by Bill Kitson
She pulled up alongside the police car stationed by the front gate, got out and took several deep breaths, thankful that the journey had been completed without incident. She turned and hurried along the path. The sooner she could pick up the file, return to her hotel and get a good night’s sleep, the better. In her tired, almost semi-conscious state, Tina failed to notice that the police car was empty, and that there was no sign of the driver.
Once inside, she headed for the kitchen. She was certain she had left the folder there, on a worktop, when she had been chatting to Mike Nash. In the short hallway, Tina noticed that the house felt cold, cooler than she would have expected. That was strange. It had been a hot day, and the temperature outside was still warm. On reaching the kitchen, Tina switched the light on and immediately discovered the reason for the house being colder than expected. The cellar door was wide open.
Tina made a mental note to chide Mike Nash for his carelessness. She would enjoy that, she thought with a smile. Obviously, when he had emptied the dustpan and replaced it after sweeping up for her, he had failed to ensure the door was closed properly. Tina walked across the kitchen to rectify the omission. As she neared the door, she felt rather than saw, a vague blur of movement to her left. Before she could react, before she even had chance to turn, she was pushed violently forward, the momentum propelling her down the cellar steps. As she fell, Tina flung out her arms to protect her. She collided with the wall at the bottom, feeling a sharp pain stab through her left arm; then her head hit something hard and she lost consciousness. Above her, the cellar door was slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock. A second later the kitchen light was switched off.
Breathing hard, Phil moved to the window and stared out over the back garden. There was no sign of movement there. He went through to the lounge and looked out of the window. All seemed quiet enough. He pressed speed dial on his mobile and waited for Corinna to answer. ‘Yes, I’ve got it. Not the diamonds, but a way to get them. I was interrupted, though. I’ve dealt with it, but we need to get away from here – sharp. If the coppers are still tied up down the road, drive up to the front of the cottage and let’s scarper.’
He exited via the kitchen, and using the key from the newly repaired door, locked it behind him. Phil stared at the envelope in his hand. Even in the faint light of the summer night, he could make out the single word written on the front: ‘Frankie’.
Nash had been about to go to bed when the phone rang. ‘Mike, it’s Jack Binns. I know this is going to sound like Groundhog Day, but there’s been trouble at Kirk Bolton. The village hall is on fire. Our guy went to help and when he returned to the cottage, Tina Silver’s car was outside.’ Binns took a breath. ‘However, he says there’s no sign of her, and the house is all locked up. What do you want to do?’
‘What on earth is Tina doing there? I booked her into the Fleece and told her not to go near the cottage.’
‘That’s women for you. Do you want me to go?’
‘No, I’ll handle it, Jack. And give Tina a good telling-off into the bargain.’
If Binns noticed Nash’s use of Tina’s first name he didn’t comment. But then he knew Nash well.
The journey from Bishops Cross to Kirk Bolton was achieved without Nash encountering another vehicle, which was probably as well, given the pace at which he was travelling. He negotiated his way round the fire engines parked in front of the village hall and sped down the main street. He had sufficient time to notice that the fire had been all but extinguished, but the damage caused by the blaze was considerable, probably beyond repair.
Even Nash failed to connect the fire with events at the cottage at that stage. He reached the house and pulled up behind Tina’s car. The constable who was back on duty at the front of the house hurried forward to meet him and was in the middle of attempting an apology when Nash cut him short. ‘Have you found her?’
‘No, sir. I’ve tried banging on the front door and the kitchen door, calling out her name, but I can’t raise her. I shone my torch through the lounge window and into the kitchen, but there’s no sign of her anywhere.’
‘Come with me. We’ll have to break the glass in the kitchen door.’ They ran round to the back of the building where Nash picked up a stone from the rockery and smashed the glass. He stepped inside and switched the light on. Everything seemed as it should be in the kitchen, and he was about to move further into the house when he noticed something over by the cellar door. He went across and picked up a car key ring; the fob bore the name and logo of the hire firm Tina had used. Nash tried the cellar door and was surprised to find that it was locked. He was certain he hadn’t locked it, and knew that no one had been in the house since he and Tina had left that morning. ‘Hang on a second. Come over here.’
He unlocked the door and felt for the light switch. ‘She’s here. And it looks as if she’s been hurt. Call an ambulance.’
Nash hurried down the steps. His heart was pounding with fear for the girl’s safety. She was laying face down, her body curled as if she was asleep. Nash felt her neck and located a pulse. He sighed with relief, his worry easing even more as he felt how strong it was. She moved slightly.
‘Tina, can you hear me? It’s Mike, Mike Nash. You’ve had a fall. Don’t try to move.’
He looked up. The constable was waiting at the top of the steps. ‘Is the ambulance on its way?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right, go upstairs and find me a blanket or a quilt, something to keep her warm.’
He heard footsteps as the man moved to obey the command. Nash looked down at Tina. She’d moved slightly and he could see the side of her face. Blood was seeping from a cut on her forehead. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the blood away. The cut didn’t look too bad. Once he’d cleaned the area, Nash stroked her cheek gently. He wondered if she could feel the caress, and if she could, would it comfort her in any way. It was all he could do, except wait and hope for the best.
Tina’s return to consciousness was accompanied by pain. She could feel a dull throbbing ache in her head and a sharper, stabbing sensation in her left arm. Added to these were a number of areas of her body and legs that felt as if they’d been hit with something hard. She tried to remember what had happened to her, but couldn’t. She had been driving. Was that the answer? Had she crashed her car?
She opened her eyes, blinking in the bright light from what appeared to be a long tube above her. As her eyes focused she realized it was indeed a strip light. ‘Where am I?’
She hadn’t realized she’d asked the question aloud until she heard a voice from alongside where she was lying. ‘You’re in a cubicle in the A and E department at Netherdale General Hospital.’
The voice was that of a man and although Tina thought she should know who he was, for the moment, she couldn’t identify him. She turned her head slightly to try and see who had spoken, but as she did so the pain intensified sharply. ‘What happened? Did I have a car accident?’
‘No, you weren’t in your car at the time, but you did have some sort of an accident. I was rather hoping you could tell me.’
Her eyes were still not right, because she could see two people, both speaking at once, but as she blinked again they merged into one. Mike, that was his name, but how did she know him? Was he a friend, someone she worked with? ‘How did I end up here?’
‘I found you at the bottom of the cellar steps in your mother’s house. Can you remember anything?’
‘I must have fallen and banged my head,’ Tina told him. ‘I think I went there to get something.’
‘Are you certain that was what happened? Because I don’t think it was quite that straightforward.’
‘Your name’s Mike, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Can’t you remember anything more? It might be important.’
‘I don’t think so. I know your name’s Mike, but I can’t think who you are. I know this is going to sound silly, but are we…?’
She saw hi
s face change and wondered if she had upset him. ‘No,’ he told her gently, ‘I was concerned about you because of something else that happened. Are you able to remember that? I’m a police officer, if that helps.’
It was really strange; one minute she could recall little or nothing about what had happened to her, the next, she remembered everything. ‘I was staying at the hotel because of the break-in, and I realized I’d left an important file at Mother’s house. I went back to get it. I went inside, and when I got to the kitchen the cellar door was open. I went across to close it.’ Tina shivered. ‘Then someone pushed me; pushed me right down the stairs. Then … nothing. Nothing, until I woke up a few minutes ago.’
‘I knew it couldn’t have been an accident because the cellar door was locked and you couldn’t have done that.’ Nash smiled. ‘Not unless you limbo-danced under the door after locking it.’
‘You think the same people came back again? The ones who tried to get in the night before?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Why did you come to the house? Did someone raise the alarm?’
‘Yes and no. I got word that the village hall had been on fire and the officer detailed to guard the cottage went to see if he could help. He’ll be in trouble for that. When he came back he found your car outside, but couldn’t raise you, so I was called out and we broke the door down. That was when I found you.’
‘I don’t understand. If you had to break the door down, how did the burglars get in?’
‘That wouldn’t be a problem if they were professionals, believe me.’
‘What were they looking for? My mother isn’t wealthy; quite the opposite. There are no great treasures in the house, so what are they after?’
‘I can’t tell you that. Not at the moment, anyway.’
Tina looked down, and saw that her left forearm was encased in a pot. ‘Is it broken?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘No wonder it hurts. My head’s throbbing, too.’
‘You’ve had a nasty bump on the head; that’s what knocked you out. And you’ve got a gash on your temple. The doctors will be in to see you, now you’re awake. They’ll want to keep you in to make sure you haven’t got concussion.’
‘Oh,’ Tina felt the plaster with her right hand. ‘I must look dreadful.’
‘Not from here, you don’t.’
‘How long will they keep me here for, do you think?’
‘Another twenty-four hours at least, I reckon.’
‘But what about my mother? She’s due home this morning, and I promised to be at the market place to meet her. The coach arrives at six.’
Nash patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry; it’s all taken care of. Sergeant Mironova is waiting there already. I’ve asked her to take your mother to Helmsdale police station. After we’ve had a word with her, I’m going to bring her here.’
‘I’m sorry, I seem to be causing you a lot of trouble and extra work.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’re safe and you’re going to be all right. That’s what’s important. Now, I have to go, but I’ll see you later.’
Tina watched him leave. As he turned by the cubicle curtain he looked back and smiled reassuringly. Tina stretched, comforted by his concern for her. A hundred bruises protested.
Chapter Nineteen
As Clara introduced Margaret Fawcett, two things struck Nash immediately about the woman. The first was that, although there could be no mistaking the family likeness, her resemblance to Tina was nowhere near as strong as that of Frankie Da Silva to the younger woman.
The second of Nash’s impressions, might, he thought, have contributed to lessening the likeness, for whereas the photo of Frankie Da Silva had shown her to be elegantly groomed and immaculately presented, the same could certainly not be said of Margaret. The kindest description of her, Nash felt, would be to say that she was dressed tidily.
Her hair was cut short and straight, more like a man’s than a woman’s. She wore no jewellery, not even studs in her ears, nor was there any other form of adornment about her person. She had no make-up on, and her clothes, although reasonably new, were of a style designed more with older women in mind, or certainly those who were making absolutely no effort to attract attention.
Her handshake was brief, little more than a slight, instant contact and release. As they took their places in the interview room, Nash deliberately placed his chair in the corner, well out of Margaret’s direct line of sight, making a clear statement that he was primarily an observer in the proceedings, which would be under the care and control of DS Mironova.
He had not discussed how Clara should conduct the interview, or what line of questioning she should pursue, but if he thought her approach might be gentler, more tactful than his would have been, he soon realized that this was not to be the case.
Clara explained to Margaret why they wished to speak to her, told her about the two break-ins at the cottage, and, once she had reassured her that Tina’s injuries were not serious, decided to tackle the woman head on. ‘Why do you live under an alias? Tina informed us that the name you’re using isn’t your own, but we would have worked that out anyway.’
For a few moments Nash thought Margaret wasn’t going to reply. After some hesitation, she began to speak, slowly at first but once she started there was no stopping her, even had the detectives wanted to. The story she told was one of almost unbelievable brutality.
‘It has become a habit. And I suppose that although the main reason no longer exists, it could still cause … difficulties if certain people got to know my real name, or my whereabouts.’
‘Can you explain?’
Margaret paused, little more than a slight hesitation. ‘There are some people, friends of someone I was once involved with, who might wish to do me harm.’ She faltered again. ‘It all began when I went to work in Harrogate. I met a man there and fell in love with him. He seemed so nice, so devoted and attentive, but after we started living together, I found out that it had all been an act, designed to trap me.’
She smiled, but it was an expression of bitterness rather than pleasure. ‘I have to admit it was a very convincing act, but then perhaps he was feeding on my desire to believe in him. We had only been together a few weeks when he announced that he was, as he put it, “going out with the lads that evening”. I assume a lot of women hear that statement on a regular basis and think no more about it, but I soon learned to dread it.
‘It was around three o’clock in the morning when he came home. He was drunk’ – Margaret’s eyes flicked momentarily towards Nash – ‘and demanded sex. I wasn’t exactly overjoyed at the prospect, but I didn’t mind that much.’ Her gaze once again went in the direction of the corner where Nash was seated, before dropping to study the table top. ‘Because he’d drunk too much, he couldn’t … well, do anything. And that infuriated him. He decided it was my fault and took his anger out on me, in the form of a verbal assault accompanied by a vicious beating. What I believe is known as giving me a good hiding. For someone with very little experience of men, and who only heard of such things happening to women in other countries, in other ways of life, the shock was almost as brutal as the attack. I had absolutely no idea how to cope with it. I soon realized there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, or to stop it recurring. It was the nature of the beast, I’m afraid.
‘The same thing happened another three or four times, and I was still trying to work out how I might be able to get away from this dreadful situation I was in, when things got a whole lot worse.’
‘Why didn’t you leave him?’ Clara asked.
‘It wasn’t because I wanted to stay, believe me. But I didn’t know where to go, who to turn to for help, not then. As I said, I was young and inexperienced, and I didn’t know very many people in and around Harrogate at that time. Certainly not people I could go to for help. As for the rest, my parents were dead, and other options were closed to me. We worked at the same place and a lot of people there knew we were tog
ether, and assumed we were happy. Above all else, in one of his more sober moments, he threatened that if I mentioned a word about what had happened, he would kill me, and make absolutely certain I suffered before I died.’
‘And you believed that?’
Margaret shuddered. ‘Of course I did. After his first attack I began reading articles about my situation. I soon found that many women who had endured what I was being subjected to commented that when their abuser sobered up he was apologetic, tearful, begged forgiveness. I regret to say, I experienced nothing of that nature.’ Margaret’s eyes dropped to her hands, clasped tightly on her lap.
‘You said things became worse. I don’t see how they could. What happened?’ Clara asked, more gently than before.
‘The drinking sessions became more and more frequent, and some weeks he was out four or five nights in a row. The only positive side to that was that often the knock-on effect of the continuous boozing made him fall asleep before he could beat me. However, his drinking was taking all our money. As soon as he’d gone through his own wage, he started on mine. I managed to pay the bills, but more often than not he’d blow the housekeeping money on drink and then complain because there was no food in the house. I told him once that the reason we had nothing to eat was because he’d spent the food money. That was a terrible mistake. I found out that the beating he could dish out sober was far more effective than what he could manage when he was drunk.’
Margaret paused for a long time and Clara was about to prompt her with another question, when she continued, avoiding eye contact with Nash. Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper as she described the next part of her ordeal. ‘One Friday evening after he’d gone out, I decided to take a bath. I think it was as much to do with stress relief as anything. What I dared not do was lock the door in case he returned unexpectedly. That had happened once, and he’d accused me of having someone else in the house. That was nonsense, of course, because I would certainly not invite anyone there, but it served as a good enough excuse for another beating.