A taxi with the blue-and-yellow Nixon company logo was parked on the drive. Behind it, the garage doors were closed. Blake drew up outside the house and cut the engine. ‘So if he’s here, are we arresting him?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘Suspicion of murder.’
‘Which one?’ he asked. ‘Terri, April or Freddie?’
‘April to start with,’ she said. ‘Based on the DNA profile of her unborn baby. And Ivo’s testimony.’ She took a deep breath and put her hand on the door handle. ‘I hope Ivo’s OK.’
‘Hang on.’ Blake leaned down and across her to peer through the passenger side window. ‘Is that smoke?’
She followed his line of sight to the base of the garage doors where evil-looking grey smoke was curling slowly out into the cold November air. Another fire. Another arson? She looked back at Blake, who was already calling the emergency services, and then was out of the car and running to the garage. The doors gave slightly as she pushed against them, but they were locked and there was no means to prise them open from the outside. She banged on them with her fists. ‘Is anyone in there?’ She put her ear to the wood, which already felt warm, but could hear nothing apart from the low roar of flames sucking up the air sealed inside.
She ran to the front door of the house, also locked, and rang the bell repeatedly. ‘Police! Open up! Now!’ The bell echoed inside the house but no one responded.
She remembered the passageway running between the side of the garage and the neighbouring fence. It led through to the back garden, where perhaps there was another door to the garage or a back door to the house. She ran towards it, but Blake was there before her. Motioning to her to stay back, he started down it. He had only taken a few steps when there was a boom and a sharp cracking sound from the small side window of the garage. Orange flames and black smoke shot out as the glass panes were burst apart by the heat, the shards missing Blake by inches.
Grace grabbed his arm and pulled him back from the crackling energy of a blaze that was already scorching the fence on the other side of the narrow path. She was suddenly horribly afraid, and held onto him tightly. He covered her hand with his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Stay here. If I keep really low I can get along the path and through to the back garden that way.’
‘No. Wait for the fire service!’
‘Stay here.’ Pressing her hand once more, Blake dropped to his knees and crawled forward. The fire inside the garage, now fed by the new oxygen supply from the shattered window, roared louder than ever.
Grace knew that the correct thing to do was to remain at the front of the house, ready to direct the firefighters once they arrived. For a moment she thought she’d caught the sound of a distant siren, but if she had, it was drowned out by the loud splintering sound of the double door to the garage breaking open. She moved backwards, expecting any moment to see a figure emerge from the black smoke and fumes, but all that escaped was a shimmering belch of super-heated air followed by more red fire.
Anxious that the intense heat would reach the taxi parked in front on the driveway, she moved further back onto the grass-edged pavement, vaguely aware of neighbours coming out to look in horror at what was happening.
Had Ivo been locked inside the garage? If so, he must be dead. They had responded to his call for help as quickly as they could, but had been too late. Was Owen Nixon in there, too, making sure he went out on his own terms, refusing to bow down to any other authority?
She waited helplessly, already grieving for Ivo, and praying that Blake wasn’t being reckless. Finally, she heard the welcome swoop of a siren and within seconds a fire engine turned into the road and drew up outside. Grace ran over to the first crew member who climbed out of the rig. She showed her warrant card and explained what she knew about the situation. By the time she’d finished, the rest of the crew were unspooling hoses and getting down to business.
They were just placing the first hose in position when the front door of Owen’s house swung open and Ivo stumbled out, supporting a woman who clung to him, her face half-hidden in his coat. Grace was amazed to recognise Deborah Shillingford. Grace started forward, but was held back by one of the firemen and had to wait while two of his colleagues went to shepherd Ivo and Deborah down the path, demanding urgently if there was anyone else still inside the house.
‘Where’s Blake?’ she cried to them. ‘Did you see Detective Sergeant Langley?’
Deborah looked back towards the house. Through the door came Blake, holding Owen Nixon firmly by the upper arm. As they came close, Grace could see that Owen’s hands were already cuffed behind his back. Blake grinned at her as he walked past her, leading Owen to their car, where he secured him in the back seat.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘They were in the house. Owen was threatening to set light to a can of petrol.’
‘You were just in time!’
He looked over to where Ivo was helping Deborah to sit down on the low wall which fronted the garden of a house across the road. ‘Saved his life for you.’
She touched his arm. ‘Thank God you’re all safe.’ She looked at Deborah. ‘What on earth is she doing here?’
‘No idea. Let me warn the fire crew that there’s petrol in the house and then we can find out.’
The firefighters were now focused on drenching the garage and the side of Owen’s house with high-pressure jets of water. The flames still appeared unquenchable, and the swirling smoke and flecks of soot, the noise of fire and water and the smell of charring and steam created a frightening scene. The fire crew remained calm and efficient and thanked Blake politely for his information.
Grace skirted round behind the fire engine to where Ivo stood protectively beside Deborah, who sat and stared at the ground in front of her.
‘You got my message, then?’ he asked.
His tone was facetious, but she saw the uncertain appeal in his eyes and smiled. ‘Did you have to make it quite so dramatic?’ she asked.
‘You know me,’ he said with evident relief, ‘anything for a story. I hope someone’s getting some decent snaps, by the way.’
Grace bent down so that she was on a level with Deborah. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Shillingford? Would you like to go to hospital to be checked over?’
‘I’m not hurt.’ Deborah looked up at Ivo. ‘He saved me.’
‘She was waiting on the front step when we got here,’ Ivo explained sheepishly. ‘He’s got a right mouth on him, her father. Really laid into her.’
‘And the fire?’
‘Dad wouldn’t let us out,’ said Deborah. ‘He said all of this was my fault.’
‘Blake says he had another can of petrol,’ said Grace.
Ivo nodded. ‘I tried to keep him talking until the cavalry arrived. Only just in the nick of time, I might say.’
Grace looked over to where smoke and steam billowed out of the blackened ruin. ‘Why the garage?’
Ivo glanced down at Deborah before replying. ‘If half of what Owen said is true, then you’ll find out soon enough.’
68
Grace and Blake didn’t have to wait long before a prison officer escorted Larry into the small room used for official visits and then went to fetch his solicitor. They sat around a metal table and Blake started the recording of the interview.
‘Thank you for seeing us, Mr Nixon,’ said Grace. She was struck by how diminished he looked. As a remand prisoner he was wearing his own clothes – black jeans and a grey woollen sweater – but he certainly no longer resembled the confident businessman who had once been the hero of the Marineland fire. Given what she now knew, Grace had to admit that maybe that night had turned his life around more powerfully than she’d ever imagined.
‘We’re here because I wanted to inform you in person that we will be amending two of the most serious charges against you,’ she told him. ‘Whether we drop them entirely depends on your cooperation.’
‘I don’t understan
d,’ said Larry. He looked at his solicitor for clarification, but received only a small shake of the head.
‘On Saturday we arrested your father, Owen,’ she continued. ‘He’s been charged with arson, and further charges are pending.’
‘I heard about what happened at his house,’ said Larry. ‘He’s OK, is he?’
‘Yes. We now have his fingerprints and DNA profile. His fingerprint matches the one found on the discarded cap of the petrol canister used to set fire to the house of your brother Reece.’
Larry closed his eyes, his whole body tensing up.
Grace gave him a moment or two to absorb the information. ‘What can you tell us about how your father’s fingerprint came to be on that petrol canister?’
Larry licked his dry lips and shook his head, not looking at her.
‘Owen and Reece had been estranged for years,’ she continued, ‘so when might Owen have handled a petrol container stored in Reece’s outbuildings?’
‘What does he say?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Was your father at Reece’s house that night?’
Larry shook his head again, but said nothing.
‘Detective Constable Bromfield, who was with you at the hospital while you were treated for your burn injuries, says that you were terribly upset about your brother’s death, that you blamed yourself for failing to rescue him. Would you agree with that?’
‘I didn’t kill them. He was my brother. He looked out for me when we were kids.’ He held out his arms, showing her the reddened scars on the backs of his hands. ‘I thought I could rescue them.’
‘So you didn’t set the fire?’
‘I already told you I didn’t.’
‘Do you know who did?’
He sucked in his lips and shook his head.
Grace tried another tack. ‘Reece called you that evening. What did he really say to you?’
‘That you’d be coming for me. That you had evidence to prove I killed that girl.’
‘Heather Bowyer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Between speaking to Reece and driving over to his house, you also spoke to your father. What did you say to one another?’
‘You’ll have to ask him.’
‘We already have.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said it was all your idea, so that you wouldn’t have to go to jail for Heather’s murder.’
‘He said I killed Reece?’
‘That’s what he says.’
Larry’s solicitor whispered in his ear, but Larry seemed too lost in his own thoughts to listen.
‘Did you conspire with your father to commit arson and murder?’
‘I didn’t kill them. I tried to rescue them.’
‘Then here’s what I think happened,’ said Grace. ‘I think you drove over to Reece’s house, not because you believed he was going to commit suicide, but because either your father had told you what he planned to do, or you became afraid that he would do something terrible and wanted to prevent it. Does that sound about right?’
Larry stared at her. She was amazed to see his eyes fill with tears, but he said nothing.
‘Tragically, you arrived too late,’ she went on. ‘You tried but were unable to save them, and, to protect your father, agreed to go along with the story he’d concocted.’
Larry nodded reluctantly.
‘He took and destroyed the clothes you’d been wearing.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he suggest rubbing dirt into your burns to confuse the medical examiner?’
‘He did it all to save me. I had to back him up.’
‘He murdered one son to save the other?’
‘I never thought he’d do it to one of us.’
‘On Saturday he threatened to kill your sister, Deborah.’
‘She’s crazy,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to listen to her.’
‘What about your mother?’
Larry put his elbows on the table and leaned his head in his hands. A tear splashed onto the surface and then he laid his head right down, doing his best to cover himself with his hands.
‘What can you tell us about your mother’s death, Larry?’
Larry sat up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘She died of cancer.’
‘She may have died, but not from cancer.’
‘Then I don’t know.’
‘Did your father kill her?’
‘No. Reece said we had to pretend we knew how she died, and about the funeral and everything. He said Dad would kill us if we didn’t. Or we’d be taken into care and never see each other again. I just thought, if I did everything Dad wanted, we’d survive.’
It was almost unbearable to have to ask, but she had to. ‘And what sort of things did he want you to do?’
‘No. No. I was given another chance. Like the phoenix, you know? After I saved those boys from the fire, I told Dad, no more. And he accepted it. After that we kept it straight between us. Father and son, but no more of how it used to be.’ Larry looked directly at her. ‘Until you came along.’
‘Tell me how it used to be.’
‘I can’t.’
‘We believe that he murdered April Irwin. We believe that he may also have harmed other young women who came to help out in the house. Women he had sex with.’
‘No. He helped me start my own business. Made sure people used my cars.’
‘On Saturday your father set fire to the garage attached to his house. The fire investigators and our forensics team are still processing the scene, but if there’s anything to find, we will find it.’
Larry‘s face paled. He looked frightened.
‘What will we find?’
He whispered something, too low for Grace to hear.
‘For the tape, please,’ said Blake.
‘Not Mum,’ he said. ‘Please not Mum. If she is there, then don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. Promise you just won’t ever tell me.’
69
With Blake sitting beside her on the sofa in the living room of her house in Wivenhoe as they watched the late evening news, Grace saw herself emerge from the tent-like structure erected over the entirety of what used to be Owen Nixon’s garage. Dressed in a white forensic suit, complete with hood and face mask, she would be unrecognisable to anyone else. A drone shot revealed barrier screens around the perimeter of the back garden where two smaller forensic tents had also been set up. As the newscaster detailed how this was turning into one of the most significant murder investigations since Fred and Rose West, the footage cut to the Essex Police media conference held that afternoon.
‘Three bodies have so far been retrieved from a former car inspection pit in the garage of 37 Oakville Way, Leigh-on-Sea,’ Superintendent Pitman read precisely from the sheet of paper before him. ‘One is believed to be that of Theresa Elizabeth Nixon, wife of Owen Nixon, the owner of the house. She was last seen in 1982.’
As camera flashes popped in front of Colin’s face, the image reversed to reveal the battery of TV and stills cameras, microphones and scribbling reporters that he faced.
‘The remains of two other individuals found in the garage and another two buried in the garden are those of young women, possibly still in their late teens,’ he continued steadily. ‘Essex Police are working hard to establish their identities. Anyone with information, or anyone who is concerned about a loved one who may have gone missing in the Southend area during the past thirty years, should contact our incident room. At this stage we do not expect to discover any further remains at the property. A seventy-seven-year-old man remains in custody, already charged with two other murders, that of sixteen-year-old April Irwin in 1992 and twenty-five-year-old Freddie Craig last week.’
‘Carolyn told me she saw Colin slip out at lunchtime for a haircut,’ said Blake.
‘He always keeps a clean white shirt in his desk drawer, too,’ said Grace, tucking up her legs and shifting nearer to him. ‘Bu
t that’s OK. At least it shows respect for the families.’
With so little leeway under the rules of sub judice for the media to speculate about Owen, the news segment moved on to the background of the April Irwin case and then to a profile of the young podcaster who had lost his life as a result of his one-man crusade for justice, highlighting the tragic irony of his apparent fascination with fate and destiny.
As the newscaster switched to the latest economic forecasts, Blake put an arm around Grace’s shoulders to pull her closer.
‘My sister Alison would find the idea of us bonding over a mass murderer more than a bit creepy,’ she said, looking up at him.
‘She won’t be the one dealing with the families,’ he said sagely. ‘For each of the bodies we’ve seen taken out of that house there’ll be at least one person whose ordeal of waiting for the truth is finally over.’
‘Even though the truth is so brutal?’
‘I’d still want to know, wouldn’t you?’
She nodded. ‘His angels. Ivo said that’s what he called them. All those years of him driving around in his taxi looking for stray young women to pick up and take home, and no one stopped him.’
‘You did.’ Blake kissed the top of her head.
‘Imagine growing up in that house,’ she said. ‘Almost makes me feel sorry for Larry.’
‘Almost.’
‘And Reece. Imagine what he must really have been feeling when we turned up asking for a DNA sample.’
‘You think he knew the full extent of the horror?’
‘He got away, stayed away, wouldn’t allow Owen anywhere near his family.’
‘So maybe he was relieved to see us.’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘You know Ivo has signed Deborah to an exclusive deal to tell her story after the trial? He says he screwed every penny he could get for her out of the Courier.’
‘Am I supposed to find that endearing?’ he asked.
‘It’ll be more than enough to get her out of Thorpe Bay.’
‘I suppose he did grab the petrol can off Owen when he saw me coming in through the back,’ Blake admitted grudgingly. ‘Might have been a tricky arrest without him.’
Wrong Way Home: Sunday Times Crime Book of the Month Page 30
