by Bill Kitson
‘Not yet, at any rate. What I intend to do is review all we’ve found out and see if there’s anything we’ve overlooked. Some clue to where we should look next. I can do that today unless a riot breaks out on the Westlea. I’m in the office so I should get a chance.’
‘Don’t say that even as a joke,’ Pratt implored. ‘Anyway, you’re pushing it a bit, aren’t you?’
‘Not really. I’ve given Clara the day off, and I’ll be giving Viv a hand tying up loose ends before he goes on his forensics course. He’s away for two days from tomorrow.’
‘Don’t overdo it, Mike. I’m still trying to find cover for you to have a break. Now I’ve withdrawn the search parties I might be able to find someone.’
‘I’ll be okay, but while you’re on, I need a favour. I’ve found a new flat and a reference request has been e-mailed in. Can you help speed it up?’
‘Anything to do with HR could take forever. Tell you what; I’ll write one and fax it through to you. That help?’
‘Thanks, Tom. It certainly will.’
At lunchtime Nash went out for a sandwich. He took with him the fax he’d received from Tom. Monique was on the phone when he arrived at Charleston’s. She waved at him across the office and mouthed the words ‘two minutes’.
‘Can I help you?’
Nash turned towards the speaker, a slim, erect figure in his early to mid fifties. He had a mane of blond hair, tinged with grey at the temples. ‘I’m Peter Charleston. Excuse the dust,’ he said as he brushed his hands together. ‘I’ve just been helping our sign erector load his van.’ He indicated his companion, a nondescript looking middle-aged man in a brown dustcoat. ‘That’s Les Franklin, our maestro of the “FOR SALE” boards.’
Nash shook Charleston’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you; I’m Mike Nash. I’m going to be renting the Rutland Way property from you.’
‘Ah yes, the policeman. Monique told me about you. Is everything all right?’
‘Everything’s fine, I’ve brought in a reference from my boss. I know how long these things can take through “channels”.’
Charleston smiled. ‘Oh, that’s good of you. Well, I must get on. I’ll leave you in Monique’s capable hands. Nice to meet you.’
Charleston waved his hand in farewell and the two men walked through the door leading to his own office. Nash had a momentary glimpse of the tidy room before the door closed. He smelt a faint aroma. Was it after shave? He dismissed the idea. It was a chemical smell. Probably from the signs, or the paint they used. It seemed vaguely familiar.
Monique crossed the office. ‘Hello, Mike.’
He explained the reason for his visit, and passed her the envelope.
‘That was kind of you.’
‘Your Mr Charleston said the same.’
‘Oh, you’ve met Peter, have you? You’re honoured, and lucky. He’s hardly ever here. But that’s his own fault. With the expansion of the company, everyone’s workload has increased. He’s just had a few days off in Scotland, now he’s here today, then off visiting the other branches. Heaven knows when we’ll see him again. Not that it matters too much. Everything runs well even when he’s not here.’ She coughed. ‘That’s down to the efficiency of the manager.’
‘Who is the manager?’
‘I am,’ Monique laughed, ‘why do you think I said it. The problem is, whenever he’s been away, he always brings us a little present back. This time it was a young mountain of shortbread. And me on a diet.’
‘Could have been worse. It might have been haggis.’
‘No fear, not with Peter, he can’t stand the sight of blood. I got a tiny paper cut on my finger once and asked him to put a plaster on it. I thought he was going to faint.’ She looked around to see if she could be overheard. ‘I thought you’d come about those questions you wanted to ask me.’
‘Well, yes, but perhaps somewhere a little more private?’
‘I’m busy all day, so it will have to be my place I’m afraid. Chicken dinner okay?’ She was shocked at her boldness.
The afternoon was lacking in incident, at least as far as CID was concerned, so Nash had plenty of time to analyse the files received from other forces and study his findings.
He was unable to discover anything significant in either the original reports or from their meetings with the parents. Although there was nothing to show for his efforts, Nash was left feeling dissatisfied when he closed the cover of the last folder.
Something was niggling at the back of his mind. Something he’d seen or heard, or something someone had said or done? No matter how hard he tried, the memory eluded him. In the end he wearied of the effort and gave up, but the impression remained within his subconscious. At some point he was sure he’d been given a clue that would lead him to the killer.
Monique looked better, more like the photograph of Danielle. The strain in her face had gone. The tension behind her eyes was absent too. ‘You look tired, Mike,’ she said when he arrived that evening.
He felt it. ‘I’d a lousy day yesterday. Today was just frustrating,’ Nash told her.
‘Are things going wrong?’
‘Not really. We tied up the stabbing case, you remember, the woman who was stabbed in the pub yard? The result was very sad. I know all violent crime has a sad aspect to it, but this was very distressing.’
They were sitting at Monique’s dining table. ‘Are you allowed to tell me about it?’
Nash told her about Cindy Green’s confession and the motive for the murder. ‘How awful,’ Monique exclaimed. ‘What that poor girl must have gone through.’
‘It was pretty harrowing,’ Nash agreed. ‘It’s one of the few times I’ve empathized with a murderer. I’m not passing judgement on the victim either; her only fault was being betrayed by her own impulses and desires. Anyway, if that wasn’t bad enough for one day, I had to interview more parents. Louise Harland went missing eight years ago. I find it impossible to talk to the families and hold back. The only problem is the inference they draw is blindingly obvious.’
‘You tell them you’re investigating the disappearance of all the girls like you told me?’
‘What else can I do? If I didn’t give some explanation, they’d either think I was off my head or start drawing their own conclusions. The truth’s bad enough, without them indulging in wild speculation. It’s only fair they should know. I’ll tell you what’s so distressing. These people make you so welcome. You sit down in their home and you tell them news that’s going to shatter their last remnant of hope. Then you look into the eyes of the mother. It’s as if someone’s snuffed a candle out. The light disappears, and it’s as if you’re looking into the darkest place in the whole world. To be honest, the only time that didn’t happen, was when I talked to you.’
Monique smiled. ‘It didn’t distress me as much because, as I told you, I’d already worked out that Danny was dead. I didn’t know about the others, of course; that was a shock. I actually think your telling me about the others helped me, took away some of my guilt by providing an explanation for me being left whilst Danielle was taken.’
‘That puzzled me too. Seeing that photo of the pair of you on the hall table started me thinking. I know you’d said you were identical, but until I took a peep at the photo I didn’t realize how alike you were. I thought, why Danielle, why not you? At lunchtime I took a walk along the route you and Danielle, went before the assault. I wanted to see the place you were attacked. I have a theory which might explain why you survived.’
Nash paused and took a sip of water. ‘I heard something once about twins often being right and left-handed, as if one side of the brain is predominant in either twin. Was that the case with you and Danielle?’
‘Not entirely. I’m right-handed in most things, whereas Danielle was ambidextrous. What’s that got to do with why I was attacked and Danielle abducted?’
‘When you walked together, did one always walk on the right, the other on the left, or didn’t it matter?’
&nbs
p; Monique thought about it for a long time. ‘I’d never given that a thought, but now you mention it Danny always walked on the left and I walked on the right. Is that important?’
‘This is pure speculation, but when I walked along the footpath I noticed there’s a bench set in an alcove, surrounded by a tall privet hedge. That would be the perfect place for someone to lie in wait. If I was planning to attack someone, I couldn’t have designed a better spot. The point is you would have been on the side nearest the bench; nearest the attacker. If my theory’s right, the reason you were attacked instead of Danielle is that you were walking on the right.’
‘The more I think about it, whenever we walked together Danny automatically went to the left and I fell in alongside her. If that’s the only reason, then I’ve been feeling guilty all these years for nothing.’
Monique reached across the table and laid her hand on his. ‘Thank you, Mike. If it’s any comfort to you, set that against all the unhappiness you’ve witnessed. You’ve put my mind at rest about something that’s always troubled me. Now, if you’ve had enough to eat, I’ll clear away.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Nash responded, ‘it was delicious.’
‘By the way, I forgot to mention, I sent off e-mail requests for your bank references for the flat on Monday. I don’t foresee any problems. With luck I’ll have the replies soon.’
Over coffee, they talked about anything and everything apart from the case. Nash recounted one or two of the more amusing and less gory incidents from his career.
‘What an exciting life you lead,’ Monique commented. ‘Do you enjoy your job?’
‘Yes, I do. That might seem strange, considering what I’ve just told you, and some of the things we have to do, and the sights we have to see, but on the whole, yes, I do enjoy it. How about you? You made it fairly clear you enjoy yours. And that you’re a super-efficient manager.’
Monique laughed. ‘That was self-advertising at its worst. I enjoy it now, more than I used to before I was made manager. And I nearly didn’t get the chance.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Apparently, long before my time, the company was going to the wall. The lady who was manager before me told me the story. It was a much smaller firm, only three branches, and the owners drained all the profits, so that they were always fighting off bankruptcy. Then Mr Charleston bought them out and started to make things happen. He put a load of capital in, apparently, got the firm on a solid footing then started to expand. There are Charleston Branches covering most of the North. You’ll no doubt be aware of the advertising slogan? “Charleston One Stop Home Sales”. That was Peter’s idea. He said when people move, it’s stressful enough, without having to arrange everything themselves. So why don’t we offer to do everything for them. From the survey, to the conveyancing, to arranging the mortgage, the lot. We even have a removals company in the group now, plus our own sign erector, who goes around putting up the FOR SALE signs where ever they’re needed. He’s constantly on the move. Because Helmsdale’s technically the head office, I get to handle his expenses. The petrol bill alone is massive. He can be anywhere up to two-hundred miles away. Mind you, he adds to it by living out at Bishopton, which is another twenty miles on to every journey. But he’s so efficient we let him use the firm’s van, so he takes it home every night. When he’s not staying away, that is.’
‘I’m surprised his wife doesn’t object. To all the travelling I mean.’
‘Oh, he’s not married.’
‘I’ve met him. Isn’t his name Franklin? He was with Mr Charleston when I dropped that stuff in. Either he or Charleston had an odd smell about them, I remember.’
Monique laughed. ‘That’d be Les, I bet. Well, not Les, but the chemical he sprays the signs with. It helps protect them against the weather. Les is ideal for the job, really. A bit of a loner, but he does a good job. And it adds to the rounded service we can provide. The one stop idea’s not exactly original, I know, but apart from us, it’s only the big firms that have the backing to offer that sort of service.’
‘Bright idea though, and it obviously works.’
Monique nodded. ‘I get to see the accounts, and I can vouch for that.’
‘Where did Charleston’s money come from?’
‘Stocks and shares, or so I was told. Then, when he thought that had peaked, he moved into property and made another fortune buying and selling land. He still has a huge property portfolio. He’s one of those naturally acquisitive people who just can’t seem to help making money, whatever they’re doing.’
‘I can tell you enjoy your work. It’s about the most enthusiastic I’ve seen you.’
‘I admit it. It’s great fun and it’s not really hard work. There’s a great satisfaction in fixing people up with somewhere to live.’
‘Like me, you mean?’
‘Exactly. Don’t get me wrong. We get some awkward customers now and again, but you were easy. I could sell to you all day.’
Nash glanced at the clock and realized he was in danger of outstaying his welcome.
Monique escorted him down the long hallway to the front door, where she handed him a bag containing a bottle of wine she’d secreted under the hall table. ‘Here’s a house warming present for you, along with my thanks.’ She handed him the bag, leaned forward and kissed him lightly. She stepped back and smiled.
Nash opened the glass-paned front door. It was a bright, moonlit night. Monique hovered on the threshold. He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation she stepped outside. He continued to hold her hand as they looked up at the beauty of the night sky. They turned to one another and kissed once more. This time there was no avoiding the passion in their embrace.
‘I’d better go,’ Nash’s words were muffled by her hair as he kissed her neck. ‘If I don’t, I won’t be able to leave at all.’
‘Yes, I think you should,’ Monique agreed reluctantly. ‘Otherwise I won’t allow you to.’
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘Goodnight again, Monique.’
She stepped back into the doorway. ‘At least you managed to get me out of the house,’ she told him. ‘Not far, I admit, but across the doorstep is a start.’
Monique watched him walk down the path. When he reached the gate she waved, then went inside and closed the door. She leaned against it for a while, her eyes filled with tears of frustration. Why hadn’t she the courage to make him stay?
Fifty yards down the road, a figure sat in the darkness of an unlit vehicle, parked as far from the street lamps as possible. What faint light permeated the vehicle reflected the hot glitter of rage in the eyes of the shadowy occupant.
As Nash drove home, he was still trying to work out whether the present had been the wine or the kiss.
He opened the bottle and had a couple of glasses. The day had tired him and it was no later than 11 p.m. when he went to bed. He realized once he was in bed that he’d forgotten to take his tablets. He couldn’t decide whether to get out of bed and go for them, but he knew he should. He’d left them in the kitchen again. The bed was warm and he was reluctant to move. He was still trying to make his mind up when he fell asleep.
During the early part of the night he slept well, but towards dawn he became restless. After waking and slipping back asleep several times, he sat up in bed. Something was plaguing him. That same distant memory, something that was ringing faint bells. The more he tried to grasp it, the more elusive it became.
chapter fifteen
‘Morning, Clara, you look rested. Good day off?’
‘Very good. I took David to meet my parents. He’s going abroad again. I wanted them to meet him before he leaves.’
‘Where’s he going, do you know?’
Clara shook her head. ‘They’re not allowed to disclose anything.’
‘Understandable, given his job.’
‘Anything happen here?’
‘Very quiet, for a change. While I see what we’re faced with today, you write
up your report on the Harland visit.’
Mironova had fielded a phone call from Tracey Forrest. ‘You remember, her husband is a lorry driver on the Continent? His trip got cancelled, ferry strike or something. Mrs Forrest said if you want to see them, it’d have to be tonight. He’s rescheduled to be away again tomorrow, and won’t be back for ten days. Problem is, I’ve got a complimentary ticket to the re-opening of Netherdale cinema, so you’d have to go alone unless you really want—’
‘I’m sure I’ll cope.’ Nash stopped suddenly.
‘What is it,’ Clara looked at him.
‘Something you said just now.’ Nash frowned with concentration, ‘That’s it. Something’s been niggling away at me. You mentioned Megan Forrest’s mother. Get Megan’s file out for me, will you. I’m going to need it anyway. Look at the list of witnesses who were identified as being at the pub the night Megan was abducted.’
‘Anyone in particular I should be looking for?’
‘Yes, a man by the name of Franklin, Les Franklin. I’m sure that’s where I saw his name before.’ Nash explained his conversation with Monique. ‘If he is on that list, he might be worth putting on our list of possibles.’
‘We don’t have a list of possibles other than Bailey.’
‘Well, now we can start one. Although it may be nothing more than coincidence. After all, the man does live there, and it’s not exactly a big place.’
‘Okay, I’ll check it out.’
With no chauffeur to take him to Bishopton, Nash read the file contents beforehand. Megan Forrest had gone out on New Year’s Eve, two years previously. She’d left The Plough Inn on Bishopton Market Place at about 2.30 a.m. to walk home. She never arrived. Nash sighed, how many times had he read that phrase. He looked at the girl’s description and the clothing she’d been wearing when she disappeared and blinked with astonishment.
A note further down the page provided an explanation, nevertheless the singularity of Megan’s attire set Nash thinking. The Plough Inn had been holding a fancy dress competition. The event would have been well publicized. If Nash was right about the killer, he’d have known about it well in advance. It would have been easy to hire a costume. In a crowded town-centre pub, one more bizarre outfit would have passed unnoticed. Well, perhaps not unnoticed, but certainly not out of place.
