Running Scared (DI Mike Nash Book 10)

by Bill Kitson

  Nash excused himself and took Daniel downstairs to reception. ‘Can you lock this young villain up, Jack’ – he grinned – ‘in one of those nice new patrol cars? Show him how all the sirens and things work whilst I tell the others what’s been happening.’

  ‘No problem, Mike, leave him with me and if he gets bored, I know where the ice cream is; just across the road in the sweet shop.’

  Nash returned to CID as O’Donnell answered her mobile. As soon as she had finished, she looked across at Nash. ‘Before we explain to everyone what’s been going on, that call was from the DI investigating what I understand is being referred to in the press as the “lobsterpot murder”. He said that thanks to the information you and Alisha supplied about what boats were missing from the harbour that night, they’ve arrested two fishermen. One of them has confessed. He’s identified the man we have in custody, Ronald Mason, as the one who struck the blow that killed the fisherman. So that seems to have been cleared up satisfactorily.’

  She turned to the assembled team. ‘And now, I guess you’re looking for some explanations. I know the strain this inquiry has put you all under, but once you know the facts I think you will appreciate why you were kept in the dark about certain facets of the investigation. Becky, I think you should tell everyone how this all started.’

  Becky took a deep breath and began. ‘An old school friend of mine, Aimee, turned up in London at the offices of the newspaper. To be honest, I didn’t recognize her at first. We joined school on the same day and became friends, but she left before I did. She was a lovely girl, but frail.’ Becky paused. ‘No, frail isn’t the right word, perhaps, fragile would be more like it, both mentally and physically. We shared a dorm for years, sat next to one another in class; visited each other during school holidays, all the usual things. But although Aimee was a good, close friend, I wasn’t blind to her weaknesses. I could spot good and bad in people, but Aimee was easily led, sometimes with disastrous consequences. Boys were one of Aimee’s weaknesses, and a lack of will power was another. Sometimes, I thought she was too afraid of offending someone to say no to them.

  ‘Aimee wasn’t academically inclined. I went on to university, so we more or less lost touch. I hadn’t heard from her for years, but then, she turned up out of the blue. She was pitifully thin; the cotton dress she wore was hanging off her. With gaunt, hollow, cheeks she looked haggard, and her posture was like an old woman’s.’

  They all waited, shocked by Becky’s distress, which spoke even louder than her words. ‘I took her to the nearest coffee shop and began to drag her story out of her. It wasn’t easy. She’d spotted my name on an article in the paper and came to London specifically to see me. Now that she’d arrived, she was reluctant to tell me what was wrong. I think she had some romantic notion that I could make everything right for her. If she could just see her friend maybe that would bring her the justice she was seeking. Or maybe she believed I could wave a magic wand. All she would tell me was that she was broke and in the power of an evil man, a drug baron who had become her boyfriend. He’d seduced her with his fancy lifestyle, got her hooked on heroin and then pimped her to all his friends and business acquaintances.’

  Becky smiled sadly. ‘Not an uncommon story. But doubly shocking when it happens to someone you know and you see the pitiful wreck they have become; comparing it to the lovely, vibrant person you remember.’

  She paused and looked at each of them in turn. ‘What shocked me the most was when she was complaining about how much it had cost her to get from Leeds to see me. It wasn’t the price; it was how she earned the money to pay for the ticket.’

  ‘Did she tell you the name of this man, the alleged boyfriend?’ Clara asked.

  ‘She did, and she didn’t. All I knew was he was European. She referred to him, but she was terrified, said it wouldn’t be safe for me if she gave me his real name because he could come after me as he’d done with others who had crossed him. She told me about one man he’d ordered to be killed by his creepy sidekick. Disposed of, was the expression he used. A week later this man’s body was found in a burnt out car on the outskirts of Leeds.’

  ‘She really believed he would come after you?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘She did, and with good reason as it turned out. But fortunately, by the time that happened I’d learned enough about him to take evasive action, so to speak. What I didn’t know was his English identity.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m not with you?’ Clara was mystified.

  ‘All I knew was a foreign name and where he came from before he arrived in this country. That was all she would say. So I took a few days leave from work and put her up at my flat. Gradually, the whole sorry story came out. How she knew he had at least one other woman, a Scotswoman she heard him mention, by the name of Morag, who was in charge of distributing the drugs. All Aimee knew about Morag was that she lived in Yorkshire because of something he’d said, something about more drugs being brought inland so it was time to send someone to collect them from Morag.

  ‘You have to understand that what I’ve just told you only came out in dribs and drabs as she remembered it, and when she was lucid enough to talk – which to be fair wasn’t very often. After three days I had to go shopping; I was running out of food. I promised I’d be back within an hour. When I got back, she had gone. I assumed she’d changed her mind and gone back to him, and I spent the rest of the evening cursing her selfishness.’ Becky shook her head sadly. ‘I should have known better. It was almost a fortnight later when I got a phone call from the police. I met with a detective sergeant who asked me if I’d given my business card to anyone recently. I hadn’t. So he asked me to take a look at a body.’

  Becky’s face became even grimmer, if that was possible.

  ‘If I’d had trouble recognising Aimee before, when I saw her in the mortuary, it was well nigh impossible. If it hadn’t been for the dress and shoes I don’t think I would have known her. Apparently her body had been found floating in the Thames. Her face....’ Becky was too distressed to go on for a moment, but with a supreme effort of will regained her composure. ‘Her face had been cut to ribbons. Not cut; but sliced by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. The police had phoned me because they found my business card in her pocket. The detective asked me if I’d drawn anything on it. I said not, and he produced it. Someone had drawn a skull and crossbones on the back in indelible pencil. Obviously knowing it was going to be immersed in water, equally obviously intending it to be seen by me.

  ‘I decided to follow up on Aimee’s story. After all, it is my job. So I began to try and find out what I could about her supposed boyfriend, which wasn’t easy. Bear in mind, I was working from a name and background, neither of which was English, but after a while I started to get fragments.

  ‘For a while I’d been under the impression that someone was following me, but I believed it was my imagination, or nerves. Then I realized I was seeing the same man. In the meantime, my flat was broken into. Almost everything I had of value got smashed up and my laptop and a few files that I had at home were stolen.

  ‘A couple of days later I was turning in to a side street when a van coming towards me slammed the brakes on, all I could do was jump and pray. I tripped and a passing jogger caught me as I fell. I got off lightly with only a badly bruised knee, a pair of ruined tights and a broken heel. I got the impression someone wasn’t trying mow me down, but to grab me. If that jogger hadn’t run round that corner who knows what could have happened.’

  Becky looked across at Nash. ‘That was when I decided to cut and run. I went to my parents’ house in Bournemouth but even there I knew I wasn’t safe. I spotted the same man following me again.’ She looked at the chief constable and smiled. ‘I knew my investigation must have upset someone. That was when I phoned Aunt Gloria and told her everything that I’d discovered. We needed a plan. She consulted Mike and he came up with the idea of pretending I had drowned. The weather in the Bay of Biscay is never good, but luckily for me th
ere were some particularly bad storms at the time. It took some doing but we persuaded my friends at the newspaper to put the drowning story out; I thought that might buy me time.’

  ‘But what about your family?’ Clara was shocked. ‘Surely they would have been grief stricken.’

  ‘Clara,’ Nash said, ‘how many times do missing persons turn up safe and well? The press report said feared drowned – it didn’t say she was dead.’

  ‘And besides,’ Becky continued, ‘by then I was already hiding out in Netherdale. I’d rung my parents before the report went out and suggested they took a holiday, away from the possible press questions. Aunt Gloria called on Mike not only to help me, but to liaise with the drugs team to break up the suppliers. He decided the only way I’d be safe in the long-term, would be if they could get to grips with the people threatening me.’

  ‘I assume the man you identified from what your friend Aimee told you is Ivan Kovac?’ Clara asked.

  ‘Yes, she told me his name was Todor, and that he came from Serbia. I came up with lots of people called Todor, but one seemed a likely candidate. His name was Todor Nikolic.’

  Nash interrupted. ‘Then I suggest we charge him under the name Nikolic and threaten to apply for a deportation order against him. If he’s the man Becky thinks he is and he believes there’s a chance of him being extradited, I think he’ll talk.’

  ‘So where have you been, Becky, and what have you been doing for the last few weeks?’ Clara asked.

  ‘In France as a house guest of Master Daniel. As for what I’ve been doing, most of my time has been spent bowling leg breaks at him, over, after over, after over. Some days I’d wake up and be unable to move my arm.’ Becky smiled at the memory ‘He says I’m not a bad spin bowler – for a girl.’

  Clara rounded on Nash. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Surely you knew you could trust me.’

  ‘Of course I did, in fact I pressed for it. But I was under orders. Not from within, I feel sure the chief would have agreed. It was Alisha’s boss who made the rules. And as DIU was running the show I couldn’t argue. There wasn’t time, either. I’d to get Becky to safety as fast as possible, and as soon as I returned, I was off on the search. You have to appreciate how quickly all this happened. All we knew was that someone was bringing drugs in via the North Yorkshire coast and we believed they were the same ones who were trying to silence Becky. The idea was that if we could discover how the drugs came into the country, then find out how they brought them here, we could block the operation. In the end, you did most of the work for us.’

  ‘So how come you were the one who had to go with the DIU agent?’ Clara asked.

  ‘Because everyone would think I was away on compassionate grounds because of Becky’s accident. And let’s face it, the plan worked didn’t it? Besides, it was thought that a couple were more likely to go unnoticed.’

  ‘OK, I’ll give you that. But you seemed to be getting on extremely well,’ Clara added, giving Jackie Fleming a sidelong glance.

  ‘Alisha and I go back a long way. We worked together in London.’

  ‘Yes, we thought you seemed to know each other well,’ Jackie added.

  A while later, once Nash had told them about Shakila’s part in the enquiry and answered the team’s many questions, he stood up. ‘Now I am going on leave,’ he told them, but I’ll be back in the office on Monday.’

  Before leaving, he had a quiet word with Clara. ‘I heard the news about David, how is he?’

  She explained, adding, ‘I’m hoping for a week’s leave, depending on how we go with staff.’

  ‘I know, Gloria told me, that’s why I’m coming back on Monday as long as Daniel is looked after, which I think he will be once I’ve phoned the childminder. Right, we’d better be off. I’ll drive Becky back to Gloria’s and then I’ve got a Test match to go to, otherwise, Daniel will never forgive me.’

  As they walked back across the car park, Mike asked Becky, ‘What now?’

  ‘I need to get back to London as soon as I can. I’ve had my holidays’ – she grinned at Daniel – ‘but I need to get back to work. I’ve got a story to write – one hell of a story! Then it’s time I came home. I was only supposed to go to London for a year – that was over five years ago.’

  ‘There is one more thing I’d like to know.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Where did you learn to bowl such good leg breaks?’

  Chapter twenty-eight

  On Monday morning Nash was surprised to find Clara already in his office tidying his desk. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘As someone once said to me, these are outstanding case files. I’ve been through all of them and made notes for action wherever possible. Then I’m on leave.’

  ‘Ouch! That sounds familiar. I’m sorry, Clara. I have explained.’

  ‘I know, but I couldn’t resist it,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’ve only come in to hand over. These aren’t outstanding cases, they’re all the reports. I thought you’d want to see them and there’s bound to be something you need to ask that’s not in there.’ She pointed at the pile of files. ‘How was the cricket?’ she asked as she handed him the stack.

  ‘Fine, just don’t ask Daniel about it. Not unless you’ve a couple of hours to spare.’

  They moved in to the CID room where Viv and Lisa joined them. Nash studied the files with Clara supplying additional background. ‘You’ve done a terrific job, all of you. I think I should go away more often.’ He was about to add something more when his eyes narrowed as he looked at one of the reports.

  ‘This Mason character, the one who used to be a mercenary, it gives his service details here. I think it would be worth checking a bit deeper, but from memory I’ve got a feeling his regiment was the same as Simon Wardle’s.’

  ‘Aren’t you being a bit paranoid? I know you have special reasons for thinking Wardle is wholly evil after what happened in the past, but he can’t be behind every crime in the area.’

  Nash shrugged. ‘Possibly, but I still think it’s worth a look. Viv, get Tom to dig Wardle’s file out.’

  ‘And if it does happen to be the same regiment?’ Clara continued.

  ‘Then I think we ought to take a look at the fish van drivers and see if they were members of that unit. Birds of a feather, if you get my point. And they have done it before, more than once.’

  As she was leaving she commented, ‘By the way, I got the shock of my life when that woman from the DIU was referred to as Mrs Nash. I thought you’d gone and tied the knot. Then, after I heard everything you’d done to help Becky, I wondered if that was on again.’

  Nash’s expression changed, became sombre. He shook his head. ‘No in both cases, and I think you know the reason for that, Clara. Now off you go, give our regards to David, and don’t worry about us here, we’ll do our best to manage without you.’

  As Clara walked across to her car she recalled the sadness in Nash’s eyes when she’d asked about his personal life. It was clear nothing had changed.

  The plane leaving Leeds/Bradford airport for Corfu was packed. Tony Hartley and his family had obtained the last available seats, but only courtesy of a cancellation. A few weeks in the sun at his villa was just what he needed. As they queued for check-in, Hartley thought about all that had happened and what he had to do following their return. He knew he was secure now. He had never dealt directly with the drug dealers on the street, so there was no likelihood of them giving him away. His men were being taken care of and although they knew his identity they wouldn’t talk, there was too much at risk for their families’ financial security. Only Ron Mason knew the location of his island hideout; and he certainly wouldn’t talk.

  When Hartley got back it wouldn’t matter anyway, not with the intended escape of his boss, Simon Wardle, from Felling Prison well in hand. Even the planning of that had reached an advanced stage. So much so, that he was confident that within days of his return to England, it could be put into operation.

 
; It had taken Hartley eighteen months, a lot of criminal activity of varying degrees, and some lives lost, to amass the funds required to finance the scheme. But now the plan was close to being activated. It needed a certain set of events to coincide, and it relied on the unique design of Felling Prison. Hartley had sent Wardle a covert text message the previous night warning him to be ready.

  The next morning, as Tony Hartley was watching his children playing in the sea whilst he enjoyed a drink in a local taverna, back in England an officer entered Simon Wardle’s cell. He was carrying some large, clear plastic bags which he handed to the prisoner.

  ‘Start packing, Wardle. Put all your possessions in there. Time for a change of scene. You’re being moved. From tomorrow, the inmates of Durham Gaol can delight in your company.’

  About the Author

  Having taken early retirement from the finance industry, prolific writer Bill Kitson enjoys the challenge of writing both crime and general fiction, often with a twist of humour. Both his series, the DI Mike Nash crime thrillers and his Eden House Mysteries, are set in North Yorkshire, the county of his birth.

  He also writes his Greek Island Romances under the pseudonym William Gordon.

  Living and working throughout most of the North of England he is now settled on the east coast of England, along with his wife.

  His writing never stops, and when he isn’t seeking inspiration from the surrounding countryside he can be found in a small fishing village on one of the Greek Islands, staring out to sea – laptop at the ready!

  For further details go to:

  www.billkitson.com

  www.billkitsonblog.wordpress.com