by Bill Kitson
His next call was to Ramirez, who confirmed the body was that of Appleyard.
Nash had barely put the phone down when Becky entered. ‘I printed that photo off,’ she announced. ‘I did half a dozen copies and e-mailed one to you as well.’
‘Thanks, Becky.’ He told her about the identification of Appleyard and added the news about the bullets.
‘Right, I’m going home to write that up. Unless you object to us printing it?’
‘No problem. At the same time, put in that “in view of new evidence, we’re reopening the Stacey Fletcher murder investigation”. Quote me as saying,“We now believe the original conviction was flawed.” That, and the shooting story, should stir things up.’
‘That’s what you enjoy, isn’t it? Stirring people up?’
‘It often gets results.’ Nash would reflect on that later. But even he couldn’t anticipate the reaction to the statement. ‘Before you dash off, I need a favour.’
‘I’ll help if I can.’
‘Lisa!’ Nash shouted through the open door.
DC Andrews appeared. ‘Lisa, this is Becky Pollard from the Netherdale Gazette. Becky, I know this is asking a lot, but do you have a spare camera with a telephoto lens? If so, will you lend Lisa it and show her how to use it?’
‘I’ve got my own digital. It’s not as powerful as the one from work, but it’s more than adequate. And it’s virtually idiot proof.’ Becky winked at Lisa. ‘So even you could use it.’
Lisa stared at the building. There’d been no movement since she’d arrived. She guessed Gemma Fletcher was in her office. Her red sports car was in the car park. Lisa was wondering whether to risk going for a sandwich when Nash pulled up. ‘Anything happening?’ he asked.
Lisa shook her head. ‘Are you going straight in? I could do with something to eat. And I need to take a leak.’
Nash looked over at the public toilets. ‘I wouldn’t risk going in there. If you can hang on, we’ll get Gemma and take her to the station. How did you get on with Becky?’
‘The camera’s easy, as she promised. Anything going on? She’s a really nice girl.’
‘She’s also the chief’s goddaughter.’
Lisa whistled. ‘That might cramp your style. Mind you, nothing else has.’
‘You’re getting as bad as Mironova for snide remarks. Anyway, after we’ve done with Gemma, I want you to head out to Houlston Grange. I need photos of everyone leaving and arriving. If you can’t get a facial, make sure you get the number plate.’
‘What makes you think there’ll be any action?’
‘I’m sure our chat with Gemma will stir things up. If it doesn’t, I’ll be disappointed.’Nash was surprised that Gemma didn’t put up any resistance. It was only when he started to interview her that the reason for her acceptance became plain.
‘This isn’t a formal interrogation,’ he began. ‘Nevertheless it’s being recorded for everyone’s protection. If you feel you need someone else present, just say so.’
Gemma nodded to show she understood, and Nash continued. ‘The first question I want to ask is about an attack on Gary Vickers. To be exact, the second in three days. His house was broken into last night by a known associate of your brothers. Do you know anything about that?’
‘Was he killed?’ There was no mistaking her eagerness.
‘No, he wasn’t harmed. But it seems everything that’s happened to Vickers can be traced to you.’
‘Why should I care? I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.’
Nash’s tone was silk-like. ‘I think you should care. Especially as we now know Vickers didn’t kill your daughter. That’s why we’re reopening the case. And that’s why you’re here.’
The colour drained from her face. Her expression changed. The confidence vanished. It was several moments before Gemma could speak. ‘How do you know?’
‘I can’t disclose that. But the evidence is overwhelming. So, if he didn’t kill Stacey, who do you think did?’
Gemma shook her head. Nash continued. ‘Can you tell me where you were on Tuesday last, between 4 p.m. and 8 p.m.?’
There was a pause, before Gemma replied, ‘I was at home. Writing reports for a sales meeting.’
‘Alone?’
‘Of course.’
‘And where were you when Stacey was murdered?’
‘I don’t... I can’t remember. It was fifteen years ago.’
‘Really, but this was your daughter, your only child. You expect me to believe you can’t recall where you were when she was murdered?’
‘I think I’d like my lawyer present.’
Nash looked at her. ‘I’m not going to ask you any more questions.’ He paused before adding, ‘For the time being you’ve given me all the answers I need.’
When Gemma had left, he turned to Lisa. ‘What did you make of that?’
‘When you told her about Vickers, she was shocked that we were sure he wasn’t guilty. And when you told her you were reopening Stacey’s murder investigation she was terrified. But although she was afraid, she wasn’t surprised. I think she knew Vickers didn’t kill Stacey.’
‘I agree, and there’s only one reason Gemma could know Vickers wasn’t guilty. Because either Gemma killed Stacey herself, or she knows who did.’
‘What’s next, Mike?’ Pearce and Lisa were in Nash’s office.
‘I want a warrant out for Danny Floyd. See to that, will you, Viv? The charge is the murder of Councillor Appleyard. Throw in two counts of attempting to murder me as well. Then I want a team getting together to arrest him. If I can find the men.’
‘I presume Danny must be behind the arson attacks too. Stands to reason, if he shot Appleyard, he also torched the building. That’d put him in the frame for the Druze family killings and the other fires.’
‘Probably,’ Nash agreed. ‘But we’ve no evidence he was the arsonist.’
‘I’d better get off on my photo shoot,’ Lisa said, pocketing the borrowed camera.
Becky’s copy was too late for the early editions. However, the print room held the final edition until the report on Appleyard’s murder could be included. Late that afternoon Pearce brought a copy of the paper into Nash’s office.
Nash looked up from the paperwork he was reading. ‘What is it, Viv?’
‘This item your girlfriend’s written. It’s dynamite.’ Pearce held out the paper.
Nash skim-read the piece. The contentious bit was at the end. The writer speculated whether Appleyard’s new political directive had provoked an extreme reaction. Any hope that the problematic paragraph would escape notice was dispelled by the headline. ‘Councillor Slain,’ it read. ‘Was Immigration Policy The Motive?’
‘Oh hell!’ Nash muttered. He looked up. ‘That’s like an invitation to declare open season on all migrants. And there’s bugger all we can do about it, except ask for reinforcements.’
‘At least King’s not on hand to block your request,’ Pearce pointed out.
‘No, but neither is the chief here to override him. And we don’t know where he’s gone and for how long. For all we know, he might be back. Anyway, I’ll soon find out. I’m going to ring Tom immediately.’
Pratt was in the midst of reading the article. ‘I can guess why you’ve rung. I’ll put as many officers as I can on standby, and do the same at Bishopton. I’ll get Binns on it straightaway.’
‘Isn’t it Creepy’s province?’
‘I’m not wasting my breath on him. Just stand up for me at the tribunal. At least King isn’t around to stick his oar in.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Gone to that conference the chief’s attending. One of the delegates couldn’t make it, so they asked for King. My informant reckons that shows he’s in line for a chief constable post.’
‘Only time will tell,’ Nash said. Fortunately Pratt was unable to see the expression on his face. ‘Thanks, Tom.’
‘I wish I could do more.’
Lisa Andrews was uncomfortable.
Not only that, her perch was precarious. She’d been sitting in the car for over an hour before there was any activity outside Houlston Grange. Then two vehicles arrived in quick succession. The first was a pick-up truck; the second a Range Rover. Lisa’s position was too distant to get identifiable photos of the occupants, even using the zoom lens. But she’d got legible snaps of the number plates. She knew Nash wanted more. He needed to know who Rathmell was meeting. She’d done a swift reconnaissance and seen a spot where the wall surrounding Rathmell’s estate could be scaled. Just inside the grounds was a huge copper beech, which commanded a good view of the house. The tree was in full foliage and offered excellent cover. From thirty feet up, she could see clearly across the manicured lawns into the ground-floor rooms. This was better; with the zoom lens she could bring the occupants into sharp focus. For a long while all she could see was Rathmell. He was standing in front of one of the bay windows, his back to her. It looked as if he was addressing the others.
After twenty minutes sitting astride the branch, Lisa could feel the leaves tickling her neck. Eventually her patience and discomfort were rewarded. Rathmell moved forward. The other two men moved into view. Lisa began firing shot after shot, grateful for the speed of the shutter. She recognized one of the men and all but dropped the camera. She swayed slightly and grasped the tree trunk. By the time she recovered her balance, the room was empty. The front door opened. Lisa trained her lens on it and managed a few more shots. She scrambled down the tree and was back in her car before the two vehicles left the drive. She snapped the rear number plates as they drove off.
Fifteen minutes later Gemma Fletcher’s car came down the lane. Gemma was driving with more speed than skill. She slewed into the driveway, almost clipping one of the stone gateposts as she passed in a cloud of dust. Lisa lowered the camera and smiled. Nash had been right. Their revelation of Vickers’ innocence had stirred up a hornet’s nest.
Lisa didn’t bother trying for photos of Gemma inside the house. She’d seen more than enough photos of Gemma and Rathmell. To while away the time, she switched on the radio and tuned it to Helm Radio.
Billy was angry. He’d wanted to do the fire in the office without interference. It was a good fire. One of his best, but Danny had spoilt it. Why had he shot the man first? It was no fun setting fire to a dead man. But Danny had told him to. Why not just let him burn him to death? He could have done it easily enough. And it would have taken longer. He’d told Danny this. ‘With a bit of luck we’ll be able to hear him screaming. It’s great when they scream. Sometimes when I hear them scream I come in my pants, it’s so good.’
And Danny had looked at him so oddly, as if he was seeing him for the first time. ‘Fuck you, Billy,’ he’d said. ‘You are one sick bastard. Do you know that? No, you can’t burn him to death. I’ve been told. He has to be shot. Get the petrol. Wait for me outside and don’t start messing about until I’m well clear. Then you can do what you like. As long as you torch the place, I don’t care if you stand in the middle of the Market Place stark bollock naked.’
If Billy hadn’t been allowed his own way at the fire, things had changed quickly. Today, Danny had brought Mr Jake to see him. Billy was scared of the way Mr Jake looked at you. It made something inside Billy curl up with fright. He knew Danny was afraid of Mr Jake. And nothing frightened Danny. ‘We want you to use your special talent, Billy,’ Mr Jake had said. He put his arm around Billy’s shoulders. Billy nearly wet himself with fear. ‘Tonight. As soon as you can. And make it big. Make it spectacular. Got any ideas?’
So Billy had told him. ‘Them units, Mr Jake. I’ve had my eye on them. Where the Immigrunts work. There’s lots of flammables in them. They’d go up well.’And Mr Jake had laughed. Billy wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think he’d said anything funny.
‘So that’s what you call them, is it? Immigrunts. I like that. You know, Billy, I think that’s just the place. Make it good, won’t you. If it’s really good, I’ll pay for you to have free fanny for a month, how’s that?’
Billy’s puny chest swelled with pride. He was being paid. Not in money admittedly. Only in kind. But that was good enough. He’d never been paid before. Now he was a professional.
Chapter twenty two
Ricky Smart had been busy. Payment arrived that afternoon, courtesy of Jake Fletcher. ‘I want distribution immediately. By that I mean today. You have the goods?’
‘I’ve enough. What you’ve paid for anyway.’
‘Just as well.’
‘I can always get more.’
‘You’d better, and fast. Those were the instructions.’
For a moment Ricky was tempted to argue. Two things stopped him: Jake’s reputation, and the look in his eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told Fletcher. ‘I can get as much as you need, within hours.’
‘Do it.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes, now. I want a fresh supply by ten tonight. Got that?’
Tonight was going to be immense. Ricky was tempted to ask what it was about, but better not to know. Better to remain ignorant, about this and other things. Like who was paying, was it connected to the fires, shootings and what had happened to Appleyard. Yes, definitely better not to know.
Jake was speaking to Danny, his voice low, barely above a whisper. ‘Your cue is the fire. As soon as Billy gets it going, I want you to go round the estate. Tell them the immigrants killed Appleyard. Make Appleyard into a hero. Get everybody on the streets. Get them to show that ordinary folk aren’t going to be bullied. If there’s any doubters; deal hard. There’ll be extra gear on offer if you perform well. Got that?’
Danny nodded. Slowly, skilfully, Jake fanned the flames of Danny’s hatred. By the time he’d finished, the fire burning within Danny was fiercer than anything Billy could set. Fletcher had been told to achieve total breakdown of law and order on the Westlea, to organize a mass protest by the local population following the murder of their favourite leader. How had Rathmell put it? ‘When the dust settles on this uprising we’ll be the ones wielding power round here. We’ll be the ones the locals look to for help and guidance. And you, Jake, will be second in the chain of command: second only to me.’
Fletcher found it difficult to hide his pleasure. Much as Frank Appleyard had when Rathmell had said the same thing to him. But Jake didn’t know that.
Nash left the office around 6 p.m. Instead of heading home, he drove across town to Becky’s flat. There was no reply when he rang her doorbell so he pressed it again. When he rang a third time without response he was beginning to get worried, until he saw movement reflected in the glass panel. She opened the door. She was wearing a towelling robe and her hair was wet.
‘Sorry, I was in the shower.’ She saw the look on his face. ‘What’s wrong?’
He pulled his copy of the Gazette from his pocket. ‘Did you think that would help?’ His voice was raised in anger.
Becky flinched. ‘Let me see. I haven’t read it yet. You’d better come in, as long as you stop shouting.’
‘I’m not shouting,’ he hissed. ‘And why do you need to read it? You wrote it, for God’s sake. Look! There’s your name on the by-line. Becky Pollard. That is you, isn’t it?’
She winced again. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the shouting or the sarcasm. She took the paper and began to read. As she got towards the end her expression changed, darkened with what? Anger, embarrassment, shame? Nash couldn’t be sure.
She lowered the newspaper and looked him in the eye. ‘I didn’t write this.’ The denial was flat, emotionless, in contrast to his pent-up fury. ‘None of this last bit was in the piece I sent in, and the headline isn’t mine.’
‘So why has it got your name on it?’
Instead of replying, she took his hand and dragged him into her study. She switched the computer on. The room was crowded, even with only two of them in it. She went into her e-mail file and selected sent items. ‘There! Read that.’
Sure enough, her copy held none of the politica
l overtones that had appeared in the paper. Nash leaned over to view the article as she’d presented it. They were standing close together. He smelt the fresh, clean scent of her. His head swam. His pulse raced. ‘Becky, I’m sorry. I thought, well, I don’t know what I thought. I was angry. I thought you’d done the dirty on me. It felt like a betrayal.’
She was staring straight ahead, stony-faced. He turned her towards him. ‘Will you please forgive me?’ He pulled her roughly to him and began to kiss her with an intensity that surprised even him. As he felt her respond, he slid his hand to the waist of her robe and undid the belt. He reached for her, to caress her, hearing her moan gently. Then she thrust him away, and turned her back on him. ‘No, Mike,’ she told him firmly. ‘Not until I’m sure. Sure that you’re free of ghosts. Two’s enough in one bed.’ She was glad he couldn’t see the expression on her face. Glad he couldn’t tell how hard she’d to fight her own desire. Knew she dare not look at him. If she saw one hint of sadness, of unhappiness in his face, the temptation to give way would be too much.
She was still trying to recover her composure when Nash’s mobile rang. She turned to look at him as he answered the phone. Within a second Becky saw by his expression the news was bad. He was already halfway out of the room before he rang off.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Trouble! On the Westlea. Two industrial units blazing and a mob stoning the fire brigade. I have to get over there.’
Becky reached her bedroom door. She left it open and picked up her bra. ‘No, Mike. We have to go. Give me two minutes.’ She flung the robe on the bed and Nash had a swift glimpse of her lovely figure. She emerged seconds later, fully dressed. ‘By the way, I do forgive you.’
She picked up her camera on the move. ‘Come on.’ She held the door open for him.
Billy had made all his preparations with care. The unit contained a company making plastics. Plastic burned well. That was all he knew about plastics. He wasn’t aware that if plastic caught fire, the flames would move faster than a man could run. Such technicalities were far beyond Billy.
