Identity Crisis (16 page)

There were other differences too in the case of the first victim. There’d been no sending of photographs to the victims’ partner, nor the gruesome addition of the sawn-up wedding ring. That all suggested the woman was single and unattached − unlike the others. From thereon, the killer had maintained a pattern − until this latest incident, which itself had failed to match the others. Despite his best efforts, Nash couldn’t come up with any solid reason for this. Like so many aspects of the case, it simply didn’t make sense.

Nash turned his attention to consideration of the security van hijacking, and how they might be able to identify those responsible. There was a way, or there might be. As he started the car and swung back on to the road for Helmsdale, Nash felt marginally less depressed than he had since the abduction photos arrived.

The first thing Nash did on reaching Helmsdale was to find Tom Pratt. ‘Tom, I’ve a bit of work for you,’ Nash began, ‘quite a lot in fact. Here’s what we need to look at.’

He’d just finished giving Pratt the details when Mironova walked in. Nash glanced up, she looked subdued, no doubt as a result of the meeting with Dr Grey. There were few worse jobs than having to break bad news to relatives. He wondered briefly if they’d been precipitate. Should they have waited until they recovered the body before revealing details to either the missing woman’s husband or her sister?

‘I don’t think I need to ask how it went.’

Clara shook her head. ‘She was in a terrible state, even before I broke the news. As I was doing it I had this awful thought. What if one day there’s a knock on my door and someone stands there telling me about David?’

‘His service time is nearly up, isn’t it?’

‘On paper, yes, but the lot he’s with don’t operate by normal rules. Mike, I don’t think I could stand it if that happened.’

‘Well, it hasn’t happened. What you must do is tell David how you feel. It might affect decisions he makes about his career.’ Nash smiled. ‘In the past, he’s only had to think of himself. A bit like me, I suppose. Maybe now that I’ve got Daniel to think about, I’m looking at things differently.’

‘I’ll tell him tonight.’

‘We need to move. Jerry has passed on my instructions, I hope you’ve all managed to comply. As for our friend, Dawson, I’m not going to take any chances. We need to take him out before he can drop us in it. He’s already been interviewed by the police twice. I’m not prepared to wait for a third. I want him dealing with. Speaking of the police brings me to a second problem. My instructions are that Nash represents an even bigger threat than Dawson and, therefore, he’s also to be disposed of. That will be down to me. I think I can dream up something spectacular, and what’s more, something we can use to our advantage. What I need to know is how we’re progressing? When do you think we’ll be ready to go ahead?’

‘We could go now,’ Jerry assured him. ‘Although we might need a bit of a distraction.’

Tony smiled, ‘I think I can provide one. Let me tell you what I have in mind. We’ll start with Nash.’

‘How are you planning to do it?’

Tony explained, adding, ‘It won’t seem suspicious until it’s too late. Too late for Nash, certainly.’

‘How much time will you need?’

‘A couple of hours should be ample. Then I’ll have to wait there until I know Nash is on his way home.’

Jerry frowned. ‘Why do you need to know that?’

As Tony explained, Jerry gasped. ‘That’s brilliant. Where did you learn that?’

‘The basic idea came from something I saw in Bosnia. I simply added the refinement.’

‘Well, we’re all set to go. When do you want us to do it?’

‘As soon as I can arrange the diversion. I’ve been watching Nash. The problem is his movements are unpredictable.’

‘I suppose you’ve to wait for him to go out before you can set it up.’

‘That’s right, but from what I’ve seen so far, I could be waiting a while.’

Their conversation was interrupted when Tony’s mobile rang. ‘Our man watching Dawson,’ he told Jerry. Tony listened. ‘You’ve lost him? Where?’ He waited, then said, ‘If he went in that direction, he obviously isn’t going to the police. Go back to his place and pray he returns.’

With Jack Binns at Netherdale, Helmsdale police station reception desk was manned by a young constable not long out of training college. He glanced up as the phone rang, glad to switch his attention from the pensioner he’d been dealing with. He knew the procedure for dealing with the call, although as yet the steps hadn’t become a reflex. He had to log the time and duration of every call manually, plus noting the incoming number and establishing the caller’s identity. Helmsdale was one of the few stations that, as yet, hadn’t been supplied with a computer to assist in his task.

As he recited his opening message, the constable scribbled the number shown on the phone’s display on the telephone log sheet and pressed the record button on the phone so there would be a permanent record. ‘North Yorkshire police, Helmsdale station, how can I help you?’

The signal on the mobile was poor; the caller must be in a bad reception area the constable thought as he struggled to interpret what the man was saying. Within the first couple of phrases, his attention was total; his biro scribbling furiously as he noted down the details.

‘Can I have your name, sir?’

The request was refused, but the explanation sounded reasonable even if the constable disapproved of the reason. Certainly, it was plausible enough for him not to press the caller on the identity issue. But then the constable was extremely inexperienced. He put the phone down and tore the message off the pad. Ignoring the renewed demands of the pensioner standing in front of the desk, who seemed aggrieved that his complaint about his
neighbour’s cat fouling his flowerbeds wasn’t receiving the attention he believed it merited; the constable headed straight for the stairs leading to the CID suite.

The trio of detectives listened in horror to the young officer’s words. No matter how much they might have expected it, the news that confirmed their worst fears was no less shocking. They watched the constable depart, their silence a mixture of sorrow and stirring anger. Nash glanced out of the window. The short winter afternoon was already drawing to a close. ‘We’d better get out there straightaway. Even if we get lucky, we’ll not be able to do much more than identify the site today.’

‘Can’t we organize some men to search the area?’

Nash considered Viv’s question. ‘The final decision on that isn’t down to me. Only Jackie has the authority to pull enough men in to search that sort of terrain. The other problem with doing that is we risk contaminating the evidence if half a dozen brawny coppers go trampling around the site of the body. Forensics wouldn’t be happy, and they’d let us know about it. We’ll get off and hope for the best. You two go ahead. I’ll meet you there. I’d better warn Jackie what’s happened.’

‘Where shall we meet?’

‘Park up in that old workings, Lady Luck Quarry. That’s the car park all the hikers and ramblers use. If this couple were taking a romantic stroll, I reckon the body will have to be within striking distance of that car park.’

As Clara and Viv headed for the door, Nash went to pick up his phone, but was forestalled when it rang. ‘Mike? It’s Tom. I’ve been checking those names like you asked me to.’

‘The tradesmen who call at Mill Cottage regularly?’

‘That’s right. I thought it was going to be a dead end, but then I spotted something familiar and checked our files. There’s a name on one of them, and it’s far too strong a connection to be coincidence, I reckon.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Chris Willis.’

‘Remind me.’

‘Works for Good Buys, does their delivery service. Did two
years for assault: on his wife.’

‘Now that is interesting. See if you can turn anything else up, will you?’

‘I already have, wait until you hear this.’

It was fifteen minutes later before Nash started out for Black Fell. He’d intended setting off earlier, but his talk with Tom Pratt had detained him, after which he had spoken to Jackie Fleming. As he drove, Nash reflected that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so wrong. He’d been wrong to suggest this wasn’t a Cremator crime. Wrong to believe that no crime had been committed, or that Vanda Dawson might have contrived her disappearance. Why would any woman conspire at her own murder? Worst of all, he’d been wrong in his assessment of one of the men he’d met, a man who now seemed likely to be the worst serial killer in Nash’s memory.

By the time he reached the car park at Lady Luck Quarry, dusk was a recent memory and Black Fell was living up to its name. Clara had left a visiting card tucked under her wiper blade. On it, she had drawn an arrow. Nash smiled faintly and followed the direction indicated.

The path was overgrown with brambles and bracken. There were few ramblers at this time of year to combat the overgrowth and maintenance of such footpaths was a haphazard affair at best. It would have been a tricky walk even in broad daylight. With the night blackened further by the surrounding trees and only the beam from his Maglite to help him, Nash found it slow going

Eventually, he caught up with Mironova and Pearce. Without his noticing it, the path had been rising gradually. The reason he had gained on the other two was that they had stopped. As he joined them, Nash looked round and saw the reason why. The rising path had brought them clear of the woods on to the bare, steep side of Black Fell. Either they hadn’t been able to spot the site of the body due to the density of the undergrowth, or the call had been a hoax. Nash remembered the young constable’s words. ‘The caller said the body is in the woods, near the path up Black Fell. It looks like someone’s set fire to it.’

‘We’ve missed it.’ Clara voiced all their thoughts.

‘Yes, and the chances are, if we miss it again going back the other way we’ll not find it until daylight. Either the body’s farther from the path than that caller suggested, or he was having us on.’

‘Why would he do that?’

Nash shrugged. ‘Why does anyone make false alarm calls? The news that Mrs Dawson is missing has been on the news and in the papers. That sort of headline attracts all sorts of cranks. We’ll have to leave it until morning. We’ve something more urgent to contend with.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I asked Tom to check on all regular visitors to the Dawson house. As a result of what he discovered, I think we’ve identified the Cremator.’

‘How? Who is it?’ Clara and Viv’s questions clashed.

‘One of them used to live in a small village only two miles from Covermere.’

‘Covermere?’ Clara asked. ‘Isn’t that where the first of the Cremator’s victims was found, the one who’s never been identified?’

‘That’s correct, and the victim’s body was discovered less than a mile from the house occupied at the time by Lindsay McKenzie. Lindsay McKenzie, who now delivers milk to Mill Cottage every day. And who, by his own admission, was the last person to see Mrs Dawson before she disappeared.’

Although all three had torches and shone these along both sides of the path as they returned slowly towards the car park, they failed to spot the slightest indication of where the body, if it existed, might be lying. When they reached their vehicles, Nash told the other two to head back. ‘I promised Jackie I’d call her as soon as we’d finished here. She’s coming over to discuss how we proceed against McKenzie.’

Although the signal from his mobile was less than brilliant, Nash managed to convey the news that they had been unsuccessful and that he was heading back to Helmsdale.

‘I’ll meet you there,’ Fleming said.

Their meeting didn’t last long. ‘I’ve arranged for a search warrant for McKenzie’s farm,’ Jackie began. ‘It should be ready for signature in the morning. DC Andrews will be back on duty, she can bring it through to you. I’m ordering an ARU as backup. There’s no saying what might happen if he’s cornered. In the meantime, I think we should keep the place under surveillance. I don’t want McKenzie to slip from our grasp. Capturing the Cremator will mean the eyes of the world’s media will be on us.’

‘Surveillance should be easy,’ Clara responded. ‘I know the location quite well. There’s a farm track leading to some fields alongside woodland on the north side of McKenzie’s place. It overlooks the whole of the property. Anyone parked at the end of the track will be able to see not only the house and its doors, but the outbuildings and the lane leading on to the property.’

Nash eyed his sergeant with interest. ‘How come you know this track so well? Is that where you and David go when you fancy a spot of alfresco nooky?’

Clara’s cheeks were scarlet. ‘Don’t judge everyone by yourself,’ she answered weakly.

Nash smiled triumphantly, having in one sentence repaid years of taunts from Clara about his sex life.

‘I think you should split the night shift between you,’ Fleming intervened hastily. ‘And to be on the safe side, I think we should have a couple of uniforms standing by. Tomorrow, Mike and Clara will lead the team searching McKenzie’s place, along with Andrews. That leaves Viv free to locate this body on Black Fell. I’ll assign some uniforms to help you,’ she told the DC. ‘I’m off to report developments to God. She was in a meeting earlier, but I know she’s keen for an update.’ The trio of detectives smiled at Fleming’s use of Chief Constable O’Donnell’s nickname.

‘Will you take the first shift, Clara?’ Nash asked when the superintendent had gone. ‘If Viv takes over from you at 10 o’clock, and I relieve him at 2 a.m., that means I can follow McKenzie on his milk round.’

They nodded in agreement.

‘Oh, and, Clara, pop in at my place on your way home tonight and let me know what’s happened. By the time McKenzie’s
finished deliveries, Lisa should be through from Netherdale with the warrant, and as soon as the ARU team are in place we can start work.

‘That takes care of McKenzie.’ Nash turned to Pearce. ‘You assemble your uniforms at Lady Luck Quarry at first light. Take the other path to begin with and stick rigidly to it. If you manage to catch sight of the body from there, don’t go near it. Get some uniforms to stand guard until forensics and Mexican Pete arrive. SOCO might be kept fairly busy tomorrow.’

‘Can I nip home for a sandwich and another sweater before I set off for McKenzie’s place?’ Clara asked.

‘Of course. I’ll go and locate this track of yours and wait there until you arrive.’

There was a knock at the door and the desk constable entered. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I’ve been tying off loose ends before the station closes for the night and I think you should take a look at the mobile number that call came in on.’

Nash looked at the number. ‘Is this whose I think it is?’

The constable nodded. ‘Yes, sir, Sergeant Binns left a note of it on the pad, but I’ve only just compared the two.’

‘I think that dismisses the idea of a hoax call,’ he told the others. ‘The report of the body being found was made from Vanda Dawson’s missing mobile.’

Later when Nash reached the flat, the building was in darkness. He considered the idea of cooking dinner, but after inspecting the contents of the freezer and glancing at the time, decided against it. As he closed the freezer door, he noticed that he’d forgotten to switch off the coffee machine that morning. Luckily, the device was fitted with an automatic cut-out. He helped himself to a mug of coffee, which he reheated in the microwave. He sipped the hot liquid, pondering the day’s developments. It looked as if they were close to solving the Vanda Dawson case, and bringing the Cremator to book. Once they had McKenzie in a cell, he could concentrate on the security van robbery. Before that, he was going to have a curtailed night’s sleep. Better get moving and have something to eat. He opted for La Giaconda. At this time of the year, the
restaurant would be quiet and Gino would ensure he’d get served quickly. That would leave him time for a few hours kip before he went on surveillance.

Craig was away from Monday to Friday each week. Normally, that didn’t worry Janet in the slightest. Tonight, however, although she didn’t know why, she was jumpy. The slightest sound was enough to have her on edge. And there were plenty of those in this big old house. Hinges squeaked, floorboards creaked, even when there was no one near them.

Familiarity, they say, breeds contempt. Janet had dismissed her fears as irrational, just as she had dismissed the sensation she’d had once or twice recently that someone was watching her. Over-active imagination, she thought, nothing more.

When she heard the floorboard creak as she left the sitting room, Janet did no more than glance idly down the corridor. Purely a reflex action. Then, in a heart-stopping moment, she glimpsed the figure. Silhouetted in the pale moonlight through the window behind him. That was when she screamed. The first of many screams.

The phone call was brief. ‘Nash has left his flat. He’s on foot. I’m following him.’

‘Let me know where he’s going. If he’s just out for a stroll, that won’t give me enough time.’

Tony put his mobile back on the table and pulled his rucksack towards him. He checked that all the tools he would need were inside. It was the third time he’d done that, but he wasn’t prepared to leave anything to chance. When he was satisfied he had everything he needed, he waited, pacing slowly round the small room.

It seemed an age before his phone rang again. ‘He’s gone into that Italian restaurant in the Market Place. I can see him through the window, sitting at a table in clear view. He’s studying the menu.’

‘Good; that’ll give me ample time. Let me know when he calls for the bill, or if you can’t do that, ring me the minute he leaves. How long did it take him to get there?’

‘No more than ten minutes.’

Tony placed the phone in one of the zip pockets of his leathers and slid the straps of the rucksack over his shoulders. He put his helmet on, picked up the bike’s ignition key and set off. He reached Nash’s flat a few minutes later and parked the bike round the corner of the street. It took only minutes to enter the flat, following which he headed for the kitchen. He inspected the gas cooker and smiled. This should be easy. Before he started work, he moved the coffee machine on to the table. He placed the grids and hot plates from the hob on the space where the coffee machine had stood, and set about removing the oven top. The securing screws had obviously not been moved for a long time. It took considerable effort to get them all out. The last one proved very obstinate, and he was on the point of sawing through it when he felt it move. He exerted a little more pressure, taking care to avoid stripping the thread on the screw head. Eventually, he worked it clear and was able to look down into the oven cavity and the space behind it. The inlet pipe was in a very inaccessible spot. This was not going to be as easy as he’d expected.