Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2)

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Was she working when she went missing?” Caslin asked, glancing at the file before him, on the desk.

  “Not what her sister says, no. They had been on a night out but were separated in a club. Her sister left with someone else and figured Irena would make her own way home. She never showed.”

  “Do we know where she went after the club or have footage of her leaving?”

  Holt shook his head, “The door camera has her leaving on her own, shortly after 2 a.m., heading in an easterly direction and there are no sightings after that. I’ve spoken with the investigating officer and they canvassed the area, sought out all available CCTV and got nothing. There was a street camera two hundred yards along the route she appeared to take but she never came into shot. Likelihood is she was grabbed, or offered a ride, somewhere in that space. No hits on her bank account, her passport or any use of her mobile phone. She vanished into thin air.”

  “Sounding familiar,” Caslin mumbled. “Any leads at all?”

  “Not a single one, until she turned up with us at the nature reserve. They’re keen to know all that we’ve got. With no evidence to the contrary, their case is still open only as a MisPer. A DC Blake is heading over to review our findings. I thought that would be okay.”

  “Of course,” Caslin said. He couldn’t help but notice how attractive a young woman, Irena Toskaya was. The photos in her case file made her appear far older than her years but with her apparent lifestyle, that wasn’t a surprise. “I don’t suppose that we know of any connection with Melissa Brooke, or more likely, Anton Durakovic?”

  “It’s something I’m already following up on,” Holt proffered. “I spoke to Vice, over in Leeds, just before you got back. Durakovic has been expanding his operation in their direction but apparently only in the first few months of this year. There isn’t a crossover in the timeline.” Caslin nodded thoughtfully.

  “Keep digging. Any connection, however tenuous is worth investigating. Speak to the sister again. See if she knew who the pimp was and if Irena was having trouble with him. Maybe she was also looking to get off the game or switch handlers. I don’t want it to go another eight months before we make headway on this, Terry. You’re doing a good job, keep at it.”

  Caslin’s mobile started to ring and Terry Holt excused himself, returning to the squad room. Holding the file open before him with one hand, Caslin took his phone out with the other and answered it without looking at the screen.

  “Caslin,” he said flatly, scanning through Irena Toskaya’s background as he spoke.

  “Forgotten something,” the softly-spoken voice said, from the other end of the line. Caslin winced, looking up at the clock on the wall.

  “I’m sorry, I’m on my way,” he said, rising from behind his desk and grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. He half ran from the office, cursing himself all the way.

  His date was far more forgiving than he expected. The time was pushing eight o’clock when he walked into Domenico’s, on the edge of the city centre. Dr Taylor smiled warmly as he took a seat opposite her, passing his coat to the maître d” as he did so.

  “Gentle jog, was it?” she asked, noticing a sheen of perspiration on his face.

  “I did have to pick up the pace a little,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry, I got caught up-”

  Holding up her hands to indicate there was no need for further apology, Alison sought to reassure him, “It’s okay, Nathaniel. This is a sort of working dinner anyway, right?” Caslin nodded, although that acknowledgement saddened him slightly. He poured himself a glass from the bottle of water at the table.

  “In which case, what do you have for me?”

  “Well, for starters, I’ve ordered for you already,” she pointedly looked into his eyes, a playful gleam in her own, “you were late, so I took the liberty. I hope that you like fish?”

  “Love fish,” Caslin said, returning her look with a smile.

  “Secondly, I got the results back on the material beneath Melissa Brooke’s fingernails as I left the office, this evening. But don’t get too excited.”

  “Why not, is it unidentifiable?”

  She shook her head, “Oh it’s definitely identifiable. Unfortunately, it’s hers.”

  “Her own DNA?”

  Alison nodded solemnly, “Those scratches that seemed so odd across her body, well, it looks like the majority may have been self-inflicted. Apart from the injuries attributable to the vegetation, soles of her feet, ankles and so on.”

  “Are you sure?” Caslin asked, sitting back in his chair as a sense of deflation washed over him.

  “With the organic material, there is no doubt. The pattern was too strong. There are traces of another but not enough to form a working profile.”

  “Can you give me anything to work with?”

  “We can try and separate the organic matter and attempt to illicit a stronger pattern but don’t hold your breath. As for the self-harm, I’ll have to do some more tests tomorrow but I should be able to confirm it. Melissa’s fingernails were long and manicured so there will be a reasonable degree of correspondence between cause and injury.”

  “Why on earth would she do that?” Caslin asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, I’m afraid to say. Perhaps it was unintended, during a struggle but there is very little to suggest that to be the case and the number of apparently self-inflicted injuries is rather high.”

  Caslin nodded, “Do you have any good news for me?”

  “Toxicology has confirmed that she had no illegal drugs in her system, so she wasn’t high at the time of her death or in the weeks running up to it.”

  “Suzanne was right,” he said softly.

  “Who?”

  “Oh, Melissa’s mother. It was something she said. Sorry, I was just thinking out loud. Anything else?”

  “Yes,” Alison said, smiling, “the fish here is excellent. I also ordered a bottle of wine. I assumed that white would be okay, seeing as we’re having fish.”

  Caslin smiled. If truth be known he always drank red, regardless of the meal but agreed that her choice was fine. A waiter appeared with their starting course of antipasti and a selection of breads. Caslin realised that he was starving. Work conversation was put aside as they began to eat. He found Alison very pleasant company. No, it was more than that. He hadn’t felt so relaxed with another person in years. Even with Sara there was always an edge, no doubt related to the baggage of their relationship. However, this truly felt like a fresh beginning. He liked the feeling.

  Caslin was impressed to learn that her expertise passed beyond her medical training, into sociology and psychology, having recently completed a master’s degree in criminology, in her spare time.

  “Do you have any thoughts on how, and why, we’ve come across our victims such as we have, in this case?” Caslin asked. The question was a logical route to follow and he wanted her take on it.

  “Back to work, is it?” she asked, smiling.

  “Genuinely interested in your opinion,” he replied. “Even with my experience, this is an odd one.”

  “I can see why,” she began. “That you have come across a killer’s dumping ground is clear to me. The location lends itself to that conclusion with ease. The access, the remoteness of the surroundings, all fit nicely but then there is Melissa-”

  “She doesn’t fit the pattern, at all, does she?” Caslin interrupted. Alison shook her head.

  “Exactly. The other victims were dismembered, crudely by all accounts, and almost certainly not at the reserve. In my opinion, they were killed elsewhere before being bagged and dumped. The lack of organic material found in and around the wounds of the body parts confirms that.”

  “So why would the killer change his MO for Melissa? Serial killers tend to be regimented in how they go about things, don’t they? Significant deviations to their routines are not common once they have found their groove, so to speak.”

  “On the whole, I would tend to agree but that
isn’t always the case,” Alison argued. “The most successful are those that don’t follow a pattern, or theirs is more random in nature. Thereby it becomes difficult to link the victims, helping to avoid detection and hampering you in tracking them down. I don’t think that this is what you have here, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “The dismembered bodies are indicative of someone with a regimen. He is methodical, he knows what works for him. Therefore, I find it unlikely that he’s an unpredictable killer, not that he wouldn’t necessarily be open to changing his routine, mind you. I don’t need to tell you that as serial killers become more successful, they can also become more confident, arrogant or even complacent. That could explain why Melissa’s case is so different.”

  “It is still a massive detour from what he has done in the past.”

  “True enough. That could open up the suggestion that his blood-lust is overpowering his judgement. Further actions could become ever more random or extreme.”

  “That notion fills me with joy,” Caslin said sarcastically. Alison laughed.

  “Of course, there may be another reason for dismembering his victims. He may well have known Irena and the other girl. Perhaps he had been seen with them or was a frequent client, assuming of course that the other girl was also a sex worker.”

  “I’m looking into whether it was a client or even a pimp, who had access to them.”

  “The method of disposal could’ve been to hide the link to their killer, hence why we have incomplete remains. I don’t see it as anyone sending a message to others, as in a threat from a pimp.”

  “No?” Caslin asked, intrigued. “It would certainly convey intent.”

  “Those body parts could have lain out there for years. You only found them because Melissa ended up in the river. If your goal is to make a point by mutilating someone, then you ensure they’re seen and usually, by those whom you intend to frighten.”

  “That’s a good point,” Caslin stated. “Unless the disappearance is enough by itself and, like you said, they could be traced back to the perpetrator.”

  “Indeed,” Alison agreed, “but then that would lead you to ask once again, why was Melissa taken out there to be killed? It doesn’t make a lot of sense, particularly when you factor in the additional circumstances of her working nearby, along with the apparent self-harming.”

  As interesting and enlightening as Alison’s insights were, they didn’t seem to be helping him to make sense of it all. His thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Anton Durakovic. Perhaps the gangster had been on the level when suggesting Melissa’s driver had crossed a line. Maybe he was the serial killer and their proximity to his dumping ground was too big a draw for him not to take the opportunity. At this point, that conclusion fitted quite comfortably with the evidence they had. Furthermore, Marco Handanovic, if he truly existed, was proving elusive. Caslin had to admit that he hadn’t given the lead too much credence and now that was bothering him. If it turned out to be the reality, then it was quite likely that Durakovic may have already dealt with it.

  “Let me pick your brains regarding medicine, if you don’t mind?” Caslin said, directing their conversation away from work, whilst the waiter cleared the plates of their main course.

  “Another angle?” Alison said with a quick smile.

  Caslin shook his head, “No, this isn’t work-related, I swear. It’s more of a personal matter, nothing to do with the office. What can you tell me about a drug called Zyprexa? I could do an internet search but, seeing as you’re here.”

  “That’s okay,” Alison replied, thinking on it for a moment. “From memory, I think it’s a brand name for the generic drug, Olanzapine, one of the next generations of neuroleptics. It’s an anti-psychotic, used in the treatment of conditions like schizophrenia. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I’ve just come across it and wondered what it was,” Caslin said openly. “Tell me, is there anything I should know about it?”

  “If you mean the potential for side effects, then they are always possible. Atypical anti-psychotics, of which that is one, are powerful drugs,” Alison said, nursing the half-full glass of wine in her right hand. “This new wave is supposed to have fewer side effects than the older drugs but even so, they need to be taken correctly and with care.”

  “How do you mean, correctly?”

  “Well, at the outset, it should be under strict guidance from a medical professional. That routine must then be adhered to. Any deviation from the treatment plan may result in a serious relapse of the patient’s mental state and could potentially, be very dangerous.”

  “What might be the consequences,” Caslin pressed, “of taking it, as well as not?” Alison inclined her head slightly, narrowing her gaze on him.

  “Has this got you worried?”

  Caslin smiled weakly, “No, not at all. I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “Common side-effects with anti-psychotics are muscle rigidity, painful spasms, restlessness or in some cases, tremors. Irregularity in dosing could also bring about a recurrence of the underlying condition. How that might affect your…friend…is dependent on the seriousness of their illness. How bad is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Caslin shook his head, “It’s nothing like that, not really. Forget I mentioned it, it’s probably nothing.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Alison said. Her intonation was that of a concerned friend, rather than a doctor or colleague.

  “Thanks,” Caslin said, feeling guilty for threatening to bring a downer to the evening. Trying to lighten the mood, he summoned the waiter for the dessert menu. “Let’s push the boat out a bit, shall we?”

  Alison smiled and he returned it. The waiter arrived as Caslin’s phone rang in his pocket, bringing looks of consternation from the diners seated nearby. Indicating for her to order for him, he excused himself from the table and went over to the bar to take the call.

  “We have a lead on Stuart Nicol, Sir,” Hunter said gleefully. “One of my informants has been in touch.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I’m on my way to find out. I’m meeting him on Skeldergate, in about fifteen minutes. Pick you up, on the way?” Hunter asked. Caslin glanced back towards his table, Alison watching him intently.

  “I’ll make my own way, be there in ten.” He hung up and crossed the room. His body language must have spoken volumes because he didn’t get the opportunity to speak.

  “You have to leave, don’t you?” Alison said softly.

  “I’m sorry, I do,” Caslin replied, apologetically. “I’ll have to take a rain check on dessert.”

  The waiter stood nervously to one side. Alison smiled at him. “Perhaps, I will also give the dessert a miss and just have a coffee.” The waiter nodded appreciatively and departed. Turning to Caslin, she raised an eyebrow, “Will dates with you always be so…unpredictable?”

  Caslin’s brow furrowed, “Quite possibly, yes.”

  “Interesting,” she replied. He didn’t know how to take that.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve had a great evening.”

  “Me too,” Alison said, the smile returning. “You have my number.”

  Caslin said goodbye and casually left. Slipping his coat on as made his way past the restaurant’s frontage, looking through the windows in her direction, until she passed from view. Caslin immediately picked up the pace, shortly after, breaking into a sprint to the nearest taxi rank for the short journey across the city. It was only once in the back of a moving vehicle that he realised he hadn’t thought about the evening’s cost, let alone offered to pay for the meal. Evidently it had been a while since he was last on a date. Throwing the thought aside, he turned his focus towards Stuart Nicol.

  Caslin indicated for the driver to pull over, spotting Hunter at the side of the road. He passed forward a fiver and didn’t wait for change. She acknowledged him as soon as he climbed out onto the pavement.

  “This way,” she instructed, heading
for the steps down from the Skeldergate Bridge, to the banks of the Ouse below.

  “Is this one of your more reliable ones?” Caslin asked.

  Hunter nodded, “Seemingly he’s into Nicol for a few quid, so wouldn’t mind him dropping off for a bit.” Once sheltered beneath the iron and stone structure, they didn’t have long to wait before Hunter’s informant arrived. He was shrouded in a green hoodie and approached with purpose but was evidently agitated as he came before the two detectives. He smiled in Hunter’s direction and gave Caslin a cursory nod.

  “Alright Mr Caslin, long time, no see.”

  “You keeping well, Tommy?”

  “Always, Mr Caslin. Nose is clean,” he said, sniffing loudly. Caslin took it as an unintentional action rather than a demonstration of the fact.

  “What do you have for us, Tommy?” Hunter asked.

  “You’re after Nicol, aren’t yer?” he said, Hunter nodded.

  “Have you seen him?”

  “He’s about, Mrs Hunter. If you know where to look.”

  “That’s why we come to people like you. Where is he?”

  Tommy shifted nervously, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure they weren’t being observed. “I gather you want him pretty bad, seeing as everyone is asking. Maybe it’s worth a little extra, if you know what I mean?”

  “We see you alright, already,” Hunter countered. Tommy was unimpressed.

  “Big case on the go, though, isn’t it? I reckon you could make some-” Caslin stepped forward, grabbing two fistfuls of Tommy’s hoodie and pinning him against the wall behind him.

  “Stop pissing around! Where is he, you useless little shit?”

  Caslin had got his attention, “Steady on, Mr Caslin,” Tommy said softly as he was released. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Trying it on, you certainly are,” Hunter added. “Where’s Nicol?”