by Bill Kitson
The interior of the bank was deceptively spacious, especially for so small a town. The woman ignored the four cashier positions and headed for the reception desk set at right angles to the tills where it formed a barrier to the administration section of the branch.
‘Good morning,’ the receptionist greeted her. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I have an appointment with Mrs Simmons.’
‘What name is it, please?’
‘My name is Da Silva, Francesca Da Silva.’
‘Please take a seat. I’ll get Mrs Simmons for you. I believe she was on the phone a few seconds ago.’
The woman rose from her desk and entered the second office on her right. A minute passed before she emerged, accompanied by a tall, good-looking young woman with blonde curly hair. The receptionist returned to her seat, and the woman approached the visitor and held out her hand. ‘Francesca Da Silva? I’m sorry, I don’t know if it’s Mrs, Miss or Ms.’
The visitor smiled as they shook hands. ‘Just call me Frankie, everyone else does.’
‘Very well, do you have the documents I asked for?’
The visitor took an envelope from her handbag. ‘There’s my driving licence and the receipt you need. I also put the overdue money for the safety deposit box in with them. I’ll need a receipt for that’ – she smiled – ‘for the Inland Revenue, you understand. It’s not all plain sailing, being a tax exile.’
‘Of course, no problem.’ Mrs Simmons studied the paperwork. After a moment she nodded. ‘This all appears to be in order. Would you care to follow me? I’ll get one of the cashiers to process the payment and get your receipt whilst I’m retrieving the box for you.’
She led the visitor into a windowless room which contained nothing apart from a table, two chairs and a telephone. ‘Take a seat; I’ll be back as soon as I can. It’ll take a few minutes, I’m afraid.’
Left on her own, the time dragged. There was nothing to look at but the box key in her hand, four drab walls and a door that remained stubbornly closed. Eventually, however, the door opened and the blonde woman returned carrying the box. The customer’s attention was distracted when she realized someone else had also come into the room. She frowned. This wasn’t right, surely?
‘I’m sorry about this,’ the blonde told her, ‘but my colleague needs to be along, and he has a couple of questions to ask. For security, you understand.’
Her momentary alarm eased, she nodded graciously. ‘Of course.’ Bloody red tape, she thought.
The man smiled encouragingly. ‘Only one question, to be exact,’ he told her, his tone relaxed. ‘I need to know how you managed to get here today. I mean, it must have been difficult, when, to my certain knowledge, the rightful owner of that safety deposit box has been dead over twenty years. That is, of course, if you really are Frankie Da Silva, and you’ve returned from beyond the grave. Because if not, I’d say your real name is Corinna Perry, and you’re under arrest for conspiracy to murder.’
Corinna reached for the pistol in her handbag, but halfway there she felt her wrist gripped firmly. As the handcuff was snapped in place she looked up at the woman. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Mironova, North Yorkshire Police,’ she told Corinna. ‘Seems as if nobody’s who they say they are this morning, doesn’t it?’
‘And the morning’s only just begun,’ the male detective added.
Corinna watched, numb with shock, as the handcuffs were fastened round her other wrist.
‘Right, Clara, you administer the caution. I’ll send the bank security guard to join you while we deal with her partner in crime.’
Corinna’s eyes flew to his face. So they knew about Phil. Then she relaxed; they might be able to get her for trying to steal the contents of the box, but they didn’t know the rest of it. And even if they did, they’d never be able to prove it. The detective paused by the door and looked back. He nodded towards the table. ‘Whatever you do, don’t forget that box and key. The damned thing’s caused enough trouble already.’
Nash walked out of the bank and down the cul-de-sac. Pearce watched him pass, then spoke into his radio. Nash glanced to left and right, made sure the road was clear and crossed. He passed the front of the Porsche and stopped by the driver’s window. The occupant’s first hint of alarm came then, as the man outside gestured for him to lower his window. ‘Are you waiting for a lady who’s inside the bank?’ the man asked.
‘Yes, why?’
‘I’ve been sent to tell you she’s been detained – and so are you.’ As he spoke, the man leaned forward and added, ‘My name’s Detective Inspector Mike Nash. You’re under arrest.’
Too late, Miller saw the ring of armed police officers who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Too late he felt the handcuffs tighten on his wrists.
Nash watched the prisoners loaded into the police cars before turning to Pearce. He handed the DC the keys to the Porsche. ‘Drive that back to the station, and make the most of the experience. On police salaries it’s the closest you’re likely to get, barring a lottery win.’
Once they were back at headquarters, Pearce appeared brandishing a door key. ‘This was in the glove box of the Porsche. Fortunately, it’s got the agent’s address on it. I rang them. Lilac Cottage, Bishops Cross.’
‘Good work, Viv. Tell Clara and get the SOCO team organized. We’ll have a ride out there.’
Their search of the cottage revealed little of interest until Pearce opened the larder door. Nash was reading a brochure from the company who leased the premises. Something about their name, Wilson Dream Holidays, should have rung a bell. He was trying to work out why when his attention was distracted. It was a mistake he would later remember – and regret in years to come.
‘Mike,’ Pearce called out, ‘come and have a look here.’
There was little in the way of food in the larder. Somehow, Nash couldn’t picture Corinna going in much for home cooking. Pearce pointed. Leaning against the wall was a sledgehammer. Nash picked up the weapon and pointed a gloved hand at the head. Pearce saw the stains and a couple of hairs that were stuck to what he guessed was blood. ‘I assume that’s Graham Nattrass’s blood and hair. Otherwise, it could belong to either Thornton or his henchman,’ Nash suggested.
Nash and Mironova left Pearce in charge at the cottage while she drove him back to Netherdale. ‘What now?’ she asked.
‘Now we interview the prisoners.’
‘Put Corinna Perry in one of the interview rooms, please,’ Nash instructed the custody sergeant. He turned to Binns. ‘Whilst we’re talking to her, I want you to set up another camcorder and tape machine in the conference room.’
Nash stared at Corinna as Mironova switched on the recording equipment. He waited, even after Clara had finished delivering the introductory message. Corinna stared back, her look, her body language shouting defiant arrogance louder than any words could achieve. She’ll be a tough nut to crack, Nash thought. He smiled to himself. He enjoyed a challenge.
Eventually, Nash spoke. ‘It must have seemed like the perfect opportunity’ – he paused – ‘to get rid of poor old Max, who’d become such an embarrassing liability; so you could shack up with your lover. What was the problem with Max? I mean, there were a few problems to choose from, weren’t there? Which one made you decide to do away with him? Was it the fact that so many people were after him? The people he swindled, for one thing. And there was Callaghan, and a few more, trying to muscle in on his territory. Or was it more than that? Max no longer any good in the bed department, perhaps? I mean, you’re a handsome, red-blooded woman. I bet you’d take some satisfying. Wasn’t Max up to it anymore? No Viagra or crystal meth in those days. Nothing to give him the stamina you’d need. Or did you simply fancy a bit of fresh meat in your sandwich? I bet that was it. A new lover, a bit of excitement, someone who could do more for you than poor, tired old Max. Was that it, Corinna? Was that why Max had to go?’
Whatever Corinna had been expecting, this line of questioning was a long way fro
m it. Nash was aware of that. Even as he was speaking, he saw her relax, saw the quiet smile. ‘If that’s what you want to think, carry on. It’s all nonsense of course. But even if there had been a grain of truth in your wild accusations, you’d never be able to prove any of it.’
‘But then everything went pear-shaped on you, didn’t it?’ Nash continued as if Corinna hadn’t spoken. ‘First of all Ray and Frankie found out what you were planning; or part of it at least. Then Frankie disappeared. That wouldn’t have mattered, but for the fact that she took Max’s stash of diamonds with her. That must have seemed disastrous.’
Corinna’s smile had vanished; her pose had changed as well. Instead of lounging in the chair perfectly at ease, she was now sitting bolt upright, a frown replacing the smile. Nevertheless, she achieved a shrug. ‘Think what you like, you can’t prove it.’
Nash smiled. ‘I might not have to; you might end up telling me everything. Especially when we throw your more recent crimes into the pot. Let me see, what have we got? Conspiracy to murder, attempted murder, carrying a firearm, obtaining goods by false pretences; that should do for a start. Even if I can’t pin all your crimes on you, Corinna, I’m sure I can get you convicted of enough to keep you inside until you’re an old woman. Yes, I’m confident we can send you both down for a long time.’
Nash signalled to Clara. ‘That’s enough for now. Put her back in a cell and let her stew for a bit.’
Unlike Corinna, Phil Miller didn’t make eye contact with Nash. Not to begin with, at least. ‘We’ve got you in the frame for murder, Phil,’ Nash began. ‘To be accurate: murder, attempted murder, burglary and deception. And that’s just for starters. Tell me something. How long do you reckon it’ll be until Corinna gives you up? Not long, I bet. I mean, she’s not exactly the faithful type, is she?’
Clara was watching Miller closely. She saw that Nash had got the prisoner’s attention. More than that, he’d riled the man. She saw the glitter of rage in Miller’s eyes and smiled approvingly. This was more like it. This was the Mike Nash she knew.
‘Let’s look at the evidence. She ditched Max when he became a millstone. If she’s capable of doing it once, she’s sure to do it again, mark my words. Somebody told me she was devoted to Max. That made me laugh because I knew she’d hopped into your bed as soon as he was out of the way. Or was that before he was killed? Were you already at it? Was that why Max had to be got rid of? Or was it so you could get your hands on his fortune, get control of those precious diamonds and bed the lovely widow into the bargain?
‘OK, so you didn’t achieve all the objectives you’d planned for, but you still didn’t do too badly, did you? Admittedly you missed out on the diamonds, but you still ended up ruling Max’s empire, and renting the sexy widow all these years. I hope it was worth the trouble and effort. I suppose at least you’ll have the memories. I mean, whilst you’re serving a life sentence in a cell with a roommate suffering from BO and halitosis and only you in mind as a playmate. Shut your eyes and you’ll be able to forget that Corinna’s on the outside, having it off with her latest. Because deep down, you know that’s how she is, how it’ll end up, don’t you? Once a slut always a slut, don’t you think? That’s just another worry to add to your list, isn’t it? And we’re the least of them, aren’t we? I think we both know those diamonds are beyond your control forever. And from what I hear, that means some really evil men will be wanting a word with you.’
Miller hadn’t spoken throughout Nash’s tirade. He still didn’t speak, but if looks could kill, Nash would have withered on the spot. Much to Mironova’s astonishment, instead of pressing home his advantage Nash signalled the end of the interview. As the uniformed officer took the prisoner back to the cells, Clara still wasn’t sure what the last three-quarters of an hour had achieved, if anything. Neither prisoner had volunteered any information, nor did they seem likely to. So why was Nash looking so cheerful? Then it dawned on her. Nash was toying with them. He hadn’t revealed one single fact, hadn’t shared any of what they knew. ‘You’re making them suffer,’ she accused him.
Nash smiled. ‘A little bit, maybe. But when you think how much misery and suffering they’ve inflicted, I reckon they’ve earned it.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pearce was waiting for them, talking to Jack Binns; their conversation being listened to with interest by the Netherdale civilian receptionist. ‘SOCO have finished at the cottage. They didn’t find anything more. But the prints will prove they were living there, as well as the bloody great Merc parked round the back.’
‘Good, how about you, Jack? Everything ready?’ Nash gestured towards the first floor.
Binns nodded. ‘The recording equipment’s all set up. I tested it, too, just to be on the safe side. Your visitors arrived earlier. Tom and I got them settled and Tom’s sitting with them.’
Nash smiled. ‘Thanks, Jack. Wait here until I ring down, will you? Then bring the prisoners upstairs. I’ll want you in on the interviews.’
Binns looked surprised. ‘You’re doing them both together? That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? Are you sure you don’t want them separated?’
Nash shook his head. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He turned to Pearce. ‘Viv, will you wait here until my other visitor arrives and bring her up?’
Nash walked slowly, mentally rehearsing what he would say to the prisoners, what he wanted out of them and how he was going to set about getting it. The next hour or so would be critical to their case. Much of their evidence was circumstantial at this stage, but he thought that would be enough.
Clara, who had gone ahead to check the room, saw the expression on Nash’s face as he entered. ‘You’re looking particularly devious,’ she told him. ‘I take it that means that your plans are all starting to come together? The puppet master has arranged the show, and now he’s waiting for the marionettes to dance when he pulls their strings, is that it?’
‘How very eloquently put, Clara. Yes, I suppose it does seem a bit that way, but given what we know about the suspects, I think we need to nail them.’
‘I guess you’re right. By the way, did Viv tell you we got a reply back from California?’
‘No, perhaps he thought you’d already told me.’
‘Well the good news is that the answer is “yes”.’
‘I thought it would be. That makes today’s work even easier.’
He looked round. Binns had not only set up the tape machine and camcorder, but Clara had set out a water jug and glasses, more as if they were expecting visitors than arrested prisoners. Nash smiled approvingly. The scene had been set for the benefit of the camera so there could be no later allegation of mistreatment.
‘Have we missed anything?’ Clara asked.
‘Not a thing. I like the water, that’s a good touch. They can’t complain about water. Whatever you do, though, don’t offer to make them any of your coffee, Clara. We don’t want complaints about police brutality.’
Two minutes later, Pearce entered. ‘She’s here,’ he told Nash. ‘Where do you want me to put her?’
‘We’ll introduce her to the others and they can all wait in the next room.’
Nash signalled Clara to come with him as they followed Pearce. It was almost fifteen minutes later when they returned to the makeshift interview room via a connecting door, leaving Pearce along with Tom Pratt to care for Nash’s guests. Both Nash and Mironova looked subdued after the meeting they had witnessed.
‘Ring Jack and ask him to bring them up from the cells, please, Clara. Let’s get this over and done with,’ Nash said as he left the adjoining door slightly ajar.
As soon as the prisoners were led into the room, Clara switched on the camcorder. When they were seated at the table, Nash asked her to perform the formalities for the tape.
He turned to the woman. ‘You were arrested when you attempted to remove the contents of Frankie Da Silva’s safety deposit box from the bank, using the receipt you obtained from her solicitor, who gave it to y
ou on the strength of the letter of authority stolen from Mrs Margaret Fawcett’s house.’
His gaze switched to Corinna’s partner. ‘Unfortunately for you, we’ve managed to identify remains found near Bishops Cross village as those of Frankie Da Silva. I must tell you that in addition to her death, we are also investigating the murder of Graham Nattrass. Given the savagery of the blows that killed him, and the strength required to subdue him, even after he’d been sedated, we reckon Corinna couldn’t have done it. Which leads us directly to you. Apart from Nattrass’s murder, we are also investigating two other attacks. Plus, the murders of two men found in a burnt-out car, one of whom we believe to have been an acquaintance of yours by the name of Trevor Thornton. The Met have also reopened the inquiry into the earlier murder of Tony Callaghan, known as Dirty Harry. Other charges relating to further matters under investigation might also be forthcoming.’
Miller had remained impassive until that moment, but at the mention of Callaghan’s name he looked up. Shock drained a little of the colour from his suntanned complexion. ‘I’m not saying anything,’ he muttered in a low tone. ‘You can’t prove anything. You’ve no evidence.’
‘Actually, we have. We’ve searched your cottage.’
‘Don’t say a word, Phil.’ Corinna spoke for the first time.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of saying anything. This lot can’t prove a thing, despite all their bluster.’
Nash walked across to the open door and spoke. ‘Have you heard enough? Would you care to join our little party?’ he asked.
Everyone turned to look as Tom Pratt emerged from the adjacent room, pushing a wheelchair. Seated in the chair was a frail-looking man. Alongside it was Sister Evangeline. As he closed the door Nash announced for the tape. ‘Civilian Support Officer Pratt has just entered the room, accompanied by Mrs Evangeline Perry – and Mr Raymond Perry.’
Both Evangeline and her son looked as if they had been crying. Hardly surprising in the circumstances, Clara thought, and wondered how many more tears would be shed before the day was out.
