by BILL KITSON
As Clara and Viv headed for the door, Nash went to pick up his phone, but was forestalled when it rang. ‘Mike? It’s Tom. I’ve been checking those names like you asked me to.’
‘The tradesmen who call at Mill Cottage regularly?’
‘That’s right. I thought it was going to be a dead end, but then I spotted something familiar and checked our files. There’s a name on one of them, and it’s far too strong a connection to be coincidence, I reckon.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Chris Willis.’
‘Remind me.’
‘Works for Good Buys, does their delivery service. Did two years for assault: on his wife.’
‘Now that is interesting. See if you can turn anything else up, will you?’
‘I already have, wait until you hear this.’
It was fifteen minutes later before Nash started out for Black Fell. He’d intended setting off earlier, but his talk with Tom Pratt had detained him, after which he had spoken to Jackie Fleming. As he drove, Nash reflected that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so wrong. He’d been wrong to suggest this wasn’t a Cremator crime. Wrong to believe that no crime had been committed, or that Vanda Dawson might have contrived her disappearance. Why would any woman conspire at her own murder? Worst of all, he’d been wrong in his assessment of one of the men he’d met, a man who now seemed likely to be the worst serial killer in Nash’s memory.
By the time he reached the car park at Lady Luck Quarry, dusk was a recent memory and Black Fell was living up to its name. Clara had left a visiting card tucked under her wiper blade. On it, she had drawn an arrow. Nash smiled faintly and followed the direction indicated.
The path was overgrown with brambles and bracken. There were few ramblers at this time of year to combat the overgrowth and maintenance of such footpaths was a haphazard affair at best. It would have been a tricky walk even in broad daylight. With the night blackened further by the surrounding trees and only the beam from his Maglite to help him, Nash found it slow going
Eventually, he caught up with Mironova and Pearce. Without his noticing it, the path had been rising gradually. The reason he had gained on the other two was that they had stopped. As he joined them, Nash looked round and saw the reason why. The rising path had brought them clear of the woods on to the bare, steep side of Black Fell. Either they hadn’t been able to spot the site of the body due to the density of the undergrowth, or the call had been a hoax. Nash remembered the young constable’s words. ‘The caller said the body is in the woods, near the path up Black Fell. It looks like someone’s set fire to it.’
‘We’ve missed it.’ Clara voiced all their thoughts.
‘Yes, and the chances are, if we miss it again going back the other way we’ll not find it until daylight. Either the body’s farther from the path than that caller suggested, or he was having us on.’
‘Why would he do that?’
Nash shrugged. ‘Why does anyone make false alarm calls? The news that Mrs Dawson is missing has been on the news and in the papers. That sort of headline attracts all sorts of cranks. We’ll have to leave it until morning. We’ve something more urgent to contend with.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I asked Tom to check on all regular visitors to the Dawson house. As a result of what he discovered, I think we’ve identified the Cremator.’
‘How? Who is it?’ Clara and Viv’s questions clashed.
‘One of them used to live in a small village only two miles from Covermere.’
‘Covermere?’ Clara asked. ‘Isn’t that where the first of the Cremator’s victims was found, the one who’s never been identified?’
‘That’s correct, and the victim’s body was discovered less than a mile from the house occupied at the time by Lindsay McKenzie. Lindsay McKenzie, who now delivers milk to Mill Cottage every day. And who, by his own admission, was the last person to see Mrs Dawson before she disappeared.’
Although all three had torches and shone these along both sides of the path as they returned slowly towards the car park, they failed to spot the slightest indication of where the body, if it existed, might be lying. When they reached their vehicles, Nash told the other two to head back. ‘I promised Jackie I’d call her as soon as we’d finished here. She’s coming over to discuss how we proceed against McKenzie.’
Although the signal from his mobile was less than brilliant, Nash managed to convey the news that they had been unsuccessful and that he was heading back to Helmsdale.
‘I’ll meet you there,’ Fleming said.
Their meeting didn’t last long. ‘I’ve arranged for a search warrant for McKenzie’s farm,’ Jackie began. ‘It should be ready for signature in the morning. DC Andrews will be back on duty, she can bring it through to you. I’m ordering an ARU as backup. There’s no saying what might happen if he’s cornered. In the meantime, I think we should keep the place under surveillance. I don’t want McKenzie to slip from our grasp. Capturing the Cremator will mean the eyes of the world’s media will be on us.’
‘Surveillance should be easy,’ Clara responded. ‘I know the location quite well. There’s a farm track leading to some fields alongside woodland on the north side of McKenzie’s place. It overlooks the whole of the property. Anyone parked at the end of the track will be able to see not only the house and its doors, but the outbuildings and the lane leading on to the property.’
Nash eyed his sergeant with interest. ‘How come you know this track so well? Is that where you and David go when you fancy a spot of alfresco nooky?’
Clara’s cheeks were scarlet. ‘Don’t judge everyone by yourself,’ she answered weakly.
Nash smiled triumphantly, having in one sentence repaid years of taunts from Clara about his sex life.
‘I think you should split the night shift between you,’ Fleming intervened hastily. ‘And to be on the safe side, I think we should have a couple of uniforms standing by. Tomorrow, Mike and Clara will lead the team searching McKenzie’s place, along with Andrews. That leaves Viv free to locate this body on Black Fell. I’ll assign some uniforms to help you,’ she told the DC. ‘I’m off to report developments to God. She was in a meeting earlier, but I know she’s keen for an update.’ The trio of detectives smiled at Fleming’s use of Chief Constable O’Donnell’s nickname.
‘Will you take the first shift, Clara?’ Nash asked when the superintendent had gone. ‘If Viv takes over from you at 10 o’clock, and I relieve him at 2 a.m., that means I can follow McKenzie on his milk round.’
They nodded in agreement.
‘Oh, and, Clara, pop in at my place on your way home tonight and let me know what’s happened. By the time McKenzie’s finished deliveries, Lisa should be through from Netherdale with the warrant, and as soon as the ARU team are in place we can start work.
‘That takes care of McKenzie.’ Nash turned to Pearce. ‘You assemble your uniforms at Lady Luck Quarry at first light. Take the other path to begin with and stick rigidly to it. If you manage to catch sight of the body from there, don’t go near it. Get some uniforms to stand guard until forensics and Mexican Pete arrive. SOCO might be kept fairly busy tomorrow.’
‘Can I nip home for a sandwich and another sweater before I set off for McKenzie’s place?’ Clara asked.
‘Of course. I’ll go and locate this track of yours and wait there until you arrive.’
There was a knock at the door and the desk constable entered. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I’ve been tying off loose ends before the station closes for the night and I think you should take a look at the mobile number that call came in on.’
Nash looked at the number. ‘Is this whose I think it is?’
The constable nodded. ‘Yes, sir, Sergeant Binns left a note of it on the pad, but I’ve only just compared the two.’
‘I think that dismisses the idea of a hoax call,’ he told the others. ‘The report of the body being found was made from Vanda Dawson’s missing mobile.’
Later when Nash reached the flat, the building was in darkness. He considered the idea of cooking dinner, but after inspecting the contents of the freezer and glancing at the time, decided against it. As he closed the freezer door, he noticed that he’d forgotten to switch off the coffee machine that morning. Luckily, the device was fitted with an automatic cut-out. He helped himself to a mug of coffee, which he reheated in the microwave. He sipped the hot liquid, pondering the day’s developments. It looked as if they were close to solving the Vanda Dawson case, and bringing the Cremator to book. Once they had McKenzie in a cell, he could concentrate on the security van robbery. Before that, he was going to have a curtailed night’s sleep. Better get moving and have something to eat. He opted for La Giaconda. At this time of the year, the restaurant would be quiet and Gino would ensure he’d get served quickly. That would leave him time for a few hours kip before he went on surveillance.
Craig was away from Monday to Friday each week. Normally, that didn’t worry Janet in the slightest. Tonight, however, although she didn’t know why, she was jumpy. The slightest sound was enough to have her on edge. And there were plenty of those in this big old house. Hinges squeaked, floorboards creaked, even when there was no one near them.
Familiarity, they say, breeds contempt. Janet had dismissed her fears as irrational, just as she had dismissed the sensation she’d had once or twice recently that someone was watching her. Over-active imagination, she thought, nothing more.
When she heard the floorboard creak as she left the sitting room, Janet did no more than glance idly down the corridor. Purely a reflex action. Then, in a heart-stopping moment, she glimpsed the figure. Silhouetted in the pale moonlight through the window behind him. That was when she screamed. The first of many screams.
The phone call was brief. ‘Nash has left his flat. He’s on foot. I’m following him.’
‘Let me know where he’s going. If he’s just out for a stroll, that won’t give me enough time.’
Tony put his mobile back on the table and pulled his rucksack towards him. He checked that all the tools he would need were inside. It was the third time he’d done that, but he wasn’t prepared to leave anything to chance. When he was satisfied he had everything he needed, he waited, pacing slowly round the small room.
It seemed an age before his phone rang again. ‘He’s gone into that Italian restaurant in the Market Place. I can see him through the window, sitting at a table in clear view. He’s studying the menu.’
‘Good; that’ll give me ample time. Let me know when he calls for the bill, or if you can’t do that, ring me the minute he leaves. How long did it take him to get there?’
‘No more than ten minutes.’
Tony placed the phone in one of the zip pockets of his leathers and slid the straps of the rucksack over his shoulders. He put his helmet on, picked up the bike’s ignition key and set off. He reached Nash’s flat a few minutes later and parked the bike round the corner of the street. It took only minutes to enter the flat, following which he headed for the kitchen. He inspected the gas cooker and smiled. This should be easy. Before he started work, he moved the coffee machine on to the table. He placed the grids and hot plates from the hob on the space where the coffee machine had stood, and set about removing the oven top. The securing screws had obviously not been moved for a long time. It took considerable effort to get them all out. The last one proved very obstinate, and he was on the point of sawing through it when he felt it move. He exerted a little more pressure, taking care to avoid stripping the thread on the screw head. Eventually, he worked it clear and was able to look down into the oven cavity and the space behind it. The inlet pipe was in a very inaccessible spot. This was not going to be as easy as he’d expected.
Before he started work on the pipe, he opened the double-glazed oven door. He sealed the gap at the bottom with sellotape before filling the cavity with the contents of a bag he’d removed from his rucksack. The purchase had been made at the local ironmongery a couple of days previously. The shrapnel effect of a large quantity of three-inch nails at high velocity would be lethal. Added to the blast itself, nobody inside that room, or the flat itself, would stand much chance of survival.
Having filled the cavity, Tony closed the oven door. All he had to do now was introduce a controlled leak into the gas pipe leading to the oven. Then, as soon as he knew Nash was on his way back to the flat, he would set the automatic timer on the oven. When the oven switched itself on, the flame would ignite the gas. When that happened, Nash would be history.
The next part was the trickiest. The inaccessible position of the inlet pipe didn’t help. Tony worked slowly, taking great care. The slightest spark at this stage would result in him becoming the victim of his own device. He glanced at his watch. The work had taken longer than he anticipated, but eventually it was done, and not a moment too soon. As he was replacing all the screws, his mobile rang. ‘Nash is just paying the bill,’ the watcher told him.
Tony checked his watch. Only ten minutes left. Working quickly now, he replaced the rings and grids on the hob and stuffed his tools back in his rucksack. He checked his watch again; six minutes. He made sure the clock on the oven was working and switched the automatic timer to ignite in ten minutes time. That should be ample, he thought. He switched the kitchen light off, exited the flat and shut the front door behind him. He’d taken no more than a dozen strides when he remembered the coffee machine was still on the kitchen table. He checked his watch, no time to go back.
Nash returned home. Having drunk only one glass of wine with his meal, he refused Gino’s offer of coffee, aware he still had half a pot in his machine. He had time for some before he relieved Viv, and headed straight for the kitchen. He knew something was wrong immediately. His gaze travelled from the coffee machine to the cooker. To the glowing red light, indicating the automatic timer was on. To the glass door that was obscured by something. As these facts jelled, Nash realized their significance.
He turned, at that precise second he heard a sound. For a sickening moment, he thought it was the oven timer. Then realized it was the front doorbell. He ran and opened it wide. ‘Get out of the way!’ Nash screamed as he lunged forward.
Clara opened her mouth to answer, then she heard a noise. It sounded like a huge sigh. At the same time, she felt a hot draught of wind rush past her, followed by a huge detonation. Her eardrums felt as if they were on the point of bursting.
Nash was almost out of the door, pushing her to one side, when the shock wave hit him. At the same time something struck his arm and the back of his head. He thought he could hear a buzzing sound in the distance. Then his vision went black as consciousness left him.
Clara raised herself, her face contorted with horror. Nash was lying across the threshold, half-in, half-out of the doorway. The shattered remnants of the heavy wooden door were lying across his upper body. Behind him, through the dust created by the blast, she could see flames already shooting upwards. She fought against panic. That wouldn’t help. She scrabbled swiftly across to Nash. There was blood on the back of his head. She reached down, her fingers going instinctively to his neck for a pulse.
A phone. That was what she needed. She dragged her mobile from her pocket and dialled the control room. As she was pressing the keys, she heard the sound of a motorbike. She thought momentarily of trying to flag the rider down for help, then dismissed the idea as the emergency operator answered. She fought to remain calm. She knew not to move an injured person. No time to worry about that with fire already taking hold of the building. As soon as she ended the call, she began moving the debris from him, glancing up every few seconds to see how close the inferno was.
Chapter Seventeen
David Sutton was relaxing in front of the TV. The phone rang as the news summary was ending. David reached over and plucked the handset from the cradle. He listened for a moment. ‘I’ll be right there,’ he said.
He reached Nash’s street in minutes, but the road was blocked by eme
rgency vehicles. He abandoned his car rather than parking it. Ahead, he saw a couple of police cars, an ambulance and two fire engines, the crews deploying their hoses. The air was thick with smoke, flames licking from the windows. He noticed a motorbike pull away from the kerb at the far end of the street. I’d have been better with one of those, David thought fleetingly.
Two paramedics came into view, wheeling a stretcher. The blanket covering the victim only reached as far as his shoulders. Sutton heaved a sigh of relief. It was Nash; at least he was alive. As he watched, he saw a woman walking alongside the stretcher. Her face covered in grime, with twin tracks down her cheeks where tears had flowed.
Despite the dirt, David had no difficulty recognizing his fiancée. ‘Clara,’ he called out. She looked round, unsure where the sound had come from. ‘Clara,’ Sutton called again. She located him, and pointed to the ambulance. Sutton nodded and signalled that he would follow her. Sutton watched the lights recede into the distance, the sirens blaring their strident warning.
The fire crew began to tackle the blaze as the police officers moved onlookers away and cordoned the area. Inside the ambulance, Clara took out her phone and called Netherdale station. She told the officer in the control room to get Fleming on the phone and ask her to ring her back. The officer agreed. After Clara ended the call, the man wondered why the normally quietly spoken sergeant had been shouting.
Jackie Fleming had left her hotel details with the station control room. Within minutes, the superintendent rang Clara back from her room at the Golden Bear. Fleming reacted with predictable horror to Clara’s news. Once she’d ascertained that Clara was unhurt, and that Nash’s injuries didn’t appear to be life-threatening, she told her, ‘I’ll meet you at the hospital. I’ll let Pearce know what’s happened, and warn him he’s going to be on surveillance longer than planned. I’ll let the chief know too, then I’d better head for the crime scene. Who’s in charge of the fire crews?’
