by Liz Mistry
‘Jasmine Younis.’
Compo’s finger touched his screen and Alice knew he was touching Jasmine’s name. Without looking up he said, I’ll start the crime board and update Gus, you go catch the killer, before he gets to number five.’
Chapter 73
Bradford
Oh, to be a fly on the wall. The Man in Black, despite the increase in his activity over the past twenty-four hours and his lack of sleep, is wide awake. By simply accessing the police data base, he’s ascertained that his MO regarding the pregnant women has now been compromised, which means that, although unable to keep an eye on proceedings, he’s gained more time to plan. Entering into the final phase of things, he is confident. His success in disposing of two women in under 24 hours validates his prowess as a killer. He can’t wait to implement the last part of his plan. By now, Gus will be on his way back from Scotland and when he’s certain of his return, the Man in Black will be ready to implement his final act.
Of course, he’ll take a little detour closer to home first. Why not take full advantage of Gus’s absence? Yes, he decides, he’ll pay the delightful DS Alice Cooper a little visit. Capitalise on the fun while he still can, for one way or another, after his final act, he’ll be unable to have that particular pleasure. He is under no delusions – he’ll either be caught or he’ll escape leaving devastation behind. Much as he prefers the second scenario, the first is also bearable – provided he manages to do maximum damage first. Because, no matter the outcome, his future happiness depends on destroying his father, Corrine McGuire, and her family and as many of their friends as he possibly can in the process.
Chapter 74
Scotland to Bradford
The first half of the journey passed in silence apart from the occasional sound of Carlton humming to some unidentifiable tune he was listening to through his ear buds. Gus’s mind was a quagmire of unfamiliar emotions. Wonder at the sight of the little boy in Sadia’s arms. The child that was his – of that he had no doubt. No DNA test was necessary for him to assume paternity. He had the same eyes that Gus shared with his mother. The same eyes, he shared with his uncle. Even the boy’s – Billy’s hair – had she chosen that name because of his godson? – was the same sun-bleached colour as Gus’s and although not quite as curly, the boy was definitely his child.
He was a father – a dad. Something he’d always envied Mo for. Now, he had his own son. Visions of trips to zoos and parks flooded Gus’s thoughts, then he realised that biologically he may be the boy’s father, but it seemed very likely that Billy thought of the man leaning so carelessly on the roof of that damn Mercedes as his dad.
His feelings of wonder were soon replaced by anger that had him pounding the steering wheel. Anger at Sadia for stealing years of shared experiences with his son, to fury at his mum and probably his dad too for once more keeping a secret from him. But this one wasn’t just any old secret – this one was about him and his son – his relationship with a child that, on his part at least, had been created through love. Although he would fight if necessary to be included in the rest of his son’s life, to build a relationship with him, Gus could see no way to rebuild his relationship with his parents.
Throughout the journey, he rejected call after call from his parents and Sadia. He needed time to think and for now, he had to focus on catching the killer, who he was now certain, was his cousin Ben. Families? Who’d have them? Dr Mahmood’s death was a blow and Gus had trouble swallowing the sense of responsibility that swamped him – but he needed to look past that and focus on the case. They needed to identify the killer’s whereabouts and put a stop to this.
When Compo’s call came through regarding Jasmine Younis’s death, Gus had no option but to put his foot on the accelerator and push to get back to Bradford as soon as he could. Ben was unravelling, his kills were getting closer and closer together and here he was, stuck on the damn M6, with a singing psychologist. As he swung the car out to overtake the slow-moving car transporter that was holding up the middle lane of the motorway, the truck driver swerved toward the fast lane, his speed dropping even slower than before. As if in slow motion, Gus could see the driver holding his chest, neither hand on the wheel, an expression of agony on his ruddy face.
Gus braked, tried to pull back, but he was too late. The transporter kept moving into his lane, its load of cars wobbling precariously until the truck hit the central reservation barrier separating the two directions of traffic. Metal screeched on metal, the truck quivered on two sets of wheels before crashing onto its side, the bed of cars swishing round to cause a blockade over all three lanes. Horns blared, tyres screeched, people yelled, but Gus could do nothing but brace himself as his mum’s jeep crashed into the overturned vehicle.
For long seconds, Gus was only aware of a faint moaning, pain in every part of his face and the echoing white noise – loud but indiscernible. He tried to move but found himself trapped by the airbag. Slowly managing to move his hand to reach the door handle he opened it and all but fell onto the tarmac. Burning rubber seared his nostrils, but that was the least of his worries, for as he tried to focus, through the smoke and chaos all around, he realised the other side of the jeep had borne the brunt of the collision. On trembling legs, he made his way round, to that side, and yanked at the passenger door. For a moment it resisted, then making him stumble backwards it opened without warning and Carlton released his seat belt before slipping out onto the ground his glasses askew on his face, but his blinking eyes telling Gus he was conscious if not OK.
Remembering the truck driver, Gus moved as quickly as his bruised torso would allow towards the transporter, already sirens were becoming louder as rescue vehicles approached. Other drivers had already reached the driver and Gus quickly explained that he suspected the man had had a heart attack at the wheel. The rest of the next few hours was a blur of paramedics, police statements, AA recovery vehicles, and constant pain – mainly in his face, but also his chest, arms, and legs.
Finally, using his police credentials, Gus managed to procure them a new vehicle, which Carlton, who somehow had come off much more lightly than Gus, insisted on driving. It wasn’t grand, but it drove and as far as Gus was concerned, that was all that mattered.
Throughout the rest of the journey, Gus was in constant contact with his team. There was no doubt that Jasmine Younis had suffered the same fate as Brookes, Flateau, and Smith. The fourth verse from the nursery rhyme:
Some to make hay, dilly dilly,
Some to cut corn,
While you and I dilly dilly,
Keep ourselves warm – had been left at the scene with the sixth month scan.
Compo was working down the list of nearly two hundred women from the Hudson Clinic who were in their seventh month of pregnancy in order to warn each of them in turn. Gus had wondered if it was normal to have a monthly scan and thought that if not, that might narrow the search considerably to only a few special cases. Unfortunately, Hudson Clinic’s policy was to scan their mothers monthly. Even putting in parameters of terraced houses or similar, Compo and some PCs were busy trawling through the list. The PMs on both Dr Mahmood and Jasmine Younis had been rushed through and apart from the obvious difference between Mahmood’s, Smedley’s, and Hopkin’s places of death, the strangulation, and the concussion caused by a heavy implement – in this case one of the doctor’s own books, was confirmed, although Mahmood had also been injected with ketamine, unlike Hopkin’s and Smedley. The ketamine itself was a tenuous link to the pregnant women’s deaths.
At two in the morning, having agreed that Carlton would spend what was left of the night in Gus’s spare room, Carlton pulled into Mariner’s Drive and parked up outside his house. The living room light was still on and Gus smiled. Alice had no doubt, unable to sleep because of Hopkin’s death and the other two murders in quick succession, waited up to catch-up with them. As they entered the house, weary and stiff, they heard giggling coming from the living room. Exchanging a puzzled glance with Carton, wh
ose glasses were at a lopsided angle, his hair standing up in tufts, Gus walked towards the living room and thrust the door open.
Carlton at his shoulder, Gus blinked a few times as a flurry of naked limbs righted themselves and were swiftly covered by a throw. ‘Alice, face flushed, blinking at the intruders, wore a sheepish grin. ‘Thought you’d be ages yet.’
‘So, I see,’ said Gus with a nod at Brian call me Bri.
Brian scrabbling about for his clothes on the floor, hairless chest pale and unappealing, began to apologise to Gus. ‘I’m so sorry, Gus. So sorry. We just seem to have … well … got carried away. I’m just leaving.’
With another nod, Gus turned and spoke to Carlton. ‘Come on, I’m going to grab some shut-eye. I’ll show you to your room.’
Leaving Alice giggling behind him as she said her goodbyes to her unlikely lover, Gus shook his head in disbelief.
‘You know grief manifests itself in many ways, Gus. You shouldn’t judge Alice for seeking to expunge it through sexual activity.’
‘God, I’m not judging her for having sex, Carlton. No, I’m judging her for her taste in partners, Hopkins was a cockroach, and Brian call me Bri is a bit of a wimp. She’s gone insane.’
Carlton slapped him on the back and lowering his voice, said, ‘You know; I was thinking the exact same thing myself. Never could see the attraction in bald men, despite the myths surrounding baldness and virility.’
Chapter 75
Bradford
Bleary eyed, Gus grabbed the phone from his bedside table and tried to focus on who was calling at five past fucking four in the morning. In the couple of hours since he’d nodded off, Gus’s muscles had clammed up. Cursing himself for not having showered before going to sleep, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and answered. ‘Compo? Don’t you ever sleep?’
‘Your mum sent me an image – said you weren’t answering her calls. She said it was important. Said you needed to see. She said she coaxed Rory to draw an image of Jimmy Cameron’s son – so I’m sending it to you now. I’ve also already got it circulated ready for officers to show around tomorrow, but your mum was insistent on you getting it tonight. We’ve got an image of this bastard, boss. We’ve got an image!’
Standing up, rolling his shoulders tentatively, Gus walked over to his mirrored wardrobe door and took in the bruises that covered his torso. His face was swollen – his nose broken, his eyes bruised, and his cheek bones were tender to the touch. ‘Thanks Comp, I’ll look at it on my laptop. You did good. ‘
‘Em, well. She also told me to tell you she loves you…’
Gus’s hand clenched round the phone. From Compo’s hesitancy he could tell there was something more. ‘Spit it out. Comps. I won’t shoot the messenger.’
‘She says she only found out about Billy an hour before you did.’
The mention of his son’s name made Gus’s skin prickle. This wasn’t the time to think about him – that chubby little bundle of cuteness. Besides, he should have been first to know. He should have known as soon as that pregnancy test showed up positive. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive Sadia for that. A surge of anger tightened his chest, and it took all his self-control to reply to Compo, ‘Thanks, Comps. I’ll check out that image. Now – you should get some shut-eye.’
As he spoke, Gus moved over to his laptop and sat on the bed opening the file Compo had sent. When the image of a pale bald man, with a nondescript expression appeared on his screen, he jumped up. ‘Compo, you still there?’
‘Yes, boss – I’m just heading off home now, don’t get in a fluster. I’ll catch some sleep.’
‘No, no. Stay where you are. I need you to get Nancy and Taffy and a SWAT team to my house right now. I know who this guy is. Do it NOW!’
Gus flung his phone back on the bed, grabbed a jumper from his drawers and ran into the hallway yelling at the top of his voice, ‘Carlton, Alice, get up, we’ve got him. Get up now.’
He pulled his jumper over his dreads and waited till he saw both heads peering through their bedroom doors. ‘Dressed and up. We need to be quick.’
Chapter 76
Bradford
The Man in Black knows that the endgame is coming, and he relishes the thought. It had been such a delight to see three of his adversaries up close and personal – one more up close and personal than the others – for one last time. He smothers a laugh as he enters the final property. How serendipitous that the Joneses decided to head down to Cornwall for a week. He’d been puzzling over how to gain entry and was on the point of changing his usual process when his target’s neighbours made a huge show of packing their bags and heading off on their jollies.
If this opportunity hadn’t been so absolutely perfect – so unexpectedly close to home – the Man in Black would have moved on to another pregnant woman, but this target had fallen into his lap like a ripe plum, and, even if it meant adapting his usual plans, he would use it to maximum effect – for maximum destruction. Careful questioning of his companion earlier had made his heart pump with joy. Everything was falling so deliciously into place. Even his target’s partner would be absent – he’d reconciled himself to having to deal with both expectant parents in order to make his final act work, but learning that dog sitting duties had separated the two for a few nights made his task so much easier.
Crawling in silence along the attic in the dead of night, the dull light from his head lamp the only light in the confined space, gives him a thrill like no other. Everything is ready in his bag and the only difference this time is that he’s going to take his time with this one. Eke out every morsel of pain and confusion and terror that he can before the final strangulation. The thought of his hands round her neck, her flaccid, unresponsive body beneath him, her eyes – pupils dilated, hope fading, flickering to an agonising close – makes him hard. Oh yes, despite the fact that he can’t stay in his usual spot in the attic to observe everyone’s reactions he is going to enjoy this one.
Without a sound, he lifts the trapdoor and listens for a moment or two before extending his collapsible ladder and hooking the ends on the lip of the attic door, he climbs down, bag on his back. A cursory glance round the house tells him he’s alone except for the sleeping behemoth, lying on her side, duvet only half covering her, in the main bedroom. Since he last saw her, her abdomen has swollen, and she looks ready to pop. All the more enjoyment for him.
He opens his bag and selects the syringe, already filled with ketamine, and approaches the sleeping woman and begins to sing, his voice soothing and gentle.
Lavender’s green dilly dilly,
Lavender’s blue
If you love me Dillly Dilly,
I will love you
Her eyes flick open, blinking, for mere seconds before the fear sets in and that’s when he injects her. Smiling at her, still humming verse five of the nursery rhyme under his breath he unpacks his bag, telling her what each object is as she stares unmoving at him a single tear sliding down her cheek.
‘Nail polish, do you like the shade? It’s perfect don’t you think?’
He moves over and checks her toenails. ‘Oh dear, that varnish needs removing. How could you let it get so chipped, my dear? Never mind, I have polish remover too.’
Busying himself he takes out the nail polish remover, the rope, the pulley system the lavender, the candle, the packet of biscuits, the sketches, the nursery rhyme verse, and the foetal scan image he accessed and printed off – all the while chatting to his latest prey. He enjoys this part of the process. He feels like God as he forces the biscuit between her teeth before none too gently forcing her jaws together. He enjoys taunting her, telling her what to expect, how slowly he’ll strangle her, how her partner will find her hanging naked.
Chapter 77
Bradford
Gus placed his laptop on the kitchen table and Carlton, Alice, and Gus studied the image Rory had drawn.
‘Fuck’s sake. The nasty little fucking murderer.’ Alice’s face was flushed, all
traces of her earlier tiredness dissipated by the reality of the image before her.
Rory had captured Brian call me Bri AKA Ben Cameron perfectly. But instead of the slightly ridiculous obsequious expression Gus had seen in his limited interactions with the man, Rory had imbued his sketch with a slyness – a nasty sneering look around the eyes and a mouth twisted in dismissal – more in fitting with a serial killer.
Gus’s voice was cold. ‘Pull it together, Al. This isn’t about you. Deal with that later. Right now this little fucker needs to be brought in. Compo’s sending the troops. I ordered no sirens, but we’re here now. Let’s go get the little bastard – hopefully he’ll be sleeping like a baby and will come easily.’
He turned to Carlton. ‘Prof, I want you in the street, directing the team when they come and then when we bring him in, he’s all yours, OK?’
The adrenalin coursing through him was enough to suppress Gus’s pain receptors as the unlikely trio left the house and crossed the street to the house opposite. The little bastard had been under Gus’s nose all this time and that fact only served to pump Gus up even more. ‘I can smell gas, Al, can you?’
Alice nodded, they both knew this was only to cover their backs for entering the house without a warrant, but it gave them due cause and when they caught Brian call me Bri, nobody would look too closely at their reasons for entering the property. ‘I’ll take the front; you take the back.’
Gus approached the front door. The house was in darkness, but he wanted to gain entry without alerting Cameron. Behind him, Carlton hopped from foot to foot, his head swivelling between observing Gus and peering down the road for signs of the cavalry approaching. Trying the door handle, Gus couldn’t believe his luck when it opened. The momentary frisson of joy was immediately replaced by one of caution. Ben Cameron was too smart to have left his door unlocked accidentally. Which meant either he’d flown the coop or he’d booby trapped the property. Wondering if he was dicing with death, Gus flicked the nearest light switch, jumping backwards almost immediately in case Cameron had rigged it. Feeling foolish when his actions resulted only in the sudden illumination of the hallway, Gus stepped forward as Alice walked in from the kitchen, her face pale – ‘Door was unlocked.’