Running Scared (DI Mike Nash Book 10)

by Bill Kitson

  Leaving the premises hadn’t been a panic measure, more the action of a well-trained and careful man. Tony Hartley was certain Ron Mason wouldn’t talk, and his men playing the part of the fish salesmen who handled distribution had been well paid to keep silent, but he still felt the move to be a wise precaution. Later that night at a pre-arranged time, he reported the development in a series of text messages to his boss, Major Simon Wardle. In the privacy of his solitary confinement cell at Felling prison Wardle read the messages, then deleted them. News of the collapse of the drugs business was softened by the profit Hartley reported.

  The money Hartley had amassed was now sufficient to put into operation the next stage towards their ultimate objective; managing Wardle’s escape from prison. Another text message indicated that plans for this were reaching an advanced stage, and that Hartley should be able to report developments within the next couple of days. He hoped he would be able to put the plan into operation in three weeks time.

  Chapter twenty-six

  It was turned midnight by the time Clara got home; she was exhausted. The message light was flashing on her phone and her spirits lifted when she listened to her voicemail and the news conveyed by the cheerful voice of David’s father. The reports were encouraging; David should be flown home in three days time when the next transport was available. Although he would be in hospital for a while and might need a reconstructive procedure on his shoulder, at least they would all be able to visit him.

  Early next morning, on her arrival at Helmsdale, Lisa and Pearce asked her where Nash was.

  ‘How should I know? Probably in France, where he ought to have been in the first place.’

  The others thought it wise to keep quiet and asked instead what she had planned for them to do that day.

  ‘We ought to make a start logging the evidence we removed from the caravan park, I suppose.’ The lack of enthusiasm in her voice was obvious.

  ‘What about that industrial unit?’ Lisa asked. ‘Shouldn’t we take a look at that?’

  Clara’s expression grew instantly more cheerful. ‘Of course we should, and thanks for reminding me, Lisa. The paperwork can wait. That job has been delayed long enough.’

  The key on Patrick Newsome’s key ring turned easily in the lock, confirming Jimmy the locksmith’s assertion that this was the unit. Clara pushed the frosted glass door open, reflecting that she felt as if she was acting out a scene from Groundhog Day. It had only been days since they had entered just such a unit albeit, this one was much larger.

  She waited, but no alarm sounded so she stepped over the threshold. She was inside a miniscule reception area, on one side of which was an equally tiny office. On the other side it led to the warehouse, or storage area, or whatever went on in the main body of the building. She signalled to the others, that before opening the inner door she was going to check the office first.

  The office barely lived up to its name. Apart from the counter below the sliding glass reception window, under which was a double deck of shelves, the room was completely empty. Lisa had joined her in the small room, leaving Pearce watching from the doorway. ‘Look there.’ Lisa pointed to the shelves. ‘Was Newsome running a used car dealership?’

  On the upper shelf was a series of sets of vehicle number plates, with alternating background colours of white and yellow. ‘Nothing so upright and honest,’ Clara replied. ‘Viv?’ She signalled Pearce to join them.

  He squeezed apologetically past Lisa and looked at the display. ‘What do you reckon? Ringers, perhaps?’ he suggested. ‘Do you want me to check them out?’

  He pulled his mobile from his pocket. ‘Do so,’ Clara told him, ‘and whilst you’re doing that, we’ll see what’s through here.’

  With Lisa watching over her shoulder, she opened the door into the warehouse. Both of them blinked in surprise. ‘That’s about the last thing I thought we’d find,’ Clara muttered.

  The vast majority of the space was occupied by a large commercial vehicle. The livery and signage proclaimed it to be the property of a well-known local firm of livestock transporters. In common with the firm’s other vehicles, the body had been adapted to carry sheep or cattle. ‘There’s another van, behind it.’ Lisa pointed to the rear of the wagon.

  As Clara looked across, she recalled the expression, ‘domino effect’. She had never experienced it before. However, as she looked from the wagon to the Transit van and recalled something in Pearce’s report from the Patrick Newsome arrest, ideas tumbled into one another in her brain, leading to a solution. ‘A cattle truck and a van. And Newsome owns a dog,’ she muttered.

  Lisa was mystified to begin with. ‘What?’

  ‘Viv, can you come through here a minute,’ Clara called out.

  ‘You rang, m’lady,’ he intoned in the manner of a butler.

  ‘In your report on the Newsome arrest you mentioned a dog. What breed was it, do you remember?’

  ‘A Border Collie. Why, is it important?’

  As he spoke, he looked past Mironova, to the wagon, the van, and the significance of the question hit him, at about the same time as Lisa made the connection. ‘Hell’s Bells!’

  Lisa walked to the back of the unit and peered down the side of the van. She could just make out a tall oblong shape in the far corner. Standing about five feet high, it’s grey metal surface contrasting sharply with the whitewashed wall against which it was fixed. She recognized it immediately. ‘There’s something here you ought to see.’

  The others joined her. If further proof was needed, this was it. Although they had no definite facts to support their theory, the circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. The presence of a gun cabinet was the last link. ‘Patrick,’ Clara muttered, ‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do.’

  She turned to Lisa and Viv. ‘We’d better leave here immediately. Try not to touch anything on your way out. I’ll phone Jackie as soon as we get outside and ask her to get a CSI team here as fast as possible. If that gun cabinet contains what I think, Mr Newsome senior will have a whole new charge sheet dedicated to him, ranging from murder downwards.’

  As they waited, Clara instructed Pearce to check with the haulier whose logo was on the cattle wagon.

  ‘It’s a ringer, sure enough,’ he reported. ‘The real one is a Scania, not a Volvo, and I spoke to the driver. He’s on the outskirts of Kelso at the moment, having collected a dozen Highland cattle from somewhere unpronounceable and is ferrying them to a farm at the far side of York. He seemed to take it as a personal insult that his wagon had been cloned.’

  As he was speaking, Jackie Fleming’s car pulled into the car park, closely followed by the van marked CSI. ‘I didn’t want to miss the fun,’ Jackie commented as she got out.

  After they had instructed the team leader, Pearce told them the result of his check into the van’s registration details. ‘That’s an even more radical change. The number actually belongs to a double-decker bus that, according to the company’s route manager, should be approaching Leeds city centre at the moment.’

  ‘They’re not short of imagination, you have to give them that,’ Clara commented. ‘She explained to Fleming what Pearce was referring to, and added, ‘the vehicle identification number, can’t be changed though, so once our specialists get their hands on them we’ll be able to find their true identity.’

  They watched the CSI team at work with interest. Jackie indicated the wagon. ‘When you look at it closely, the paint job isn’t brilliant, nor is the signwriting.’

  ‘True, but close enough to pass at a casual glance, especially at night, which is the only time I suspect this wagon was on the road.’

  ‘I suppose it makes more sense to use a vehicle with some sort of livery than an unmarked one. And you’d expect livestock transporters to be transporting livestock.’

  ‘I’ve asked Viv to make a note of all the other numbers on the plates in the office and check them out later. It’ll be interesting to see what he comes up with.’

  �
��We’re ready to move the wagon,’ the team leader informed them. ‘Do you want to know what we’ve found so far, or wait until we’ve finished on the Transit?’

  ‘I think we’ll have it all in one go,’ Fleming told him. They watched the forensic officers descend on the van, and then Jackie turned to Mironova. ‘The chief wanted to hold a media conference today, but in the end I persuaded her to hold off until we knew what you’d found in here. It was a gamble, there might have been nothing of any importance, but it’s beginning to look like a wise decision. The impact of passing all the news in one go will be far greater.’

  It was a good hour before the forensic team announced that they were ready to move the van. ‘Here’s what we have so far. There were two sets of prints in the Scania, identified by our magic machines, as belonging to Patrick and Dwayne Newsome. The same prints are in the cab of the Transit. We also collected what we believe to be dog hairs from the cabs of both vehicles. There was also some animal hair in the back of the Transit, but from what I could tell without a microscope, I’d guess it isn’t canine. Considerable amounts of it, some of which was stuck to what we think are dried bloodstains. We may even be able to match the tyre prints. And that’s about the size of it; apart from a few sweet wrappers and a sandwich carton. Oh, there was also a piece of sticky paper on the foot-well of the van, driver’s side that might be of interest. I think it may be a label of some sort, although it could just as well be a parking ticket, or the price sticker off the sandwiches. Again, we’ll know more when we get back to the lab. Now, we’re going to have a look at the cabinet.’

  Clara frowned, something the officer had mentioned rang a bell with her, but she couldn’t remember why at that moment.

  Of the two bronze keys on the ring, the first wouldn’t go into the upper lock and Jackie looked sharply at Lisa, who had maintained all along that these were keys from a gun cabinet. ‘Try the other one,’ Lisa said. ‘The locks have to be different to comply with firearms regulations.’ She smiled at Clara who acknowledged that Lisa living the country life with forester Alan Marshall had its advantages.

  Seconds later the officers were staring at the contents. The shelf near the top was stacked with ammunition boxes. The rack below held two 12 bore over-and-under shotguns, but the weapon that gripped their attention was a large calibre hunting rifle. Ideal for bringing down a deer: or an equally defenceless police officer.

  ‘I want to know whose fingerprints are on that weapon and I want a ballistics test carried out, using the ammunition on that shelf,’ Jackie told the officer. ‘If it was the weapon used to kill PC Riley, I want there to be absolutely no chance of the evidence being challenged by some smart-arsed defence counsel. And I want all the reports from in here ASAP.’

  ‘That could take a while.’

  ‘In that case’ – Fleming smiled at him, sweetly – ‘don’t let me detain you. The sooner you get started, the better.’

  ‘I just wish we’d found something to show where Newsome took the livestock. It would be nice to nail the receivers as well,’ Clara said.

  ‘Patience, Clara. Let’s be fair, we’ve made enormous progress today. If the tests come back positive, we’ve got Patrick and Dwayne Newsome in the frame for murder. Apart from the clear-up rate and the PR benefit, that will be a huge morale boost for the force. And, who knows, if we get lucky some more evidence will turn up, or one of the Newsomes will talk.’

  As there was little they could do about the discoveries at the industrial unit until they had word back from forensics, the detectives returned to Helmsdale station and started to collate the evidence retrieved from the caravan park. There was only one message, which was from Nash, to tell them he’d been delayed, and wouldn’t be able to get back to the office until the following day.

  When Clara arrived at the station next morning the phone in the CID suite was ringing. The caller was Jackie Fleming and Clara could tell by the excited tone in her voice that the news was good.

  ‘CSI have just been on. The hairs in both vehicle cabs are canine. Those in the back of the Transit and the bloodstains are from deer. The rifle has been tested and the ballistics officer confirms a definite match. That is the rifle that was used to kill PC Riley, and Patrick Newsome’s prints are all over it. In addition, the hair we removed from Dwayne Newsome’s hoodie when he was arrested has been identified as being from a fallow deer.’

  She paused and then added, ‘I’ve also had news about our shot man from the caravan park.’

  ‘Stanley?’ Clara asked.

  ‘Yes, his fingerprints have been matched to one, Terrence Blake. Vanished off the radar years ago. Wanted by several forces in connection with some of the ugliest knife work around. Many of his victims were lucky to survive, if lucky is the right word when you see the mess he made of their faces.’

  ‘That sounds like game, set, and match.’

  ‘I agree; the only thing we haven’t resolved is that piece of paper. You remember, the one off the floor of the van? Apparently it’s some sort of packing label. The initial on it are KMP, but what that stands for, I’ve no idea.

  ‘KMP? No, it means nothing to me either.’

  Clara was in the general office and as she spoke Lisa Andrews looked up from the report she was typing. ‘Did you say KMP?’ Lisa asked.

  Clara nodded. ‘Hang on, Jackie; I think Lisa wants to tell me something.’

  ‘Could it be Kovac Meat Packers? I found some invoices with their letterhead in amongst the stuff from the caravan park. They’re based in Leeds, but I couldn’t see any connection to the drugs business.’

  ‘Maybe not, but there is a connection to the theft of sheep, the poaching of deer and the murder of PC Riley.’ Clara relayed Lisa’s comments. ‘I think we might need even more charge sheets for Patrick Newsome and Ivan Kovac.’

  ‘Dwayne Newsome as well,’ Jackie told her. ‘His prints were also found in both vehicles, and we now have that hair sample, and it would take two men to lift a fully grown deer into that van.’

  It was strange, Clara thought, as the two men were being charged, but of the two she would have been far more likely to believe Dwayne capable of committing a cold-blooded murder than Patrick, and yet the evidence pointed clearly to the father being responsible.

  Anyone less murderous in appearance, Clara couldn’t imagine. Patrick looked so ordinary. Then she remembered something Nash had said a long time ago. ‘How many times have you heard friends or neighbours being interviewed, and saying, what a nice man he was, polite, quiet, considerate, and helpful? As if they expect all murderers to have fangs, two heads, and to go around with blood dripping from their clothing.’

  At this moment, Patrick Newsome looked downcast; more than that, he looked thoroughly miserable. He nodded acceptance of the charges and turned away to confront his son, who was awaiting his turn. The sight of Dwayne seemed to depress Patrick all the more. It was no part of Clara’s job description to cheer up accused men, but she was unable to restrain herself on this occasion. ‘About the only good news to come out of this whole sorry mess, Patrick, is that if you’re found guilty of all the charges against you, the sentence will be so long that by the time you’re released from jail, Eileen might have got around to forgiving you for sleeping with Sharon.’

  Newsome gave her a sour look. ‘You think so? You really believe that Eileen will forgive me? Where’s the good news in that?’

  Clara headed back to CID reflecting on the Newsome family who had turned out to be more than a mere nuisance, and the satisfaction Maureen Riley would feel in knowing she had helped to catch her husband’s killers.

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Clara asked Jackie if she could take a week’s leave with effect from the following Monday. She explained about David’s return and the likelihood that he would be in a Birmingham hospital for some time. Having received a conditional acceptance from Fleming, Clara walked back into Nash’s office to attempt more paperwork.

  It was lunchtime, and once more
it was Pearce’s turn to collect the sandwiches. He was walking back across the car park when Nash’s car pulled in. Pearce watched Nash get out. He was surprised when the second occupant of the car emerged and when the third climbed out, only a smart piece of fielding on his part saved Lisa’s egg mayonnaise sandwich from disaster. Pearce stared at the trio in astonishment.

  Clara was in the kitchen making coffee. She carried the brew into the CID suite and set it down on Lisa’s desk. It was as well she did, for at that moment, a small tornado in the shape of Daniel Nash burst in to the room, and with cries of ‘Aunt Clara’, rushed across and hugged her tight.

  ‘Daniel,’ she exclaimed, ‘where have you come from? I thought you were in France?’

  ‘Yes, I was. But when Papa phoned yesterday, we caught a flight and he picked us up from the airport this morning. Now we can go to the Test match.’

  Clara looked up to see Nash walk in. He was accompanied by an extremely attractive woman. A woman Clara recognized immediately, although her hair had been quite different in the photograph Clara had seen recently. The photograph in the Netherdale Gazette that accompanied the announcement of her ‘presumed death by drowning’.

  Clara stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘Becky? Becky Pollard? What’s going on?’

  Nash answered for her. ‘Sorry, Clara, everything that happened at the caravan park was such a rush that I didn’t have chance to explain. I hope it isn’t too big a shock.’

  As he was speaking, the chief constable entered, followed by Jackie Fleming. Pearce was despatched to organize more coffee and when they had all been supplied, chairs were dragged up for everyone.