Depth of Despair (6 page)

As they drove towards Cauldmoor, Pearce told him what little he’d discovered about the tenants. ‘The neighbours know next to nothing. They’ve only seen men coming and going. Reckon there are about five or six living there. Foreigners, asylum seekers they think. That’s all they know, or are prepared to say. They’re no trouble, keep to themselves, don’t make any noise. Nobody knows what they do for a living but they come and go at odd hours. That contrasts with the council’s information. The Housing Department told me the house had been let to an elderly couple from Slovenia. Rent’s paid promptly in cash and they’ve had no complaints.’

As Nash and Pearce walked down Misery Near they could see the diving team had already met with success. A green tarpaulin sheet had been spread on the ground close to the bothy. On it were two smaller sheets. Saunders met them by the lake, his face grim confirmation of what they’d already guessed. ‘Your hunch was right. We’ve recovered two already and they’ve just located a third. They’re in no better condition than the two you’ve already got.’

‘I’m going to have to get back. Pearce will stay with you whilst I raise Ramirez and get some uniforms here.’

Once Nash had driven beyond Bishop’s Cross he pulled over to phone. ‘When you’ve finished at the house, can you get out to Lamentation Tarn?’

Mexican Pete sighed, ‘You’re becoming a one-man cottage industry. Even Burke and Hare in their prime didn’t manage six corpses in one day.’

When Nash returned to Netherdale they entered the interview room. He sat down opposite the girl and studied her. He absorbed a dreadful sense of suffering, a desolation of the soul this girl exuded. He almost wept, so strong was the despair in her aura.

Eventually she looked up. Nash smiled and leaned forward, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Say to Milla,’ he instructed Mironova without taking his gaze from the girl, ‘that I understand everything, that I don’t blame her for what she did. Tell her I can only guess at what she must have suffered at the hands of those filthy beasts. Nobody will want to see her punished because she killed them. They deserved to die and if killing them was the only way she could
escape, I think she did the right thing. Tell her I am ashamed, as a man, for what she had to endure.’

Mironova began translating. At the first words Milla’s eyes widened. All the time Nash held her gaze with his. She began to cry. Her heartbroken, racking sobs were a torment for the detectives.

Nash added, ‘Tell Milla we’ll help her. Tell her she’ll be safe. We’ll protect her. Tell her the ordeal is over.’

Slowly and painfully Milla’s tale was told. The horror of it almost overwhelmed her audience. She wouldn’t reveal her full name or where she came from. Was this guilt or shame? ‘A village in Moldavia,’ was all Milla would say. ‘A village I once called home.’ A fresh bout of tears overwhelmed her. When she recovered there was an abyss of sadness in her voice. ‘A home I can never return to. My parents believe I have gone to be successful. The truth would shame them beyond belief. I must bear the responsibility alone. What will happen to me? Will I be executed?’ It was a moment before her meaning became clear. ‘Certainly not,’ Nash told her, his tone forcible. ‘We don’t have the death penalty in England. Besides, no jury would convict you of murder after what you’ve gone through. At the worst you might have to stay in a special place for young offenders but only for a short time. If I have my way you’ll not even have to face that.’

When the interview ended the detectives were traumatized by the revelations. They left Milla tucking in with relish to the meal Nash had sent out for. He was marvelling at the resilience of youth when Clara asked, ‘Do you think she’ll be deported?’

‘I’ll make sure she gets every help to avoid that. A lot depends on us. We have to catch the bastards responsible. I mean the ones who brought her here and subjected her to such cruelty. If we can do that and Milla testifies, it’ll be very favourable for her. Particularly if we stress how she’d be in danger should she be returned to her own country. Which she would be if the traffickers were at large.’

‘What do we do next?’

‘It’s time to get MCU involved. We’ve five victims from the tarn and God knows how many more elsewhere. Tomorrow I intend to make a couple of phone calls that might help push our enquiries along.’

That evening as Nash ate his meal he remembered Milla as he’d left her. Her enjoyment of the food was the most optimistic part of a long and depressing day.

The only other positive note had been provided by DI Saunders. He reported that the diving team had completed their search and he was confident there were no further bodies in the lake. ‘Thank God for small mercies,’ Nash had replied.

It was only later that he was to regret that easy optimism.

Pearce returned late in the afternoon with confirmation of the pathologist’s findings. ‘Three more females, all young and each of them had been in the water a considerable number of years,’ he summed up.

Recalling this, Nash thought of the Russian teddy bear. It seemed none of the five victims was linked to the toy, so what had happened to its owner?

Vatovec was in a foul mood. The burning of two of his most
lucrative
brothels and the arrest of his informer, together with the bungled assassination were major reverses. The possibility that the Snow Woman would pay even greater attention to his operation was cause for concern. He was not in the most receptive frame of mind to hear more bad news.

When his deputy came into his office it was obvious he wasn’t about to tell Janko he’d won the lottery. ‘What now?’ Vatovec snapped.

‘I’ve had word from England. Three of our operatives in the north have been murdered. Their girl must have killed them. There was no sign of her. The fourth man returned, found the corpses and nearly shit himself.’

The deputy paused. ‘He stripped the house of all documents and his clothing, did a runner before the police arrived.’

‘Good thinking. How were they killed?’

‘She poisoned them, sliced their pricks and balls off and stuffed them in their mouths.’

Janko was hardened to almost all forms of atrocity. Even he paled at this description. ‘Hell! Which girl was it?’

‘One of the Moldavians we took a couple of years ago. We sold her to the Serbs.’

‘I take it there’s nothing to link her to us?’

‘Only if she or the survivor talks. He’s a gibbering wreck by all accounts.’

‘We can’t afford him gibbering to the police. I’ll have him
eliminated
and the girl as well. I only hope the police haven’t picked her up already.’

Next day, Nash discussed matters with the chief constable. He needed sanction for the proposed course of action. The chief constable expressed her approval. Soon after, he met with Mironova and Pearce. ‘We’ve decided to call in MCU and I also intend to speak to that Russian policewoman.’

He was interrupted when the phone rang. ‘I have Chief Superintendent Armistead on the phone.’

Nash had never heard of Armistead but instructed the operator to put him through. ‘DI Nash, Armistead here, Major Crimes Unit.’

‘I was about to ring you.’

‘Really?’ the word conveyed disbelief. ‘We’ve had a complaint about you.’ The tone was frosty. ‘We’ve been running a joint
operation
with our colleagues in St Petersburg. That’s in Russia,’ Armistead added pompously.

‘I know,’ Nash’s interruption was deceptively gentle. ‘I visited The Hermitage a few years ago.’

‘What’s that got to do with it,’ Armistead snapped.

‘The Hermitage Museum. It’s in St Petersburg.’

‘It appears that when Commander Dacic asked for information regarding two murders committed in your area you were less than cooperative.’

The man’s supercilious tone and arrogant attitude irritated Nash. ‘Correction,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t Commander Dacic who was seeking information and it wasn’t about the murders. You should get your facts straight. I enquired about a teddy bear and she seemed to regard the transfer of information as a one-way street. However, matters have moved on. We’ve recovered three more
bodies from the same location yesterday. The first two were of Eastern European origin; we’ll know in time if the same is true of the remainder. In addition, we’ve a young Moldavian girl in custody in connection with the death of three men whose
appearance
suggests them to be Slav or Baltic.’

‘Hell’s bloody bells!’ Armistead’s composure was blown apart by Nash’s revelations. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I rather hope you or Commander Dacic might shed some light on it. I’ve my own theory, which I’d share in exchange for some cooperation. My next call was going to be St Petersburg.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll speak to her and arrange for her to ring you. I’ll call you back. I’ll also get one of my most senior
officers
to you ASAP.’

Armistead left Nash in no doubt that his co-operation with Commander Dacic was essential. Nash replied, ‘I’ll be as helpful as you want but not if I’m being shafted. Either I get the co-operation I require or when your officers arrive here they’ll get sent back where they came from.’

‘You can’t do that.’ Armistead’s breath whistled alarmingly. He recovered his composure. ‘You’ve gone too far, Nash. I intend to speak to your chief constable and report what you’ve just said.’

Nash’s tone was sweetness itself. ‘Didn’t I make it clear? Those are the chief constable’s instructions.’

Five minutes later Armistead was back on the line. Although it was clear he and Nash were never going to be soul mates he was courtesy itself and promised the full cooperation of both MCU and the Russian authorities.

Nash told his team the gist of the conversation. ‘Perhaps we have been twinned with Vladivostok after all,’ Mironova observed wryly.

Nash scratched his head. ‘I hope the Dacic woman proves more helpful than last time.’ He didn’t sound optimistic.

Nash still had doubts on hearing Commander Dacic’s opening words.

‘Please fax all the relevant documents to me,’ she told him. ‘Superintendent Armistead assures me you’ll do this. That way I can study them as I travel to England. In return, I’ll bring with me
all our information. I’ll brief you in full when I arrive in three days time.’

‘It’ll take a few hours to assemble the paperwork but I’ll fax it as soon as I can.’ Nash was now relaxed. ‘Has Armistead brought you up to date?’

‘I’m not certain how these things work in your country, but I guess Armistead is an administrator, not an investigator?’

‘I think that’s safe to assume.’

There was no doubting the laughter in Dacic’s voice. ‘I asked him about Yorkshire. He said, “It’s a sleepy region containing mostly agriculture and quiet market towns.” I’m looking forward to seeing Yorkshire, for it doesn’t seem quiet or sleepy to me.’

‘Perhaps that shows how serious the problem is.’

‘But perhaps Armistead was right in one thing. He said you’re an exceptionally talented detective. I’m looking forward to meeting you and working together.’

Nash stared at the phone after Dacic rang off. And perhaps that cuts two ways, he thought. He called Clara into his office and
updated
her. ‘You’ll have to stall anyone who wants me tomorrow. I’m having a day off. There’s not much more we can do until everyone’s on board.’

‘Anything interesting in mind?’

‘I’m going to visit Stella.’

‘Any improvement?’

Nash shrugged.

‘Speaking of Commander Dacic, Viv had an idea. He suggested looking her up on the internet. If she’s as prominent as we think there ought to be some mention of her.’

‘Might be worth a try.’

The escalation had far-reaching effects. Pratt was summoned back from holiday and Armistead rang to advise he’d be visiting Netherdale to greet Commander Dacic. In addition, two of his officers would be coming to liaise with their Yorkshire colleagues and the Russian.

When Pratt arrived back, he received a call from Nash. ‘Good holiday, Tom?’

‘It was until the Chief’s secretary rang. The wife went off the
deep end when I told her I’d been called back. I explained the force would be paying the travel expenses but it didn’t pacify her. I wasn’t too bothered myself. There’s only so much sangria and weak lager one man can drink. Besides, if I’d had to sit through another evening of third-rate entertainment interspersed with bingo I’d have headed for the airport off my own bat. Anyway, you’d better bring me up to speed with what’s happened. Apart from your election as the patron saint of North Yorkshire Guild of Funeral Directors, that is.’

‘Don’t you start! I’m having enough trouble with Mexican Pete. He’s developed a dodgy sense of humour. Every time I ring him he asks, “How many this time?” The joke’s starting to wear thin.’

After he’d been updated Tom commented, ‘It’s clear this thing’s much bigger than a couple of isolated incidents. It makes you wonder how big the problem really is. It’s obvious both MCU and the Russians are treating it as a matter of extreme concern.’

Clara handed Nash a message, a phone number on a slip of paper. He read the name alongside it, ‘That’s the psychiatrist I want to consult about Stella. I’ll ring her now.’

‘Mr Nash, I can see this poses a problem but without conducting an assessment of the patient I can’t advise you. Any recommendation I made without having seen Miss Pearson could be fatally flawed.’

‘That complicates matters because interviewing Stella would give the game away.’

‘We seem to be at an impasse then.’

Nash had a thought. ‘Unless you could use the pretext that you’d been asked to talk to all my friends and colleagues, because my bosses are worried about me?’

‘I could do that, but at some stage I’ll want to interview you.’

‘Is that necessary?’

‘For my own satisfaction, yes. I’d be interested to meet the owner of such a devious mind.’

DCS Armistead was big viewed from any angle. He was well in excess of six feet tall. This helped keep his girth in proportion. To use the local expression he was built ‘like a brick shithouse’. His frame dwarfed even that of Tom Pratt.

His companion was by contrast slim to the point of being
slender, with small, almost fragile hands and feet. She was in her early thirties, extremely pretty, with dark hair, brown eyes and an olive complexion.

Nash eyed her appreciatively. He assumed her to be Armistead’s secretary until the MCU chief introduced her as DCI Jackie Fleming. After the introductions, Nash briefed the MCU officers.

Armistead watched him with an expressionless gaze throughout. ‘You’ve made a good start. You and your team have done well. I’m impressed with the grasp you have on the case. It’s only a beginning, though. Part of my brief is to sum up the strengths and weaknesses of the task force set up to handle the case. Although I’ll be overseeing the course of the investigation and liaising with police forces both here and on the Continent, I’m happy to leave the operational side in your hands. I’ve had a word with Pratt on the subject. Your team has a fine reputation. What you’re faced with is an enormous challenge. DCI Fleming will be here to assist you. You’ll also be joined by DS Thomas. He’s on his way to Heathrow to meet Commander Dacic. I suggest we leave the finer points until after her report tomorrow. Once you hear it you’ll appreciate what we’re up against.’

That evening Nash read the information Pearce had printed off. Commander Dacic, it seemed, was even higher profile than they’d suspected. The article suggested she was highly thought of in governmental circles. Nash sipped his wine as he stared at her photograph. Although the grainy image was far from clear there was no doubt the commander was an attractive-looking woman. He turned the page and found another news item, to which Pearce had stapled a note. ‘When I searched the name, this came up. I’m not sure if there’s a connection but thought you’d want to see it. Viv.’

Nash closed the file. It was obvious Viv had printed the article because of the name, but was there a connection with Commander Dacic? Memory returned in a mental flashback. He pictured himself, as a much younger Detective Sergeant at Scotland Yard. That news item had caused some speculation. An older colleague had commented, ‘That’ll be a revenge killing.’

‘How do you mean?’ Nash had asked.

‘Stands to reason,’ the DI told him. ‘After all those years of repression there must be lots of people with an axe to grind. Who knows what sort of atrocities those blokes committed. Think
yourself
lucky you live in a democratic society, young Mike.’

Had it been revenge? If so, the motive seemed obvious. But was Commander Dacic related to the suicide victim? Was she perhaps the younger daughter referred to in the news item?

Nash gave up the puzzle and decided on an early night. He reached across the breakfast bar for his tablets and swilled the medication down with the last of his wine. As he drank, his mind was full of the events of the day. He’d barely fallen asleep when the dream began.

Next morning, Nash sensed an air of expectancy among his colleagues as they waited for the MCU detectives and the Russian. He told Clara about reading the news item and the resultant nightmare. ‘I’m not sure if the name’s a coincidence or if there’s more to it.’

Clara thought it over. ‘Dacic is a fairly common name.’

The meeting was scheduled to begin at 9 a.m. At 8.55 the door swung open and Armistead entered, followed by DCI Fleming and a male officer. Armistead introduced him. ‘This is DS Thomas.
Commander Dacic has been delayed while she takes a phone call from her director.’