Identity Crisis (14 page)

‘Viv knows that well enough, Mike.’ Clara grinned. ‘He should do because you’re always banging on about it. It could be that all isn’t running smoothly on the domestic front.’

‘Domestic front? What domestic front?’

‘Mike, you’re supposed to be a detective. Didn’t you know? Viv’s got a girlfriend. She’s a nurse at Netherdale hospital. Her name’s Lianne. Maybe they’ve had a lover’s tiff.’

‘I didn’t know any of that. I was right, you are turning into a gossip columnist.’

Clara raised her eyebrows and laughed. ‘Well you’re no use to me on the gossip front these days. I have to get my fun elsewhere. Anyway, I’ve just come from Mill Cottage. There was nothing but junk mail for Dawson today. He was as charming and warm-hearted as yesterday. He seems to think we’re panicking over nothing, can’t understand what all the fuss is about. What’s our plan for the rest of this morning?’

‘I want to go over those files yet again. Also, I’d like you to get in touch with forensics. They should have analyzed those photos by now. Get on to them first, whilst I make coffee. Oh, and whilst you’re talking to them, ask them if they’ve got any news about the blood on the road near the hijack. I don’t think we’ll find it to be human, given the security men’s statements, but best to be sure.’

Nash returned with two mugs and sat down at his desk. ‘What did they say?’

‘You were right, the blood wasn’t human. They’re still looking at the photos and we should have the report tomorrow.’

‘OK, then. Let’s start on these files again.’

They had been reading for over an hour, occasionally one of them would comment on the contents of a statement or other information, when Clara sat bolt upright. ‘Mike, I’ve got it. It has to be a copycat.’

‘Why, what have you found?’

‘There was no note.’

‘Where?’

‘With the photos. I was looking over your shoulder. Not only was there no wedding ring, but there wasn’t a note. It says it here’ − she pointed to the page − ‘read that.’

Nash took the file from her and read aloud, ‘“What others created, I cremated.” I’ll check all the files, see if there was a note in every case. You phone forensics, maybe it’s caught in the envelope.’

A few minutes later, Clara put the phone down. ‘It wasn’t.’

Pearce’s mood wasn’t helped by the news imparted by the shop owner. ‘A dummy?’ He stared at her in amazement. ‘You’ve dialled 999 to report the theft of a tailor’s dummy?’

‘I told you, it’s a mannequin. A tailor’s dummy is quite different.’

Pearce sighed. ‘Would you care to explain the difference? So I can circulate a description.’

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Julie. She decided to ignore it. ‘A tailor’s dummy consists only of the torso, mounted on a pedestal. It can be used for displaying blouses or jumpers, but can also be handy to drape material over when the tailor has to apply tacking stitches. Whereas, a mannequin is the sort of model you see in shop windows, a full-length replica of the human frame. Is that clear enough? Or would you like me to ask my staff if they can remember the mannequin’s eye colouring or bust measurement?’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary. Now, are you certain that was the only item stolen? If so, why would anyone risk breaking into the shop simply to steal a dummy, sorry, a mannequin?’

Julie looked at him witheringly. Under different circumstances, she might have found his dark good looks attractive. His attitude rather spoilt that. ‘I’m sorry,’ she retorted, sarcasm crackling in her voice. ‘I thought you were supposed to be the detective. I didn’t realize I had to solve the crime myself. As to why I called you, I’m beginning to wonder why I bothered. You see, my insurers are incredibly picky. And if I decide to put in a claim for the damage done as well as the loss of the mannequin, they will insist that I have a police incident number to go along with the claim.’

Pearce realized he had allowed his personal feelings to get the
better of him. ‘I apologize, I didn’t mean it to sound as if I wasn’t interested. It’s just that I find it hard to understand why someone should go to all that trouble simply to steal something of so little value, and of such limited use.’

He smiled, which Julie thought made him seem suddenly far more attractive. ‘Perhaps I should go round your competitors and question them.’

‘That’ll take about five minutes in a town the size of Helmsdale,’ Julie pointed out. ‘I’ve a better idea. It’s about the time I make a cuppa for the workers. If you like, I can make you one while you take down a statement or whatever it is you do.’

‘That’s very kind, especially as I wasn’t very helpful earlier.’

Julie smiled at him. ‘You’re forgiven. Come upstairs into the stockroom. It doubles as the staffroom and my office. You’ll be more comfortable there and you’ll have a desk to write on.’

Tony cleared his throat. ‘Sorry to drag you all away from your gainful labours. I’m sure you’d all prefer to be counting takings and arranging your shop windows. We have a potential emergency. Our operation might be in danger of being leaked.’

Tony held up his hand to quell any protest. ‘I’m not referring to anyone in this room. I know you all far too well for that.’ Tony glanced round the small group. All men he could trust with his own life. Had already done so in fact, more than once. ‘Dawson’s the problem. He was an asset, now he’s a liability. What’s more he’s a dangerous liability. He knows everything about us. He knows what we’ve already done, what we’re planning to do and how we dispose of our proceeds. Worst of all he knows who we are.

‘Dawson’s become the focus of police attention, allegedly in connection with his wife’s disappearance. I’m not sure if anything’s happened to her or whether she’s simply buggered off with another bloke. Apart from that, even if there is something sinister behind her vanishing act I don’t know whether Dawson’s involved. All that’s immaterial. What is critical as far as we’re concerned is that if the police put pressure on Dawson he may talk. And if that happens, I wouldn’t bet against him spilling the lot about our operations.’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past him,’ Nick intervened. ‘He’s a cold, shifty bastard who makes my skin crawl. I’d guess he’s definitely behind whatever’s happened to his wife.’

‘That’s my point. If that threat becomes reality we will be forced to take drastic action. I’ve already had to borrow three of you for extra duties; essentially, a surveillance operation. In the meantime I want you all to be extra vigilant and keep an eye out for any unwelcome interest. In particular, I refer to two people I’m about to describe, and a third who Jerry will describe.’

He passed on descriptions of Nash and Mironova with photos obtained via the internet. They listened to Jerry describe Pearce.

One man asked, ‘What do we do if they start getting inquisitive?’

Tony looked straight at him. ‘My instructions are that they must be removed. If they pay you a call, you must act immediately. Is everybody clear on that? Right – back to it. Jerry, you got everything you need now?’

Vanda Dawson’s plight was desperate. She was lying on a large slab of rock, around which her abductor had arranged a series of cards, each with weird symbols on. She was naked, apart from the broad bands of tape securing her wrists and ankles.

Her abductor was standing alongside her − a large petrol can in his right hand. He paused, holding the pose for a moment or two. ‘Get on with it. Get it over with,’ Vanda muttered angrily. ‘Do your worst, otherwise I’ll freeze to death waiting.’

He unscrewed the cap and held the can high. Then he tilted it and began to pour. Vanda squirmed as she watched the bright stream of liquid cascading down towards her, then gasped at the shock as it hit her skin. She opened her mouth to scream, but he was too quick for her. He pushed a handkerchief into her mouth to prevent any sound escaping. Mute, helpless but undaunted, Vanda glared at him balefully as he continued to pour, across her head, her breasts, her lower limbs. He moved away, leaving a short trail of the liquid on the ground. When the can was finally empty, he removed the gag and stepped back. He saw his captive’s lips move, but couldn’t make out what she said. He stepped closer. ‘Get on with it, you sadistic bastard,’ she muttered.

He walked away, a happy smile on his face. He reached the far side of the small clearing and set the can down. He checked the photos on the digital camera mounted on its tripod near the can. He smiled with satisfaction. They would do perfectly.

He lit the match. He watched it flare up for a moment, then tossed it in to the line of petrol. He stood in silence, watching the figure burn, ever brighter. He reached back, plucked the camera from the tripod and began firing off shot after shot. Only when he
was satisfied that the damage he’d inflicted was sufficient did he collect the items he’d brought and thrust them into a black refuse sack. He glanced around the clearing to make sure there was nothing left to incriminate him. Satisfied on that score, he strode back towards the place where he’d left his car. He didn’t glance back at the scene that in a couple of days’ time would be the focus of so much police attention. As far as he was concerned, that was all over and done with. He had all but dismissed the smouldering body from his mind and was concentrating on what he had to do next. The burning had been fun, and all that went with it. What was to follow promised to be even more exciting.

It was late morning when Pearce returned from the clothes shop. He’d hardly got through the door when Nash called him through into his office and closed the door behind them. Mironova smiled at this, knowing that Nash would confide in her later. The purpose of the closed door would be to allow Viv to sound off without inhibition.

‘OK, Viv. Tell me about your morning.’

Pearce explained what he’d discovered at the clothes shop. He pointed out the triviality of the offence. Nash looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Doesn’t that make you curious?’ he asked.

The DC shrugged. ‘I just think it’s pathetic. A worthless bit of junk. Who’d want that, and why?’

Nash leaned forward in his chair. ‘That’s precisely my point, Viv. And that’s the whole purpose of our job. To find out why. Look at it this way. Unless the burglar is a complete nutcase with a fetish for women who can’t answer back, there has to be a reason for this theft. Our job is to work out what that reason is, and from that we might know who the thief is.’

‘Sorry, Mike, I hadn’t looked at it that way.’

‘No, you’ve taken the theft in isolation, not unnatural. The interesting part of this incident is what use the person who nicked the model might have for it. Sometimes it’s necessary to think beyond the facts themselves and look for the implications. So tell me, what’s the real problem? Clara tells me you’ve got a new girlfriend. Have you had a row or something?’

Pearce paused and took a deep breath. ‘Lianne missed her period last month, and she’s late again this month.’

‘Pregnant? How do you feel about that?’

‘I don’t know, I mean I don’t know if I’m ready for that.’

‘I’m sure it will sort itself out. For the record, I think you’re more than ready for it. And if you have any other worries, come and talk to me about it, don’t bottle it up, right?’

‘I will.’

‘Now go and make some coffee before Lucrezia Borgia out there gets near the kettle.’

It wasn’t the best joke Nash had ever cracked, but the fact that it made Pearce smile was sufficient.

Later that afternoon, Nash, Mironova and Pearce awaited their new superintendent. Under different circumstances they might have been apprehensive about what changes would result from the appointment. Having worked with Jackie Fleming before removed most of those fears.

They had opted to meet in the main room of the CID suite rather than Nash’s office. Apart from them, the room was empty, Tom Pratt having already vacated his workstation in the corner. Mironova glanced at the clock and repressed a smile as Jackie Fleming entered. It was exactly the time she’d mentioned in her phone call. Punctuality had always been one of her strong points. Nor, Clara thought as she looked at the superintendent, had the years made much difference to her appearance. Clara felt mildly envious that Fleming didn’t appear any older than when they’d last met. Her slender figure and delicate, fine-boned features helped of course. She smiled at their new leader. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee, ma’am?’

‘It may say superintendent on my badge, but if I catch any of you calling me that, or ma’am again, I’ll be seriously pissed off. I was Jackie then, and I’m Jackie now. As for the coffee, Mike, has Clara’s coffee-making improved?’

‘Not that I’ve noticed.’

‘Then I will have one, but on condition Viv makes it. I’ll make the next one.’ She smiled. ‘I haven’t forgotten how the system
works, or where the kitchen is. I’m happy to take my turn with the rest, but I’ll need a settling-in period before I subject my system to Clara’s brew. When we’ve got our drinks, perhaps you’ll bring me up to speed with developments. I understand there have been some photos?’

The meeting lasted over an hour and a half before Jackie Fleming left to return to her base at Netherdale. Later, Mironova paused for a word with Nash. ‘I forgot to mention earlier that when I was at Mill Cottage this morning the postman told me the mail train is an hour and a half earlier on Thursday, so they start deliveries that much sooner.’

‘I want to go there first thing anyway,’ Nash told her. ‘I want a word with that milkman, what’s his name?’

‘McKenzie, Lindsay McKenzie. Any particular reason for wanting to talk to him? Have I missed something?’

‘I’m not sure until I talk to him.’ He saw Clara’s puzzled expression and explained. ‘It depends on McKenzie’s routine. A lot of milkmen call each week to collect their money. Most of them do it in an evening, when they can be sure of catching people at home. If I had to guess, I’d say their favourite day would be Friday, but until I talk to McKenzie I won’t know.’

‘I see. I didn’t think to ask him that. How come you worked it out?’

‘You could put it down to my detective genius,’ Nash paused, ‘or you could say it was down to the fact that my milkman calls on Fridays.’

‘Mike, you’re a dreadful fraud sometimes.’

The photographs were all he could have hoped for, and more. There was one he was particularly proud of. It portrayed Vanda Dawson, as he liked to remember her. The cold February air had caused her nipples to become erect. On her face was an expression of abject terror as he’d paused at the edge of the shot, poised, about to strike the match. He looked at her face, had he really inspired that look?

‘Perfect,’ he breathed. He considered printing an extra copy off, but decided against it. Not at this stage. Later perhaps, when his
memories of the moment began to fade. That thought saddened him briefly. He turned his attention back to selecting the photos, to distract himself. He was mildly surprised that he was capable of such emotion.

The next photo he selected was equally dramatic. It depicted him holding the petrol can high over her head. Examining it carefully, he could just see the liquid emerging from the spout. That would do, he felt sure Dawson would like that one.

His final choice was a shot taken when the flames were at their fiercest. When the heat’s ferocity had distorted the image. The longer he looked at all three, the more he thought that final one was his greatest achievement. He gave them one final inspection before sliding them into the envelope he had prepared.

‘One good thing,’ he muttered as he looked down at them, ‘at least I don’t have to wear that bloody mask now.’ He picked up his car keys. ‘Must get these into the box before the last collection,’ he muttered again. ‘And then I can ditch these gloves as well. After that, I’m going to make something nice for tea. There’s nothing like a good cremation for giving a man a hearty appetite.’

As he walked out of the house, he began to whistle, the notes echoing down the long hallway. He felt sure Vanda Dawson would have approved his choice of tune.
Come On Baby, Light My Fire
.

Lindsay McKenzie was more than a little surprised when he swung his pickup round the end of Mill Cottage. He didn’t recognize the cars parked on the gravel sweep that covered the area from the rear of the building to the edge of the stream. He certainly wouldn’t have guessed the Range Rover was a police car until after he’d got out of his cab and was approached by the car’s driver. Even then, it was the sight of the detective sergeant who’d interviewed him on Saturday that gave him his first clue, rather than the warrant card the male detective was in the process of producing from his pocket.

‘Mr McKenzie? I’m Detective Inspector Nash, Helmsdale CID. I believe you’ve already met DS Mironova?’

McKenzie nodded. ‘Have you found Mrs Dawson? I heard it on
the news that she’s missing.’ There was undoubted eagerness in his voice. ‘Is she all right?’

‘I’m afraid there hasn’t been any development there. Mrs Dawson is still missing. What I need to do is ask you one or two more questions, if you don’t mind?’

‘Not at all, Mr Nash. Although I don’t know there’s anything more I can tell you. Not much goes on at this time of the morning.’

‘I understand that, but it’s not this time of the morning I’m keen to ask you about. I understand when you spoke to my sergeant on Saturday, you told her the last time you saw Mrs Dawson was when you delivered the milk on Thursday, is that right?’

‘Yes, just a brief glimpse. She was in the kitchen as I delivered, and I caught sight of her as she opened the blinds. She waved, and I waved back.’

‘When did you last speak to her?’

‘The last time I saw her to speak to? That would be on Tuesday morning.’

‘And how did she seem?’

‘She seemed OK to me.’

‘Now, when does she pay you? Does she leave the money out in an envelope or something like that, or do you call specially for it?’

‘No, I make a point of calling on all my customers. That way, they can tell me about holidays or if there are any variations in their order. And I’m sure to get my money. A year or so back, one of my customers claimed they’d left the money in an envelope, but I never found it. The lady said someone must have stolen it, but I had my doubts. I didn’t say anything because her husband had left her and I think she was struggling to make ends meet. It was only a few pounds, so what the heck.’

‘Did you collect Mrs Dawson’s money last week?’

‘No, I tried to, but there was nobody in. I collect from half my customers on Thursday evening, and do the rest on Friday night. At least that was the plan, but the weather on Friday was so rotten I decided to leave it a week.’

‘Is Mill Cottage on your Thursday list, then?’

‘That’s right, it’s my last call. I always finish up here on Thursday night.’

‘What sort of time would that be? Last Thursday for instance?’

McKenzie thought about it for a few minutes. ‘At a guess I’d say it was a touch before eight o’clock.’

‘And you say there was nobody in?’

‘That’s what I assumed. It was raining heavily by then and the wind was already getting up, so I didn’t get out of the car because the house was all in darkness, so I thought she must have gone out.’

‘Had Mrs Dawson ever been out when you called for the money previously?’

‘Not that I can remember.’

‘Thank you, Mr McKenzie, that’ll be all for now. I believe DS Mironova has your details if I need to ask you any more questions.’ Nash looked across at Clara, who nodded.

The detectives watched the milkman collect the empty and place a single pint in the crate, guided by the small wheel indicator on the wire basket.

As McKenzie reversed the pickup, Clara asked, ‘What do you make of that? Interesting that the house was in darkness.’

‘I find it more interesting that he failed to mention his Thursday night call when you questioned him on Saturday.’

‘Do you think he might be involved?’

‘I’m just saying it seems curious. There may be nothing to it, but I think it might be worth checking Mr McKenzie out.’

‘Tom’s got him on his list of regular visitors already. Do you think it’s urgent?’

‘Not really, McKenzie doesn’t seem the type, and besides …’

‘Besides what?’

‘I’m still not convinced this is a Cremator case. It doesn’t feel right, somehow.’

‘Is this your sixth sense working overtime again?’ She was about to continue when she saw movement beyond Nash’s right shoulder. ‘Looks as if Dawson’s up and about early.