Identity Crisis (15 page)

Despite the hour, the accountant was already fully dressed for the office. Nash took in the dark suit, the crisp white shirt, the highly polished shoes and the sober tie bearing the emblem of some sports club. Nash wondered briefly if it was of his golf club, given the spurious alibi he’d given his wife for his absence the previous week. That reminded him of something.

‘Clara, did we get confirmation from Dawson’s clients?’

‘Viv’s following it up this morning.’

Nash watched Dawson approach. ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’ the accountant demanded. He sounded less than pleased by their presence.

‘We needed to speak to the milkman and we were told the post arrives earlier than usual this morning, so we decided to combine the two.’

‘Right, well, I don’t suppose I can stop you.’ Dawson turned on his heel, collected the milk from the crate and went back inside. The door slammed behind him.

‘Bloody charming!’ Clara muttered. ‘He could at least have offered us a coffee. I’m gagging.’

‘Me too,’ Nash agreed. ‘I’d even settle for one of yours, which shows how desperate I am.’

They hadn’t long to wait for the postman who walked straight towards them rather than heading for the letterbox. ‘Still intercepting the post?’ the man asked.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ Nash donned gloves and accepted the proffered pile. He waited until the postman had driven away before sifting through the bundle. The top items were bulky, a newsletter from the county council and a host of the usual assorted
junk mail. For a moment he relaxed, then saw a familiar envelope. Nash’s heart sank. Following the trend of previous incidents, this could only mean one thing. The Cremator was announcing that he had tortured and murdered Vanda Dawson. He felt rather than saw Mironova close behind him, before she spoke.’

‘Dear God, no! The sick bastard. I don’t believe anyone can be so cruel.’

‘He’s had plenty of practice,’ Nash observed grimly. As he was speaking, the door of the cottage opened.

Dawson looked from Nash to the envelope the detective was holding. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ His voice might just have held a note of concern, but if it did, it was minimal, Clara thought. If he was concerned, it was only echoed in his voice, for his face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. A few seconds ago, she had wondered how the killer could be so cruel, now she couldn’t believe that Dawson could remain so calm.

‘Yes, it is,’ Nash replied. ‘But once again you must allow me to open it. If there are fingerprints or DNA on either the envelope or contents, I can’t risk them being contaminated. Also, in view of what the contents might be, I suggest you don’t look at them.’

Dawson’s expression was evident now, it was one of arrogance. ‘Allow me to be the judge of that. I will see what is in that envelope. You can’t stop me. You don’t have a warrant, and you’re interfering with my mail without one, which is against the law. However, I will allow you to take the envelope and contents away, but only on condition that I see what’s inside first.’

Nash hesitated, looking at the accountant for a few moments before giving a reluctant nod. ‘Very well, but I ought to warn you that I’ve seen the other files, and these photos could be extremely distressing.’

He got no response, so he gently slit the end of the envelope and retrieved the contents. He looked at the first photo, hearing Clara’s gasp of horror as she peered over his shoulder.

‘Let me see,’ Dawson insisted.

Nash held it up, his eyes fixed on the accountant’s face as the man stared at the image of his wife, bound hand and foot, stark naked, on an improvised altar. The background was woodland,
and the photo taken to give no view of the terrain beyond the immediate vicinity of the woman’s body. She was obviously alive at that point − the look of terror on her face showed that − her expression also demonstrated that she knew exactly what was about to happen to her. If there was anything other than surprise on Dawson’s face, Nash couldn’t detect it.

The second image reinforced the Cremator’s intentions; he was on the point of dousing his victim with petrol. Nash showed it to Dawson without comment. At last, there was a reaction, albeit a small one, from the victim’s husband. He recoiled slightly, and muttered, ‘I don’t believe this. It’s all wrong.’

The final photo was by far the worst. The flames licking round the body were horribly graphic. The shimmering air that distorted the camera’s focus was a clear indication of the intense heat. There was no doubt in Nash’s mind that Vanda Dawson had perished, and little doubt that the poor woman had died in the most dreadful agony.

He looked round at Mironova. She was pale and looked as if she was about to be sick. He turned back and with the utmost reluctance held the photo up for Dawson to see. Once again, the accountant shook his head in plain denial of what was too graphically obvious to the detectives.

‘No,’ Dawson said after a moment. ‘No, this isn’t right. I don’t believe this, any of it.’

Nash knew such rejection of the most terrible news was not uncommon, but there seemed more than that in Dawson’s attitude. Despite his obvious shock, the man had his emotions well under control. ‘Mr Nash, you will find out who did this, won’t you? You will find out who is behind this sick practical joke. And find out what has really happened to my wife. I will leave it to you. Please inform me when you have something definite to report.’

To Nash’s complete astonishment, Dawson turned as if to re-enter the cottage. Nash detained him with a hand on his arm. He pleaded with Dawson to allow him to call for a family liaison officer to come and stay with him, but in vain.

‘I just want to be left in peace, can’t you understand that,’ was
the nearest Nash got to eliciting some emotion from him.

The detectives walked back to their cars, both deep in thought. Nash placed the envelope and photos in an evidence bag. ‘I want you to send Viv straight to Netherdale to deliver these. Whilst he’s waiting he can tell Jackie what’s happened.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘One of the hardest jobs I’ve ever had to do,’ Nash said grimly. ‘I thought telling Dawson was going to be bad, but he’s so cold it didn’t seem real. However, I must tell Dr Grey what’s happened to her sister.’

Clara’s reaction surprised him. ‘Why don’t I speak to her? It would come better from a woman. Remember, I spoke to her last night and she does seem to react well to me.’

‘Would you? You might think this is cowardice, and I’m sure she will, but I think that’s a good idea. I’m going to get in my car and drive out towards Wintersett. I need to think through everything that’s happened without interruption. I’ll be back in Helmsdale around lunchtime.’

While they were discussing what had taken place, they were unaware that Dawson was watching them from within the house. All trace of emotion had vanished from his face. The evidence they had shown him seemed to point to his wife being a victim, either of the Cremator or an acolyte. The belief held by the police that the notorious sadist might be responsible for what had happened to her had caused a momentary flicker of reaction in the accountant’s eyes, but what emotion it was, even the keenest observer wouldn’t have been able to guess.

It appeared that he was now alone. That Vanda would not be returning. And that the local police would be searching high and low for the Cremator. Surely, this was the worst possible time to carry out the plan he had in mind. Or was it? He watched the cars leaving; then began making his preparations, with meticulous attention to detail. Now, an observer would have been able to detect some form of emotion. A kind of repressed excitement. Making sense of what it signalled would have been far more difficult.

On the journey back to Helmsdale, Mironova tried contacting Pearce, who was on the phone chasing up Dawson’s alibi. Viv rang
back to tell her the officer who’d investigated Dawson’s alibi would be on duty later that day, and his report would be forthcoming then. ‘It hardly seems relevant now,’ she told him, explaining what they’d discovered at Mill Cottage.

The watcher was about to call Tony to report on yet another police visit to Dawson’s cottage when his eye caught a movement in the woodland at the other side of the stream. He trained his binoculars on the area, expecting to see a pheasant, perhaps, or, if he was really lucky, a deer. He searched for some time, moving the glasses and adjusting the focus for longer distance before he identified the figure of a man. He fine-tuned the focus, and as the object of his attention became clear, the watcher raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Well, well, well,’ he muttered. ‘What’s this about, then?’

He waited a few minutes more, until he was sure what the man’s motives were. When there was no doubt in his mind that he too was watching the cottage and its occupant, he pulled his mobile from his pocket.

‘Tony? Sorry to drag you from your pit.’

‘Don’t worry, you didn’t. What’s the score?’

‘I thought you might be interested to know that there’s been quite a lot of early morning activity here. First off, CID landed. After they’d been here a few minutes, the milkman arrived. He was a bit longer than usual, that was because Nash looked to be asking him a load of questions. After he left, Dawson came out and had a word with them. He didn’t seem at all pleased to find them camped on his doorstep.’

‘I wonder why not? And I wonder why Nash would be questioning the milkman? Is that the size of it, then?’

‘Oh, no, I’ve only just got started: Dawson went back indoors and they waited outside until the postie arrived. As soon as he saw the van, Nash scuttled towards him. It turns out Nash was interested in one envelope. He took charge of it and examined what looked like some photos. Dawson came out. Nash showed him the photos as well. Dawson didn’t seem upset by them, but the woman cop, turned distinctly green. I thought she was going
to throw up. Anyway, after a bit more chat, Nash and Mironova went back to his car, but get this, before they got in, Nash stuffed the envelope and doings into an evidence bag. No idea what it’s about, but it didn’t look good from our point of view.’

‘I take your point. I’m going to have to think about this and decide what we should do.’

‘Hang on, Tony, I haven’t finished yet. I was just about to ring you to tell you all this, when I noticed something else. There’s another bloke watching the house.’

‘What?’

‘I know; I didn’t believe it myself. Not for a few minutes. I thought it might have been someone doing a bit of poaching, or something like that, but he’s definitely watching the place. Got himself a good vantage point as well, for an amateur.’

‘How do you mean, “for an amateur”? Who do you think he is? Another of Nash’s lot?’

‘I don’t think so. Not unless one of them is moonlighting as a milkman.’

‘A milkman?’

‘Yes, the guy who delivered the milk has come back, installed himself on the far bank of the stream and is watching the house. Probably been there since he dropped the pint off. I was concentrating on the action at the house and damn near missed him. What do you want me to do?’

‘Nothing for the moment, just keep watching. I’ll have to sort out a team to go in and do what’s necessary.’

Tony replaced the receiver and looked across at Jerry. ‘The time has come for us to pull out,’ he told his second in command. ‘Get the lads busy. I want all the premises stripped and cleaned by tonight. Only your window display must remain. That has to look normal. Once the shop’s been emptied, I want you to clear Dawson’s offices out. I want nothing left that could possibly be traced back to us.’

‘Everything?’

Tony nodded. ‘Everything, down to the last paper clip. Tell the lads to go round all the surfaces in their shops using medicated wet wipes: that should fetch all the fingerprints off. Not that anyone
has a record, but it’s better to play safe. We’ll all meet up later today for a final briefing.’

‘Nick said to tell you the new accounts have been activated and tested.’

‘Good, that means Dawson’s now a disposable asset. Tell Nick to start the transfer process. Once we’ve hit our targets we’ll assume the new identities we’ve got set up. As far as anyone trying to find out what’s happened is concerned, we’ll have vanished as if we never existed.’ He paused and smiled. ‘Which of course is true.’

Nash parked the Range Rover on the north side of Wintersett village. Through the driver’s open window, he could hear the distant bleating of sheep. Lambing season was in full swing, but although the sound registered, his thoughts were elsewhere. Throughout his career, Nash had always had the rare ability to put himself in the place of the criminal. By doing that he could visualize how the crimes were committed. This in turn often led him straight to the identity of the perpetrator. If not, it showed him the route his investigation should take.

The problem was that Nash was unable to get even a hint of how the abduction had taken place, or of what the kidnapper was thinking. Despite Clara’s conviction that the disappearance of Vanda Dawson was the work of the Cremator or a copycat, Nash was becoming more and more convinced this was not so. That puzzled him, but he was aware that there were a whole series of anomalies connected with the abduction.

He remained motionless in the driving seat of his car, staring at the harsh beauty of Black Fell and the bare, leafless woodland that covered the lower slopes of the hillside. He stared at the scene, but took in little detail as he tried to make sense of what few facts they had.

Remembering the files they had read, Nash listed the differences between this current case and the first that had been reported; comparing it to other known Cremator incidents. There was still doubt as to whether the first unfortunate woman had fallen prey to that sadistic monster, or whether it was a lone incident, from which the Cremator gained inspiration. That
first victim had been younger than the others, and there was no evidence to suggest that she had been married. And, whereas all the other victims had been reported missing soon after they vanished, nobody had come forward to question her disappearance. More than that, despite huge publicity and the passage of time, she had still not been identified.