Identity Crisis

by Bill Kitson

  ‘Brian started spending more time away from home. Business trips, visiting clients, golfing holidays, that sort of thing. Trips where Vanda wasn’t invited. It made me wonder if he was seeing another woman.’

  ‘Was that purely your suspicion, or did your sister think it as well?’

  ‘I don’t … I’m not sure,’ Jo ended lamely.

  Clara had a flash of inspiration, the sort she felt Nash would have been proud of. ‘Or was it that you suspected it was Vanda who was seeing someone else, not her husband? Is that it? Was your sister having an affair?’

  There was a long silence before Jo replied. Getting her story right? Clara wondered cynically.

  ‘Yes, I did think that,’ she said eventually. ‘I didn’t have the nerve to challenge her about it, though. I’d never do that, not unless she volunteered the information.’

  ‘And she didn’t?’

  ‘No, Vanda’s always been a bit secretive. Vanda wasn’t the type who…. Well, she liked attention, especially male company. Before she was married, I mean. She was never short of boyfriends before she met Brian, and she was fairly keen on, well, the physical side of her relationships, if you get my point. That was why I couldn’t understand it when they stopped sharing the same bed. Along with that, she became more timid, subservient. Almost as if she’d done something wrong and was nursing a guilty secret, or that Brian had found out something and she was trying to make amends. But the clothing, that was very unlike her.’

  Mironova frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ever since things started to go downhill Vanda stopped caring about her appearance. Wearing jeans to go shopping, not bothering to get her hair done as often. Little things like that. Almost as if she wanted to avoid making herself look attractive.’

  ‘Do you think her husband cared about her?’

  There was a flash of anger in Jo’s eyes as she replied, ‘That’s impossible to say.’

  ‘OK, that’ll do for now. What I’d like you to do is go back to Helmsdale. You must be exhausted. If you don’t feel up to driving, I’ll get Sergeant Binns to take you. You can collect your car later. I’ll get him to ring one of the hotels, they’re sure to have rooms available at this time of year. You might not get much sleep, but you need the rest. Then you can come into the station in the morning to give your formal written statement, unless we’ve news for you before then, in which case I’ll let you know straightaway.’

  Jo refused the offer of a lift and set off for Helmsdale in the Mercedes. Once the tail lights of the sports car disappeared round the bend in the drive, Mironova turned to Binns. ‘What’s the form on SOCO?’

  ‘They’ll be here as soon as they can, that’s all they said. They’ve to come from York. The Netherdale team is tied up with a domestic; Lisa Andrews is handling. Apparently, the couple had been arguing and he decided he ought to bury the hatchet. Unfortunately, he chose to bury it in his wife’s head. It could be an hour or two before they get here. What do you want to do in the meantime? I could get a uniformed man to stand guard duty if you want? I really ought to head back.’

  ‘I will want a uniform on duty, but not just yet. I’ll remain here at least until SOCO arrive. I want to have a word with the milkman, if he delivers today. I also want to see what the postman brings.’

  ‘Milkman?’

  Clara pointed to the small crate by the back door. Binns noticed the two full bottles for the first time. ‘I want to know when he left those,’ Clara told him. ‘If he delivers here every day; that means Vanda Dawson could have been missing since before Friday morning.’

  ‘Unless she’s having it off somewhere with her fancy man whilst her husband is playing golf in Spain.’

  ‘She’d have to be a raving nymphomaniac or have the worst memory in history to be doing that when her sister is due to arrive for the weekend.’

  ‘What you said about waiting for the postman, why do that?’

  ‘Photographs,’ she replied pointedly.

  ‘I see. You think that might be the case?’

  ‘I don’t think we can afford to overlook it.’

  ‘I’m not comfortable about leaving you here alone.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack, but I won’t be alone. Not for long anyway.’

  Binns looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘I’m about to make a phone call. I’ll dig Major Sutton out of his bed: my bed, actually. He can come out and keep me company until the forensics lads arrive. When you get back I think you’d better phone Pearce and get him to go to the station.’ Clara thought for a moment. ‘No, on second thoughts, ask Viv to come straight here, he’s big enough to take care of himself. I should be at Helmsdale to coordinate things. It would be useful if Tom was able to come into work today as well, but you’d better leave that until a less anti-social hour.’

  When Binns had left, Clara phoned David’s mobile. It took a few rings before he answered, his voice heavy with sleep. She explained the situation and gave him directions. ‘Sound your horn when you arrive. I’ll come out to you. I can’t let anyone else into the house until the scene of crime people have been through it.’

  Knowing he was on his way cheered Clara up. She wasn’t scared, but would feel more comfortable when he arrived. Until then, she decided to try and find Vanda Dawson’s filofax or her mobile phone. She met with partial success. In one of the kitchen drawers she found the filofax. Mironova took out a plastic evidence bag from her pocket and dropped the diary inside. She sealed the bag and laid it on the worktop before continuing her search. Following her original pathway, she looked through the house, opening drawers, cupboards and every imaginable storage space. Hanging beneath a coat in the hall, she found a well used handbag containing car keys and a purse with bank cards and cash. Despite her extensive hunt, she found no trace of the missing phone.

  Mironova returned to the kitchen and stood by the worktop, a puzzled frown on her face. Something was niggling at the back of her mind. Something she should have seen, but hadn’t. As she waited, her own mobile bleeped. At first she thought it was a text message coming in, but one glance at the screen showed her it was a low battery warning. She’d left the phone on the table in her lounge instead of plugging it into her charger, and now she was going to pay the penalty. She was about to curse her stupidity when she stopped. That was it! That was what she’d been trying to remember! Not only was Vanda Dawson’s mobile missing, but Clara had seen no sign of a charger either.

  There was no chance to dwell on her discovery as she saw the lights of an approaching vehicle. Clara hurried to the back door in time to see the milkman emerge from the cab of his pickup. She hailed him and walked across the gravel towards him, relieved to find the storm was beginning to abate. In the glare of the headlights, she could see the driver’s puzzled expression. He might have been used to being greeted by a female, but this obviously wasn’t the woman he expected to see.

  Clara identified herself and showed the man her warrant card. In response to her question, the milkman confirmed that he had left the two pints the previous morning.

  ‘Was everything as normal?’ Clara asked.

  He scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘As far as I remember. I mean, I’d have noticed if anything was out of the ordinary. What’s the fuss about?’

  Clara smiled. ‘I can’t tell you that, not at present. Did you collect any empties?’

  ‘Ooh, that’s a tricky one. Let me think. I can’t be absolutely sure,’ he said after a moment or two, ‘but I don’t think there were any. Why? What’s the problem?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t say. When did you last see Mrs Dawson?’

  ‘I waved to her on Thursday morning. Is she all right?’

  ‘As far as I’m aware, she’s absolutely fine. You might be needed to make a statement at some time. What’s your name?’ Clara waited, biro poised over her notebook.

  ‘McKenzie,’ he said after a second’s hesitation. ‘Lindsay McKenzie.’

  If she hadn’t been waiting to take the
name down she might not have noticed it. Natural reluctance, or something else? She wasn’t sure. ‘And your address and phone number?’

  This time there was no hesitation. Mironova wrote the details down before looking up. The early morning light was sufficient by now for her to see the man’s expression clearly. It was of concern, no more. ‘Have you had this round long?’

  He smiled. ‘Only a couple of years. I moved here from Cumbria. No work there. Most milk deliveries used to be by farmers using milk from their own farm. We even used to make and sell our own cream and cheese. But that’s all changed. Nowadays everything goes to a central depot and then they bring me the bottled product back for delivery. It’s known as progress.’

  Clara smiled at the irony. ‘If you don’t agree with it, why not opt out?’

  ‘Regulations!’ There was no mistaking the disgust in his tone. ‘Health and Safety, Food Hygiene, DEFRA, and that bloody lot in Brussels. They bring in all these fancy rules and regulations without giving a thought about how much they cost to enforce. Talk about a nanny state! How many times have you heard of someone being poisoned with a pint of full-fat milk?’

  ‘Put like that, I can’t think of one.’

  ‘Right! You know something? I was talking to a French cheese producer at a conference last year and he was laughing at us. Laughing, because he said we British are the only ones who pay any heed to those EEC Directives. It made my blood boil, I can tell you.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Clara said soothingly. ‘Thanks for your help, Mr McKenzie. If I need anything else, or if you have to make a statement, I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might be helpful, give me a call at Helmsdale. If you remember any strange vehicles you might have seen in the area for example.’

  ‘I will that.’ He halted, one hand on the doorframe of his pickup. ‘I hope nothing’s happened to Mrs Dawson. She’s a right nice lady.’

  After the milkman left Mironova paused, undecided what to do next. She was reluctant to go back inside the house. Any further intrusion risked contamination of what she was increasingly convinced was a crime scene. She decided to wait in her car and think through what her plan for the day should be. Locating Brian Dawson, putting an alert out for the missing woman, those had to be top of her list. If they could persuade Tom Pratt to come into work rather than play golf that would be immensely helpful. Reluctant though Clara was to admit the thought, she knew she should contact the other forces who had dealt with Cremator cases, to get them to e-mail their files to Helmsdale. If she had those to compare with, she might be able to judge if the serial killer had snatched another victim or if they were dealing with something altogether different.

  Her musings were interrupted by the sound of a car engine and a tooting horn. Glancing in her rear view mirror, Clara was pleased to see her fiancé’s car pull up behind her. As David got out, she was even happier to see the flask in his hand. ‘Bless you, David,’ she greeted him as he opened her passenger door. ‘That was extremely thoughtful.’

  Major Sutton grinned. ‘Got to keep the troops happy. First rule of any officer. What’s the latest?’

  They had finished their mugs of coffee and David was on the point of asking Clara if she wanted a refill, when Pearce arrived, followed swiftly by the van containing the SOCO team. Mironova explained the situation and instructed Viv to ensure he intercepted any mail that was delivered. ‘I’m going back to the station,’ she told him. ‘If anything comes with what looks like photos inside put it straight into an evidence bag and make sure you get the postie’s identity, in case we’ve to eliminate his prints. Let me know when the forensic lot are done and I’ll get Binns to send a uniform to stand guard on the house.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘Actually, as soon as the boffins allow you in the house, see if the bunch of keys hanging in the kitchen fit the outer doors. If we can secure the place it will save on manpower we don’t have.’

  ‘In the meantime, I’ll take a wander along the bank of the stream – and hope I don’t find anything,’ he added grimly.

  Clara turned to get into her car. Sutton smiled at her across the vehicle’s roof. He was aware that in the last few minutes Clara had completely forgotten he was there. Some men might have felt threatened at being ignored, but David appreciated the single-minded approach she had to her work. It was the sort of attitude he spent a lot of time trying to instil in the men he commanded. ‘Sounds as if you’ve quite a day ahead of you.’

  ‘You’re not joking! Look, I’m sorry, David. It isn’t quite the relaxing start to your leave we had in mind.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Work comes first, for both of us. We knew this sort of thing was likely to happen. I’ve been thinking whilst you were drilling your troops.’ His light-hearted comment made her smile. ‘It’s market day in Helmsdale, so I reckon if I go shopping this morning I can prepare something for tea, and make sure it’s something that won’t spoil if you’re an hour or two late.’

  ‘That won’t take too long. Won’t you be bored stiff?’

  David shook his head. ‘There’s rugby on TV this afternoon. I’ll be quite happy watching that.’

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure.’ Clara watched him get into the driving seat when she remembered something. ‘Will you do me a favour? Go to the flat before you do your shopping and pick up the charger for my mobile, then drop it in at the station when you’re in town?’

  ‘No worries, see you later.’

  Sutton had just cleared the drive when Mironova heard the crunch of gravel that announced the arrival of another vehicle. She thought for a moment that David had forgotten something and returned, but as the vehicle swung round the end of the house, she saw it was a van, not a car. A greengrocery van she recognized. She’d met the owner a few times. Nash’s drinking pal, Jonas Turner, supplied the greengrocer with produce from his allotment. She had been introduced to the man when she’d gone to the pub with Nash. Unlike Jonas Turner, the driver had no trouble getting her name right.

  ‘Sergeant Mironova, what are you doing out here?’

  ‘Hello, Eric.’ His surname was Fields, which made the company title Fresh Fields an obvious one. She explained the situation in as much detail as she dared.

  Fields whistled with dismay. ‘I hope nothing’s happened to her. She’s a lovely woman, Mrs Dawson.’

  Another unsolicited testimonial, Clara thought. Mrs Dawson seemed to be popular with all those who knew her. ‘Do you deliver here every Saturday?’

  Fields nodded. ‘Summer and winter alike. Mrs Dawson prefers my stuff to what she can get in a supermarket. She says you never know how long they’ve had it in cold store.’

  ‘And she’s always here when you deliver?’

  ‘Always. It’s a pleasure coming here, to be honest. Mrs Dawson puts the kettle on as soon as she hears the van. I start by going to the wholesalers at 4 a.m., then pick up from Jonas, and after that it’s non-stop until three o’clock in the afternoon, so a morning cuppa’s a real treat.’ His face clouded over. ‘Of course it’s all different if her husband’s at home.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘If he’s here I don’t get a cup of tea, and hardly get two words out of Mrs D. She dare not say boo-to-a-goose when he’s around.’

  ‘I take it you don’t like him?’

  Fields grinned. ‘That obvious is it? I’m not saying there’s owt wrong with him, he’s just not my type.’

  chapter six

  When Mironova entered the police station, she saw Tom Pratt standing by reception talking to Jack Binns. Clara smiled in appreciation of the ex-superintendent, now civilian support worker’s, sacrifice. ‘Good of you to forego your round of golf, Tom,’ she greeted him.

  Binns laughed. ‘That wasn’t hard. The course is closed because of the floods, so don’t let him fool you. All Tom had to look forward to was several hours of supermarket shopping.’

  ‘Nevertheless, not many civilian officers would be prepared to g
ive up the weekend.’

  ‘That’s habit, I suppose,’ Pratt admitted ruefully. ‘Once a copper, always a copper even after you’ve retired.’

  Clara turned to Jack Binns. ‘Shouldn’t you be at home now? All tucked up with your cocoa.’

  ‘I thought you might want me to stay on, with Mike being away and all that.’

  ‘If I need you, I know where to find you, OK? Now, home!’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ Binns gave Clara a reassuring smile as he headed for the locker room.

  When they reached the CID suite, Tom Pratt headed for the small desk in the corner of the outer office that Nash had allocated him. Tom had always been a good administrator, and despite the fact that he handled all the unit’s paperwork, his desk was commendably neat, especially compared to the untidiness of the trio of detectives. Tom pointed to the computer monitor. ‘I’ve typed up the text for a flyer and a bulletin regarding the missing woman from the details Jack gave me. Hopefully, it might not be needed but I thought it would save time later on. I could do with a photo and a description, though.’

  ‘We might have to rely on the missing woman’s sister, Dr Grey, for those,’ Clara told him. ‘She should be coming in here sometime this morning.’

  ‘I’ve also started compiling a missing person form in case that’s needed. That was about all I could do until I spoke to you and found out what you need me for.’

  ‘Thanks, Tom. It saves me having to think of these things when you’re about. The main objective today is to locate the missing woman’s husband. His name is Brian Dawson, and he went to Spain sometime last week on a golfing holiday, so I’m open to any bright ideas about how we trace him.’

  ‘It could be dead easy,’ Pratt told her. ‘If it was a trip organized by his golf club, which a lot of them are, someone at the clubhouse will know where they’re staying, how long they went for, that sort of thing. If it was a privately organized trip it could be a bit more difficult, but it should still be possible. The airlines will know who they’ve taken that had golf clubs in their luggage, as they are subject to special regulations these days. I assume Dawson is a member at Netherdale?’