ALONE WITH A KILLER an absolutely addictive crime thriller with a huge twist (Detective Mike Nash Thriller Book 6)

by BILL KITSON

  ‘Let me see,’ Dawson insisted.

  Nash held it up, his eyes fixed on the accountant’s face as the man stared at the image of his wife, bound hand and foot, stark naked, on an improvised altar. The background was woodland, and the photo taken to give no view of the terrain beyond the immediate vicinity of the woman’s body. She was obviously alive at that point − the look of terror on her face showed that − her expression also demonstrated that she knew exactly what was about to happen to her. If there was anything other than surprise on Dawson’s face, Nash couldn’t detect it.

  The second image reinforced the Cremator’s intentions; he was on the point of dousing his victim with petrol. Nash showed it to Dawson without comment. At last, there was a reaction, albeit a small one, from the victim’s husband. He recoiled slightly, and muttered, ‘I don’t believe this. It’s all wrong.’

  The final photo was by far the worst. The flames licking round the body were horribly graphic. The shimmering air that distorted the camera’s focus was a clear indication of the intense heat. There was no doubt in Nash’s mind that Vanda Dawson had perished, and little doubt that the poor woman had died in the most dreadful agony.

  He looked round at Mironova. She was pale and looked as if she was about to be sick. He turned back and with the utmost reluctance held the photo up for Dawson to see. Once again, the accountant shook his head in plain denial of what was too graphically obvious to the detectives.

  ‘No,’ Dawson said after a moment. ‘No, this isn’t right. I don’t believe this, any of it.’

  Nash knew such rejection of the most terrible news was not uncommon, but there seemed more than that in Dawson’s attitude. Despite his obvious shock, the man had his emotions well under control. ‘Mr Nash, you will find out who did this, won’t you? You will find out who is behind this sick practical joke. And find out what has really happened to my wife. I will leave it to you. Please inform me when you have something definite to report.’

  To Nash’s complete astonishment, Dawson turned as if to re-enter the cottage. Nash detained him with a hand on his arm. He pleaded with Dawson to allow him to call for a family liaison officer to come and stay with him, but in vain.

  ‘I just want to be left in peace, can’t you understand that,’ was the nearest Nash got to eliciting some emotion from him.

  The detectives walked back to their cars, both deep in thought. Nash placed the envelope and photos in an evidence bag. ‘I want you to send Viv straight to Netherdale to deliver these. Whilst he’s waiting he can tell Jackie what’s happened.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘One of the hardest jobs I’ve ever had to do,’ Nash said grimly. ‘I thought telling Dawson was going to be bad, but he’s so cold it didn’t seem real. However, I must tell Dr Grey what’s happened to her sister.’

  Clara’s reaction surprised him. ‘Why don’t I speak to her? It would come better from a woman. Remember, I spoke to her last night and she does seem to react well to me.’

  ‘Would you? You might think this is cowardice, and I’m sure she will, but I think that’s a good idea. I’m going to get in my car and drive out towards Wintersett. I need to think through everything that’s happened without interruption. I’ll be back in Helmsdale around lunchtime.’

  While they were discussing what had taken place, they were unaware that Dawson was watching them from within the house. All trace of emotion had vanished from his face. The evidence they had shown him seemed to point to his wife being a victim, either of the Cremator or an acolyte. The belief held by the police that the notorious sadist might be responsible for what had happened to her had caused a momentary flicker of reaction in the accountant’s eyes, but what emotion it was, even the keenest observer wouldn’t have been able to guess.

  It appeared that he was now alone. That Vanda would not be returning. And that the local police would be searching high and low for the Cremator. Surely, this was the worst possible time to carry out the plan he had in mind. Or was it? He watched the cars leaving; then began making his preparations, with meticulous attention to detail. Now, an observer would have been able to detect some form of emotion. A kind of repressed excitement. Making sense of what it signalled would have been far more difficult.

  On the journey back to Helmsdale, Mironova tried contacting Pearce, who was on the phone chasing up Dawson’s alibi. Viv rang back to tell her the officer who’d investigated Dawson’s alibi would be on duty later that day, and his report would be forthcoming then. ‘It hardly seems relevant now,’ she told him, explaining what they’d discovered at Mill Cottage.

  The watcher was about to call Tony to report on yet another police visit to Dawson’s cottage when his eye caught a movement in the woodland at the other side of the stream. He trained his binoculars on the area, expecting to see a pheasant, perhaps, or, if he was really lucky, a deer. He searched for some time, moving the glasses and adjusting the focus for longer distance before he identified the figure of a man. He fine-tuned the focus, and as the object of his attention became clear, the watcher raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Well, well, well,’ he muttered. ‘What’s this about, then?’

  He waited a few minutes more, until he was sure what the man’s motives were. When there was no doubt in his mind that he too was watching the cottage and its occupant, he pulled his mobile from his pocket.

  ‘Tony? Sorry to drag you from your pit.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you didn’t. What’s the score?’

  ‘I thought you might be interested to know that there’s been quite a lot of early morning activity here. First off, CID landed. After they’d been here a few minutes, the milkman arrived. He was a bit longer than usual, that was because Nash looked to be asking him a load of questions. After he left, Dawson came out and had a word with them. He didn’t seem at all pleased to find them camped on his doorstep.’

  ‘I wonder why not? And I wonder why Nash would be questioning the milkman? Is that the size of it, then?’

  ‘Oh, no, I’ve only just got started: Dawson went back indoors and they waited outside until the postie arrived. As soon as he saw the van, Nash scuttled towards him. It turns out Nash was interested in one envelope. He took charge of it and examined what looked like some photos. Dawson came out. Nash showed him the photos as well. Dawson didn’t seem upset by them, but the woman cop, turned distinctly green. I thought she was going to throw up. Anyway, after a bit more chat, Nash and Mironova went back to his car, but get this, before they got in, Nash stuffed the envelope and doings into an evidence bag. No idea what it’s about, but it didn’t look good from our point of view.’

  ‘I take your point. I’m going to have to think about this and decide what we should do.’

  ‘Hang on, Tony, I haven’t finished yet. I was just about to ring you to tell you all this, when I noticed something else. There’s another bloke watching the house.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know; I didn’t believe it myself. Not for a few minutes. I thought it might have been someone doing a bit of poaching, or something like that, but he’s definitely watching the place. Got himself a good vantage point as well, for an amateur.’

  ‘How do you mean, “for an amateur”? Who do you think he is? Another of Nash’s lot?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not unless one of them is moonlighting as a milkman.’

  ‘A milkman?’

  ‘Yes, the guy who delivered the milk has come back, installed himself on the far bank of the stream and is watching the house. Probably been there since he dropped the pint off. I was concentrating on the action at the house and damn near missed him. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing for the moment, just keep watching. I’ll have to sort out a team to go in and do what’s necessary.’

  Tony replaced the receiver and looked across at Jerry. ‘The time has come for us to pull out,’ he told his second in command. ‘Get the lads busy. I want all the premises stripped and cleaned by tonight. Only your window
display must remain. That has to look normal. Once the shop’s been emptied, I want you to clear Dawson’s offices out. I want nothing left that could possibly be traced back to us.’

  ‘Everything?’

  Tony nodded. ‘Everything, down to the last paper clip. Tell the lads to go round all the surfaces in their shops using medicated wet wipes: that should fetch all the fingerprints off. Not that anyone has a record, but it’s better to play safe. We’ll all meet up later today for a final briefing.’

  ‘Nick said to tell you the new accounts have been activated and tested.’

  ‘Good, that means Dawson’s now a disposable asset. Tell Nick to start the transfer process. Once we’ve hit our targets we’ll assume the new identities we’ve got set up. As far as anyone trying to find out what’s happened is concerned, we’ll have vanished as if we never existed.’ He paused and smiled. ‘Which of course is true.’

  Nash parked the Range Rover on the north side of Wintersett village. Through the driver’s open window, he could hear the distant bleating of sheep. Lambing season was in full swing, but although the sound registered, his thoughts were elsewhere. Throughout his career, Nash had always had the rare ability to put himself in the place of the criminal. By doing that he could visualize how the crimes were committed. This in turn often led him straight to the identity of the perpetrator. If not, it showed him the route his investigation should take.

  The problem was that Nash was unable to get even a hint of how the abduction had taken place, or of what the kidnapper was thinking. Despite Clara’s conviction that the disappearance of Vanda Dawson was the work of the Cremator or a copycat, Nash was becoming more and more convinced this was not so. That puzzled him, but he was aware that there were a whole series of anomalies connected with the abduction.

  He remained motionless in the driving seat of his car, staring at the harsh beauty of Black Fell and the bare, leafless woodland that covered the lower slopes of the hillside. He stared at the scene, but took in little detail as he tried to make sense of what few facts they had.

  Remembering the files they had read, Nash listed the differences between this current case and the first that had been reported; comparing it to other known Cremator incidents. There was still doubt as to whether the first unfortunate woman had fallen prey to that sadistic monster, or whether it was a lone incident, from which the Cremator gained inspiration. That first victim had been younger than the others, and there was no evidence to suggest that she had been married. And, whereas all the other victims had been reported missing soon after they vanished, nobody had come forward to question her disappearance. More than that, despite huge publicity and the passage of time, she had still not been identified.

  There were other differences too in the case of the first victim. There’d been no sending of photographs to the victims’ partner, nor the gruesome addition of the sawn-up wedding ring. That all suggested the woman was single and unattached − unlike the others. From thereon, the killer had maintained a pattern − until this latest incident, which itself had failed to match the others. Despite his best efforts, Nash couldn’t come up with any solid reason for this. Like so many aspects of the case, it simply didn’t make sense.

  Nash turned his attention to consideration of the security van hijacking, and how they might be able to identify those responsible. There was a way, or there might be. As he started the car and swung back on to the road for Helmsdale, Nash felt marginally less depressed than he had since the abduction photos arrived.

  The first thing Nash did on reaching Helmsdale was to find Tom Pratt. ‘Tom, I’ve a bit of work for you,’ Nash began, ‘quite a lot in fact. Here’s what we need to look at.’

  He’d just finished giving Pratt the details when Mironova walked in. Nash glanced up, she looked subdued, no doubt as a result of the meeting with Dr Grey. There were few worse jobs than having to break bad news to relatives. He wondered briefly if they’d been precipitate. Should they have waited until they recovered the body before revealing details to either the missing woman’s husband or her sister?

  ‘I don’t think I need to ask how it went.’

  Clara shook her head. ‘She was in a terrible state, even before I broke the news. As I was doing it I had this awful thought. What if one day there’s a knock on my door and someone stands there telling me about David?’

  ‘His service time is nearly up, isn’t it?’

  ‘On paper, yes, but the lot he’s with don’t operate by normal rules. Mike, I don’t think I could stand it if that happened.’

  ‘Well, it hasn’t happened. What you must do is tell David how you feel. It might affect decisions he makes about his career.’ Nash smiled. ‘In the past, he’s only had to think of himself. A bit like me, I suppose. Maybe now that I’ve got Daniel to think about, I’m looking at things differently.’

  ‘I’ll tell him tonight.’

  ‘We need to move. Jerry has passed on my instructions, I hope you’ve all managed to comply. As for our friend, Dawson, I’m not going to take any chances. We need to take him out before he can drop us in it. He’s already been interviewed by the police twice. I’m not prepared to wait for a third. I want him dealing with. Speaking of the police brings me to a second problem. My instructions are that Nash represents an even bigger threat than Dawson and, therefore, he’s also to be disposed of. That will be down to me. I think I can dream up something spectacular, and what’s more, something we can use to our advantage. What I need to know is how we’re progressing? When do you think we’ll be ready to go ahead?’

  ‘We could go now,’ Jerry assured him. ‘Although we might need a bit of a distraction.’

  Tony smiled, ‘I think I can provide one. Let me tell you what I have in mind. We’ll start with Nash.’

  ‘How are you planning to do it?’

  Tony explained, adding, ‘It won’t seem suspicious until it’s too late. Too late for Nash, certainly.’

  ‘How much time will you need?’

  ‘A couple of hours should be ample. Then I’ll have to wait there until I know Nash is on his way home.’

  Jerry frowned. ‘Why do you need to know that?’

  As Tony explained, Jerry gasped. ‘That’s brilliant. Where did you learn that?’

  ‘The basic idea came from something I saw in Bosnia. I simply added the refinement.’

  ‘Well, we’re all set to go. When do you want us to do it?’

  ‘As soon as I can arrange the diversion. I’ve been watching Nash. The problem is his movements are unpredictable.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve to wait for him to go out before you can set it up.’

  ‘That’s right, but from what I’ve seen so far, I could be waiting a while.’

  Their conversation was interrupted when Tony’s mobile rang. ‘Our man watching Dawson,’ he told Jerry. Tony listened. ‘You’ve lost him? Where?’ He waited, then said, ‘If he went in that direction, he obviously isn’t going to the police. Go back to his place and pray he returns.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  With Jack Binns at Netherdale, Helmsdale police station reception desk was manned by a young constable not long out of training college. He glanced up as the phone rang, glad to switch his attention from the pensioner he’d been dealing with. He knew the procedure for dealing with the call, although as yet the steps hadn’t become a reflex. He had to log the time and duration of every call manually, plus noting the incoming number and establishing the caller’s identity. Helmsdale was one of the few stations that, as yet, hadn’t been supplied with a computer to assist in his task.

  As he recited his opening message, the constable scribbled the number shown on the phone’s display on the telephone log sheet and pressed the record button on the phone so there would be a permanent record. ‘North Yorkshire police, Helmsdale station, how can I help you?’

  The signal on the mobile was poor; the caller must be in a bad reception area the constable thought as he struggled to interpret what the man was saying.
Within the first couple of phrases, his attention was total; his biro scribbling furiously as he noted down the details.

  ‘Can I have your name, sir?’

  The request was refused, but the explanation sounded reasonable even if the constable disapproved of the reason. Certainly, it was plausible enough for him not to press the caller on the identity issue. But then the constable was extremely inexperienced. He put the phone down and tore the message off the pad. Ignoring the renewed demands of the pensioner standing in front of the desk, who seemed aggrieved that his complaint about his neighbour’s cat fouling his flowerbeds wasn’t receiving the attention he believed it merited; the constable headed straight for the stairs leading to the CID suite.

  The trio of detectives listened in horror to the young officer’s words. No matter how much they might have expected it, the news that confirmed their worst fears was no less shocking. They watched the constable depart, their silence a mixture of sorrow and stirring anger. Nash glanced out of the window. The short winter afternoon was already drawing to a close. ‘We’d better get out there straightaway. Even if we get lucky, we’ll not be able to do much more than identify the site today.’

  ‘Can’t we organize some men to search the area?’

  Nash considered Viv’s question. ‘The final decision on that isn’t down to me. Only Jackie has the authority to pull enough men in to search that sort of terrain. The other problem with doing that is we risk contaminating the evidence if half a dozen brawny coppers go trampling around the site of the body. Forensics wouldn’t be happy, and they’d let us know about it. We’ll get off and hope for the best. You two go ahead. I’ll meet you there. I’d better warn Jackie what’s happened.’

  ‘Where shall we meet?’

  ‘Park up in that old workings, Lady Luck Quarry. That’s the car park all the hikers and ramblers use. If this couple were taking a romantic stroll, I reckon the body will have to be within striking distance of that car park.’