by Liz Mistry
Gus and Gore flashed their ID at the outer cordon, smiled as the officers attempted to enter their names onto the log with their frozen fingers and dipped under the tape. As Gus had suspected, the drive leading up to the house was as long as the lane itself. Foot traffic had trampled the snow except for where an area with tyre tracks had been covered by plastic sheeting to protect it from the wind and snow. Trouble was, it looked as if the tracks had been covered before the CSIs had arrived. He hoped they’d be able to find identifiers in the data base. The house at the end of the curved lane was half the size of The Fort, but in red brick. Following the metal blocks put down to protect the scene, Gus and Gore moved towards the front door which stood open, bright lights spewing out casting shadows amidst the cacophony of movement that typified a heavy crime scene.
Approaching an officer in a high-vis jacket with a cup of something steaming in her hands who was barking orders at other officers, Gus hoped his instincts in risking the drive to Stalybridge would be proved right. They needed something to drive this investigation forward. ‘Inspector Estefan? We’re DIs McGuire and Gore from Bradford.’
The officer’s voice was deep and raspy – perhaps the result of a lifetime of whisky and cigarettes – when she responded. ‘Fucking shite weather, eh? You got here? Thought for a while we’d have to send a crew to dig you out.’ She paused and raked their bruised faces with narrowed eyes, ‘Looks like you two might have had a run-in with our killer. You okay?’
Gus, conscious of his swollen nose and the dribbles of blood down the front of his jacket, glanced at Gore. Lewis’ forehead had developed a contour rivalling Bradford’s Cow and Calf rocks, but at least the bleeding had stopped. ‘Was a close thing, but we’re here now. What can you tell us?’
‘Fucking disgrace, that’s what it is.’ She shook her head and kicked a bundle of ice. ‘Whoever’s done this was a sicko.’
Gus waited, allowing her the time to process her thoughts. Crime scenes were always difficult and those involving children were the worst.
She flashed a quick grin at Gus, ‘Sorry about that. They’ve just taken the daughter away. I’m still reeling from that, I suppose.’ She sniffed and Gus suspected it wasn’t from the cold.
‘Take your time.’
Thrusting her hands in her pockets, Estefan spun on her heel and, with a perfunctory gesture, indicated they should follow her into the house.
In spite of the open doors and the driving wind and snow outside, heat blasted Gus in the face as he entered Jordan Beaumont’s home. His immediate thought was that he’d entered a house influenced by the current external environment; it was clinically white – sterile. Well, that was apart from the blood spatter that trailed down the stairs into the hallway and drifted along the white carpet to a door half way along to the left. Dotted over each of the spatters were yellow number tags. Sticking to the blocks, Gus followed Estefan towards the door with its bloody welcome sign.
‘We reckon they got in by scaling the small shed at the back of the house and entering through the daughter’s bedroom. Seems like the alarm system was off.’ She tutted. ‘Why the hell do they bother with state-of-the-art technology and then not bloody use it? That alarm system could have given them enough of a warning to save their lives.’ Hesitating by the door, she turned and pointed up the glass walled staircase, ‘Reckon they… and we know there were two of them from the footprints in here…’ She hitched a thumb into the room, ‘sneaked past and entered the master bedroom, subdued the wife and then one of them went back for the daughter. There are marks on the stairs to indicate they were dragged down and along the hallway into this room, where, we believe, Jordan Beaumont was. How he didn’t hear anything is beyond me – but I’m assuming he didn’t, because there is no sign that he tried to leave the room or, for that matter, phone for help.’
She stepped onto the block beyond the door and indicated they should enter. ‘Prepare yourselves.’
Gus took the lead and stepped forward first. As was his habit, he stood in the doorway for long minutes, with Lewis peering over his shoulder. Neither man spoke. Gus allowed his eyes to drift slowly around the periphery of the room, taking in everything. The dishevelled settees, cushions on the floor; pictures and paintings scattered broken on the floor amidst ornaments and glasses. Besides the smell of blood, which always made his stomach heave, he could smell alcohol – whisky? Someone had been having a drink and spilled it, perhaps when the intruders arrived. On the oversized glass coffee table, a phone with headphones still attached lay, discarded in a pool of amber liquid – the whisky? For now, he ignored the dead woman sprawled on the couch and focussed on the upright chair that stood opposite her. Cable ties lay discarded on the once white carpet. This, he’d been told, was where Missy Beaumont was forced to watch her mother be tortured to death.
His jaw clenched. Anger at the destruction, anger at the stench of violence that hung like poison in the air. That little girl would never un-see what she’d witnessed that night. When other children were out building snowmen and sledging or having snow fights, she would be struggling with flashbacks of what had happened this snowy night. It made Gus wonder just who The Beast from the East really was.
‘Any idea where the dad is?’ Asked Gus, eyes still on Marcia Beaumont’s corpse.
Estefan shook her head. ‘Nope. The daughter’s not speaking – too traumatised. Bad enough seeing what happened to her mother, but to be raped too – why would they do that?’
Gus moved closer to the dead woman. ‘This – all of this – was done to punish Beaumont and for no other reason. Lewis, get Compo on the phone and get him digging deeper into Beaumont’s history. He’s been up to no good.’
Lewis pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘How can you be so sure there’s a link between this and Dimou? Surely her visiting his offices that day could be co-incidental.’
Gus nodded, ‘True… But…’ he knelt down and studied the slashes on the soles of Marcia Beaumont’s feet. ‘These look familiar to you?’
Gore leaned over, and nodded, ‘the two men today…’
‘And Izzie Dimou too.’
Gore took a look and dialled Compo and Gus studied other wounds on the body. Although no expert, he could detect many more wounds that were too similar to Izzie Dimou’s to be anything other than a definite link. He turned to Estefan, ‘Can you get me any ANPR footage starting from the camera nearest to this location? ‘
Estefan nodded, ‘Sure, but we don’t have a vehicle make yet.’
Gus grinned, ‘Get the prints of those tyre tracks sent to my techie geek.’
‘There’s one at either end of this lane – posh folks don’t like speeding in their neighbourhood.’
Gus was aware that ANPR footage was often heavier in richer areas and it riled him. What about the folk on poor council estates, did they not deserve this sort of protection? ‘Get any ANPR you have sent over too. If there’s anything to be found Compo will find it.’
Estefan snorted, ‘Visibility is so crap today he’ll not be able to see a number plate.’
‘I’m not bothered about the number plate. There can’t have been too many vehicles out on a night like this, I’m hoping that the track will give us an idea of the sort of vehicle we’re looking for. If Compo uses the time parameters we have, he may have a chance of isolating the perpetrators’ vehicle.’
Estefan snorted, ‘Yeah right. No chance.’
‘I’m willing to take a punt on my expert. Get the stuff to him and he may surprise you.’
Still looking doubtful, Estefan turned and yelled an abrupt instruction to one of her officers, who all but ran out the door in their haste to carry it out.
Lewis held his phone out to Gus with a single word. ‘Compo.’
Gus took the phone, and turning away from Estefan, said, ‘Hi Comps, two things. First of all, you’ll be receiving some images of tyre tracks. They’re a bit obscured by the snow but they’re the best we’ve got. See if you can ID the sort of vehicle they
belong to. Next get on to the ANPR footage starting with the nearest to Blundering Lane. Focus on traffic between three a.m. and eight a.m. We’re looking for a large enough vehicle to have travelled from Bradford to Manchester with ease in the current weather conditions and probably with at least two occupants. If you can see it approaching Blundering Lane and then leaving again a couple of hours later, all the better.’
Compo’s voice became muffled and Gus visualised him with his phone tucked into his beanie and pressed against his cheek as he typed instructions into his network of computers. A wave of affection for Compo washed over him. The lad had been right to call him out over Alice. His voice became clearer again, ‘What’ve they done boss?’
Gus considered his words. ‘They’ve robbed a little girl of her enjoyment of snow for the rest of her life – that’s what the bastards have done.’
There was silence as Compo digested Gus’ words, then, ‘I’m on it.’
Gus smiled, he had no doubt that if Compo couldn’t find those bastards then no one could. ‘Comps,’ he hesitated, unsure how to continue and half scared of what the reply might be, ‘You got anywhere with Alice?’
‘Nah, I’d call you straight away, Gus. You know that.’
‘Yeah, right. Sure,’ he paused, unused to being so tentative with Compo. ‘Izzie Dimou’s USB?’
‘Not yet. Still running. Getting there though. Maybe another hour.’
‘Ok, Thanks Comps.’
The sound of Compo hanging up as soon as he’d stopped speaking told Gus he still hadn’t been forgiven – not entirely. And who could blame the lad.
42
16:15 Saddleworth Moor
This wasn’t right. With no idea of how much time had elapsed since he’d left the safety of the farmhouse walls to strike out through the blizzard, Daniel was becoming more and more disorientated. It was almost dark now. By accident he’d stumbled across an old barbed wire fence and, once he’d realised that the barbs came every hand width or so, he was able to use it to guide himself along. He reckoned that a fence meant a field and a field meant either crops or cattle, either of which meant access routes, possible vehicles and most importantly some form of civilisation.
He pushed the gnawing worry that farmers had tractors and were therefore not obliged to live in the vicinity of their fields to the back of his mind. If he just kept plodding along – well hirpling along – then he’d be okay. With his crutch under his left arm and the barbed wire fence loosely circled by his right hand, he just about managed to keep upright. All sensation in his twisted leg had gone and it was only the pull in his thigh that told him he was still dragging it along behind him. Progress was slow. Twice he’d fallen and twice he’d taken what seemed like forever to get back to his feet. His cheeks had stopped stinging as the drifting snow swirled around them. The mishmash of clothes that served to keep him warm, also dragged him down.
As he reached a broken part of the fence, he paused to look round him. Snow patterns swirled but the snowfall seemed to be lessening in intensity. Straining his eyes against the icy wind he scoured the landscape as best he could. In one direction the snow undulated for eternity before him. Gentle inclines followed by gradual slopes ad infinitum. In the other direction the scene was more interesting. Trees, branches weighted down by the predictable white stuff, were dwarfed by the drifts that stretched up their trunks to meet the overladen branches. Unidentifiable shapes with sharp edges and smooth surfaces dotted the space before him, unmoving and oddly alone. In Daniel’s mind they became sentries watching out for him. Beyond the smallest copse of trees, the sharp edge of a roof jutted out. Wondering if snowy conditions played the same tricks on the mind as desert ones, he was reluctant to believe his eyes.
He squeezed his eyes tight shut and, when he opened them again, leaned forward, shifting his body weight onto his crutch. No. His eyes were not paying tricks on him. There was some sort of building in the distance. Thank God. Even if it was uninhabited, it would at the very least offer him shelter and the chance to get out of the relentless wind – a chance to regroup and consider his options. More importantly, he’d created some distance between himself and his captors.
With renewed effort, Daniel released the barbed wire and, feeling ever so slightly bereft, headed towards the distant building. It couldn’t be that far away. Ignoring the throb in his groin, caused by having to pull his leg behind him, he battled on. The sky was darkening and he was aware of how easy it would be to become disorientated, so with added effort he ploughed through the snow. Once or twice, he struggled with drifts that reached the top of his thigh, but on the whole, knee-high drifts were all he had to contend with.
Do do doooo … do do do do do doooo! One Step Beyond! Keep moving, one step at a time. Come on Danny boy, you can do it. With every step becoming increasingly more difficult, he fought to continue. He was so warm that he couldn’t distinguish between the snow landing on his brow and sweat bubbling up. Laughing, he imagined the snow sizzling and boiling as it landed on his forehead – steam clouds rising into the freezing air creating a bubble of mist around him. That would be one way to hide himself from his attackers. He’d be like a superhero, his superpower being the ability to boil water on his forehead – he laughed again.
The building was close now. If he stopped to make a snowball, be thought he could probably hit the wall. He needed to get shelter and boy was he tired. If the building wasn’t so close, he’d just snuggle down into the snow and have a rest. Innuits lived in ice homes, didn’t they? Igloos. He used to love making igloos in the back garden with Gabriella. Even then she was a bossy cow, ordering him about as if she knew better than him how to genuinely make an igloo. He’d got his own back on her one year though. He’d helped her build it and when it was done she wouldn’t let him in, she said he hadn’t pulled his weight and there was only room for one. He grinned. She’d got a bloody shock when he’d pushed the whole lot down on top of her. She’d cried like the baby she was and pretended she’d been frightened. He’d only left her there for a few minutes – bloody drama queen even at that age.
The long and short of it was that their parents wouldn’t let them make igloos anymore – said it was too dangerous and they – meaning Daniel – were too silly and irresponsible. So, they bought Gabriella a play house for in the garden and he was only allowed in when Gabriella said so. Of course, that was only when she wanted him to do something for her.
He looked up again, measuring the distance now – not far at all – then…
Fucking hell! Daniel fell to his knees, his crutch sinking into the snow. Noooo! How the hell had this happened?
The building shimmered as he watched. For a second he thought it was going to disappear, but he realised it was the tears in his eyes that were causing the shimmer. He blinked once… then again… This was too much – too damn much. There was the distorted pile of snow where he’d landed on the barbecue. The broken kitchen window, with the curtain wafting out through the gap – the door he’d exited earlier. How the hell had he managed to walk for so long only to end up right back where he’d started?
From nowhere, lethargy tugged at his limbs. The shivers had gone and the numbness in his extremities had become welcome friends. With difficulty, he slipped the rucksack off his back, positioned it in front of him in the snow and bent forward, resting his head on it and curled up in a foetal position, except for one leg which protruded at an awkward angle from his body. He closed his eyes and was at peace.
43
19:30 HM Women’s Prison Stanton, Surrey
‘What the fuck are you doing back here already?’
Lulu shambled into the cell and did a double take that, if Alice hadn’t been so shattered, would have made her smile. Alice was sprawled on the bunk she’d vacated a few days earlier and had no intentions of moving for the foreseeable future. The medical examination, followed by a list of intensive questions – all of which she’d refused to answer – and the journey back to the prison had been int
erminable. Her entire body hurt. Her breast throbbed, her nipple was raw and the dressing lay heavy over it. Her arms were marked where she’d struggled against her attacker to pull herself up and launch herself at her rapist.
As for the rest – well rough, tender and achy just about summed it up. Still, there was an upside to it all and in her current situation. Alice was happy to take any positives. The fact that she’d been raped by a prison officer meant that she was in a position to make certain demands – or rather – her solicitor was. So, instead of being moved from her old cell into an area of the prison where she’d be vulnerable to Hairy Mary and her posse or – worse still – Baby Jane Enforcer of Pain, she’d been allowed to move back in with Lulu. All of which meant that Sean Kennedy’s stranglehold over her, via his tame guards, was loosened. Now all she needed to know was that her parents were safe and she’d be, if not exactly happy, resigned to her fate.
When Alice didn’t answer, Lulu sharpened her tone, ‘Well, Lady. You gonna answer me or what?’
Or what? Now that nearly brought a smile to Alice’s lips. If only Lulu knew what had happened to her –she’d know that her feeble ‘or what?’ threat was a waste of time. Alice shrugged, wishing her shoulders would move without sending jolts of pain through her body, ‘You know me, Luls? Couldn’t wait to get home.’
Lulu cackled – phlegm rattling in her throat – and threw her Marlboros onto the small desk that occupied one corner of the cell. ‘Cheeky Mare!’ She moved over and plonked her sizeable arse on one of the two plastic chairs, making it skid across the floor. The sound made Alice wince. Her head pounded and she was probably dehydrated but she couldn’t work up the energy to pull herself off her bunk, leave the cell and traverse the corridor to the water fountain. She’d leave it for now.
Lulu turned and picked something up off the desk. ‘Here.’ She threw the item to Alice, who winced as she raised both hands to grab it.