Unbound Ties: When the past unravels, all that’s left is death ... A Gritty Crime Fiction Police Procedural Novel (Gus McGuire Book 7)

by Liz Mistry

  The words nearly left his mouth when he saw the figure extricating herself from behind the steering wheel, with exaggerated care, before finally ending up standing beside him on the pavement.

  ‘Long-time no see, Gus. Your sister misses you.’ Gabriella pitched her head to one side, a sardonic smile on her face. ‘God only knows why, because I certainly don’t.’

  Gus inhaled and decided to ignore her sniping. ‘So, you stopped just to tell me that did you, Gabriella? Job done. I’ll be on my way.’

  However, as he prepared to sidestep her, Gabriella shook her head, her hand resting on her swollen belly. ‘No, I thought I’d stop to let you know we’re having a baby shower next week. I think you’re duty bound to be there.’

  Gus mentally shuddered at the thought of being in the confined space of Katie and Gabriella’s flat in Lister Mills with a crowd of cackling women going on about childbirth and pregnancy. He’d no intention of going, ‘duty bound’ or not. Besides, the family bubbles introduced because of the Covid pandemic gave him a plausible out – one he intended to use.

  ‘Your place is a bit tight for that sort of thing, isn’t it?’

  Gabriella’s tinkling laugh was false, and Gus had an urge to just spin on his heel and walk away from her. But, he couldn’t. His sense of responsibility wouldn’t let him.

  ‘You offering to host it at your place are you, Gus? Katie would be pleased.’

  A flicker of anger fizzled in his stomach as he shook his head. ‘No way, Gabriella. Don’t think the home we once shared a marital bed in would be a good omen for…’ He wafted his fingers in the general direction of her belly.

  Smile fading, Gabriella glared at him. ‘FYI, Katie and I have moved. We’re in one of the terraced houses tucked away behind BRI. If you’d kept in touch, you’d have known that.’

  Gus smiled, he had known that, but it pleased him to annoy Gaby. ‘Happy new home.’

  Irritated by his blasé response, Gabriella shot out her hand and gripped his forearm with talon sharp fingers. ‘You could at least ask how Katie is. She’s your sister and she’s been through hell.’

  Gus nodded. ‘Yes, I could … but I won’t.’

  He shook off her hand and walked away. There was no way he was going to tell her that he and Katie met up for coffee every couple of weeks and that he was up to date on his sister’s cancer treatments. Leaving Gaby standing on Oak Lane, he ducked into MO’s café and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw her manoeuvre her expanding waistline behind the wheel again. No way did he want to go at it full on with Gaby. She was poisonous when she got started and he had too many other things on his mind. Not least Compo’s order of samosas and mushy peas.

  ‘My order ready, Mo…?’

  Chapter 40

  Bradford

  ‘How are you feeling after our hypnosis session the other day, Corrine?’ Dr Mahmood, serene and reassuring, kept her gaze on Corrine’s face, which in turn made Corrine nervous.

  Lowering her eyes, she focussed on a stain on the carpet. It was hardly visible, but now that she’d found it, it gave Corrine something to concentrate on. Dr Mahmood’s question was difficult to answer and, judging by the silence, the doctor was in no hurry for a reply. The fact that she didn’t have an instant response, upset Corrinne. She was never short of words, never unsure what to say – but this one question flummoxed her. She realised it wasn’t the actual question, but rather the context in which it was framed. Every day she responded to questions about her ‘feelings’ from the minute she got up till the moment she went to bed.

  ‘How’s my gorgeous wife this morning?’

  ‘You OK, Mrs M?’

  ‘You all right, Mum?’

  Until this moment, she’d responded on autopilot – a surface sweep of her emotions allowing her to smile and offer a light-hearted response. But today, in this office, with Dr Mahmood and the memory of her brother’s death still buzzing around her mind, she couldn’t come up with a trite reply. Watching the stain wobble before her, she swiped a hand over her eyes to remove her unshed tears and exhaled as she realised that she didn’t want to come up with a trite response – a platitude. It was time for her to confront some of her experiences and this safe place was where she would try to make sense of her childhood.

  She raised her head and met the therapist’s eyes. ‘I feel bloody crap. It’s like I’ve released a whirlpool of disjointed jigsaw pieces in my head and they’re all jostling to find a way to fit together.’ She frowned unclasping her fingers which had been so tightly clasped they’d gone white. ‘It’s really quite disconcerting.’

  ‘Of course it is. You’ve kept all this bottled up for decades, Corrine, and now it’s time for us to work on ways of dealing with the aftermath. You’re not alone in this. You’ve got me for the times when you need an impartial sounding board – until you’re ready to share what you need to with those you love. You need to allow yourself time – time to process, time to understand, time perhaps to grieve, time to heal, and there’s no one route to do all those things or no one timescale. It’s your journey and I’m here to be your travel aid.’

  The words reassured Corrine. Until then, she’d been crippled with guilt at not being able to open up to Fergus. Not that he’d expected her to, but she was so used to sharing all her thoughts, moods, experiences with him, that being unable to verbalise these feelings was like a chokehold round her throat. Now Dr Mahmood had, in a few words, released the chokehold and given her a little perspective. She needed time to acclimatise herself to her blocked memories and then, when the time was right and she was emotionally equipped, she would share them with her husband.

  ‘You became electively mute, Corrine. Was that immediately after the events that resulted in your brother’s death and the family unit being broken?’

  The stain on the carpet reminded Corrine of a paisley design – the curvaceous mango shape – although this one was a mucky shade of khaki. She had a beautiful silk scarf in gorgeous peacock blue that Fergus had given her. It had paisley designs all over and she loved it. The image of the scarf and the memory of Fergus wrapping it round her neck and kissing her tenderly gave her strength.

  ‘It was my fault he died. He was protecting me. If he’d stayed put under the bed, it wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘You don’t know what might have happened, Corrine. Any number of scenarios could have unfolded … you did your best. You were a child. Barely eight years old. None of this was your fault. The adult in your life did not protect you – she abused you. The love you shared with your brother was perhaps the only light in either of your lives, at that time.’

  Corrine wasn’t ready to absolve herself of guilt. Logically she knew Dr Mahmood was right, but guilt was a strange thing. ‘It stopped me from speaking. I could speak. I spoke inside my head. I yelled and ranted and raged inside my head. I cried inside my head and dreamed of stabbing myself and lashing out at walls with my fists. I deserved to be punished … And in the end, I was.’

  ‘Tell me about how you were punished, Corrine.’

  The silence lengthened, the tick tock of the big old clock on the wall was reassuring. It grounded Corrine. That and the stain on the carpet. Those two things kept her physically in the room while her memory opened up and allowed images to appear.

  ‘I was moved to live with Rory’s family. It was a small village – West Calder – lots of countryside, and everyone knew each other. I was the only person of colour in the entire area. The only black kid in the school. Rory’s dad was the local vicar and Rory’s mum was lovely, really lovely. Mr Robertson had older sons from a previous marriage – they were away at university. They weren’t very kind, but Rory was. He was my friend.’

  Dr Mahmood pushed the copy of the image that Rory had drawn of Corrine with the other children. ‘Rory was talented, wasn’t he?’

  Corrine lifted her eyes and reached over to take the image. A slight smile twitched her lip. ‘He was soooo good. He was only about twelve or so but look at
this drawing. He breathed life into those people. He saw things others just couldn’t. His talent was beyond compare.’

  ‘How did you feel that day, Corrine? The day Rory drew this image.’

  Corrine closed her eyes. How had she felt that day? ‘It was my first day at the new school.’ The memories flooded in, making Corrine’s voice wobble. ‘Rory’s mum took me. She was so kind. She smelt of lavender and she smiled a lot. I had a lovely little dress on. She brushed my hair with an afro comb, put it in two bunches – she said I looked beautiful – and I felt beautiful. I think that morning for those few minutes was the first time I ever felt beautiful.’

  Corrine leant over and placed the drawing back on Dr Mahmood’s desk. ‘It lasted until I met the teacher, Miss Owen – an old woman with a hunch in tweed clothes – she looked like Miss Trunchbull from Matilda, but she was actually trying to be kind, I think. Once Rory’s mum left, she held my wrist and took me into a classroom. All these little kids were sitting in rows. They fell silent when we walked in and when they saw me, one of them started to cry. I couldn’t work out why. Everyone had been used to me in Glasgow – I’d grown up there – but here? None of them had seen anyone of colour before – not in real life.’

  Swallowing hard, Corrine reached over and gripped the glass of water that waited for her on the desk. She took a long sip, welcoming the way it cooled her throat as it went down. ‘Miss Owen pulled me to the front of the class. She said, “Stop that stupid greeting. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I know you’ve never seen a darkie before, but she’s just a bairn like you all are. It’s no’ the wee lassie’s fault her skin’s that colour or her hair’s a mess”.’

  Corrine looked up, smiling through her tears. ‘I suspect she was trying to be kind – well as kind as someone who didn’t know the hurt they could cause, could be – the seventies weren’t the most enlightened of times.’

  ‘She made them all line up and one by one they came forward and touched my cheeks and my hair…’ Corrine’s hand rose to the tight short curls that covered her scalp.

  ‘How did that make you feel?’

  ‘Like a specimen. Some of them acted like my skin and hair were poison. Not all of them – but it was the ones who did that I remember. The ones who screwed up their faces and said yuck and wiped their hands down their clothes after they’d touched me. Those were the ones I remembered best.’

  I was made to sit on my own because nobody wanted to sit beside me. After that they called me names – Gollywog, Nig Nog, Darkie.’

  Corrine pointed to the drawing. ‘Rory picked me up after school to walk me home that day and afterwards he drew that.’

  Dr Mahmood pointed to the girl to the side, who was looking at the young Corrine, a tentative smile on her lips, her hand reaching out.

  ‘What about her Corrine – did you notice her … or these few grouped behind the nasty kids? They seem to be shouting at the bullies.’

  Corrine took the image, frowning she studied it. ‘I suppose, the hurt stays with you longer than the kindness – it’s what I was used to, you see. I was used to being hurt, so I couldn’t always see the kindness.’

  ‘Earlier you said you were punished – did you mean the children punished you?’

  Corrine shook her head. ‘No. I thought I was punished because I started to speak to Rory. He was the only one I spoke to at first, but it was after I started speaking to Rory that his mum killed herself and I was sent away to a different foster home – at the time I equated it with being blamed for Rory’s mum’s death … It was another year before I spoke to anyone again.’

  Chapter 41

  Bradford

  Gus’s impatience at having to take time out from the investigation faded away on entering the ICU ward at BRI where Jessica was about to have her life support switched off. She was in a private room, with her brothers and Serafina peering through the small window on the door.

  As Gus and Alice approached, the three turned to them and Gus was struck by the pain on the brothers’ faces. No easy smile from Imti today and even Shahid didn’t seem to have the energy to summon up his usual frown. Ill at ease in these circumstances, Gus held back, allowing Alice to move forward and hug each of the three in turn. It was only a few minutes till noon and as the seconds ticked down, Gus’s stomach clenched. He’d seen death before and the thought of having to witness it again, filled him with dread. He’d do it for Imti – and Shahid too, he supposed. Hoping it was all over with quickly filled him with guilt. How could he possibly wish that on anyone? It didn’t matter that Jessica herself had decided on this course of action – the fact was, her final decision left behind a legacy of hurt that her brothers would carry with them for years to come.

  Serafina pulled Imti away from the door. ‘It’s time for them to go in now. We should wait in the waiting room.’ With tears pouring down Imti’s face, and a pulse throbbing at Shahid’s temple, the trio, shoulders slumped, left Alice and Gus by the door.

  ‘Let’s get this over with then.’ Alice looked about as happy about the prospect of entering the room as he felt, yet she flung her shoulders back and pushing the door open, walked inside.

  Gus followed and waited at the end of the bed as Alice went straight to the chair on Jess’s left and sat down, clasping the girl’s hand in hers. He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he caught Alice’s glare and realised he’d been staring at Jess. Exhaling, he walked to the other side of the bed, wishing the persistent sounds of the machines monitoring her, keeping her alive, were quieter. Then realising what their silence would mean, he mentally cursed himself. While Alice seemed to naturally know what to do, Gus hesitated.

  The girl lying on the bed was a mere shell of the cocky, defiant, often sullen girl he’d arrested. Her complexion was so pale, Gus doubted that she could have any blood circulating in her frail body. Following Alice’s example, he sat next to her and took her hand in his. Despite the warmth of the room, it was cool to the touch – lifeless. Unexpectedly a lump formed in Gus’s throat. What a waste of a life. If things had been different. If she’d been given a different roll of the dice, she could have been happy.

  The door opened and Gus tensed. This would be the doctors coming to turn off the life support. Unable to look at them, he focussed on Jessica’s face – her eyes were closed and he wondered if she was aware of their presence since she’d slipped into the coma. Alice was whispering to her. Reminding her that she wasn’t alone. That her brothers were outside thinking about her and that she and Gus were here with her. He wished he could find the words to speak to her too, but nothing came to his mind. All he could see were flashes of memory – her standing with Sadia, when they’d found Jessica’s friend murdered. His dad reassuring her, placing a gentle hand on her arm, Jess digging into the McDonald’s meal he’d bought her as if she’d not eaten for weeks, her scowl and angry swearing when Shahid turned up at her door…

  The door opened again, and quiet footsteps moved behind Gus and a respectful voice spoke. ‘It’s time.’

  Eyes closed, Gus gripped Jess’ hand as if he’d never let it go and hoped she could sense his presence beside her as one by one the cacophony of beeps, thurrumps, wheezing wafts cut out. In the silence of the room, Gus opened his eyes again and focussed on the rising and falling of Jessica’s chest as the time between breaths grew longer, her breaths shallower … until there was nothing – no movement, no sound – just nothing.

  The same quiet voice from before spoke again. ‘That’s it. She’s gone. I’ll give you some space.’

  And as he and Alice sat looking at Jessica’s lifeless body, he became aware of someone standing at the foot of the bed. He turned slightly. His heart hammered against his chest and the colour drained from his face, leaving him momentarily dizzy. He tried to rise to his feet but had no energy to do so.

  ‘Hi, Gus, Alice. Long-time no see.’

  He shook his head as if attempting to rid his mind of the image of the woman standing there. She couldn’t
be here. Why had no one told him she was back? Across the bed, Alice looked from him to the latecomer. Her shocked expression told him that she was as surprised as he was.

  For what seemed like ages, but was in reality only a few seconds, Gus drank in her appearance. Her hair was shorter, shoulder length, her face was perhaps a little fuller. Nervousness played around her lips as she tried out first a half smile, then a shrug.

  Not removing his eyes from the other woman, Gus spoke to Alice. ‘Let’s go and pay our respects to Imti and Shahid. I’m sure Sadia here will want to catch-up with them, but we’ve got an investigation to crack on with.’

  Face tight, Gus moved towards the door, Alice following. Hesitating, with his hand on the doorknob, he turned and looking directly at his former lover, said in a cold and emotionless tone that brooked no argument. ‘Bye, Sadia. I doubt we’ll bump into each other again. Bradford’s a big place and I’m sure you won’t be here long.’

  Chapter 42

  Bradford

  The Man in Black looks at his next target and a wave of loathing rolls over him. It’s not often he hates someone and it’s almost never that he hates someone he doesn’t actually know. Well except for the obvious exception, that is – but that’s different. It’s got to be different when you’ve made a study of a person. Investigated them over time, laid out the evidence, taken statements, balanced everything you’ve learnt, before finally making a decision.

  However, with the current target the only knowledge he has of him was recently gleaned and only really in the course of his investigation into Gus McGuire, his family, and team. Having heard Gus going on about the man, he now realises the extent of the animosity between the two of them. Jez Hopkins has just become his next target and he is looking forward to catching up with him.

  His secret relationship with Gus McGuire’s best friend and trusted detective sergeant Alice Cooper only made this killing so much more appealing. He wonders what she’ll do when this particular target is dispatched. Will she tell Gus of their relationship? Will that signal the end of their friendship? Will they begin to put two and two together and link the two separate investigations or will Gus’s anger and Cooper’s grief affect their judgement?