by Liz Mistry
Alice snorted. ‘Oh, I do, Gus. She’s trying to set you up with Sadia again. Now that Patti’s out of the picture, she thinks you and Sadia might get back together.’
‘That is not, I repeat, not going to happen…’
‘Me thinks the Gus man doth protest…’
‘Shut up, Al.’
****
Ignoring the slight hangover that pulsed behind his eyes, Gus enjoyed the walk through Heaton Woods up to his parents’ house. Alice, unexpectedly, had been awake and opted to come with him – no doubt to see Sadia again – was Gus’s uncharitable thought on that. So, with Bingo careering about as they walked up the slope, Gus allowed the fresh air and morning quiet to soothe him. The last thing he wanted was to be cooped up in a car with two women he didn’t want to speak to and a bumbling forensic psychologist who, no doubt, would be oblivious to the tension and natter on incessantly.
For someone so attuned to the workings of the criminal mind, it amazed Gus how oblivious Carlton could be when it came to his colleagues – probably a bloody act – he’s probably assessing and analysing everything we do and say. That thought didn’t sit well with Gus, for who knew what gems of wisdom the psychologist would extract from them during the four-hour car journey. Not that Gus had anything to hide. He wasn’t the one keeping secrets.
Popping on sunglasses as they entered the driveway, Gus tried to evict the squirming maggots that had taken up residence in his belly. It’s just the whisky gurgling in my stomach. Once the bacon butty Al cooked for me settles, I’ll be fine.
Allowing Alice to lead the way towards the quartet of people grouped round his mum’s car, Gus watched. His dad cupped his mum’s cheeks in his huge hands and was talking earnestly to her – whispering sweet nothings no doubt. Carlton, livelier than Bingo, was almost jogging on the spot and in that instance, Gus thought he looked just like Compo – the same effusive enthusiasm.
Under her breath, Alice said, ‘I thought the glasses were for your mum and Sadia’s benefit, but I think you might need them anyway.’ She grinned and nodded towards Carlton, who had opted for subtle blending-in apparel – with red tartan shorts, green tartan socks, and a purple polo shirt, he was blindingly ‘out there’.
Increasing her pace, Alice rushed forward. ‘Sadiaaaaa…’
Arms outstretched, she grabbed Sadia and pulled her into a hug. ‘You’re such a bitch not to keep in touch, Sad. I’ve missed you.’
A spike of jealousy halted Gus. Why couldn’t Alice be more loyal? She didn’t need to make a fuss of Sadia. She should be on his side. Realising he was behaving like a child, Gus, lips curled, moved over to the back of the car and slung his overnight bag in. Now, Alice was hugging his mum – Talk about bloody Judas!
Moving away from the group, Gus just wanted to get into the car where he could snuggle in the back, close his eyes, and block out this entire nightmare for the duration of the car journey at least. His dad sidled up to him, his round face suffused with colour, his voice gruff. ‘Should’ve told you, Angus. About Sadia, I mean. We should have told you, but we didn’t know how. You took it so badly when she left, it seemed … Kinder … Yes, kinder not to say anything. If we’d known she’d end up back in Bradford, I swear we would have told you.’
Studying his father’s morose expression took the edge off Gus’s anger. He loved his parents and they loved him. But they had this annoying habit of wanting to protect him from everything and that inevitably resulted in them making decisions to withhold information. He gripped his dad’s forearm. ‘I know, Dad, I know. But you and Mum need to realise that I’m not the same man I was after Greg and Billy died. I came through it. I’m strong enough to face unpalatable truths. You can’t protect me, and you have to stop, because this last lie was one too far.’
Fergus McGuire’s shoulders slumped. ‘I know, laddie, I know.’
They stood side by side in silence for a few seconds. Then, ‘You’ll look after her, won’t you, Angus?’
‘Christ, Dad – course I will. But, I’m not quite ready to put this behind me. It’s been a shock to see Sadia again and realise you’ve been in touch all this time. I need time – and space, but I’ll take care of Mum. I always will.’
Fergus McGuire squeezed his son’s shoulder and wiped a tear from his eye. ‘That’s good enough for me, laddie, good enough for me.’
Gus smiled. His dad was such an old sop, he could never stay angry with him for long.
Chapter 51
Bellbrax Psychiatric Facility, Scotland
One two three four … They’re all there. The drawings of the woman with the dark hair and brown eyes are all there. All present and correct. I push the folder back under the bed.
The voices are murmuring, but I can’t hear the words. I want them to stop. ‘Stop it.’
Jeannie, the cleaner, pops her head in the door. ‘You OK, Rory? You need something?’
The words in my head turn to laughter. ‘Ha, ha, ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha’
Stop it! I don’t say it out loud this time, but they keep on laughing. ‘Ha, ha, ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha.’
I prefer the words. At least I know what they mean. I fold my arms up and over my ears, clasping my hands over my head. Jeannie keeps looking at me. She doesn’t know whether to call a nurse or not. I walk round my room keeping my arms over my ears, but I don’t look at her.
She moves away. I can hear her trolley moving away and then she’s speaking to someone. Who’s she speaking to? Is she telling tales on me?
Seconds later, footsteps come closer. Maybe it’s the girl with the dark hair and brown eyes. I don’t want to see her. No, I don’t.
The voices inside start to shout. ‘Yes, you do! Yes, you do! Yes, you do!’
I moan and kneel before my bed, with my head resting on the cool duvet. I grab the pillow. ‘Stop it.’
‘Don’t trust her. You can’t trust her. She’s evil … like all of them … she’s EVIL!’
‘No, no no no no no no…’
‘Come on, Rory, it’s all right. You’re OK.’ The nurse’s hands grip my shoulders – not hard – but I don’t like it. ‘No, no no no no no no…’
‘It’s OK, Rory, it’s OK.’
‘No, no no no no no no…’
I pull away but the voices go on.
‘You can’t talk to her, Rory. She’s not to be trusted. She’s the devil, she’s evil.’
The nurse pulls at the pillow. ‘Let go, Rory. You need your meds. Let go of the pillow. Let’s take your meds and then we’ll go outside, and you can draw. Jimmy’s outside. He’s in the garden.’
‘You can’t trust her.’
Jimmy. I like Jimmy. He doesn’t keep speaking to me. No voices when I’m with Jimmy. ‘Why do you draw her?’
Just a little prick. In my arm, it’s OK.
‘Do you fancy her?’
Be quiet … I’m going in the garden. My arms let go of the pillow. The nurse helps me to my feet.
‘There, there, Rory. You’re OK now. You’re OK.’
‘You can’t trust her.’
I pick up my drawing things. The nurse waits as I count my pencils and my pads. She waits while I count them again and then when I nod, she walks with me into the garden and sits me down at my favourite spot.
I wonder why the girl with the dark hair and brown eyes hasn’t come back? She must be dead, just like all the others.
Chapter 52
Scotland
As planned, Gus had slid into the back seat behind his mum, so that he wouldn’t be able to catch her eye in the rear-view mirror. That had been a huge miscalculation on his part though as it meant that every time he lifted his gaze, he could see Sadia’s face. He’d kept his sunglasses on and although she couldn’t see him watching her, he was all too aware of the worried glances she kept flicking in his direction.
Studying her face, he saw that, despite her shorter hair and the trail of worry lines across her forehead, she was as beautiful as she’d always been. He wondered if there wa
s a man in her life and then chastised himself. What was he thinking? It was none of his business. He settled back, folding up his jacket to use as a pillow, closed his eyes and leant on the glass, trying to catch-up on some of the sleep he’d lost the previous night. It didn’t work. Carlton kept up a relentless chain of nonsensical chit chat which – much to Gus’s disgust – both Sadia and his mum seemed to find extremely amusing. Rustling in his pockets, he found some earbuds and popped them in his ears in the hope that it would dull their voices – no such luck.
They’d just fallen into a silent lull and Gus thought he might be able to doze off, when Sadia’s phone rang. She answered. Even with his eyes closed, Gus could tell she was smiling. He could visualise her exact expression as she spoke – her dimples, her sparkling eyes, her lips curved in happiness. He strained his ears, wishing he could be a better man and observe her privacy, but he was just too damn curious and that really pissed him off. ‘Have you missed me?’
Gus scowled – and in his head mimicked her voice, have you missed me?
The conversation continued for a few more minutes and ended with Sadia’s, ‘I love you too, but I’ll see you later. Can’t wait.’
Gus’s chest tightened. Sadia was clearly in a relationship – not just any relationship – she loved this guy. It was none of Gus’s business so why then did he feel like punching this guy’s lights out? He pushed his head harder against the fabric of his makeshift pillow and tried to block out the conflicted emotions drifting through his mind.
Instead, Gus, in order to take his mind off more personal things, had gone over the murders in his mind. He became more and more convinced that when they got the PM results back from Jez Hopkin’s body, they’d reveal that he, like all the other victims, had been manually strangled. So, what was this killer playing at? On the one hand he was an all-out ritual killer. Gus paused in his thoughts and tried to plump up his makeshift pillow. Perhaps that was the mistake they were making – perhaps he was just setting them up. Maybe the ritual was just the killer’s warped way of linking in Corrine McGuire.
Of course, that then led to the big question WHY? Why link in Gus’s mum and foster brother – it could only be because it was personal to the killer. However, they’d already ruled out Rory. Robertson’s older brothers had been looked at too, but one was dead and the other lived in Australia. Neither had any offspring, so that line of enquiry had died out there and then.
Gus’s mind kept drifting back to the sketch of his mum being taunted at school. Was it possible that someone from then had held such a strong grudge against his mother? They were only children! It seemed unlikely. Corrine claimed not to have known any of them very well and, so far Police Scotland had ruled out most of the class on account of death, alibi, or just sheer opportunity. They were missing something, and he only hoped that this trip to speak with Rory Robertson would shake something loose. He grinned, Alice would never forgive him if it didn’t, for she kept texting that Nancy was ‘doing her head in’. Seemed Acting DCS Chalmers was taking her responsibility as SIO very seriously indeed.
Thinking of Nancy brought his thoughts full circle back to Erica Smedley and Jez Hopkins. Their deaths, he was sure, were not coincidental. He was convinced they’d been killed as part of some larger plan. It was almost as if the killer had created two lists: one for his ritual killings with pregnant women and the other for … Gus shrugged … for show? To taunt? To send a message? That raised the question of how was he targeting the victims on the second list? What did the victims have in common? Perhaps there were two killers working together but with differing agendas – using a similar MO, but with different motives? Gus shook his head. The PM results indicated that the strangulation marks on Brookes and Flateau showed the hand spans to be the exact same width and matched in size, the marks found on Erica Smedley’s neck and he assumed Jez Hopkin’s too, although the PM results weren’t yet in on that one – it had to be the one killer – didn’t it? Gus was bewildered.
If the ritual murders were for the purpose of taunting his mum, what was the reason for the others? For, in this sea of uncertainty, the one thing Gus was convinced of was that nothing this killer did was random. Something gnawed on the periphery of Gus’s thoughts. What was it? Yes – if only he could work out the link between Hopkins and Smedley. Where did those two victims intersect with their killer? He made a mental log of the information they’d ascertained so far. Smedley was single, Hopkins in a relationship … and then it hit him. The one place that he knew for certain that both Smedley and Hopkins had intersected was at the ritual crime scenes. Hopkins had been hovering just outside the cordon at both and Smedley had been on the CSI team on the Brookes’ murder. Texting Alice quickly, he asked her to get Compo to go through all footage taken by the uniformed officers at both scenes.
Gus: I think the killer came back to observe the scene and selected his non-ritual target from there. Get Comps to cross match the looky loos from both scenes.
By the time they’d arrived at the service station, he still hadn’t managed to grab any sleep, unlike Sebastian Carlton who was in a full-throated snore with a dribble of saliva trailing down his chin. As Corrine pulled into a parking space, Carlton started awake. Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, Gus swung his door open and jumped out, desperate to get away from everyone for a while. ‘Half an hour, then back at the car.’
Striding off, shoulders hunched, he marched to the small artificial lake and strode round it, wishing to hell the journey was over – that was when he took Compo’s call. ‘What’s up, Compo?’
‘Boss, I’ve got something – well, I’ve got quite a lot, actually.’
Gus could hear Alice’s voice in the background telling Compo to just spit it out and that Gus wouldn’t be annoyed at him. That didn’t bode well for whatever Compo had found, and Gus, frowning, lowered himself onto one of the wooden benches by the water.
‘Well, I’ve found your grand … I mean your em, … well, the woman who gave birth to your mother.’ He paused and added, as if for clarification, ‘Mrs M, that is.’
Gus rolled his eyes. He knew who his damn mother was, but sensing from Compo’s tone that the lad was nervous, he refrained from saying anything and instead gave a non-committal, ‘Hmm.’
‘Well, actually she’s dead – drug overdose. Her name was Jeannie Cameron.’
That didn’t surprise Gus. He’d gleaned the fact that she was an addict from his mum.
‘The thing is, she was never in prison – or in a psychiatric facility and the only crimes she’d got on record are for prostitution and selling Class As.’
‘That can’t be right, Comp. She killed her little boy – there must be some record of it, even if she got off with accidental death or manslaughter.’
‘Em, well, that’s the next thing. Your uncle – your mum’s half-brother, Jamie – James Cameron – well, he’s not registered as dead. In fact, he’s still alive.’
Gus didn’t respond. His mind was whirring. That couldn’t be right – it just couldn’t – His mum had told him her brother had died that night. But Compo was never wrong. Well, he bloody well is this time.
‘Boss, … Gus – you still there?’
‘Yeah, yeah course I’m here, Comps. Just trying to think this through. You’re saying the brother my mum thought was dead is actually still alive?’
‘Yes.’
Gus’s frown deepened. He had a really bad feeling that he hadn’t heard the worst of this yet. ‘You have more, don’t you – something bad?’
Compo sniffed and swallowed so loudly; Gus could hear it over the phone. ‘It’s not good, boss.’ His voice rose in an anger that Compo never ever displayed and as if to emphasise his anguish at the news he had to impart, he swore. ‘It’s fucking shit. It’s fucking abysmal.’
Gus’s heart sped up. Mild mannered Compo didn’t rant, didn’t rave, didn’t swear. Voice quiet, resigned, Gus said, ‘Go on.’
All the previous emotion was absent from Compo’s vo
ice when he next spoke. Gus imagined him, standing erect, headphones on, microphone in front of his lips, and his hands gripping onto his desk. ‘I got the archived records – I won’t go into how – from social services.’
A note of pride tinged Compo’s voice, but only for a moment, then he reverted back to his ‘professional’ tone. ‘I sweet-talked one of the assistants. None of the files from those days are digitised but she, bless her, dug into the paper archives for me and she found your mum’s file. She scanned it and emailed it to me.’
Resorting to another, ‘Hmm,’ Gus waited, dreading Compo’s next words, sensing they would upset him and potentially destroy his beautiful mum.
‘Basically, after the incident where Jamie hit his head, he wasn’t killed – a couple of stitches and a concussion. Jeannie Cameron told social services that Corrine had done it and that she was too difficult for her to control anymore. Corrine had stopped speaking at that point and was distraught. It is recorded that Jamie denied that his sister had pushed him, but regardless, the social worker chose to believe Jeannie. Your mum was put into the foster system and social services allowed Jeannie to keep Jamie.’
Again, Compo’s swallow reached Gus’s ears. And when the lad next spoke, his tone was harder as if he was afraid of losing it completely. ‘They made a note at the bottom of the file, Gus.’
Still reeling from the revelation that the brother his mum had loved so much, for whose death she’d blamed herself for all these years, was still alive, Gus found his hands gripping the phone too tightly. He released his grip a little, stunned that the powers that be all those years ago allowed a drug-addicted sex worker to keep her son. Angry that she would blame her mixed-race daughter whom she’d taunted and bullied and abused, for her actions. Gus wished the woman was still alive – wished he could teach her a lesson. Wished he could change the way things had been for his mum. ‘Tell me.’
‘I’m sorry, Gus. I’ll send all this to you, but I couldn’t let you read it without preparing you first. This is what the addendum says, it’s signed by a Mrs Florence Russell. I have her address. She’s in a care home but is still alive.’