by Liz Mistry
‘… Red alert throughout the country. Emergency services on standby…’
Apart from genuinely wanting to make sure Daniel was okay, Gus was determined to get as much information out of him as he could regarding the information found on Izzie’s USB. He was sure that the fact Daniel was MI6 was not coincidental and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. According to Mickey, who’d taken over that side of the investigation, Interpol were arresting Sevket Abaci. Gus didn’t expect to be privy to the outcome of that aspect of the investigation and that pissed him off. He liked closure.
Trying to breathe through his mouth so as to avoid the clinical hospital smell, Gus settled down and tried to push his own memories away. He still had to interview the remaining Turkish brother and he wanted to do that before MI6 swung their way up North. He wanted to touch base with Compo and Taffy and most of all he wanted to get down to Epsom to see Alice.
A slight cough alerted him to the fact that Daniel was waking up. ‘Hi Daniel. It’s me, Gus. Gabriella’s on her way. She’ll hopefully touch down before the really bad weather hits us.’
Daniel grimaced. ‘Can’t you put her off, Gus? Can’t deal with her right now.’
Gus grinned. ‘I know what you mean, but it’d take a better man than me to stop her. Just give in to it. That’s all I can advise.’
Silence, bar the sound of Dolly Parton pleading with some lass called Jolene drifting from the hospital radio station, prevailed for a while. Gus eventually broke the quiet. ‘Sorry about Izzie.’
Daniel nodded, his face betraying no emotion.
‘Did you know she was onto her boss, Daniel?’
The other man shook his head, ‘No I didn’t – look do we need to do this right now? I’m knackered.’
Gus hardened his voice, ‘Look, you’re MI6. You know the score. We need to get on this quick. We need to know what you know. Sure, it looks like the Turks killed Izzie, but we need to know who gave the orders and why. We need to know who was pulling their strings. Seems like whoever it was they were going to sell it to the highest bidder. We need to know who.’
Daniel closed his eyes and shook his head, ‘Can’t do it now, Gus. Just can’t. Truth is I don’t know anything.’
‘Are you telling me you weren’t in Cyprus keeping an eye on that bio-weapons research?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘Confidential.’
‘Fuck confidential. This is your fiancée we’re talking about. She was killed because of what she’d found out.’
Daniel lifted his hand and waved it, ‘Nothing to add, Gus. I don’t know anything.’
Gus looked at the man for a moment longer. How the hell could he not want to share what he knew? His fiancée had been killed because she’d stumbled upon a new bio-weapon her boss was developing and Daniel was sitting back. This wasn’t the attitude he expected from a spook – James fucking Bond, Daniel most definitely was not. Seething, he stood. ‘I’ll be back, and Daniel, you better be prepared to talk, okay?’
Daniel smiled, his voice lazy, ‘Or what, Gus? Or what?’
61
12:00 HM Women’s Prison Stanton, Surrey
‘So, Alice – the upshot is that both your legal team and the prosecution were sent a whole barrage of evidence that incriminated Sean Kennedy, not only in the drugs and weapons trafficking that you were incriminated in, but also in setting-up the false trail that led to you.’
Bernie looked at Alice, her smile fading from her lips as Alice continued to look straight ahead. Since first meeting her client before Christmas, Alice had changed. The soft contours of her face had become sharp angles. Her body, thin before, had taken on an edgy hardness that spoke of a relentless prison gym routine. However, it was her eyes that broke Bernie’s heart. Gone were the spirited flashes of humour that had once typified the woman. Now they were replaced by a dullness that spoke of a soul broken in two. Guarded and expressionless, Alice Cooper no longer let anyone in. She lay in the bowel of a fortress, friendless and alone. Her body primed to react to threat, her heart inured to kindness.
‘You understand what this means, don’t you?’
Alice gave a quick nod, her expression saying I’m not fucking thick.
With an exaggerated sigh, Bernie pulled a folder across to her and opened it. ‘Police raided a solicitor’s office in Harrow earlier today and found Sean Kennedy. He had stabbed to death the solicitor, a Russell Allison-Hinton.’
A shutter fell over Alice’s face but her expression revealed nothing. With a nonchalance that was surely fake, she began picking her fingernails.
‘Sean Kennedy has been admitted to hospital with suspected pneumonia. He has been charged with all of the offences, but it’s touch and go whether he will live.’
Alice snorted, her face breaking into a fleeting humourless grin that said ‘typical fucking Sean, even at the last gasp he manages to get away with it.’
Bernie sighed again, ‘Do you understand all of this Alice?’
Alice nodded.
‘Look, if you’re not going to speak, there’s no point in my staying. You’ll be released as soon as the prison riot investigation is finished and all the paperwork is collated. Is there anything you need?’
Alice lifted her head, ‘My parents?’
Bernie looked down, ‘Evidence was found that Sean Kennedy and his solicitor had contracted surveillance on your parents, Alice. Interpol found the two men contracted with this surveillance. Their throats had been slit outside your parents’ house. We are still looking for your parents.’
Something glimmered in Alice’s eyes for a mere nano-second and her shoulders seemed to relax. Bernie frowned. What was that all about? She reached over and touched the other woman’s arm, ‘Are you okay, Alice? Really okay?’
Alice lifted her chin and looked straight at her solicitor, ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
62
12:30 Greater Manchester police, Ashton-Under-Lyne
With Nancy by his side, Gus hobbled through the doors of the red brick police station on Manchester Road. It was very different from The Fort, being large and sprawling, with a newer feel to it – all clinical and bleach. Gus immediately missed the warm sandstone building he was familiar with, its tones of beer overlaid with samosas and bacon with an undernote of yuck. Yeah, The Fort was a monstrosity in the heart of Manningham, but it was his monstrosity. Its very presence in the heart of the inner city forced it and its occupants to prove themselves to the communities they represented.
This station, by contrast, felt less homely – less Bradford. Too many people in crisp shirts smelling of fabric conditioner and Christian Dior fragrances. The desk officer was too smart – all pens and forms and filing cabinets. Gus would have welcomed Hardeep’s gruff kindness right now – his not so gentle teasing and his pen stuck behind his ear under his turban. This guy looked like a spike up his arse would elicit nothing more than a stern frown. Bet they didn’t have rough sleepers camping on their doorstep, not even in these conditions. They probably wouldn’t invite said rough sleepers in for a warm shower and shelter till they could sort out their meds either. Gus had received a text earlier from Hardeep informing him that Jerry and Dave had been taken in by the Franciscan monks in Manningham and were suitably medicated. At least that was good news.
Nancy went up to the desk where a taciturn officer looked at their details, scoured their faces as if to check they weren’t on Manchester’s most wanted list and buzzed them through. They were met by Haris – one of the SCO19 officers from the farmhouse who grinned when he saw Gus on crutches. ‘Patch you up okay on this side of the Pennines, did they?’
Gus smiled back, ‘Yeah they didn’t hold my being a Yorkshire lad against me. The Turk talking yet?’
Falling into step beside Gus and Nancy, Haris led them along a long corridor with doors filtering off into larger rooms that held all the hustle and bustle of an active police station. ‘Says he’ll only speak to you. Mind you, we ran his prints through IAFIS and got a hit. Our man is one Vulc
an Narkis. His brother is Furkan Narkis. Both have records for international political and commercial espionage stuff, but not that of the subtle variety. Seems the older brother Furkan is the leader. Any ideas what made the younger one snap and kill his brother? He’s good to go. Had the medics check him over. He’s bruised and on pain relief but other than that he’s as right as rain.’
Gus shrugged. ‘Guess Vulcan just got fed up with being his brother’s punch bag.’
‘Right, he’s in here. Didn’t want a solicitor, so he’s on his own with one of the uniforms for now. I’ll watch from in here but he’s all yours. When the weather lets up, he can be transported to Bradford.’ Gus smiled his thanks and Nancy opened the door.
Vulcan looked wan, faint acne scars spread across his forehead and on his cheeks. An empty sandwich wrapper, tuna, no mayo, discarded on the table beside him.
Gus, happy to relieve the pressure off his leg, sat down opposite him, depositing his crutches on the floor by his side, with Nancy to his left. ‘You okay? Been fed and watered, I see.’
Vulcan looked at the wrappers that Gus pointed to and nodded once. His fingers toyed with a disposable cup that he was systematically ripping apart. His leg drummed on the floor and Gus had to resist the urge to reach out a hand and take the cup from the man.
Nancy, as agreed earlier, leaned back and took an observational role whilst Gus went through the preliminaries regarding who was present and so on. Tape recorder on, Gus leaned forward and rested his arm on the table wishing his head didn’t pound so badly.
‘Tell me about Izzie Dimou.’
Vulcan tossed the mangled cup on the table and inhaled deeply. ‘She is dead.’
Gus kept his tone level and smiled, ‘Tell me something I don’t know. You said you would only speak to me, so why don’t you do just that. It’ll be better for you if you do.’
‘We were hired to steal her from Romanians.’
Gus nodded, ‘The ones who broke into her house?’
Vulcan nodded, ‘Yes, we were following them. You say keeping tabs, I think? Jordan Beaumont hired Romanians to capture girl. We were hired to take her from them.’
‘Why?’
Vulcan shrugged, ‘She had information. Our boss wanted it.’
Although he already suspected what information Izzie had, Gus wanted it on tape, ‘What information did Izzie Dimou have?’
‘I don’t know, it was something worth lot of money to the Syrians and the Russians.’ He shrugged, ‘Maybe even the Afghanis too. We were going to get paid five hundred thousand.’ He looked to the side, ‘Could have retired on that, me and Furkan.’
‘Where did Izzie get this very valuable information?’
‘You haven’t worked that out? You British must be slow. It was from University of Nicosia – a bio-weapon.’ He tapped the side of his nose with one finger, ‘but you know that already, no?’
Gus glanced at Nancy before continuing, ‘What happened to the Romanians that Jordan Beaumont hired.’
Vulcan snorted, ‘Guess?’
‘My guess, having been on the receiving end of your brother’s attention and having been told what the Romanians’ injuries were, I’d say they got in your brother’s way.’
Vulcan started a slow hand clap and then winced, his shoulder clearly causing some pain from when Furkan had hit it with his machete.
‘And Jordan Beaumont and his family, what happened to them?’
Vulcan frowned, ‘That was a mistake. Furkan let things – how you Brits say – get out of hand? We’re not supposed to hurt the wife and daughter, but Furkan not stop.’ Vulcan exhaled, his eyes focussing on a memory somewhere over Gus’s shoulder before repeating, ‘He won’t stop.’
‘Like he did with Izzie Dimou?’ Gus was deliberately swapping his questions up. If he kept splitting the narrative he was more likely to get an honest response.
‘Yes, like with Dimou. I try to stop him, but he won’t and she die before we got the information we needed. That’s always been Vulcan’s problem. He enjoy his work too much.’
Gus grimaced. His body still ached from Furkan Narkis’ enjoyment of his job and the possibility that Lewis Gore might not survive. It lay heavy with him.
‘So, Furkan tortured and raped Marcia and Melissa Beaumont?’
Vulcan looked at the uniformed officer. ‘Water, please.’ Before turning to Gus and nodding, ‘Yes. Again, I could not stop him.’
‘So, where is Jordan Beaumont?’
‘Saddleworth Moor – somewhere.’ Vulcan shrugged. His earlier demeanour was changing. As Gus continued his questions, he sensed that the other man was becoming more sure of himself and that puzzled him. Why would Vulcan begin to get cocky? At the farmhouse he’d been nervous and agitated. Concerned enough about his brother spiralling out of control, to kill him. So, what had changed?
Vulcan continued, ‘Furkan left him to freeze there. Some dog walker will find him when snow goes away. I think it not far from road.’ He shrugged and gave a hoarse rattling laugh that dislodged phlegm from his throat. He howked it into his mouth, chewed it round a bit and, with an exaggerated wink to Nancy, he spat it into what was left of the cup he’d been shredding earlier.
To give Nancy her due, she didn’t flinch. Gus could have told the idiot that she’d seen much worse than that and wouldn’t be fazed by the Turk’s coarseness
With his best disinterested expression, Gus said ‘Why Beaumont? What did you need from him?’
Vulcan looked at Gus as though he was thick. ‘Daniel Farrier, of course. We wanted him. Romanians had taken him, but again Furkan was too quick to kill them and we didn’t get the information we need. So, we went straight to the boss.’
‘So Beaumont employed the Romanians?’
‘Exactly.’
‘… and you needed Izzie’s information from Daniel Farrier?’
Vulcan raised his head, a huge grin splitting his bruised face in two, ‘Fool. Farrier not have information. If he did none of this would happen.’
What? Gus frowned and Vulcan burst into growls of laughter, ‘You British are so aptal! – stupid! You cannot see what’s in front of your faces. Salaklar!
The last word was spat at Gus, leaving him in little doubt that it was an insult. Gus took a moment to consider this information and then bent down, picked up his crutches and hobbled from the room, leaving Nancy to terminate the interview.
63
13:05 HM Women’s Prison Stanton, Surrey
Everyone was subdued – that was often the case after a riot. Alice was pleased to have some time to relax. Some time to reflect. Not so much on what she’d done to Baby Jane, but on what she still had to do.
All the prisoners in her wing were confined to their cells pending an investigation into the riot. Good luck with that! In Alice’s experience it was unlikely that the screws’ efforts would uncover anything incriminating and that offered her neither relief, nor regret. At what point did I stop thinking of them as officers and start referring to them as screws? As one of them and not one of us? She pursed her lips… hmm that was easy. It was when they became a symptom of everything she’d always railed against. When they’d shown their true colours. Made a mockery of everything she’d worked so hard for her entire adult life. Now, she was reconciled to the uncertainty her future held. As long as her parents were safe nothing else mattered.
She tried to think about Compo and Gus – to imagine them, to summon up some gratitude to them, but she just couldn’t. She was dead from the inside and every thought was grey and drab. Even when she’d dealt with Baby Jane, it had been in monochrome – a series of sepia images filtering through her head with her acting them out like a robot. It didn’t touch her. Didn’t make her happy or sad, or angry. It all just ‘was’.
She lay back on her lumpy cell bed, her ears tuned into the sound of her cell mate’s breathing in the bunk above her. The contour of Lulu’s frame curved downwards above her. Alice had some serious thinking to do. She still had to fulfil her
promise to Lulu. There was no escape from that. Alice had given her word and Lulu had kept her side of the bargain. Still, it wasn’t what she wanted. Not really. Well she supposed it wasn’t. Right now, it was difficult for her to get a handle on what was what.
Lulu turned over, snoring lightly and Alice smiled. She owed Lulu big time, so she didn’t grudge her this last request. How could she? She wouldn’t be alive right now if not for Lulu and, more importantly, neither would her parents. She was ready to do what was needed. But for now, she’d wait and breathe and try to connect with something good.
She snuck her hand under the mattress and pulled out two things. The first item, she tucked up her sleeve. The second, she flattened out and studied. It was a photo of her in shorts and a t-shirt with her parents. Over the years she’d often noticed that in her friends’ photos they had either crowded round their parents like one amorphous bundle of love or else been engulfed between them. In Alice’s family photos, her parents were always together, holding hands or wrapped around each other, with Alice standing slightly to the side, just outside their bubble. She didn’t mind that. That’s just how it was. They were co-dependent and Alice wasn’t. She never had been, not even as a child. That didn’t mean she loved them less than, say, Gus loved his parents or, indeed, that they loved her less. It was just their way. She placed a finger to her lips and then pressed the same finger once on each of her parents’ faces, before placing the photo on her pillow. Now, all she could do was wait.
14:45
The siren blasted – three long blasts to signify the end of lock-down. The wing erupted in a cacophony of catcalls and drum rolls against the doors. It had been hours and the stir crazy were rearing their heads. Cynical Alice reckoned some scientist or other had come up with a formula to say just how long they could maintain a lock down without the stir-crazy erupting into a wholescale massacre. The scientist had clearly never been in prison. Never experienced a loss of privilege or how that could affect the brain. Some of these women were sick. Sick and desperate. Alice shrugged. Hell, maybe she was one of them. She shrugged again and this time accompanied it with a short laugh. No damn maybe about it. She was one of them now. After a lockdown, the incidents of suicide attempts, fights and aggression against officers increased dramatically. You’d think they’d have sussed that out by now.