BLOOD DIAMOND an absolutely addictive crime thriller with a huge twist (Detective Mike Nash Thriller Book 7)

by Bill Kitson

  ‘Any suspicious characters around?’ Nash asked.

  The officer smiled. ‘Not since Sergeant Binns left.’

  ‘OK, but keep your guard up. Miss Silver won’t be staying here tonight; we’re not sure if she, or something else within the house, was the target, so they may be back for another go.’

  When Nash entered the house, Tina was surveying the debris in the kitchen. ‘I’ll have to tidy this lot up. It shouldn’t take long,’ she said. ‘If you want I’ll make you a drink while you wait and I’m getting my stuff. Would you prefer tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee for me, every time.’

  Nash was staring at the wreckage of the microwave. Tina followed his gaze. ‘I don’t know how Mother’s going to explain the damage to the insurance company if she wants to make a claim.’

  ‘It would certainly make interesting reading,’ Nash agreed.

  She lifted the dustpan and brush from the cupboard alongside the range, which Nash saw with interest was actually a cellar head. ‘Why don’t I sweep up, and you can be making a start on your packing.’

  ‘How do you like it?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Nash wasn’t concentrating.

  ‘Your coffee, how do you take it?’

  The smile on Tina’s lips showed she was well aware of the double entendre.

  ‘Oh, white with one sugar, please. I’ve got the worst of the mess up now; where shall I tip it?’

  She pointed to the cellar head. ‘There’s a swing bin behind the door. You’ve done a good job. I can see you’re handy around the house. I expect your wife likes the help.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not married.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘That comes of having to tidy up after an energetic eight-year-old boy.’

  ‘You have a son? I thought you said you aren’t married. Divorced then?’

  Nash shook his head. ‘Daniel’s mother died three years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

  She turned away and headed for the stairs. If Nash had been able to see her face, it would have shown no trace of regret. Satisfaction, more like.

  During their return journey, Nash asked Tina about her work. ‘You said you’d been in America for a couple of years. What was it you were doing there? Something interesting?’

  ‘The work was very interesting. The most frustrating part was that due to the nature of the job and identity of the clients, I wasn’t allowed to talk about it; still can’t, for that matter.’

  ‘That must make it difficult at parties.’

  Tina laughed. ‘If I tell people I’m a computer software designer, I see their eyes glaze over and then they change the subject. I think that’s because they don’t wish to expose their ignorance.’

  ‘Why, I wonder? I’ve watched pathologists and forensic scientists at work many times and I’m not afraid to admit that I understand very little of what they do. Actually,’ Nash added, ‘on reflection, I don’t want to know much about what pathologists get up to. Attending post-mortems is bad enough. However, I also use computers both at home and at work, but I still don’t know very much about them. If I ask the right questions or press the right keys I get the answer I want; that’s all I need.’

  ‘That puts you on a par with almost all other computer users.’

  ‘Is your return to England temporary? Are you on holiday, or will you be staying here for a while?’

  ‘The project I was working on in America is complete. All that’s needed from here on in are some regular updates. I’m hoping that those can be done remotely, although our clients aren’t too keen on that for security reasons. Some of their systems got hacked before we came on board and it’s left them feeling very touchy. Anyway, my transatlantic voyages are over for the time being. I was hoping for a nice break when I got back but my boss had other ideas. The company has gained another contract, even bigger than the one I was working on in America, and my boss put me in charge of a team to design a program for a big banking group. When I say he put me in charge, I mean that he told me to pick out the team members I wanted and start recruiting. As soon as they’re on board we can start work. Or rather, they can. I’ve already started. No rest for the wicked, isn’t that the expression? Well, I must be really, really wicked.’

  As she spoke, Tina crossed her legs, causing the hem of her skirt to ride up. Nash was concentrating on the road, but the movement in his peripheral vision didn’t go unnoticed. Nor did the sight of her long, shapely legs go unappreciated.

  When Nash returned to the CID suite Mironova and Pearce were waiting. ‘I asked Viv to do some research,’ Clara explained as soon as Nash entered the room. ‘I think you’ll find the result very interesting.

  Pearce handed him a sheet of paper. ‘Clara asked me to find out all I could about this Phil Miller bloke. But I came across this piece. It stood out because of the mention of diamonds.’

  Nash read the item, which was taken from an entry in a South African newspaper. He looked across at Mironova. ‘That tallies with your wild theory,’ she pointed out, ‘even the dates are right.’

  ‘Yes, I agree. I think we ought to have another word with our Californian anaesthetist friend and see how good his memory is.’

  Frustratingly, when they attempted to contact the anaesthetist, they were told that he was on leave, and wouldn’t be available for another couple of days. Nash felt that the investigation had been put on hold. ‘I almost want something to happen, simply to move things along,’ he told Mironova. ‘However, before you say anything, I am aware of the danger in wishing anything of the sort, because it usually results in far too much action for us to cope with.’

  ‘We might be in with a chance of making progress once Margaret Fawcett returns,’ Clara suggested, ‘and it isn’t as if that doctor’s gone surfing or whatever they do in California for very long.’

  Mironova had a wild theory of her own, and it was about the cause of Nash’s unease. She’d known him long enough to be aware that being in the vicinity of a lovely young woman such as Tina Silver would often make him restless.

  ‘I had a message from London; things are getting desperate.’

  Corinna looked at Phil, then glanced down at his mobile. ‘Go on, tell me the worst,’ she said.

  ‘We have until the end of the month. After that, it’s curtains; they take the lot. Even the stuff we thought was safe. They’ve found out where we’ve stashed everything. Even some of the loans have been bought up.’

  ‘Shit! How could you have landed us in this mess? All through your greed, and because you thought you were getting a better deal than others.’

  ‘Hang on; I don’t remember hearing you object when the money was rolling in. I don’t recall any mention of greed, or the risk involved then.’

  ‘No, but we should have known it was too good to be true, too good to last. And now we’re stuck up here, next door to being skint, bailiffs about to hammer on the door and still no closer to finding the diamonds. What the hell are we going to do?’

  ‘I’ve been doing some thinking and I’ve come up with a plan.’

  ‘Another one! Go on then, tell me. Let’s hope it works this time.’

  ‘We’re going back to that cottage tonight, and we’re going to get inside. We’re going to search the place from top to bottom, and nobody is going to stop us, nobody is going to get in our way.’

  ‘Oh yes? And how do you intend to achieve that little miracle? Don’t tell me, let me guess. We’re going to disguise ourselves as Santa Claus, hire a team of flying reindeer and drop down the chimney; is that it?’

  ‘No, not quite,’ he said, calmly. ‘I think we’ll be able to achieve what we want without going to quite such extremes.’ He explained what he had in mind.

  Corinna thought the plan over for a few moments, before conceding, reluctantly, that it might work. ‘That’s all very well,’ she pointed out, ‘that’ll get us inside the house, but how do we go about getting out again?’

  ‘I’ve had
an idea about that as well.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  For many people, working from a hotel bedroom would have been a struggle, but Tina was well used to it. Her main difficulty was the distraction caused by recent events. The upheaval of the previous night and the sparse information Mike Nash had felt able to give her that morning, were responsible for her lack of concentration.

  She cleared her mind with a conscious effort that was almost physical, and began work on the project. Once she got started, Tina became so wrapped up in the task that she failed to notice the passage of time, and it was only when she reached the end of a long and particularly difficult piece of technical writing that she became aware of two matters requiring her urgent attention.

  The first of these was hunger, and with it the realization that it had almost reached the time when the hotel dining room would close. Tina emailed the piece to her boss for him to look over and approve, then switched off her laptop. She stood up and stretched, remembering that one of the files she needed to continue her work had been left at the cottage.

  As she went down the broad staircase to the ground floor and headed for the dining room, she smiled ruefully. Mike had assured her the cottage was being well protected, so it would be a simple matter for her to drive out to Kirk Bolton once she had eaten and collect the file without putting herself in the slightest danger. That settled, all she had to do was pick something palatable from the menu.

  ‘Let me get this straight. Your idea is to start a fire at the village hall. Then you hope this will bring the coppers to investigate, or help, and whilst they’re away, you’ll nip into the cottage and begin searching for the diamonds or something that will show us where they are.’

  ‘Right so far.’

  ‘Meanwhile, I wait until you call me, and then start another diversion if the coppers have gone back to guarding the house, right?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘And in order to do that, you want me to make an attempt to break into the big house at the end of the village green, next door to the vicarage, thereby triggering the burglar alarm and getting the coppers away from the cottage again.’

  ‘Correct. The coppers will have to go and investigate a burglar alarm going off. It’s what we pay our taxes for. If by any chance they don’t move immediately, start smashing a few windows. That’ll fetch them running.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but what if the house-owner wakes up and comes outside blazing away with a shotgun? The locals seem very trigger-happy round here.’

  ‘That’s highly unlikely. Not unless he’s got extremely good eyesight. The bloke who owns that house has gone to Italy to collect some sort of award or other at an international congress of genealogy.’

  ‘I’m intrigued to know how you found that out.’

  ‘I read it in the local rag. It was the name of the village that attracted my attention. I had nothing else to read at the time.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one of the benefits of total boredom.’

  The village hall served as a focal point for activities, not only for the villagers of Kirk Bolton, but for the inhabitants of several other small villages, hamlets and farmsteads that clustered around the upper end of the dale. During the week, the hall was used on a daily basis by a pre-school playgroup, and in the evenings, activities as diverse as the WI, the local Scout troop, keep fit classes, Pilates and line dancing took place.

  Except on rare occasions, the place had usually been vacated by ten o’clock at the latest, and before eleven it was deserted, in darkness. ‘How do you plan to do this?’ Corinna asked.

  ‘Simple enough; I’ve a petrol can in the boot of the car. The building’s made of timber, it’ll go up dead easy, especially after the weather we’ve had. I’m going to start the fire round the back, away from sight of the village; that way it’ll get a good hold before any busybodies come along and put it out.’

  ‘What if no one notices?’

  ‘Then you’ll have to ring 999 from that phone box over there.’ He pointed to an old red box along the street. ‘Once the coppers hear the sirens they’ll be bound to go take a look – they’re nosey enough. Besides which, I guess they’ll get a message about the fire. I think all those radios they wear are linked.’

  Phil looked round, inspecting the houses that encircled the village green. Except for one or two, they were in darkness. ‘You might have to do that anyway; it looks as if they all bugger off to bed as soon as it gets dark. Mind you,’ he sniffed, ‘there’s nothing else to do round here.’

  ‘That bloke with the cannon last night was still up.’

  ‘I reckon he might have been a poacher. Anyway, with luck he’ll not be around.’

  It was a warm night, and the front of the vicarage had been in full sunlight all afternoon and evening until sunset. Before retiring for the evening, the vicar had asked his wife if it would be in order for him to open their bedroom window a little.

  ‘Of course, dear. To be honest, I don’t think I could sleep otherwise. Even with the summer-weight duvet, it’s stifling in here.’

  ‘It is rather,’ he agreed. ‘But I was concerned that the pollen would affect you. I don’t want to spark a hay fever attack.’

  ‘I don’t think it will. It seems to have passed for this season, thank goodness.’

  They had been asleep for less than an hour when her coughing woke him. At first, he thought she had been over-optimistic about her hay fever, but then he caught the faint smell of smoke. The thought that the vicarage might be on fire alarmed him enough to complete the waking process, and he thrust the duvet back. As he stood up, his altered position allowed him to see through the gap in the curtains he had left to allow cool air into the room. It was then that he saw the orange glow. The orange glow that should definitely not have been there. The orange glow that told him it was not the vicarage that was on fire. He moved swiftly to the window and peered out. One look was sufficient to confirm what he feared.

  ‘Wake up, dear. The village hall is on fire!’

  The vicarage didn’t run to such luxuries as extensions for the phone, so he had to put his dressing gown and slippers on and was going out of the bedroom door before his wife was fully awake. She was still wondering whether she had been dreaming, or whether her husband had actually said something about a fire, until she sat up. Then she, too, saw the glow.

  Phil and Corinna had driven to the far end of the village, well away from the fire, to await events. They could see the police car stationed outside the cottage. By driving slowly along the narrow lane that circled the village green, they had been able to approach without being observed. Having to drive without lights, even on so deserted a road, had been part of the reason they had taken it slowly. The other benefit was that as the car engine was little more than idling it could not be heard more than a few yards away.

  By using their mirrors, they were able to see the glow as the fire became more intense. They had an anxious wait, as the minutes ticked by without any sign that their diversionary tactic had worked. Corinna placed her hand on Phil’s arm. ‘Listen.’

  Through the open window, they could hear the sound of a distant siren. ‘I hope that isn’t an ambulance going to attend to a short-sighted farmer who’s tried to milk a bull,’ Corinna stated.

  ‘I don’t think they do milking this late at night.’

  ‘If you’ve learned things like that, I reckon you’ve been in the countryside far too long.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Hopefully it won’t be for much longer.’

  The sirens were much clearer now, signalling the approach of more than one emergency vehicle. ‘I reckon things will start to happen soon. I can see blue lights behind us now,’ Corinna told him, ‘and look!’ She pointed across the village pond to where the police car was parked. ‘They’re on the move.’

  Tina was still seated in the dining room and was about to set off for the cottage when her mobile rang. She glanced at the screen, at first reluctant to answer the call, but it
was from her boss, and she knew he wouldn’t cease until she answered it. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she told him. ‘Go home and spend the evening with your wife and kids like any normal human being.’

  ‘I am at home. I’ve been looking through that stuff you sent through and I’ve a couple of quick questions for you.’

  The quick questions turned into an interrogation that lasted almost an hour, by which time the waiters had cleared Tina’s table and switched off all but one of the lights. Eventually, even her boss ran out of things to ask, and Tina ended the call with a sigh of relief. It was gone eleven o’clock when she was finally ready to set off for Kirk Bolton.

  Since her return, Tina hadn’t yet enjoyed a decent night’s sleep. Getting used to her own bed again hadn’t been easy, and last night’s disturbance at the cottage had ruined any chance of rest. These factors, combined with the jet lag involved in adjusting to life in a different time zone, converged suddenly to leave Tina feeling unutterably weary. Approaching Kirk Bolton, she found it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open, let alone concentrate on the road ahead. More than once, as her eyelids drooped, the car wandered across the white line into forbidden territory.

  She adjusted quickly and opened the windows to breathe in some fresh air. A mile or so from the village, the road diverged. Although both routes led to Kirk Bolton, the left fork took the driver on towards Bishops Cross. The right fork only went to one end of the village, before winding round past the duck pond and the village green, to rejoin its counterpart near the village hall.

  The right fork was by far the more direct route to her mother’s cottage, and Tina followed it out of habit. In so doing, she failed to see the dramatic events unfolding at the village hall.