by Bill Kitson
‘Exactly, and if he’d killed Stacey, keeping his head down would have been a natural course of action. But suppose he didn’t kill her, suppose his story’s true. That he and Stacey were lovers, and far from raping her, he merely made love to her. That someone else actually murdered her. If that’s so, his actions become logical.’
‘You mean like a gunfighter walking into town in one of those old westerns? Challenging the killers, seeking revenge, that sort of thing?’
‘Couldn’t have put it better. The last thing Vickers said to Tucker on Sunday was “come round on Wednesday”. As far as we’re aware, the two never communicated again. Vickers didn’t have any incoming phone calls or letters, he doesn’t own a mobile so Tucker couldn’t have sent him a text.’
Becky laughed. ‘JT wouldn’t have known how. Barely knew how to switch his phone on and off.’
‘Then how did Vickers know where Tucker would be on Tuesday afternoon?’
‘What if Tucker was following him?’
‘Why would he? They’d a meeting set up for the next day. Besides, he wasn’t to know Vickers would be leaving the house. Not when he was supposedly being protected by us. Anything he wanted to find out, he could ask on Wednesday.’
‘I accept that, but it’s still a bit theoretical.’
‘Hang on, there’s more. One of the first queries I had about Vickers’ conviction was to do with his arrest. The police went through that house with a fine toothcomb. There was no evidence of piano wire in the house. What’s more, they failed to find any evidence of Vickers buying any. So, where did he get the wire used to kill Tucker between Sunday and Tuesday?’
‘He could have bought some on his way there, couldn’t he?’
‘Tuesday’s half-day closing in Helmsdale. The only place that stocks anything like piano wire is the music shop in the arcade. And I know for a fact they’re closed on Tuesday afternoon.’
‘What else is making you have doubts?’
Nash stared at her. ‘What makes you think there’s anything else?’
Becky shrugged. ‘Don’t know, just a feeling.’
‘You’re right. The other big question is, why? I’ve spent time with Vickers. He’s an intelligent man. He’s not one to act on the spur of the moment. Given that he’s not an impulse killer, and that he’s not a psychopath, what motive would he have for killing Tucker? Tucker’s the last person Vickers would want dead, especially before their interview. I know a lot of people want to murder journalists after they’ve written something.’ Nash grinned ruefully. ‘Me included from time to time, but never beforehand.’
‘I can see your logic. It boils down to why Tucker wanted to interview Vickers, and why Vickers was keen to talk to him,’ Becky suggested.
Nash thought about this. ‘You’ve got a point there, Becks,’ he said absentmindedly.
She smiled. In his abstraction he’d used her pet name. She didn’t mind. In fact, she rather liked it.
He moved restlessly. ‘Yes, that’s a really good point. Why were they both so keen?’
‘Maybe he wanted to announce his return, and make some sort of a statement.’
‘On the lines of “I’m coming to get you”?’
‘Something of the sort.’
‘And whoever felt threatened decided to silence Tucker?’
‘It makes sense.’
‘There are three components to murder: motive, means and opportunity. Vickers had the opportunity. But unless he knew Tucker was going to be in Helm Woods, the opportunity aspect is suspect. We can’t find any way of Vickers taking possession of the murder weapon, so the means part is also weak. And we can’t find any motive whatsoever.’
‘Does that mean you’re not going to arrest Vickers?’
‘Let me think about it for a few minutes.’
Becky regarded him with mock severity. ‘I suppose that means you’ll want yet another coffee?’
‘Yes please, Becks.’ His voice was absentminded, his eyes far away again.
Becky grinned and collected the mugs. When she handed him a replacement, his attention was back. ‘Go on,’ she encouraged him.
‘Yes, I will hold him.’
‘But you said...’
‘I know. But if everyone thinks Vickers is in the frame for Tucker’s murder, I can dig about without putting them on guard. And it’ll keep Vickers safe. I can hold him for forty-eight hours before charging him.’
‘If Vickers didn’t kill JT, who did?’
‘I was going to say I’ve no idea, but that wouldn’t be accurate. I’ve a couple of suspects in mind. The problem is I’ve no proof. I need to find evidence linking the murderer to both victims.’
‘Both victims?’ Becky echoed.
‘That’s what this is all about. Ever since Vickers came back, he’s been looking for something. He’s done everything but tear the floorboards up. He doesn’t know what, but he’d been told of it, and what it represents. He said it was proof, but of what he didn’t know. Still doesn’t. All he is sure of is that it exists.’
‘How can he be sure?’
‘There’ve been several break-ins at Grove Road, plus an arson attack. Vickers thinks someone’s trying to destroy it.’ He paused, realizing he’d said too much. ‘Can I trust you to keep everything we’ve talked about confidential? When the time’s right I promise you’ll have first access to any information.’
Suddenly, it was important to reassure him. ‘I promise I won’t send anything through until I’ve cleared it with you.’
‘That’s as much as I could ask.’ He sighed. ‘Not that there is anything printable yet. Not by a long way.’
‘You’re going to have your work cut out.’
‘True, and I suppose I ought to make a start.’ Before he could stop himself he added, ‘Care for dinner tonight? To repay you for last night.’
‘Aunt Gloria told me a lot about you,’ she said, in a tone devoid of expression. ‘I think she was trying to warn me you were dangerous to know.’
‘She tried to scare me off too,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘It was a thinly veiled threat that if I didn’t treat you right, I’d be in trouble.’
Becky smiled. ‘Just dinner then.’
His face was an expressionless mask. ‘Of course, just dinner.’
Billy was frustrated. He’d failed; big style. The gippovan had been great, and the knifing. But that was way back. Since then things had gone bad. The pervert’s house at Grove Road had been the first. Worse had followed; that family at the shop, they should have gone up. The building had, but they’d all got out. Not what Billy had in mind; not what he’d been told to do. Wipe them out, they’d said. Well, that hadn’t happened. Bloody firemen got there too quick.
Then the other flat. What was it they’d called the bloke? A snooper; that was it. A dirty, stinking snooper. He’d to be stopped. He’d got something bad, bad for Danny, bad for Billy, bad for their friends. It had to be destroyed. He’d done that alright. The flat had been gutted. Everything inside went up a treat. At least he thought so. Until he watched, Billy hadn’t known there was anyone inside. That’d have made it better; knowing. Then he’d seen them. He nearly screamed at the sight. At the window, desperate faces. The excitement mounted. Was that the snooper? Billy felt that thrill again as he watched them. Watched them trying to get free from the monster; his monster. The one he’d created. Then, as his excitement became close to uncontrollable, when he was on the very edge of success, they’d escaped.
That was his worst moment. Or so he thought. Then he went straight to Grove Road with Mister Ronnie. But he’d failed again. He’d failed and got shot. Just a graze, but it scared the shit out of him. He’d failed, and Mister Ronnie failed, and Mister Ronnie got done over. Would he blame Billy? Billy was scared of Mister Ronnie. More scared of Mister Jake. Mister Jake had come to the house yesterday. Billy hid under the stairs. He thought Mister Jake had come for him, because he’d let Mister Ronnie down. Turned out he’d only come to talk to Danny. But Bil
ly’d nearly messed his pants with fright.
Billy was desperate. He needed to do something good. Something big; something dramatic. Something to prove his worth. Danny had told him so. And Danny was right. Danny was always right in Billy’s book. It had to be something to hurt them. He couldn’t do all their houses. He couldn’t burn the fields where they worked. Then he remembered. Some of them worked on the industrial estate. Billy knew it because he’d seen them when he was nicking stuff.
He told Danny. And Danny told Mister Jake. And the message came back. ‘Burn down the places where they work,’ Danny said. ‘If there’s no jobs for them, they’ll have to fuck off, back where they came from.’ That was it. Billy had a new purpose. His mood lifted. He had a target. More than that, he had a mission.
‘They put Vickers at the murder scene at the right time. But there are plenty of things don’t add up.’ After she’d looked at the photos, Nash told Clara his reservations.
‘I see what you mean. Is that why you want the search warrant? To look for something to connect Vickers to the murder? Something more than just being in the wrong place at the wrong time?’
‘Not exactly. As you know I’ve had my doubts all along. Now we’re talking murders, not murder.’
‘What? Have I missed something?’
‘Not that I’m aware. But I think we should be reinvestigating the death of Stacey Fletcher, as well as the murder of Tucker.’
‘Do you think there’s a chance, after all this time? Accepting that Vickers didn’t kill the girl, how difficult is it going to be to find the killer now?’
‘Very,’ Nash agreed. ‘But we start with several advantages.’
Clara frowned. ‘Such as?’
‘They were so convinced they had the right man, the police didn’t look for anyone else. And they didn’t know about Gemma’s relationship with Rathmell.’
‘You think that’s relevant?’
‘It might be. If that affair was going on at the time, it might be more than relevant. Look at it this way. Tucker wanted to interview Vickers as soon as he was released; presumably because he had doubts about the conviction. So, what made Tucker suspicious? Then we find out that Tucker had been following Rathmell. And in the process took those photos. Before Tucker can talk to Vickers, he’s murdered. How convenient, if someone didn’t want them to meet.’
‘We’d have a job proving it.’
‘Maybe, but we’ll have to try, and I think I know how. Bring Vickers from the cells.’
The interview was short, the outcome less than satisfactory. ‘I intend searching your house at Grove Road tomorrow. We’ve applied for a search warrant. We’ll be examining the clothing you were wearing on Tuesday. Just pray there’s nothing on it to connect you to Tucker’s murder.’
Vickers shrugged. ‘I didn’t kill him. Why would I? But I didn’t kill Stacey either, and it didn’t stop them then. So, do your worst.’
When Vickers was back in his cell, Clara pulled out a slip of paper from her pocket. ‘I’ve just remembered this. It’s that information from Jack Binns.’
Nash read it. ‘Right, I’m just going to have a word with Doug Curran.’
Clara stared after him in surprise as he walked down the corridor. She thought she knew her boss better than most people. But there were times when she was miles away from fathoming out how his mind worked. Fifteen minutes later he was back. He signalled to Mironova to follow him into his office. Inside, he picked the phone up and dialled Netherdale.
‘Jack, it’s Mike Nash. I need a favour. I want you to photocopy the original of that stuff you gave Clara. Let me have it, will you? And Jack, keep it quiet. I don’t want anybody to know. Not yet.’ He put the phone down; his expression was grim, grimmer than Clara had seen it for a long time.
‘What is it, Mike?’ she asked quietly.
He laid two sheets of paper on the desk. ‘That’s the info Jack gave you about the Hassan’ flat fire.’ Then he pointed to the other one. ‘And that’s what I’ve just got from Curran about the same incident. Look at them carefully.’
Clara read them twice before she realized the significance. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘No, it isn’t. Not in certain circumstances.’
Clara caught on. ‘Good God! What are you going to do?’
‘Nothing, for the time being.’ Nash smiled with neither warmth nor humour. ‘I need more than this.’ He tapped the paperwork. ‘For the moment, these stay locked in my desk. I’ll be looking for something as backup though. And when I’m ready...’
Clara had seen that look before. It was the look of Nash the hunter, Nash the shark. She almost felt sorry for his prey. Almost, but not quite.
Rathmell felt a slight tremor of apprehension when he saw the man at the door. He recognized Nash. Then he remembered what he’d been told about him, and relaxed. If rumour was to be believed there was little to fear. ‘Can I help you?’
Nash showed his warrant card. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. I appreciate how busy you must be. I wonder if I could take up five minutes of your time? I’ve a couple of questions regarding a matter we’re investigating. Purely routine, of course.’ Nash smiled, wondering if he could have crammed any more clichés into so few sentences.
‘As long as it doesn’t take longer than that, Inspector, er?’
‘Nash, sir.’
‘As you said, I’m particularly busy at the moment. Do come in.’
Nash followed the MEP across the hall and glanced to the right, where the lounge door was open. He took a second look, grateful that Rathmell was in front, that the politician couldn’t see his expression.
‘It’s to do with the murder of a journalist, JT Tucker, sir. We examined his mobile phone and found your number listed in the memory. I wondered if he’d been in contact. And if so what he wanted from you?’
‘I certainly haven’t spoken to him that I’m aware of. But you must understand this last week I’ve had hordes of journalists and other media people buzzing around. It’s because of the new political initiative we’ve laid out.’ Rathmell smiled. ‘No doubt you’re aware of it, Inspector Nash? I can only assume that was why he had my number. No doubt he was going to call me, had this terrible event not happened.’
‘Quite so, sir. And that’s all? You can’t think of any other possible reason Tucker might have wanted to speak to you?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Rathmell assured him.
He escorted the detective out and watched as Nash’s car drove slowly down the drive. He turned and walked back into his study. The apprehension he’d felt at the beginning of the interview was compounded now. Rathmell felt threatened. He picked up the phone. ‘I’ve just had a visit, one that’s rather concerned me. I think we need to take some, shall I say, radical steps.’
A few minutes later, he dialled another number and waited. ‘Frank, it’s Carl. Can you get hold of Jake? I’d like you both to come up to the house as soon as you can. Yes, this afternoon if possible. There are things to sort out; urgently.’
His third call took even less time. ‘It’s me. I’ve visitors coming. It’d be better if they don’t see you here. Who? Martin, Frank, and your brother.’
Once he’d reached the main road, Nash stopped the car and reached for his mobile. ‘Clara, I won’t be back until late. No, I’m starting a surveillance job. I need Viv to take over from me as soon as he can get here.’
He reversed into a farm gateway and parked. It was almost half an hour before there was any activity. The first car contained two people. Nash recognized them as Councillor Appleyard and Jake Fletcher, too deep in conversation to notice either Nash or his car. He watched them turn into Houlston Grange and then saw another vehicle approaching. At first he thought it was Pearce. As it got nearer he realized his mistake. A DC’s salary doesn’t run to a Range Rover. Nash bent down to avoid being seen. Despite his crouched position he managed to get a good view of the driver. He stared in disbelief as he watched the vehicle pull into Rathmell’s d
rive. He was still recovering from the shock when Pearce drew alongside him. ‘Keep a note of arrivals and departures,’ Nash instructed him. ‘But whatever you do, avoid being seen. That’s absolutely crucial, okay?’
Nash set off for Helmsdale and called Mironova again. ‘I’ll be half an hour or so. I’ve just got to do a bit of shopping.’ Clara would have been astonished had she seen the shop he went into.
Appleyard was getting twitchy. It was one thing to pontificate on the perceived wrongs of the nation; direct action was quite another matter. When he’d learned that the supposed protests at the Residents’ Association meeting had been carefully orchestrated, that hadn’t seemed too bad. It was when the violence spiralled that Appleyard became scared. Scared of the monster he’d help to create and scared for his own well-being. The presence of Jake Fletcher in the car didn’t help.
Later, as they drove away from the meeting, Appleyard was unaware that his own position was being debated. It was a strictly private meeting. No sooner had the second car left the Grange than Pearce observed the arrival of Gemma Fletcher’s sports car.
She’d only been inside the building five minutes when Rathmell hauled her upstairs. Their first encounter took only a short time. As they lay recovering from their exertions, she asked how the meeting had gone. ‘We’ve got a potential problem,’ Rathmell said.
‘What’s that?’
‘One of our number is less keen than I’d hoped.’
‘That’ll be the officer of the law, I assume?’
‘You’re wrong.’
Gemma turned and supported her head with her hand. ‘Really? I thought if anyone was going to backslide, he’d be the one.’
‘No, he’s as keen as ever – keener in fact. No, it’s our worthy councillor whose feet are getting cold.’
‘How much does he know?’
‘Too much. He could cause a lot of bother if he decided to turn on us.’
‘He’d be dropping himself in it.’
‘True, my darling, but we can’t afford to take the chance.’ Rathmell began to caress her. Her response aroused him again.
