Unspoken Truths

by Liz Mistry

  Alice swung her legs off the bed and stood up. A glance at her cell mate told her that Lulu was ready.

  ‘No getting all squirmy on me Alice, eh?’

  Alice’s lips quirked. ‘No, not squirmy, Lulu. I don’t do squirmy.’

  Lulu reached out her hand and Alice took it, ‘No, too much style for squirmy. Just you do it for me. Get it done and we’re quits. ‘

  Alice nodded.

  ‘Oh, and as for Baby Jane? She got what she deserved. No thinking about that anymore. No dwelling on it like you do. Let it go.’

  ‘It’s gone Lul. Already gone.’

  Lulu patted Alice’s hand. ‘That’s my girl. Knew as soon as I clapped eyes on you that you’d do good. Just remember one thing. It’s not your reactions that define you, Alice Cooper. It’s what’s in here.’ And she lifted her fist and slammed it against her own chest. ‘You get me?’

  Alice squeezed her hand, ‘I get ya, Lul. I get ya.’

  ‘Well, girl, what ya waiting for? They’ll be opening them doors in a minute or two.’

  Now that it was time, a rush of blood flooded Alice’s face. Her hands dripped sweat and her heart thumped against her chest making the wound – where her nipple had been – throb. It was time, and despite all her mental preparations, she’d never been less prepared for anything in her life.

  14:55

  When the female officer opened the cell, Alice lay with her back to the door, her head cocooned under her duvet.

  ‘Get up, Cooper. You heard the siren, Get to your feet. You too Lul. Come on.’

  Alice heard the clatter of the prison officer’s baton against the wall. As if the siren wasn’t loud enough. Rolling onto her back, making a show of pulling the duvet off her head, Alice glared at the officer. ‘Come on Lul. Get up. Don’t want to give her the excuse to insist on a strip search, do we?’

  She rolled her duvet down to her toes and swung her legs round, ready to stand up. ‘Phew, for fuck’s sake Lul, you puked up again?’

  The officer was over by the side of the bunks in seconds, pushing Alice back onto her bunk and reaching out to pull at Lulu’s still figure. Lulu’s arm flopped over the side of the bed, the tourniquet and needle still in place. As the officer jumped back, a bent spoon, a lighter and a plastic bag with a few white granules fell to the floor. Straight away she was on her radio calling for back-up and paramedics, her baton out and pointed in Alice’s direction, ‘Stay right where you are, Cooper.’

  The lock-down siren blared and amidst the cat calls and jeers from the other prisoners as they were herded back into their cells, Alice jumped to her feet, ran to the toilet she’d shared with Lulu for months and vomited.

  64

  15:35 En route from Ashton-Under-Lyne to North Manchester General Hospital

  Gus was getting fed-up with negotiating icy paths on his crutches. The slight thaw made it harder for him and, despite Nancy’s attempts at parking as near to the kerb as possible, he still had to negotiate the equivalent of skating rinks with the added encumbrance of a throbbing thigh and two aluminium legs with well-worn rubber on the bottom. However, he’d more on his mind than the weather. Vulcan should be panicking. He’d been cowed by his brother – frightened even during their time at the farmhouse. When he’d killed him, he’d been devastated. A few hours later, without the benefit of a solicitor, he was cocky as shit. What the hell was Gus missing?

  As Nancy drove, he ignored yet another call from Gabriella, who – according to the stringent voicemails she’d left – fully expected him to arrange transport between the airport and the hospital. Who did she think she was? Queen of Manchester – surely even Gabriella knew that position was reserved for Arianna Grande? He hit delete and ignored the incoming from Katie. For God’s sake couldn’t the pair of them negotiate a taxi? Not once had either of them asked about him, or Gore for that matter. No, it was all about Daniel and what he’d been through. Granted, Gabriella’s brother had been through a lot, but Gore was in serious trouble and, for heaven’s sake, Gus was Katie’s brother. Didn’t that count for anything? First mum has a go at me and now Katie’s being an idiot.

  The only member of his family who hadn’t lashed out at him was his dad. That might happen yet though. Patti had been her usual understated self; concerned, relieved and calm. Thank God for sanity! He’d give anything to get back home to Bingo and Patti. He cursed. Going back to Bradford wasn’t going to be an easy option either, not with Zarqa at his house refusing to return home – and then there were Alice’s parents to deal with. Patti had told him they were at Mo’s and how they’d arrived there.

  Gus risked a quick glance at Nancy. He hadn’t told her about that yet either. She was still pissed off with him for ‘acting like Spiderman without the Spandex’ and he had the feeling that she wasn’t going to be right happy to discover that Alice’s parents had been deposited at Mo’s. She’d want to know exactly why two dead men had been discovered outside the Cooper’s Greek home after the Coopers had somehow been mysteriously deposited at Mo’s. He was hoping to be able to gloss over the whole stealth operation thing but had his doubts he’d be able to. At least the death of the Coopers’ stalkers couldn’t be landed at Alice’s doorstep. Her alibi, for once, was cast iron – or so he hoped.

  One thing at a time. Daniel Farrier! Or rather two things – Daniel Farrier and Vulcan Narkis. What the hell was going on there? He pumped in a number and seconds later was connected to Compo.

  ‘It’s you, Boss. You okay? Me and Taffy were worried, like.’

  Gus opened his mouth to speak, only to hear Compo relaying what must have been fairly obvious to anyone listening, ‘It’s Gus, Taffy. Think he’s okay. No, don’t know what he wants, I’ll ask. Hey Gus, Taffy says are you okay and...’ Muffled conversation. ‘Oh yeah, what do you want?’

  Nancy grinned like some coated-up, bobble-hatted Cheshire cat with a scarf covering most of her grin. Gus frowned. It was almost as if the painkillers they’d given him were hallucinogenic – it was like he’d been dropped into a winter version of Alice in Wonderland with Compo cast as the Mad Hatter or landed in a parallel universe where everyone was setting out to piss him off and stand in his way. A wave of tiredness swept over him and in that instant, he wanted to just hand the phone to Nancy and say ‘you deal with these lunatics, I’m going to sleep for a month. Wake me up when everything in my life is normal.’ Instead, he did what he always did and took a deep breath, counted to ten and hoped that his tone would not betray his frustration. ‘Compo, I’d love to chat, but truth is I’m a wee bit strapped for time. Need you to get me everything you can on Daniel Farrier and Vulcan and Furkan Narkis. Don’t care how deep or how dark you need to go. I need what’s beneath the surface.’

  Something in his tone must have penetrated Compo’s fugue of nonsense, because he responded briskly and to the point, ‘Ahead of you there, Gus. Should have something for you in the next half hour. MI6 won’t know what’s hit them.’

  Beside him, Nancy began singing ‘la la la, da de da – not listening – can’t hear any of this. Not happening – this conversation is not happening.’

  ‘Eh, Comps?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll delete this convo too. Next time use the phone I gave you for this sort of stuff, boss.’ And he hung up.

  Gus looked out the window, hoping that Nancy hadn’t quite caught the last bit of the conversation. No such luck!

  ‘So, the last thing I didn’t hear was that you and Compo have some sort of burner phone for when you’re asking him to breach protocol?’

  Eyes fixed on the passing scenery as they drove through Ashton-Under-Lyne main street, Gus shrugged. ‘No idea what you’re talking about, Nance. None at all.’ And he flicked on the radio, allowing tales of icy doom and gloom to flit over him for the rest of the journey. The Beast from the East had plagued this investigation from the start and he’d had about as much snow as he could stomach.

  Nancy’s phone rang and she gave him the nod to put it on speaker.

&nb
sp; ‘DCI Nancy Chalmers here, with DI Gus McGuire.’

  ‘Hi Nancy, it’s Bernadette, is it okay to talk?’

  Nancy smiled and mouthed ‘Alice’s solicitor’ to Gus. Like I don’t damn well know that!

  ‘Got some good news for us, have you? Alice got the all clear to go?’

  There was a moment’s silence, which had Gus and Nancy exchanging worried looks. ‘Well, there’s been a development. Alice’s cellmate was found dead of a heroin overdose during lockdown after the riot when Baby Jane was attacked.’

  ‘So?’ Nancy’s tone was the bark of a feral dog. ‘That’s got nothing to do with our Alice. These things happen every week – no, every damn day in prisons.’

  Gus’ own hackles rose and he rolled his head in a circular motion trying to release the tension in his neck.

  The solicitor continued, her tone matter of fact, ‘Lulu was not a heroin user, so…’ her sentence dangled.

  Nancy inhaled sharply, ‘So, what? They think Alice did it? I thought she got on well with her cell mate. Were there signs of a struggle?’

  ‘No, no struggle. It’s just… well, after the Baby Jane incident, which they suspect was facilitated by Lulu, the prison officers think that Alice is implicated. They think Alice sliced off Baby Jane’s nipple, that Lulu had set the riot up for Jane to finish off Alice but it all went to pot.’

  A ball of fire in Gus’ stomach tried to make its escape, burning up his oesophagus, before being swallowed back down to simmer in his gut. He’d had Compo run a check on Lulu when Alice first bunked up with her and the idea that she’d facilitated the riot in order for Alice to get her revenge on Baby Jane was certainly within the bounds of possibility. Alice wouldn’t repay Lulu by killing her – that made no sense. Yet the pressure of impending doom fanned the flicker in his belly once more and he could feel the flames licking and lapping – scorching under his ribcage.

  Nancy tutted. ‘Rubbish! If there was no struggle, then it’s clear that Lulu overdosed on her own. She was getting on a bit, wasn’t she? Have they any evidence to back up their weird and wonderful theories?’

  Bernadette sighed, ‘Lulu was ill – really ill. She was arthritic and could barely move. She was weak and her body was wreaked with cancer. Easy pickings for Alice. The only thing in Al’s favour, so far, is that nobody is corroborating the prison’s theory.’

  Fuck, things are getting worse! Gus grabbed a can of Irn Bru, popped the can and took a long slurp. Maybe that will cool my stomach. Thank God Nancy didn’t know about Alice’s parents. Gus had put things together in his own mind. Lulu hadn’t wanted to suffer a long, drawn out painful death in prison and had initiated a deal with Alice. Oh Alice, what the fuck have you done?

  65

  15:35 Holmfield Court

  Taffy, driven by the desire for something more substantial than crisps, muffins and chocolate bars, had braved the elements and walked to Nando’s in City Park for a take-out. The very thought of actual cooked food made him salivate and as a result he’d ordered a hell of a lot more food than he would normally. He was about to amend his order when he remembered Compo’s voracious appetite and realised that the food would be hoovered up in no time and that unless he dug in quickly, Compo would eat the lion’s share. Boy did that lad have an iron clad metabolism.

  It had been good to get out in the fresh air. The stuffiness of the flat didn’t seem to faze Compo, perhaps he’d been a bat in a previous lifetime. However, Taffy was desperate for fresh air and the feel of the cold on his cheeks. Mind you, now that he was nearly back, he was looking forward to the cosiness of Compo’s flat, despite the eerie ‘dead pop stars shriney’ thing going on. Soon as he’d walked through the front door, he could hear the whirr and purr of Compo’s printer, but what hit him first was the stagnant farty, body-odoury whiff that slapped him in the face, so his first action was to open a window and light the aromatic pine candle. Thanks Mrs McGuire, you’re a life saver, before turning to set out the food on the coffee table.

  He turned to tell Compo to bring his one plate and a bowl and stopped. He was getting very used to Compo’s different facial expressions so, when he saw him absent-mindedly ram a handful of crisps into his mouth and then forget to chew, it was a pretty sure-fire bet that something was up. ‘Spill.’

  Compo chewed, swallowed the crisps and picked up a ream of paper from the printer. Using his stockinged feet, he propelled his chair over to the coffee table. Stuffing the sheets of paper under his arm, he began to open the various containers Taffy had set out, grabbing bits of chicken from one and breaking off bits of a burger from another. With a sigh, Taffy departed to the kitchen, grabbed the plate, the bowl and a knife and spoon then returned to the small living room. He pushed the plate towards his friend and grabbed the pile of papers, before they were dropped onto the floor. Experience had shown that until Compo had refuelled there would be little point in talking about whatever had upset his equilibrium. So, leaving Compo to ‘deal’ in his own special way, Taffy nabbed the comfy chair, noting that over the last couple of days he’d made a Taffy shaped indentation in it and began to flick through the paperwork.

  Most of it was MI6 related documentation that Taffy had no intention of asking Compo how he’d accessed it. Suffice it to say that as soon as this case was over, he would be shredding these memories along with the actual paperwork – he’d leave Compo to erase any digital trail. It seemed that Daniel Farrier had indeed been tasked with keeping an eye on the goings-on in the science labs, particularly the research into bio-weaponry. Taffy had met Daniel and Izzie with Gus and had considered him non-descript and quite likeable. Some of the encrypted email exchanges between Farrier, codenamed Salamis – no doubt after his supposed archaeological interest in restoring the ancient site – and his handler, Salamhand – no guesses for the origins of this pseudonym – put paid to that idea.

  November 16th 2017 02:30

  Salamis: Dimou is easy prey – one of those needy, desperate for any male attention sort of women. Not very demanding but good enough to scratch any itches. She’s very trusting, but having said that, she’s a bit of a prude when it comes to talking shop out of hours. Might need to go a bit further than I’d like. Might need to get the old engagement ring out of storage. Her ex, Gianno Doukus, has his eye on me – so I am unable to get a true feel for the labs. Can’t ask too many questions. Abaci is definitely working on something dodgy, but I need more time to gain access – to slowly build trust.

  Salamhand: Do what you have to. That’s the only rule. We need to know what Abaci has got, but more importantly whose payroll he’s on. Just do it.

  January 2018 04:45

  Salamis: Loving this job. Couldn’t be easier if I tried. Now that we’re engaged, Dimou has shared her reservations re Abaci – not specifics, just a general ill ease. Getting the info more than makes up for having to screw an inanimate object.

  Salamhand: Good job. Think of England… and me and you’ll get it up.

  Taffy wanted to vomit. He’d seen what had been done to Izzie Dimou and Farrier’s subterfuge and his obvious disdain for the dead woman he’d strung along so cavalierly was horrid. No wonder Compo was upset. Taffy put the papers aside and grabbed a peri-peri chicken burger before it disappeared. Compo was munching his way methodically through whatever was on the table, his eyes were glazed as he stared off into middle distance. Taffy wasn’t entirely sure Compo realised the other man was still there. ‘Comps?’

  No response. ‘Comps?’ A bit louder this time.

  Compo started and looked at Taffy, ‘Fucking piece of shit. To think I was going to go to his stag do? Wish Gus had left him to freeze to death in that damn farmhouse. How could he? How the fuck could he do that? Pretend he loved her? Set her up like that and then…?’ He chucked the half-eaten burger on the table and jumped to his feet, marching out of the room and into the hallway.

  From where he sat, Taffy watched as Compo strode to the end of the hallway and turned to the first framed photo. He stretched
his hand out and touched his index finger to it. His lips moved, but Taffy couldn’t hear what he said. Compo moved on to the next poster and repeated the process, continuing along the wall till he got to the one closest to the door. Only then were Compo’s words audible, ‘Too young to die, too good to live. Too troubled to survive.’

  The words sent a shaft of ice through Taffy’s body – as if he was freezing from the toes up. They were like a mantra, but not one like the Sikh mediation mantra his parents did or the ones he heard at the temple. No, the one that Compo had clearly practised and repeated many times before seemed doomlike – prophetic almost. What did it mean? Should he mention this to Gus? But they’d agreed, ‘what happens in Compo’s stays at Compo’s.’

  Compo walked into the small living room and marched past Taffy straight to his workstation. ‘Come on. Let’s get this bastard nailed.’

  Grabbing the rest of the paperwork, Taffy jumped to his feet and sat in the other office chair, ‘I’ll just go through the rest of this, shall I?’

  Compo shook his head. ‘No, don’t bother. All that paperwork tells us is that Farrier was a knob. He used Izzie Dimou and was screwing his handler at the same time and he was working for MI6 to get information about Professor Abaci’s dirty deals. It’s enough to make your skin crawl, but that’s not the half of it. At least with all that crap.’ He waved his hand at the papers that Taffy held. ‘You could say he was working in the national interest, even if his methods were immoral. Look at this though. This is some other world crap and we need to let Gus know pronto.’