by Bill Kitson
‘Is that a likely scenario? Given that she was expecting her sister to arrive for the weekend,’ Nash asked, with a quiet calm he was far from feeling. ‘You must be aware that when a woman goes missing like this, the majority of such incidents later prove to have been sparked by some form of domestic dispute. So, I will ask you once more, Mr Dawson, would you please account for your movements over the past week?’
‘I’ve been visiting clients.’
‘I’ll need the names and addresses of those clients.’
‘I’m afraid that information is confidential.’
‘Not any more, it isn’t. I’ll give you chance to contact them, to warn them we’ll be in touch, but I need those details.’
For a moment, Nash thought the accountant was going to argue the point but eventually he nodded. ‘Very well, I’ll write the contact names and phone numbers down. Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, there is. I’m afraid we’re going to remain here until after the postman arrives with this morning’s mail.’
‘Why on earth do you want to do that?’
‘Because if this is a Cremator incident, part of his modus operandi is to send photographs of his victims to their relatives and I want to make sure that you don’t get such a delivery.’
‘In that case, I can write those details down whilst you’re waiting.’
When Mironova had first entered the kitchen her automatic act was to look round. She noticed that Dawson had eaten breakfast − that much was obvious from the cereal bowl and coffee mug that were soaking in the sink. Apart from them, the room looked exactly as it had when she left it. The careful placing of the breakfast pots tallied with Jo Grey’s description of Dawson’s obsessive neatness. Although Nash was very observant, Mironova wondered how much of this he’d noticed.
‘Stay there; I’ll get those details for you.’ Dawson went out into the hall.
Clara looked across at Nash. He shrugged, as if he was struggling to understand Dawson’s mind-set, but Mironova could sense the speculation in his eyes. Whatever she thought about Dawson it was obvious Nash was forming his own opinion about the accountant. Clara would be interested to learn what that was.
Before either of them had chance to speak, Dawson returned. He handed Mironova a slip of paper with a series of names and phone numbers scrawled on it. She nodded acknowledgment, and before the silence became oppressive, they heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Dawson glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall above the range cooker. ‘That’ll probably be the postman.’
They followed Dawson through into the hall where Nash signalled to him to open the front door. Nash stepped outside in time to prevent the postman from thrusting the bundle of mail through the letterbox. As he reached for it, Clara noticed Nash was wearing latex gloves. She wondered when he had put them on, as she got closer to see what the mail comprised.
Nash singled out an A5 envelope from the rest and passed the others to Dawson. He turned the one he’d retained over so it was address side up. The size and colour were not the most common, Clara thought. The name and address was printed on a label of the type produced for printers attached to personal computers. That in itself didn’t suggest any sinister motive. Far more chilling however was the second, smaller label fixed in the top left hand corner of the envelope. It too had been printed, with a message that she could read as clearly as if Nash had spoken it: ‘Photographs − please do not bend’.
She looked up to see Nash’s expression conveyed the same foreboding that gripped her. He took his penknife from his pocket and passed it to Clara, asking her to open one of the blades. She passed it back and Nash began to work the envelope flap free, taking care to avoid the gummed section.
When he had loosened the flap, Nash inverted the envelope and shook it gently to release the contents. A trio of photos slid into his hand, all measuring about six inches by four. He turned the first of these over and as he scrutinised the subject, Clara saw his face wearing an expression of unparalleled grimness. Clara looked over his shoulder and saw with mounting horror that it depicted a woman lying naked on a bed, her wrists and ankles secured to the frame.
Nash tucked this to the back and looked at the second print. In this, the same woman had been moved to an oblong, altar-like table covered in some form of purple material. She was naked and tied up as in the first photo, and the altar was surrounded by a number of symbols that were only partly visible owing to the angle of the shot. Closer to the centre of the photo was an object Clara recognized only too well: a petrol can.
Nash turned to the final print. In this, a man had climbed on to the woman. He too was naked, apart from the mask that obscured his head and the top of his neck. There was absolutely no doubt in Clara’s mind that this photo had captured the woman being raped. No doubt in her mind, that the woman in all three photos was Vanda Dawson. No doubt, that the man who had abducted and raped her was the serial killer known as the Cremator.
Nash turned to Dawson and held up the first photo. ‘Is that your wife?’ he demanded.
Dawson’s glance was cursory, no more. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘And this one? And this?’ Nash held the second and third photos up in turn, giving Dawson ample opportunity to examine them.
Dawson looked from one photo to the other. His expression interested Clara. It changed from surprise to absolute astonishment, but at no time did she see the slightest flicker of distress. His voice was steady as he replied. ‘Yes, those are all photographs of my wife.’
‘Then I think you will have to brace yourself for some bad news. I mean really bad news,’ Nash reinforced the point. ‘Because it seems obvious that the man who has abducted your wife is the Cremator. Furthermore, having read the files on his other victims only yesterday, I think you should be aware that by the time photos such as these are sent out, the victim is either dead or within hours of it. We can’t be certain on the timing, but I think you should prepare yourself for the news that your wife has already been murdered.’
Clara stared at her boss in astonishment. It was totally out of character for Nash to behave in such an unfeeling manner. Apart from this, his statement was surely against regulations.
Nash was watching Dawson even more closely than Clara was watching Nash. She switched her gaze to the accountant. There could be no doubting his utter bewilderment on being confronted by the awful evidence of the ordeal his wife had suffered. On the other hand, Clara couldn’t see anything to suggest that Dawson was in the slightest worried by his wife’s fate.
Despite several attempts by Nash to persuade Dawson to accept the presence of a police family support officer to stay with him at the house until, as Nash put it, the situation was resolved, the accountant steadfastly refused. When Nash suggested the alternative of asking Jo Grey to come over to the house, Dawson rejected the idea vehemently.
Although Mironova was aware that the two of them didn’t get on, the force of Dawson’s refusal surprised her. Clara was left with the feeling that Dawson was either disinterested, or that he was bottling up his feelings. How else could you explain his apparently calm acceptance of the knowledge that she was in the power of a ruthless and evil serial killer. She could tell from Nash’s expression that he was equally baffled.
When they eventually left the house, Nash turned to her as soon as they were out of Dawson’s hearing. ‘I don’t know what the hell to make of that bloke. He seems to have no feelings whatsoever. Certainly not for his wife. Although there is something he’s not happy about. Did you notice? What did you make of him?’
‘I just thought he was unfeeling. He’s so cold he made me shiver. I had to remind myself he was the closest person to the victim. For all the interest he took, he might have been reading about something that had happened to a complete stranger as reported in a newspaper. What do you make of those photos? Fairly conclusive, don’t you agree?’
Nash’s reply surprised her. ‘Actually, I’m not sure what to make of them. I want you to get them a
cross to the forensic guys in Netherdale for testing, together with the envelope. Leave the evidence with them, but bring me a photocopy of all three. I want to examine them and compare them with the others we have on file.’
‘Are you doubting that they show Vanda Dawson is being held by the Cremator?’
‘That’s certainly how it appears on the face of it. But maybe that’s what we’re intended to believe.’
‘You think this might be a copycat? Christ, Mike, it was bad enough with one Cremator roaming the country. Two would make it a nightmare.’
‘I agree. That’s why I want those copies as soon as you can possibly get them to me. Think of it as more urgent than urgent.’
Nash placed the photos and envelope into an evidence bag from his kit in the back of the Range Rover. He sealed and signed it before passing it to Clara, then waited until she had cleared the drive before he drove off. As he was turning the car round, he caught a glimpse of Dawson watching him from the kitchen window. The accountant’s face registered absolutely no emotion.
As he drove slowly up the drive, Nash’s thoughts were all on the missing woman, and the shocking content of the photos. No matter how their examination of the files might have prepared them, the sight of those images was devastating. And if he and Clara had been so affected by them, how had Dawson managed to view them so calmly? It was almost as if the man was incapable of any emotion. Was that something to do with the state of the marriage? Perhaps even the cause of the decline in the relationship.
Nash was far too deep in thought to notice that his progress along the lane was being observed. Even had he been on the lookout, he would have struggled to spot the watcher concealed in the dense undergrowth close to the entrance to the drive, for the man had plenty of experience in the art of concealment. He waited until Nash’s car was out of sight before pulling his mobile from his pocket.
‘Dawson’s had two visitors this morning, apart from the postman, that is. They’ve just left. One was a bloke who looked to be in his late thirties, early forties at the most, medium height, fair hair. The other was a woman, late twenties, stunning figure, blonde hair and from what I could see, a nice pair of tits. The bloke was driving a Range Rover, the woman was in an Astra.’
‘Why the detailed description? Is there something else about them I should know?’
The watcher grinned to himself; Tony wasn’t slow on the uptake. ‘I thought you’d be interested, or that you might recognize them from the descriptions. Added to the fact that the spotlight lenses on the Astra were blue.’
‘A police car?’
‘Yes, and judging by their appearance I’d say CID, but what would they want with Dawson? Is that why we’re keeping an eye on him?’
‘I don’t think it has anything to do with us at this stage. Jerry said the copper who came to the shop was talking about Dawson’s wife having gone missing. Let’s hope that’s all it is. Nevertheless it shows how important it is to keep our eye on Dawson.’
‘Is there anything else you want me to do?’
His boss knew exactly what the man was suggesting. ‘Not at this stage. I’ll report what’s happened up the line and see what reaction I get. I don’t suppose you happen to have a camera with a telephoto lens on you?’
‘Not in my pocket, but there’s one in the car.’
‘Good, keep it handy. I want photos of any visitors.’
Shortly after he’d ended the conversation and returned from retrieving the camera from his car, the watcher saw Dawson leave the cottage. He cursed, thinking he’d have to make a hurried half-mile dash to his car, assuming that Dawson was going out. He watched closely as the accountant walked over to the old mill. Dawson cast glances to left and right, giving the procedure a furtive air. Once he’d unlocked the door, instead of opening both halves, he vanished inside. The watcher relaxed. Obviously Dawson wasn’t intending to leave. He wasn’t close enough to hear whether Dawson had locked the door and dared not risk discovery by attempting to find out. He settled back in his vantage point and waited.
He glanced at his watch as Dawson emerged. Twenty-five minutes had elapsed since he’d gone inside. He hadn’t taken anything into the building, nor had he brought anything out. So, what had he been doing in there? The watcher scratched his head. It was a puzzle. Of course, Dawson might have been tinkering with his car, but somehow the man didn’t seem the type. Besides which, the usual process was to run the engine when you’d finished, which would need the doors to be open. He reported the incident in another short phone call, but his boss could offer no explanation for Dawson’s actions either.
chapter thirteen
Nash found a fax on his desk from Lancashire Constabulary containing the statements of the security guards. Attached to it was a note commenting on their health and the state the men were in. The conclusion had been made that they were extremely unlikely to have been involved in the hijack. Nash filed the report and turned his attention to the Cremator photos.
He took them from the files and spread them out on the table in the CID room. When Mironova returned from Netherdale, he and Viv were studying them. She passed him the envelope she was carrying. ‘These are copies. They dusted the originals for prints before I left. There were none.’
‘I didn’t expect any, to be honest. Our man’s far too careful for that. Before we start, I have news for you.’ Nash told them about the chief constable’s conversation of the previous day, holding the name of their new boss back until the very end. When he eventually mentioned Jackie Fleming’s name, Clara let out a long whistle. Nash eyed her suspiciously. ‘What was that for?’
‘I was just thinking that Jackie Fleming’s done really well for herself. Reaching the rank she has, at such an early age. She’s not exactly bad looking, either, as I remember. Do you think you’ll be able to keep your mind on the job?’
Nash scowled furiously at her, his mood not helped by the sight of Viv trying unsuccessfully to hide a grin. ‘Jackie Fleming was someone I, in fact we, worked with on one case, that’s all.’
If Clara was intimidated by his tone or ferocious expression, it didn’t show. ‘I wonder if that will change, now you have to obey her every command.’
‘On the subject of work, do you think you might be willing to do a spot? The chief constable’s budget doesn’t run to a gossip columnist, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to stick to the job you were appointed to do. In case that’s slipped your mind, it’s called detective work. Now, if you’re quite ready, let’s see what we’ve got.’
Clara grinned unrepentantly and winked at Pearce.
Nash slid the new photos out of the envelope and set them down alongside the others. All three bent over the table, inspecting the images. ‘They’re different,’ Clara and Viv exclaimed almost in unison.
‘The man in the Vanda Dawson photo. He’s wearing a mask but not a hood, like in the other photos,’ Clara pointed out. ‘And in the photo that shows him attacking her, he’s naked. In the others, he’s still clothed, even during the rape,’ she added.
‘Anything else?’
This time it was Viv who answered. ‘The petrol can is different. It’s not the same size or shape as the others.’
‘I agree.’ Nash smiled; listening to his team pooling ideas was something he enjoyed.
They scrutinized the images once more. ‘The funnel!’ Clara exclaimed triumphantly. ‘All the old photos show a funnel alongside the petrol can. It’s not there in the Vanda Dawson photo. Why is that, do you think?’
‘Could be any number of reasons,’ Viv suggested. ‘He might simply have forgotten it. Or it could have been put down outside the camera shot. What puzzles me is why the need for a funnel?’
‘You don’t want to know, Viv,’ Nash said quietly.
Pearce and Mironova stared at him in horror. ‘You don’t mean he pours petrol down their throats when he sets fire to them?’ Viv asked.
Nash shook his head. ‘Remember, part of the reason for the fire, in fact I’d
suggest the main reason for it, is to cover up the evidence of the rape, because that would yield DNA which could trap him. If you check out the description of the bodies in those files’ – Nash pointed to the stack on the corner of the table – ‘you’ll see that the fire damage is worst around the groin area. This isn’t only the most sadistic and perverted killer I’ve ever heard of, he’s as cunning and careful, as he is cruel. He takes no chances whatsoever. That’s part of the reason he’s still at large. If it wasn’t for the photographs he sends to his victims’ relatives, we wouldn’t even know for sure what ordeals he puts those poor women through.’
Clara heard Viv ask, ‘Is there another reason you think the funnel might be missing, Mike?’
She replied before Nash had chance. ‘It might be because the photographer wasn’t aware all the previous photos had a funnel in them.’
It was a few seconds before the significance of her words struck home. ‘You don’t think this is the same attacker? You think this is a copycat?’
Viv’s question raised another in Clara’s mind. ‘If he’s shown actually raping Vanda Dawson; that must mean someone else was present to take the photo.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Nash pointed to the photo in question. ‘That could have been taken with a delay timer with the camera on a tripod. Alternatively, the photo could have been taken by a third party. Which would mean it isn’t a copycat. It would mean the Cremator has an apprentice. But there are a couple of other differences that tend to suggest Clara’s copycat theory might be the right one.’
