Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2)

by J M Dalgliesh

  The pub was packed, with the evening’s celebrations well under way. The target didn’t pay any heed to the newcomer appearing alongside him, at the bar. Caslin nudged him in the ribs, with his elbow and only then did he look over.

  “Watch it pal,” he stated in an aggressive tone.

  “You’re a hard one to find.”

  “Yeah, whose looking?” Nicol replied, turning to face him. Caslin brandished his warrant card and went to raise it just as Nicol headbutted him. Caslin fell back unceremoniously into a small group standing behind him, much to their collective anger. Scrabbling around for his identification, he got back to his feet in time to observe Nicol running out through the back of the pub. He set off along the same route, hastily cleared of other patrons by their suspect.

  Bursting through the fire exit, next to the gents, Caslin found himself in an alley that ran the full width of the pub. To the left, the path led back to the main street, the right saw a kink in the alley leading deeper into the warren of the historic back streets. Caslin ran that way. Turning the corner, he caught sight of Nicol’s retreating form and shouted after him but the fugitive didn’t break stride. Beyond him, the open expanse of Silver Street beckoned and Caslin tried to close the distance as much as possible but knew he wouldn’t make it up. Nicol was too quick for him and left the alley with at least a fifteen-metre advantage. Upon leaving the alley, Caslin saw him race across the road with a quick glance over his shoulder, in his direction. An oncoming car’s tyres screeched as it swerved to avoid him, the driver’s door opening as it passed, catching Nicol full-frontal. He bounced off to his left, collapsing into a heap. The car stopped and its occupant clambered out, rolling Nicol onto his front before kneeling on his back and pinning his arms behind him.

  Caslin pulled up and drew breath, it came in ragged gasps. He acknowledged the look from Hunter with a weary flick of his hand. She secured the handcuffs on Nicol, who lay groaning on the tarmac, apparently only dazed and not seriously hurt. A small crowd of revellers stopped to observe the entertainment, giving a Hunter a round of applause for her efforts which she reluctantly acknowledged to appease them. Caslin came over and helped her lift Nicol to his feet and deposit him in the back of the car.

  “Took your time,” he said as she closed the door.

  “Funny,” she replied, raising her eyebrows, “I was going to say the same to you.”

  “Tell me where I can find Natalie,” Caslin asked for the third time. Stuart Nicol’s demeanour didn’t shift in the slightest. He remained slouching in his seat, staring straight ahead with an expression of bemused irritation. At least, that was how Caslin interpreted it. Nicol was no stranger to the interview room or the unwanted attention of law enforcement. It was clear that he was a fan of neither. Caslin sat back in his own chair. This was nothing new. People like Nicol wandered through almost each and every day of his professional career. Whether he cared for Natalie was irrelevant. As far as he was concerned, he had nothing to say. “Let’s come at this from another direction,” Caslin began, taking a more conciliatory stance, “Natalie is missing and her parents are being blackmailed for her return.”

  The last seemed to elicit a glimmer of interest from Nicol, who inclined his head slightly towards Caslin, gazing on him with his one good eye. The other was swollen shut, a by-product of the earlier coming together with Hunter’s car door. “So?”

  Caslin was impressed. That was one word more than had been obtained from their suspect in the previous ten minutes. “You know, as well as we do, that you’re no stranger to blackmail.”

  “Dunno what you’re talking about,” Nicol reiterated. Caslin opened his file and placed a sheet of paper on the table in front of him. Nicol ignored it.

  “Email transcripts, between you and Natalie from last year. Do you want to read them?” Nicol didn’t flinch but his eyelids flickered. It was an involuntary movement but Caslin noticed nonetheless.

  “No comment.”

  “Okay, Stuart. Let me sum this up for you, as I see it. We’ve been looking for you over the past few days and, although it’s not been easy, we found you here, in York. Now, when I find someone where I expect them to be, that gets a tick in my book. Well done. Secondly, you’re sitting here, probably not fully appreciating the gravity of your current situation but nevertheless, you haven’t asked for a solicitor. I’ve been around long enough to know that usually implies one of two things, arrogance or innocence. If I go for the latter, then that’s another big tick in your favour. Looking good, so far. However, your girlfriend is missing and her parents are being put through it but you don’t seem to give a damn, either way. Ask yourself, what should that mean to me as an investigating officer?” Nicol took in a deep breath and visibly shuffled in his seat before meeting Caslin’s eye.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you can sit there being an arsehole, while we dance around the room,” Caslin said forcefully, Hunter cast a sideways glance in his direction, “or you can start talking before I channel this entire investigation in your direction. Kidnapping, blackmail, who knows, even murder, all add up to the better years of your life, Stuart-”

  “Now hold on a bloody minute, you can’t-”

  “Just watch me, boy,” Caslin stated, “just watch me.”

  “I’ve got nothing to do with any of that,” Nicol said, lurching forward in his chair. “I’ve not seen Natalie for ages-”

  “Last week,” Hunter corrected him, “according to the CCTV from the club you were in.”

  “Yeah, okay. Last week. Doesn’t mean I’ve got anything to do with her going missing,” Nicol implored them. “We knock around a bit but not recently. She’s a head case.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Caslin asked, his interest growing.

  “She’s a bloody lunatic is what I mean by that!”

  “Your considered opinion?” Caslin asked with a brief hint of sarcasm. Nicol sank back, his shoulders sagging.

  “She’s always got to be the centre of attention. I reckon she liked having me around for the bragging rights.”

  “Bragging rights?” Hunter questioned, taking notes.

  “The bad boy at her side and all that,” Nicol stated. “She got off on it.”

  “The blackmail?” Caslin pressed.

  “All her,” Nicol said flatly.

  “Well, there’s a shock,” Caslin answered.

  “No, seriously. You got the emails, read ’em. I went along with it, yeah. It was easy money but it was on her, not me. Man, I thought it was cold to hit her own mother but I told you, funny in the head,” Nicol tapped the side of his temple as if to emphasise his point. “I ain’t got nothing to do with what’s going on. I’ll hold my hands up to that shite in the past but all of this stuff, nah, no way. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Caslin thought about pointing out the rules of double negatives but realised he would be wasting his time.

  “Well, let’s see if we can make sure that you’re telling us the truth. I want to know where you’ve been, who with and where you’re tucking up safely at bedtime. Once we have that, I’m personally going to turn over every rock that you’ve kicked, sat or pissed on and more besides. When I’ve done all that, if you still look like you’re on the level, I might consider letting you go. Now do you understand what I am saying?” Nicol exhaled heavily, staring at the table in front of him.

  “Whatever,” was the barely audible response that he managed.

  Terminating the interview, both Caslin and Hunter left the room, a uniformed officer escorting Nicol back to the cells.

  “What do you make of him, Sir?” Hunter asked.

  “He’s not the sharpest, is he? I don’t think society will be losing a cure for cancer if we put him away.”

  “You think this is above him?” she asked. Caslin thought on it momentarily.

  “I’m not letting him off the hook, just yet. He seemed remarkably blasé about everything until he thought he might get fingered for it. You�
��d expect at least a modicum of concern for Natalie’s wellbeing.”

  “Unless he thinks she’s done it herself again.”

  “Or if he’s involved, which brings us full circle,” Caslin said aloud. “Put some smoke under his tree and let’s see what makes takes flight.”

  “What about last year’s blackmail? He basically confessed to it.”

  “I think the Bermonds have more going on at the moment. Once all this is done, we can see if they want to make a complaint but somehow I-”

  “Doubt it,” Hunter finished for him. Their conversation was halted as DCI Inglis appeared at the end of the corridor. He shouted to get their attention.

  “You two, CID, now. We’ve got a lead on the SUV.” Caslin and Hunter exchanged excited glances and set off for the squad room.

  Chapter 19

  “The traffic warden wrote out the ticket at half-past six on the evening of the first withdrawal. Now, granted that the SUV wasn’t parked anywhere near to the centre, this guy is still worth a look,” Inglis said with conviction.

  Caslin cast his eye over the record of the vehicle’s owner. Martin Soriza had a criminal record, not alarmingly lengthy but past misdemeanours included a caution for common assault against his partner, dated within the previous two years. “He lives over in Knottingley, West Yorkshire,” Caslin said, reading from the page. “That’s a good hour away. Do we know what business he has in York?”

  Inglis shook his head, “As far as we can tell, he doesn’t, which makes him interesting to me because he has no reason to be here.”

  “How do you want to play it, Guv?” Caslin asked.

  “I don’t want to spook him,” Inglis said. “If he has Natalie then I want to avoid a full-on confrontation, if we go in mob-handed that’s what we could get. I want to minimise the threat to the hostage.”

  “On the other hand, Sir,” Caslin stated, “perhaps, that’s exactly what we need to do. Hit him so hard and fast that he has no time to harm her.”

  “Or do we follow him?” Hunter interjected. “If she’s not at the address, then he might lead us to her.”

  Inglis considered his options, “All we have is a parking ticket, that he’s reasonably local and his record to go on. It’s pretty thin. Why do you think as you do?” Inglis asked Caslin.

  “Using both speed and overwhelming force gives him less time to react or adapt but we need to avoid backing him in to a corner, as if he has no way out. If you want to take the softer approach, and we play it right, this could be over very quickly, without the need for kicking in doors. With the intelligence we have on him, we know he isn’t married and apparently lives alone. This isn’t a master criminal-”

  “Perhaps he’s making a step up,” Inglis offered.

  “Undoubtedly,” Caslin agreed. “However, I see nothing here to indicate that he’ll go down in a blaze of glory, quite the opposite. If he has an option to quit, I reckon he’ll take it.”

  “Okay, let’s do it Nathaniel’s way and see where it gets us. Are you happy to take the lead?” Inglis asked Caslin.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “Set ourselves for five in the morning, that’s always been my preferred time. If you’ve been out partying, then you’re most likely home and likewise, if you’re working, then you probably haven’t left yet. I recommend that we lock down the surrounding area and approach with caution but be ready to hit him hard and fast, should the need arise. If Natalie is inside we don’t want to risk a drawn-out hostage situation. Besides his record and what the housing association have told us, what else do we know about Soriza?”

  “Not a lot,” Inglis said. “The local tax office has no record of him working but we’re still waiting for the DSS to come back to us with any welfare status they have on file. The locals tell me it’s a rough area, in places but the estate has a real mix of the social strata.”

  “Those places have their jungle drums, even at that time. We’ll have a short window in which to deploy or we might as well announce it to the media right now that we’re going in,” Caslin stated.

  “Agreed, we want to be on scene and at it within a few minutes. Another factor to be bear in mind, Soriza previously held a firearms license, although it expired three years ago.”

  “What did it cover?” Hunter asked.

  “Two shotguns. A subsequent application for renewal was rejected, due to his assault conviction.”

  “So, he could be armed?” Caslin said thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps the soft approach is the wrong one, after all?” Hunter said.

  Caslin shook his head, looking at Soriza’s file, “He doesn’t strike me as particularly off the wall. The fact that he bothered to apply for a license demonstrates that. We’ll have a firearms team in place when we go in, just in case.”

  Alongside officers from West Yorkshire Constabulary, the street within the local authority housing estate was cordoned off shortly before five the following morning. The early risers, heading out for work, found their passage from the estate blocked. Caslin stood fewer than fifty yards from number forty-two, Martin Soriza’s house, and with one last glance over to DCI Inglis, he sought the go ahead. Inglis nodded and Caslin hit the dial tab on his phone. The phone rang a number of times before the call was picked up. All those gathered drew a sharp intake of breath upon hearing a woman’s voice.

  “Hello,” she said, evidently having just woken up. Caslin’s eyes flitted between the faces of his colleagues. Soriza was expected to be alone. They had wanted to avoid giving him the potential for gaining further hostages.

  “Hi,” Caslin said casually, “is Martin there?”

  “Hang on,” she said, clearly irritated. A muffled shout went up, calling someone to take the phone. No-one outside spoke. The sense of anticipation was palpable. A gruff voice came onto the line.

  “Yeah, who is it?”

  “Is that Martin, Martin Soriza?” Caslin asked.

  “Yeah, who the hell is this?”

  “Well, Martin, it’s the police.”

  “Police?” he questioned. “What do you want?”

  “We need you to step outside, Martin,” Caslin said, “and we need you to do it right now.” There was silence but Caslin could hear breathing over the line, followed by a stressed voice in the background, haranguing Soriza about bringing the police to the door. “Martin?” Caslin persisted, “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Erm…yeah, okay,” he mumbled, “I’ll be right there.”

  Caslin heard the line go dead and felt his chest tighten slightly. Had he made the right call? They’d know soon enough. He indicated for the firearms team to move in and watched as the officers, clad in black, took their positions within a few paces of either side of the front door. Those on point, to the left and right, had cover from two officers behind. Caslin knew a similar squad was at the rear. They waited, almost daring not to breathe. After a nerve-racking few minutes, the front door cracked open and a female head poked out, glancing up and down the street. She was middle-aged and wrapped in a blue dressing gown, fear carved into her face. She was beckoned out and ushered off to one side, before being instructed to lie face down on the pavement and taken into custody.

  By now, curtains were twitching from the houses around them as the police activity became apparent. Seconds after the woman had left the house, their main suspect followed. He stepped out slowly, hands held aloft, dressed only in his pyjama bottoms, slippers and a white tee-shirt. His face bore an expression akin to that of a rabbit caught in the headlights. Once he was also detained, Caslin and the team let out a collective sigh of relief.

  “Let’s get in there,” he said aloud and what had been an exercise in subtlety, took a new turn. “Have them both transported back to Fulford Road in separate cars. We’ll talk to them later.”

  Caslin allowed the firearms officers to carry out a sweep of the building before he entered. They found no initial sign that anyone else was present and the specialists withdrew. Caslin indicated for Hunter to lea
d the search downstairs, including the outbuildings to the rear, and he took a small contingent upstairs. Soriza was certainly not house-proud, with an abundance of clutter everywhere. Picking their way through the mess, they systematically inspected the rooms. Every possible storage place was rammed with plastic bags, containing everything from sealed cartons of cigarettes to bottles of perfume and packaged lingerie. The cupboards held further boxes of branded shoes, clothing and DVDs. The latter appeared, in the main, to be crude counterfeits.

  Caslin noted a hatch in the ceiling of the landing, giving access to the roof space. Seconds later a ladder was brought up and they entered the loft, scanning it by torchlight. The cramped area revealed yet more boxes and bags, all containing sportswear and other items but there was no sign of Natalie Bermond. Descending the ladder, Caslin found Hunter waiting for him.

  “The garage is stuffed with gear, Sir,” she proffered. “There are multiple recording units linked up. Soriza’s got a heck of a sideline in pirate films going on, plus there’s a mountain of other stuff. We’ve got everything from vodka to furry boots but there’s something else you need to see.”

  “Something that points us towards Natalie?”

  Hunter shrugged almost imperceptibly, “Come see.”

  They went downstairs, though the kitchen and out into the rear garden. The area was paved over with concrete and they had to pick their way around rubbish bags and wheelie bins to get to the garage, a pebble-dashed, prefabricated structure, coming to the end of its useful life. Hunter led them inside and to the rear, past the racks of networked DVD recorders. Behind a pile of stacking crates, Caslin saw what Hunter was talking about. A small area had been given over to a single mattress, a bedside lamp positioned next to it. A heavy sleeping bag, clearly recently occupied, lay in the corner. Hunter pointed to some staining on the inside of the lining. Caslin knelt for a closer look.

  “Could be blood,” he said quietly.