerfully say ‘bye, bye furniture’.
24
04:10 Titus Street, Saltaire
Not managing to fit in his usual jog had left Gus unsettled. Patti had long since gone to sleep, yet his legs were twitchy and his mind was like a rollercoaster, going up and down and roundabout. Patti, though he wouldn’t tell her, snored just a little. Her chest rising and falling, her mouth open slightly. The temptation to lean over and kiss her was strong, but Gus would let her sleep. He eased himself out of the bed, and Bingo, asleep in
his basket near the door, opened one eye, gave a half-hearted wag of his tail and joined in with Patti’s snoring.
Grabbing his clothes as he went, Gus left the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him. Sleep wasn’t going to come. Not with images of Alice’s sunken cheeks and emotionless eyes, like two dank caverns, haunting him. Of course, there was Izzie. She had been tortured. Gus’ dad confirmed that it looked like professionals had inflicted the wounds on her body, so Gus couldn’t stop wondering what she’d gotten mixed up in. Then there was Daniel. Where had he gone? None of this looked good and Gus was itching to get on and do things. The interviews in the local neighbourhood had ground to a halt as the weather deteriorated. He couldn’t get to Manchester or to the scene of the train crash. If Daniel was implicated in Izzie’s death then he needed to be out there catching him. If – on the other hand – he was also a victim, he needed to be out there looking for him. Truth was, the only investigating going on was whatever Compo could do digitally. All other avenues were closed. Even the lab, bar a skeleton staff, had shut down.
After sneaking downstairs, Gus scribbled a quick note for Patti and got his outdoor clothes on. It was madness, but he needed to be doing something. Needed to work off this excess energy that was keeping him awake. He shoved a hat over his dreads, wrapped a scarf round his neck and left the house.
For now, the snow had stopped. More was forecast, but Gus wasn’t bothered by that. He set off down the drive to the snicket beside the Sainsbury’s on Keighley Road and began to trudge towards Saltaire. It was only a couple of miles, but in this weather, it would take him the best part of an hour if not more. The snow was at least five inches deep and trudging through it made Gus’ calves ache. Still he kept on, enjoying his accelerated heart rate and the slight sweat that formed under his outer clothes, despite the cold.
The walk had an ethereal feel to it. It was almost otherworldly, like he was the only person on the planet and he relished it. Relished the time to think. The snowing, when it began, offered a rhythmic calmness that was soothing. The occasional car headlight swept over his solitary figure as he traipsed along the pavement. Mostly, his were the only foot prints in the snow, but occasionally he saw an animal print and once, from under a bush in a garden, he was caught off guard by a fox staring at him. Poor sod, he’d have a hard time finding food in this weather. By the time he reached Alice’s house, the one where Daniel and Izzie had been living for the past few weeks, Gus hesitated.
When he’d been earlier, he was accompanied by other officers and a CSI team. Now, he was on his own, and for the first time since he’d left Mariner’s drive he questioned his actions. He wasn’t even sure if he was here to find some evidence about Alice or about Daniel and Izzie. Alice’s house had always been a place of joy and laughter. She’d been like an over-excited kid when she’d first moved in, insisting everyone come for afternoon tea. It had been her sanctuary, her solace, or so Gus had thought, from the trauma of her involvement with Sean Kennedy. Now Gus wasn’t so sure. Now it seemed that Kennedy had been the innocent one. Is she really bent? If she was, her belongings certainly didn’t reflect hidden wealth. How could he have got things so wrong? It was with that thought that Gus realised he was here to try to find something, anything to put lie to what Alice was admitting to. However, whilst he was here he’d keep an eye open for something that might shed some light on where Daniel was.
The gate was wedged shut by the snow, so Gus climbed over it, landing in a drift up to his thigh. He cursed and climbed his way out of it, before walking up the small path and inserting his key in the lock. A welcome blast of heat hit him as he pushed the door open, allowing a shower of snow to clump on the welcome mat inside. Gus kicked as much as he could of the drift back outside and shut the door. He stood for a minute in the dark, searching for a trace of Alice’s familiar scent. All he could smell was a lemony air freshener and a faint tinge of bleach. It was as if Alice had never been here. Pinching himself for being fanciful, he reached out and flicked the light on, blinking rapidly at the sudden glare. He was immediately transported back to when Alice still lived there.
Above a round table, adorned by a neglected looking plant, perched a framed photo of her with her parents taken last summer in Cyprus. Her parents, so serious, looked fondly at Alice who sported the widest grin. She’d often told Gus that she felt like a changeling; like she wasn’t really her parents’ daughter, but some imposter. On closer inspection, Gus saw that she shared her mother’s dark eyes and her father’s hair. She was no changeling, so why had she done a complete turnaround with her plea? He moved further along the hallway. Looking at photos wasn’t going to help him discover something to help Alice. If there were any clues they would be in her office. He put his hand on the bannister and began to climb the stairs.
He knew this house as well as he knew his own. He’d helped Alice move in, had spent hours here with her over the last couple of years. She’d confided in him, he’d confided in her. Now it seemed all of that had been a lie. She’d certainly played him. And not just him, but his parents and the team too. Hell, he doubted Compo would get over this, not so soon after losing Sampson.
Reaching the landing he looked round. The house felt displaced. The absence of Alice taunted him, laughed at him. Daniel and Izzie hadn’t put much of a mark on the house, but nonetheless their presence had edged Alice out. It had been a mistake to let them live here, but – faced with the combined pressure of Katie and Gabriella – he’d relented. Better to have the place lived-in than lying empty, stagnating in Alice’s absence.
He couldn’t put his finger on what in particular made him like this. Probably just a reaction to how Alice had been when he saw her – her betrayal. Ignoring the main bedroom, which had been given the once over by Hissing Sid and his team earlier, he headed to the small room at the end of the corridor. The door was shut and although the CSIs had gone over it too, they’d found little evidence that Daniel or Izzie had used it much. In fact, judging by the scatter of paperwork on the dining table it looked like they’d used the dining area in the corner of the living room as an office.
From Gus’ point of view this made his job easier. Chances were, anything he found in here would belong to Alice. He rested his hand on the door knob for a fraction of a second. Did he really want to do this? What if he found something that incriminated Alice even more than she already was? Could he betray her like she’d betrayed him? Would he be able to hand over evidence that would land her in further trouble? He exhaled and depressed the handle. Who was he kidding? The London police had been all over the entire house when they first arrested Alice. If there was anything incriminating to be found, it would’ve been found already. He knew he wasn’t really looking for evidence against her. He was looking for that faint glimmer of hope her words at the hospital had denied him. Dammit, he was looking for her innocence. What a damn fool I am!
The door slid over the wooden floor and jammed. Gus pushed harder but it wouldn’t budge. It didn’t matter, it was wide enough for him to enter, so he stepped into Alice’s home office and glanced behind the door to see what the obstruction was. A wedge- shaped door stop had jammed under the door preventing it opening fully. Gus kicked it out of the way and the door slid shut, blocking out the light from the hallway. Stretching out his hand to the light switch, Gus froze. Was that a noise from downstairs?
Instead of putting the light on, he opened the door and listened. There it was again. It could be snow falling off the roof. The thought flashed into his mind and straight back out again. The noise was nothing like snow sliding down the roof and crashing to the ground. He knew exactly what that noise was. Hell, he’d heard it often enough – made it often enough.
After glancing round the office, he grabbed the lamp from the desk and made his way downstairs. Whoever was trying to pick the lock on the kitchen door was not very proficient or they’d have had the door open by now. He’d been on at Alice for ages to upgrade her security and he could probably pick her ba
ck-door lock in a jiffy. Maybe the intruder’s fingers were frozen – no way you could pick a lock with proper gloves on – thin nitrile ones at a push, but even leather ones made it hard to manipulate the tools. Whoever this was, it had to do with Izzie’s murder. Perhaps it was Daniel. No, he’d have a key – unless he’d lost it. But wouldn’t he just phone Gus for a spare? Besides which, even if it was Daniel, he wasn’t convinced of the man’s innocence. He’d need to prove himself to Gus.
Thankful that the hallway light was dim and presumably hadn’t penetrated to the rear of the property, Gus reached the bottom of the stairs and flicked it off. No point in advertising his presence. Whoever was coming in from the back alley had clearly not bothered to check out the front of the house. More fool them. For now, Gus was waiting for them. He paused outside the closed kitchen door. If he waited till they cracked the lock, he’d have more chance of catching them. If he disturbed them too early, they’d head off into the night and after his trek through the snow, Gus wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up with them. Closing his eyes, he did a mental walk through of Alice’s kitchen – hoping that Daniel and Izzie hadn’t seen fit to rearrange things during their short occupancy. It wasn’t a big kitchen; a breakfast bar at the end of a freestanding unit, a huge fridge, once filled with ready meals and beer, and a variety of bobbing head toys dotted across the windowsill, next to an aloe vera plant.
He cracked the kitchen door open and slid into the dark room, skirted the table and stood beside the fridge where he couldn’t be seen from the door. The sounds were clearer now. The scratch of metal on metal. Jiggling, Gus could visualise each of the movements – a slide, a juggle, a twist, a slide – and, if you were lucky, or skilled enough, the lock would give. When he heard – above the scraping – a muffled curse followed by a kick on the door, Gus grinned. Not as easy as you think, matey! The scraping recommenced and then a grunt that Gus recognised as satisfaction. Standing on the balls of his feet, heart racing, he waited. A gust of freezing air signalled the door being pushed open, followed by the sound of someone kicking snow from their feet. Gus edged forward. Anticipation hitching his breath in his chest. Come on Daniel or whoever you are, let’s be having you.