by BILL KITSON
Jackie Fleming tried to take control of the situation. ‘All right, let’s be realistic about this. As you quite rightly pointed out, Mrs Dawson—’
‘Please call me Vanda,’ she interrupted. ‘I’d like to dispense with any association with the name Dawson. That belongs in the past: to an unhappy time I’d rather forget.’
‘Very well, Vanda it is, but I’m afraid it’s in connection with that past that I need to ask some questions.’ She indicated the key ring on the table. ‘This is quite strong circumstantial evidence, but I’m afraid it’s far from conclusive. Dawson could easily claim that he stopped at that point to relieve himself on the way back from the match and dropped the key ring then. An unlikely coincidence, I agree, but without more proof, we’d find it impossible to get a conviction. CPS wouldn’t even bring the case to court.’
‘I think we have that proof.’
Attention switched to Nash. Sutton, who had some idea what was coming, thought it was as if a leading actor had walked on-stage.
‘First of all, Vanda, I have to tell you that your husband is dead. His body was discovered in the old mill this morning. Appearances tend to suggest that he took his own life.’
Nash paused to allow the shock of his announcement to sink in. Clara stared at him. Knowing Nash so well, she wondered if his phraseology was significant. ‘I’m afraid that’s not all we found there.’ Nash’s tone was grave. ‘Did you know of the existence of a hidden room below where the cars were stored in the old mill?’
Vanda Dawson shook her head.
‘We found it when we were trying to trace a sound. The room was where the wheel that drove the millstones was housed. It had been blocked up and turned into what was effectively a cellar. Inside we found a young woman named Janet Watts. She was naked, chained to the wall and in danger of dying from hypothermia. She was almost hysterical with fear. She managed to tell us she had been abducted from her home in Leeds yesterday. She had been raped and beaten by her kidnapper. As he was raping her, he took photographs.
‘That was part of the reason for her terror. The other was what she could see around her. The walls are covered in photographs. I saw them. They are all photos of the Cremator’s victims. Graphic photos taken in that room. We also found clothing and other effects, jewellery and so forth, which I’m sure will turn out to match those belonging to his earlier victims.’ Nash paused as they absorbed the horror of what he’d told them. He then added an extra level. ‘I believe the Cremator was about to increase the torture he inflicted on his victims. In the corner of the mill, I saw a fuel can identical to those shown on the photos.’ He paused. ‘Alongside it was a flame thrower.’
Nash turned to McKenzie. ‘I can understand your actions even if I can’t condone them. I’ll leave it Superintendent Fleming to decide whether you have other charges to answer.’
His gaze switched to Vanda Dawson. ‘And I’ll leave you to make your peace with your sister. I think you owe her an enormous apology for the ordeal she’s been through. Remember it was particularly bad for her, because she was aware from the media of what the Cremator did to his victims. Whether or not, she accepts your apology is another matter.’ Nash paused for a moment. ‘One thing I must ask you. Apart from the cars and a few pieces of wood and an old engine, what else was in the old mill? Was there any rope?’
Vanda Dawson shook her head. ‘Not as far as I know, but I only went in there to put my car away or get it out. I’m not sure I’d have noticed it if there was any.’
Nash stood up. ‘I’m going home now. I shouldn’t have been at work in the first place.’ His face twisted with pain as he recalled his own situation. ‘Or rather, I would do if I’d a home to go to. Instead I’m going to the hotel, whilst I think up how to tell my little boy we’re homeless.’
Chapter Twenty
As he drove them back to Helmsdale, Sutton asked Nash if he was happy the way the case had unfolded. ‘Not really,’ he admitted. ‘I’d rather have put Dawson on trial. Apart from that, I’ll be curious to hear what the forensic boys and Mexican Pete have to say about the way he died.’
‘But that was suicide, surely?’
‘I don’t think Dawson killed himself. In fact I’m almost sure he didn’t.’
He was about to say more when his mobile rang. After a struggle, Nash got the phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen. ‘Yes, Professor?’
Glancing sideways, Sutton noticed Nash’s expression change. He wondered what the pathologist was saying. ‘That more or less confirms what I thought,’ Nash said after a long time. ‘Which only leaves the question of who was responsible. Will you inform Superintendent Fleming?’
He ended the call and looked across at Sutton. ‘Ramirez has just told me that from his provisional findings Dawson was murdered. I thought as much, now it’s official.’
‘How come? I mean, what made you suspect it?’
‘Whoever strung Dawson up, did so without placing anything there that would suggest he might have stepped off it. Of course he could have climbed on the roof of one of the cars, but if he’d done that, he’d have left marks. There weren’t any. When Mexican Pete examined the body, he found bruising on the back of Dawson’s neck in the shape of a thumb and some fingers. The spread of them suggests they were made by the right hand, and the thumb mark was on the left. Try as hard as you like, you can’t bruise yourself that way unless you’re a contortionist. Someone gripped Dawson by the neck, either to subdue him or whilst they were putting the rope in place. Apart from that, he found traces of adhesive on Dawson’s wrists. Ramirez suggests they were from duct tape that was used to bind him.’
‘That was why you asked about the rope. Because you didn’t think Dawson committed suicide?’
‘Yes, the rope looked new, as if it was bought specifically for the purpose. If Dawson didn’t own any rope, it’s another pointer to the fact he was murdered.’
‘Do you think it was someone taking revenge? Someone like McKenzie, a relative of one of his victims? Or could McKenzie have done it?’
‘Not McKenzie, that’s for certain. Mexican Pete gave the time of death as somewhere in the early hours of this morning. I think at that time McKenzie had an excellent alibi. Apart from the fact that he was probably in bed with Vanda Dawson, his house was under surveillance by our officers.’
‘You think he and Mrs Dawson are sleeping together? Despite what she said?’
‘I’d bet on it.’
‘So who did kill Dawson?’
‘The idea that it might be a vengeful relative did cross my mind, but look how long it took for McKenzie to trace him, and he had some evidence. The chance of another relative tracking him down is too remote. One of the trademarks of the Cremator was that he was ultra-cautious and left nothing that could lead to his identity being discovered.’
‘What other motive could there be?’
‘I’m rather hoping Tom Pratt might find that out. With everything else that’s happened I forgot that I’d asked for certain enquiries to be made. I’ll have to follow up on them. If I had to guess, I’d say this is linked to the bank robbery.’
‘Why would an accountant be involved with a gang of thieves?’
‘Stealing the money is only part of it. Once you have it, you have to launder it. Who better than an accountant for that purpose? They would know we were talking to him about his wife’s disappearance, it’s been in the press for goodness sake. They must have been scared stiff he’d lose his nerve.’
He went to use his mobile, but Sutton warned him, ‘Leave it until you get to the hotel, and use a landline. You’ve a lot of calls to make.’
Nash looked at him, puzzled.
‘Don’t you think you should be speaking to your insurers? And your mobile must be almost out of charge by now.’
Nash glanced at the screen, and sure enough, the indicator showed that the battery had little power left. ‘I’ll switch it off.’
Sutton thought for a moment before asking, ‘Is it all o
ver and done with? The Cremator case, I mean?’
Nash looked at him, his expression grave. ‘Yes and no. It’s all over in the sense that we can close the files on all the murders. It certainly isn’t over for the other victims.’
Sutton frowned. ‘I don’t understand? What do you mean by “the other victims”?’
‘The victims for whom it will never be over. The ones the media talks so glibly about, when they go on about getting closure. It’s one of those phrases that sounds good, but when you think about it, is completely meaningless.’
‘I still don’t follow you.’
‘I’m talking about all those people who were close to the women Brian Dawson slaughtered. There’s no way they’ll be able to forget. Every time some new incident comes up, the media will compare it to the Cremator, and there they are back at square one, reliving the distress.’
‘How do you cope, knowing all that?’
‘All I can do is think that with him out of the way there can’t be any addition to the tally of grieving friends and relatives.’
‘I suppose it’s lucky this country doesn’t suffer from as many serial killers as they seem to attract in America.’
‘You think so?’ Nash’s smile was without humour. ‘Ever since Jack the Ripper, and before that for all I know, there have been regular occurrences that can be put down as repeat offences by the same perpetrator. Not all of them hit the headlines because some of them remain no more than suspicion in the minds of investigating officers, but the well-documented ones are bad enough. You’ve only to think of the Moors Murderers, the Yorkshire Ripper, the Norfolk Strangler and Harold Shipman to quote the most notorious. I could add plenty more. And that’s without going into the ones that never get caught.’
Sutton stared at him in astonishment. ‘You mean there are people walking the streets, who have committed more than one murder and got away with it?’
‘Of course there are. Bound to be. Examine crime statistics. We don’t have a one hundred per cent record in solving other crimes, why should it be different in murder cases. I can think of three incidents we currently have under investigation that we’ve no idea who committed the crimes. The security van hijack, the bank theft and the bomb at my flat.’
‘They weren’t murders.’
‘Agreed, but what I’m trying to point out is that it isn’t like books or films. We don’t always solve the case and bring the criminal to justice.’
It was mid-afternoon before the detectives returned to Helmsdale. As soon as they arrived, Tom Pratt buttonholed Fleming and Mironova. ‘I’ve just got the details from Felling prison that Mike asked me for,’ he told them.
Jackie frowned. ‘What was that about?’
‘After I remembered that Dawson had been Simon Wardle’s accountant, Mike wondered if he might have been involved in organizing the robberies from his prison cell, so he asked me to check on what visitors Wardle has had recently. He thought some of Wardle’s old cronies might have carried out the raids. That’s why I’m trying to find out if any of them owns a motorbike.’
‘Not Wardle again. We had enough trouble with him before. I thought I’d heard the last of him,’ Jackie said. ‘Has he had any visitors?’
‘Not recently, but he had two last year, both interesting. One was Dawson, but you could explain that away as he was Wardle’s accountant, I suppose. The other was from Wardle’s supposed cousin. According to the visiting order, his name is Charles Grenfell.’
‘You said “supposed cousin”, have you any reason to doubt that?’ Clara asked.
‘Several reasons. First of all, I checked Wardle’s background. He has no cousins, either male or female. Secondly, the address he gave on the visiting order, and the one on the driving licence he produced as proof of identity, is eighty-nine, High Street, Helmsdale.’
‘Eighty-nine? Isn’t that…?’
Pratt finished Fleming’s sentence for her, ‘The address of Armstrong and Gill.’
‘We ought to try and trace this mysterious Grenfell character and have a word with him.’
‘Ah, that’s the biggest problem of them all.’ Tom paused, ‘The only Charles Grenfell I’ve managed to trace died in 1977.’
When Nash reached the hotel, the first thing he did was to take a couple of painkillers. He had managed to sign in, which was a slightly farcical procedure given his inability to use his right hand, and prepared to go up to his room, when he was stopped by the receptionist. ‘Mr Nash, there’s a visitor for you in the resident’s lounge. She asked if you would join her there.’
Nash thanked the woman and turned in the direction of the lounge. When he entered the room, the only occupant looked up and smiled. ‘Mike, good to see you. How are you feeling?’
Nash nodded to the chief constable. ‘I’m OK, apart from this’ − he indicated his arm − ‘and a few bruises.’
‘I understand you’ve been working this morning. That must stop. I want you to organize things here, get your personal affairs in order. I’m aware there will be things such as insurance to sort out. Once that’s done, I want you to take a complete break,’ she paused, ‘sorry, bad pun. I’m sure you’ll be able to get a sick note for two months or so.’
‘It’s not that simple, ma’am. I’ve to fetch Daniel home from France.’
‘You can’t do that if you’re unable to drive,’ O’Donnell pointed out. ‘Can you get there by train?’
‘I could do, but it would be a struggle.’
‘In that case, leave it with me. I’ll see if we can dream something up.’
She stood up and set off for the door, then stopped and turned. ‘Oh, and I’ve got a message for you from Viv Pearce. He said you would understand. Two words: “she’s not”, whatever that means.’
Nash smiled. The stress that Viv had been under had eased, apparently, as Lianne wasn’t pregnant.
After the chief constable left, Nash sat for a few moments, reflecting on the outcome of the case. It was ironic that they had hounded McKenzie because they thought he was the Cremator, and all the time he was trying to unmask the killer. They had thought of Vanda as a victim and yet she was nothing of the sort. They had sympathized with Dawson only to discover that he was a sadistic monster. The gang thought he was a danger, so they had him killed. That had helped confirm the police suspicion of him, and when they looked into his background, it pointed to his association with the criminals: which was the opposite of what they wanted. All along, everyone had been running around in circles, looking in the wrong directions. When McKenzie abducted Vanda, he could have had no idea as to the chain of events that would follow. The big remaining question was, would they catch the gang?
Nash wasn’t sure. In any case, he had more immediate concerns to worry about. A home for himself and Daniel, the insurance company to fight with, getting someone to clear the debris from his flat, buying new clothing and a whole range of household items.
That evening, when Clara came to see him, along with David Sutton, she mentioned work only briefly. ‘I thought you’d be interested in this. When the forensic team had finished in the bank vault and the poster shop, Jackie ordered them to open Dawson’s offices. They were empty.’
‘That’s hardly surprising, with Dawson lying on Mexican Pete’s table in the mortuary.’
‘No, I mean totally empty. No computers, no filing cabinets, no desks, chairs, phones. Everything had gone, apart from the carpets and blinds.’
‘So there’s nothing left to tie them to Dawson,’ Nash commented.
Later, the question of where he would live was raised. Nash, who by now had got used to avoiding shrugging, told them, ‘I’m going to look for somewhere when we get back from France, not before. I want Daniel to be involved in the decision. I think it’s time I bought somewhere. A nice cottage, or something like that, preferably in one of the villages.’
‘That could be expensive,’ Sutton pointed out.
‘The money isn’t a problem. When I was young, we had a big hous
e in Ilkley. My sister emigrated to Australia and married a farmer whose place is about twice the size of Yorkshire. She hardly needed any extra, so my parents willed the house and contents to me. After they died, property prices had shot through the roof, and somewhere like theirs, in an area like that was worth a fortune. Added to that, my father collected antique furniture, and TV had just kick-started the craze for antiques. When my mother and father died, I was single, living and working in London. I didn’t need much, so I sent the furniture for auction and put the house on the market. Even I had to blink twice when I got the cheques. I stuck the money in a couple of building societies and forgot about it. I haven’t touched it since, until Daniel came along. Then I decided a motorbike wasn’t ideal for carting a youngster on, so I bought the Range Rover.’
‘That must have put a hole in your nest egg?’
‘No, because the money’s been sitting there so long, accruing interest, buying the car barely touched the capital.’
‘Speaking of your car,’ Mironova looked at her fiancé, who smiled encouragingly. ‘We’ve got a proposition for you. I spoke to the chief early this afternoon and she mentioned your transport problems, and that she’s banned you from work. David and I thought we could drive you to France, and leave you there. David would drive your car and I’ll drive his. That way we get a few days’ leave together as well. Then you can drive yourself and Daniel back when you’re fit again.’
Nash stared at each of them in turn. ‘That’s a wonderful, thoughtful gesture, but are you sure?’
‘Of course,’ Clara continued as if she hadn’t heard him, ‘now that we know how loaded you are, we can get you to fork out for all the expenses.’
‘I’m more than happy to do that.’ Nash sat back, before remembering and moving to a more comfortable position. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll ring Daniel and tell him what’s happened. I intended to do it earlier, but then the chief arrived and I got too weary. I don’t think he’ll be too worried about the flat and he took the Gruffalo with him.’ He smiled at Sutton’s puzzled expression. ‘His favourite book. I bought it for him when he began to master reading English. He took it to show his aunt.’
