by Liz Mistry
Gus exhaled. He didn’t know who to curse; his mother for bringing the dogs here in the first place or DCS Bashir for choosing this precise minute to visit when he’d barely seen her since she started.
The DCS’s eyes moved from the dogs to Gus then back again. They drifted to his mother who, bundled up in her outdoor things, looked a little like a Pillsbury doughboy and from there to Compo who had opened the bag, extracted the tin and stuffed a whole muffin in his mouth with a trail of crumbs dotting his Kinks t-shirt.
This was bad, very bad. Gus had barely spoken two words to the woman and now, here she was in a room that was beginning to smell of rather fragrant steamy dogs and burnt muffins. He opened his mouth to explain, when Heather dragged away from him and seeing someone new to slobber over, raised a still damp paw to his boss’ light green skirt. For a moment he closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, the scene would be sans his mother and two wet dogs, but no. His eyes moved from the damp patch on DCS Bashir’s skirt up to her face and he braced himself for the onslaught that no doubt was to follow. But the teenage girl had smiled and extended her hand to Meggie, who wagged her tail furiously and licked the girl’s hand.
Bashir opened her mouth, her eyes flashing as she pushed the dog away, but before she had a chance to utter a word, Corrine had rushed over, hand extended, warm smile on her face. ‘Oh hello. You must be my Angus’ boss. He thinks so highly of you. The Fort’s in such capable hands, or so he tells me.’
Looking a little overwhelmed by the whirlwind that was Gus’ mum, DCS Bashir extended her own hand and shook Corrine’s. Still smiling, Corrine glanced at her son and gave an almost imperceptible wink before turning back. ‘I know I shouldn’t have brought the dogs in, but I thought I’d drop off some sustenance for these two as they’ve been hard at it all night and I know they won’t have bothered with breakfast. Ordinarily, I’d leave Heather and Meggie outside.’ She picked up the dropped leash and said in a voice reserved for babies and pets, ‘Wouldn’t I, my sweet angels,’ before turning back to Bashir, ‘But, what with the weather the way it is, I just couldn’t risk anyone seeing them and taking a snap of them outside The Fort.’
She gave, what Gus recognised as an affected laugh, ‘Wouldn’t want news headlines ‘Abandoned dogs left to freeze outside Bradford’s biggest police station’ or some such dross. You know what the press are like, don’t you? Anyway, lovely to meet you. Come on Heather, come on Meggie.’ and she was off, leaving Gus to face the music.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Bashir, seeming almost as bemused as he was, raised a hand, ‘Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it. It’s exceptional circumstances, so we’ll turn a blind eye – this time.’ She glanced at Compo, and shook her head slightly before continuing, ‘I only came to tell you that we’ve okayed Lewis Gore’s temporary transfer to your team until such time as we can make permanent replacements. I’ve been told he’s on his way in.’
She looked once more at Compo as if wondering what his role was. Meeting her gaze, Compo offered the open tin. ‘Muffin?’
Gus could’ve crowned him. The muffins were misshapen, with evidence of being overdone on the top and no two were the same size. Why did his mother insist on doing this? When would she realise she just couldn’t bake?
Gazala Bashir, moved her head a mere fraction and looked at Gus, ‘Are you sure your team is up to this current investigation?’
Looking at Compo, who had stuffed another bun in his mouth and was now chewing noisily, Gus straightened and met her gaze. ‘My team is very efficient at what they do. I wouldn’t replace any of them, but I do welcome Lewis Gore as a temporary member. His skills will be invaluable.’
Bashir pressed her lips together and nodded, ‘Okay, but I want regular updates. Investigating this murder with the weather like this is fraught with difficulty. Come on Moona, let’s get you something useful to do, since schools closed.’
As the DCS left the room, her surly daughter trailing behind again, Gus turned to Compo. The lad was huddled over his keyboard casting the occasional glance at his monitor, his back pointedly angled away from Gus. What was it with the lad? Compo was usually so buoyant, so upbeat. It took a lot to bring him down. It occurred to him – Alice. Has Nancy spilled the beans to Compo before Gus had the chance to? Catching an admonishing glance from Compo, Gus sighed. He really didn’t want to have to deal with Compo’s sensitivities right now. That was something Alice usually did. But Alice was gone, so, he’d just have to get used to it. He walked over and placed a hand on Compo’s shoulder. Like a truculent three-year old, Compo shrugged it off, keeping his eyes firmly on the screen of flashing images.
Gus, having been caught out before, scanned Compo’s desk for drops of ketchup or other sticky substances before resting his bum on it, long legs stretched out before him, arms folded. Angling backwards, he was able to see Compo’s face as he worked. A crumb dangled from his lower lip, emphasizing the ferocity of his concentration.
‘Take it Nancy’s spoken to you about Alice?’
Compo responded with an abrupt nod.
Shit, I’m really going to have my work cut out at this rate. ‘Come on Comp’s, give me a break. I’m finding this as hard as you are, you know?’
Compo’s fingers stilled on the keyboard and he swivelled his chair a little and glared at Gus. ‘Should’ve been you who told me, Gus. Not Nancy. Don’t hardly know her, do I?’ He shook his head and mouth trembling, crumb dangling precariously, he shrugged, ‘Should’ve been you.’
The lad was right. It should’ve been Gus that told him. Nancy would’ve been sensitive – of course she would, but he was Compo’s friend. He was the team leader. He should have made the time. Truth was, he was putting it off. Making excuses, prevaricating. He splayed his hands in front of him. ‘You’re right, Comps. I’ve no excuse. I should’ve told you. I was being a knob. Thinking about myself, not sure how to break it to you.’
He raked his fingers through his dreads and sighed, ‘I made excuses to put it off, but being honest with you Comp’s, I just didn’t want to say it out loud. This is Alice we’re talking about. Our Alice. I’m gutted. Gutted and fucking mad as hell.’
Compo, reached out and squeezed Gus’ arm. ‘It’s okay, Gus. It’s okay. I get it.’
Gus shook his head, ‘No Compo. I was a dick. Left you dangling.’
They sat in silence for a while. ‘Maybe she didn’t do it Gus? After all, you said it yourself, this is Al we’re talking about.’
Gus pushed himself up from the desk, lips tight. ‘She did it Comps. She told me so. The evidence is there and everything adds up. She’s more of a dirty cop than Knowles was. She deserves to be locked up. The Alice we knew doesn’t exist. You’ve got to accept that. It was all an act. That woman made a fool of us. I’ll not forgive her for that – not ever. Now I need to know what’s on that USB, so get cracking, eh?’
32
10:15 Saddleworth Moor
When Daniel woke up, the first thing he noticed was the biting numbness in his limbs and extremities. Flexing his fingers and toes sent shooting pains up his arms and legs, so he lay there cocooned in musty fabric, bones heavy. Little by little, he tried to circulate blood round his body. He hadn’t intended to sleep. He’d curled up on the bed to keep warm with the aim of working out a plan of action that would aid his escape from this place and to find Izzie. As the tingling in his fingers and toes receded, he realised he was lucky to have woken up at all. He could just as easily have drifted from slumber to death – hypothermia was that easy to give in to.
The windows had frosted up again, but through them he could see the glimmer of light that only sunshine on a winter’s day could provide. He hoped the blizzard had worn itself out, and now that it was daylight, he’d be able to get his bearings. Perhaps a passing farmer or some kids out sledding would be within shouting distance. Failing that, he’d have to find his own way back to civilisation – and he’d have to do it before his captors returned.
&
nbsp; Still wrapped in his layers of mould, he rolled to the edge of the bed, got unsteadily to his feet and made his way to the window, dizziness making him stagger. The circle he’d made earlier had disappeared. He scraped it clear once more, aware of the dull gnawing hunger in his stomach and hoped the bright light of day would reveal an escape route. With every hour that passed, the likelihood of his captors returning increased. On the plus side, Gabriella would by now be aware that something was up. When Izzie didn’t turn up for her hen do and he didn’t turn up to the stag do – that’s if Gus had actually bothered to arrange it – she’d do something. He didn’t know Gus very well, but he seemed like a decent enough chap. Not many men would take it on the chin if their wife went off with their sister.
He peered out through the gap. The world was white. Outbuildings were nearly covered with drifting snow, their ridged roofs standing proud, liked iced ridges on a cake. The front part of a tractor was outlined peeking out from the side of the biggest building – a barn?
The snow was pristine. It seemed too cold for even wild animals to explore, if the lack of footprints was anything to go by. Through the sun, snow clouds were visible with the promise of more snow. However, as Daniel watched, the wind picked up and from nowhere, whirls of snow gusted up, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of him.
Gritting his teeth, Daniel realised he would have to bite the bullet and make his escape any way he could. He might not be used to these conditions but he was trained. Pressing his forehead to the window, he peered downwards to see what was beneath him. It was difficult to distinguish individual shapes, and he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like snow-covered bushes. It was a risk he was prepared to take – but first to prepare.
Okay, so the clothes in the wardrobe were old, stinking and female. Who cared? He needed layers if he was to survive a trek over unchartered territory. He began to add layers of socks, baggy nylon trousers with elasticated waists – the owner had clearly been a large woman – and humungous home knitted jumpers in shades of greys and insipid turquoise. Feeling a little like one of those Disney characters in their oversized suits he waddled to the window. He’d found two stretchy woollen hats and had pulled them on his head, glad that they covered his ears which felt icy to the touch. Unable to find gloves, he pulled the sleeves of the cardigans down to cover his hands.
Picking up a large ugly lamp, its frayed electric cord dangling, he approached the window and smashed it against the glass. The lamp broke into a pile of brittle ceramic dust and the window remained intact. Daniel looked round again. What else could he use? He’d expected the glass to be easier to break than this. He picked up one of the chairs. It was heavier than it looked and he was weak. It would be difficult to get a good swing at the pane, but he was determined to break it. He dragged it to the window, hefted it by the back and braced himself to swing it. He hit the window once – it shuddered but didn’t break. He groaned and dropped the chair to the floor. Breathing heavy with the effort, he picked it up again and, summoning every ounce of determination, he took another swing. It hit the glass, the cross frames protested then split, making the glass shatter, sending splinters flying into the snow.
Cold air buffeted into the room bringing with it swirls of icy snow. Ignoring the cold, Daniel used his well-padded elbow to clear the rest of the glass from the frame. For a moment he considered using the bedding to make a makeshift rope, then realised that none of the bedding was strong enough to hold his weight. The sheets were worn and as he tried to tie them together, they separated and stretched. Not sure I can trust them. Have to risk the long drop. He climbed onto the sill and swung his legs over. The drop looked higher now he was actually going to do it. He hoped none of the bushes were thorny. Taking a deep breath, he counted to three and jumped, aiming for the bundle that seemed to be the largest bush.
It wasn’t till he landed that he discovered the ‘bush’ was actually a bricked barbecue. Through the snow, his head hit the bricks and before he had the chance to lift his head, a blossom of scarlet had melted the snow around his head, making the area look like an outdoor abattoir. Using a handful of snow, he tried to freeze the cut into submission. It took him longer than expected to settle his vision and catch his breath. The outside ambient temperature wasn’t much different from the temperature in the bedroom. However, lying in the drifting snow was sending chills right through his bones. When, at last, he tried to push himself upright, he realised he’d twisted his ankle. Tentatively, he rotated it. Thank God it’s not broken.
He got on to his feet and with hesitant steps, dragging his throbbing ankle across the snow, he headed to the nearest downstairs window. Peering through the part-frozen pane, he saw a huge wooden table dominating the centre of the room, with an over-sized cooker behind and an old-fashioned fridge looming out from the corner of the room. Directly beneath the window was a massive sink. Brilliant. The prospect of food and the possibility of weapons cheered him up immensely.
Bracing himself, he brushed the drifted snow off the window sill along with a concealed window box and pushed against the window. It shook and seemed loosely fitted into the rotten frame. Using his good foot, he kicked the wooden window box and when it fell apart, he grabbed the largest piece of wood, weighed it in his hands and using all his upper body strength he hit the window pane with it. Expecting it to take a few swipes to have effect, Daniel was surprised when the glass shattered leaving an uneven star shaped hole.
Using his earlier trick of elbowing out the loose glass, he cleared a space and hoiked himself up onto the sill and, with some effort, managed to half fall into the sink, leaving a smear of blood from his head on the ceramic. Lack of food and the cold made his movements clumsy and by the time he’d extricated himself from the sink, his breath came in rapid pants. Pulling out a chair from the table he slumped into it and glanced round the room. The pantry door stood half open, revealing shelves of tins that made Daniel’s heart sing. Beans, soups, tuna – he didn’t care. He could eat a scabby horse with no qualms whatsoever, but beans and soup would do the trick too – after he’d caught his breath.
A few minutes later – tin of tomato soup in hand – Daniel opened drawers, searching for a tin opener, trying to quash the thought that perhaps he’d die of hypothermia and starvation here in this lonely old farmhouse for want of a tin opener. No, he wouldn’t let his thoughts go there. When in the second to last drawer he found one, nestled next to a gas lighter he was almost delirious. Shuffling over to the gas cooker he felt like he was pushing his luck, but still – with crossed fingers – he fiddled with the unfamiliar knobs and when he heard the welcoming sound of gas he lit all the burners before looking for a pan to heat his soup in.
The pain in his fingers and toes as blood began to circulate was excruciating yet Daniel knew he had to bear with it. His toes were already painfully blue. The last thing he wanted was for them to get frostbitten. Welding his hands round the now cooling mug of soup, he felt his teeth chatter as his body began to warm up.
33
10:30 The Fort
‘Rough sleepers in Bradford and Leeds have struggled to cope with the extreme temperatures brought about by Storm Emma and The Beast from the East. Bradford’s many faiths have come together, opening the doors of their Mosques, Gurudwaras, Temples, Churches and Synagogues to rough sleepers throughout the city. Imam Khalil Majid from the Jamul ul Masjid Mosque on Leeds Road says ‘It is at times like this that our different faiths unite us in helping those less fortunate than ourselves’. Whilst Rabbi Meir Raben from Bradford Synagogue says, ‘The multi- faiths of Bradford always work together behind the scenes so that in a crisis we are ready to step up to the mark together as a unified force.’
From Bradford Cathedral in the city centre to St Pio Friary on Sedgewick Place and the Hindu Cultural Society on Leeds Road, doors are open, food and drinks are being served and warm clothes distributed.
This is Nakeem Hafis from Look North’
Lewis Gore ba
nged the door open and shuffled in – a huge yeti of a man with an equally large smile. Gus wondered how Lewis could be in such good humour after the trauma he’d been through a year ago. Mind you, his new daughter must have been of as much therapeutic benefit to him as his sessions with Dr Mahmood – maybe even more.
Gus got up from his seat to give the man a hug and was enveloped in a bear-like hug that left him gasping for breath. He was glad that Mickey had thought to have him temporarily seconded to the team. Mickey was out of action and they were already down two officers with Sampson and Alice being out of the picture. Since the Tattoo Killer last summer, Gore’s face had been splashed all over the papers, making it near impossible for him to resume his undercover role. Not that he was quite fit enough yet anyway. Not after what had been done to him. Gus was glad to see him looking so well though, he was well aware that scars were only skin deep. Sometimes it was the scars you couldn’t see, the ones in your brain that were the worst to deal with.
‘Good to see you again, Gus. Even better to be working with you. Sandra sends her love.’
Gus remembered the quiet dignity and strength of Lewis’ heavily pregnant wife when her husband had been abducted and smiled. ‘How is she? Coping alright with the new arrival?’
After getting his phone out Lewis swiped the screen, his eyes lighting up as he showed Gus a photo of his wife and baby – ‘Kayleigh’s eight months old now.’
The baby had looked more squished and wrinkled than beautiful when Lewis and Sandra had brought her to the station as a new-born to show off to his colleagues. Gus smiled and flicked the screen to the right, pleased to see that the months had ironed out Lewis’ baby’s creases and that she was now a grinning, smiling, toothy bundle of chubbiness that he could genuinely coo over. Gus loved kids and had always had his heart set on a huge family like Mo’s. Maybe he could have all boys to balance things out a bit – but in reality, he wouldn’t care what sex his kids were – he’d just love them in the same way his parents had always loved him and Katie.