by Bill Kitson
Having got round that tricky moment, Nash waved them off before hurrying back inside. He had to use a nail brush before leaving for work, otherwise he’d look as if he’d come straight from the garden.
* * *
Later that day, having scared his Aunt Clara on several of the white-knuckle rides, Daniel escorted her to one of the restaurants in the park. As they waited for their food, she asked him about their summer holidays. ‘I haven’t seen you since you came back from your visit to France. Did you have fun?’
‘Oh yes, it was even better this year, because of the bikes.’
‘Bikes? What bikes?’
‘Papa bought two bikes, one for me, and one for him. We fixed them to the car and took them to France with us. We had a great time, even though Papa could only stay for a few days.’ His expression momentarily changed to sadness, then brightened again as he said, ‘But we’ve been out on them this week, too.’
Clara had a vision of Nash clad in Lycra, zooming around the country lanes like a would-be Bradley Wiggins. ‘What made him decide that all of a sudden?’
Daniel grinned. ‘I asked him for a bike, and he said — he lowered his voice, trying to mimic his father’s speech — “No way am I going to allow you out on the road alone”. So I told him, “In that case, you have to come with me.” Tante Mirabelle thought it was clever of me.’
Clara was amused and enthralled at the way Daniel could twist Nash round his little finger, and pleased to discover his plan for the holiday had worked.
‘I’m awfully glad he did,’ Daniel continued, ‘and even when he can’t go out on the bike, he’s promised to continue his keep-fit sessions.’
‘Your dad is going to keep-fit classes?’
‘Yep. He’s had to get the lady to agree one-to-one sessions, as he calls them, in the evenings, because he can’t get to the afternoon ones.’
‘Really! Does this lady have a name?’
‘Toni, although Papa says it stands for Antonia.’
That explained the entry in Nash’s diary. It also explained why Nash had been so secretive. He knew that if the truth got out, he would be ribbed unmercifully. Clara wondered whether to tell the rest of the team, or keep the ammunition for her own personal use. She decided on the latter strategy.
Chapter Ten
Dale Harvey and Chad Wilkinson had been mates for years. They’d met when they were at secondary school. An uncharitable teacher commented that this was remarkable. ‘Given that they rarely attend, it’s a miracle they encountered one another,’ she’d told a colleague.
It was true that neither of them was a shining example of the virtues of a complete education. They didn’t feel they needed it. They could read, they could write, and most important of all, they could count. They saw little need to overtax their brains with further academic exercise.
They had many things in common apart from their distaste for the education system. Both were from wealthy backgrounds, and in both cases, their fathers had risen from poverty to affluence. Whereas Dale’s father had made his money from building, civil engineering, and bookmaking, Chad’s parental wealth had come from early beginnings as a hairdresser. From there his father had expanded to open a chain of tanning and beauty salons, incorporating massage parlours for good measure. As time went on, he divorced himself from the day to day running of his small empire. He retained ownership of the properties, but the businesses were run on a franchise basis. Wilkinson senior charged the managers an annual franchise fee in addition to the rent — payable in advance, of course.
There were one or two rumours that the services offered within the parlours extended beyond the provision of massages, but as these were reserved for the very wealthiest among their clientele, this remained largely hearsay.
Other common bonds shared by Dale and Chad were their enjoyment of alcohol in quantity, certain other less legal substances, and the pleasures of the flesh. It was said that in pursuit of the latter, the young men hunted in pairs, and their particular pleasure was gained from sharing the spoils of their hunt. This was easier when they were flush with money, for on such occasions they could always rely on the assistance of a member of staff from the massage parlours in their search for gratification.
Much of this was rumoured in the vicinity of Bishopton, which was their home base, but it remained largely as hearsay. Admittedly there had been one occasion when their reputed misdeeds spilled over onto the front pages of local newspapers, but the trial had resulted in them being acquitted of the murder charge that had been levelled against them. The rumours persisted for a short while, but such was the reputation of the young men, and the fear engendered by their fathers, that this soon died away. Local opinion varied between those who thought they had got away with murder, and those who thought the trial itself was ill-advised, as the men were clearly elsewhere when the crime was committed. As time went by, the case was all but forgotten, and they continued as if nothing had happened.
It was Friday night, Dale and Chad’s favourite night of the week, a time for letting their hair down. Both had money to spend, but Dale had a problem. ‘I can’t stop late tonight. The old man’s away and I’ve to make sure everything’s running OK.’
‘A bloody shame, that. I was thinking we could grab some gear and pay a visit to one or two of the girls.’
‘Tell you what. I’ll be through by tomorrow night. What say we go for it then?’
‘Deal, meet you here.’
Dale left soon after that. Looking round the bar, Chad watched as the barmaid reached to get a bottle from the top shelf. She had a lovely figure, great tits, and she liked to flaunt it. However, Chad also knew she had a boyfriend who was a bit handy with his fists. She was off the menu, but she’d whetted his appetite. He reached for his mobile and scrolled down the contacts until he found the number he wanted. ‘Hi, it’s Chad. You free? OK, give me half an hour and I’ll be there. Yes, I’ll bring some stuff with me.’
Before leaving, Chad swallowed a small blue pill, washing it down with the last of his cider. No point in paying for it only to get brewer’s droop.
* * *
Dale Harvey arrived at the Red Lion just after nine o’clock on Saturday night. He was looking forward to partying with Chad and a couple of babes. There was no sign of his pal in the bar. ‘Has Chad been in?’ he asked as the barman pulled him a pint. ‘Not tonight,’ the man replied. ‘Oh, there was a bloke in earlier asking for you. He left this.’
The barman passed him an envelope. Dale tore it open and read the note inside. He grinned, paid for his drink, and went to sit down. Chad, it seemed, had dropped lucky. Dale read the note again. ‘I’m at a party. Get your arse here. Stacks of booze, plenty of gear, and wall-to-wall fanny. Chad.’ Under the signature was an address. He finished his drink and left, much to the astonishment of the barman.
The old house was set back from the road down a long drive. Dale parked by the entrance and walked along the drive, which was unlit. It was only when he reached the front door that he realized why it was so dark. There were no lights on in the house. Nor could he hear any music, any sound of revelry from within. And yet he was certain he’d got the right address. If Chad had written the wrong details down, Dale would strangle him. He tried the handle, but the door was locked. There was no bell, so he hammered on the wood panel.
Almost at once, a voice from inside spoke, making him jump. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Dale, I’m a friend of Chad’s. He sent a note telling me to come.’
‘Wait.’
He heard a chain being removed, then the bolts being slid back, and finally a key turning in the lock. As the door opened, Dale was all but blinded by the powerful head torch the person inside was wearing. ‘Come in and stand still.’
Dale grinned and obeyed. He waited while the door was locked. He was puzzled, for he could still hear no sounds, no sign of the party Chad had promised. As the person who had admitted him spoke again, Dale realized the figure was that of a woman. �
��We’re in the cellar. Follow me.’
Dale walked behind, seeing the beam from the head torch lighting up the long hallway. At the end of it, the woman stopped by a door, which swung open at her touch. ‘Down there,’ she gestured.
Dale stepped forward, and finally saw lights and heard the unmistakeable sound of revelry, music, chatter, laughter. He began walking down the stairs, the sound increasing as he neared the foot. He stepped onto the cellar floor and looked across the room, his eyes widening with disbelief. He had barely the chance to take in the sight when everything went black.
Behind him, the woman who had let Dale into the house placed a hypodermic needle on the table at the foot of the stairs and looked across at her companion. ‘Mission accomplished,’ she said with a smile, ‘I think we can ditch the sound effects now, don’t you?’
Her colleague reached out a hand clad in a surgical glove and switched off the CD player that had provided the party noises.
‘How’s his friend?’ The doorwoman indicated the second figure.
‘Still out for the count.’
‘When do you want to make a start?
‘There’s no hurry. The father doesn’t return for a few days; we don’t want to rush things.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about them. I was concerned about you.’
‘I’ll be OK. I have to see it through. Afterwards, it doesn’t matter about me.’
‘Don’t say that!’ The voice was sharp, almost angry. ‘Of course it matters. Maybe not to you, but to me, and to others.’
* * *
‘Hemmings Department Store ⁓ Where quality comes first’, the sign on the front wall of the building proudly proclaimed. What the sign failed to mention was that the store’s customers would have to pay top price for the quality items inside. For the black-clad figure ascending the narrow, slippery iron ladder clinging vertically to the back wall of the building, the high prices charged by Hemmings were a definite advantage. Having watched the store over a period of weeks, noting the pattern with which cash was collected by the security van to transfer it to the bank, the intruder had learned Sunday night was the optimum time to relieve the store’s management of their takings.
Although many of the store’s customers had accounts, and yet more of them paid by credit card, the burglar felt confident that there would still be several thousand pounds in the safe. The in-depth study had also revealed the location of the safe and identified the weak spot in the antiquated security system. The unprotected skylight set in the roof above the attic that shed daylight onto the crammed storage space below was the ideal entry point — certainly for someone unafraid of heights.
Having reached the roof, it was the work of only a few minutes to prise the catch securing the skylight open, even less to descend into the storage area. From there, the thief moved quickly to the top floor, which housed the offices and accounts department. The door leading to the manager’s office was unlocked, which was an unexpected bonus. Once inside the room, the burglar switched on a head torch, which picked up the portrait of the store’s founder on the back wall. Disregarding the sour-faced individual who appeared to be frowning at the intruder with disapproval, the burglar took out a slip of paper and advanced towards the large safe on the floor below the painting.
Directly opposite the safe was a large plate-glass window giving excellent views of Netherdale High Street. Close observation from a vantage point on the top floor of the multi-storey car park at the opposite side of the street had given the burglar the location of the safe. Even closer observation with the aid of a powerful pair of binoculars had revealed the combination. This had proved more difficult, and it had taken half a dozen visits to the car park before the thief was confident the series of numbers on the slip of paper was correct. Now, the result of the careful planning was about to be revealed. The burglar knew that the latest collection of cash had been on Thursday, following the town’s market day, and the next one would be soon after the store reopened tomorrow morning. Hopefully, the safe with three days’ takings would contain more than enough to make the effort worthwhile.
Ten minutes later, the intruder, now wearing a bulging backpack, jumped from the attic floor, grabbed the frame of the open skylight and vaulted with ease onto the roof. Having closed the skylight, it was a matter of minutes to descend to the ground via the ladder. The physical effort would have been beyond most people, but the burglar was superbly fit.
Although there was nobody about at this late hour, the burglar hugged the shadows and, moving quickly but silently, hurried towards where a solitary car was parked. Only when the car was beyond the town’s boundaries did the thief begin to relax. Thinking of the note that had been left in the store’s safe made the burglar smile. It would be of no help to the police, but it did express the thief’s gratitude for the money now residing in the backpack. The burglar had been well brought up, and knew it was only polite to say thank you.
* * *
As usual, Nash was in his office early on Monday morning. He had barely removed his jacket when the phone rang. It was DC Andrews, who dealt with much of the less serious crime emanating from in and around Netherdale. What she had to report, however, was extremely serious.
‘Good morning, Lisa,’ Nash greeted her. ‘I guess you haven’t rung just for the pleasure of talking to me.’
‘Not quite, Mike.’
DS Mironova entered Nash’s office, bearing two mugs of coffee. Nash, who was concentrating on what Lisa was telling him, merely nodded thanks. After a few minutes, he said, ‘Hang on a second, Lisa.’ He looked across at Mironova. ‘Clara, is Viv in yet?’
‘Just arrived, Mike. Do you want him?’
‘Please.’ He uncovered the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘Lisa, I’m going to send Pearce to meet you at the scene. I take it you’ve ordered CSI?’
Seconds later, he put the phone down as DC Pearce entered, with Mironova accompanying him. ‘Morning, Viv. I want you to go to Netherdale and meet Lisa at Hemmings Department Store. They’ve had a break-in. Someone got in last night and removed three days’ takings from the safe. They only discovered the theft when they opened the safe to get the floats for today’s trading. Lisa says it’s a combination lock, so it sounds to me like an inside job.’
‘Isn’t there anyone from Netherdale available? I thought we’ve enough on our plate at the moment.’
Nash looked directly at him. ‘I’ve asked you to go.’
‘OK, Boss. Sorry, Boss.’ Pearce knew better than to argue. ‘Do they know how much was inside the safe?’
‘Somewhere in the region of twenty-six thousand pounds, according to what the manager told Lisa.’
Mironova gave a long, low whistle.
‘Apparently, it could have been a lot more, but for the fact that a lot of their customers have accounts, or pay with plastic.’
‘Still not bad for a night’s work,’ she commented.
‘Do they know how the burglar got in?’ Pearce asked.
‘That’s for you to find out, Viv. It’s called detective work, I believe.’
Nash watched Pearce go, and turned to find Mironova staring at him. ‘What?’
‘You’re in a less-than-chirpy mood this morning. Any particular reason?’
‘Apart from the fact that we’ve gone a few days without finding anything to connect the murder victims; let alone clues that would point to a motive or lead us to their killer, no.’
‘The Hemmings thing sounds a bit like poetic justice to me.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘Hemmings charge outrageous prices — at least Dick Turpin wore a mask! I went in there a few weeks back and saw a lovely pair of boots. They looked really warm and comfortable, and I thought they’d be ideal for winter. Then I looked at the price ticket. I could have bought them, if I could have worked out how to survive without eating for three months.’
‘Do I take it your sympathies aren’t entirely with the victim in this case, Clara?’
Mir
onova grinned. ‘Something like that,’ she admitted.
Pearce had only been gone a few minutes when Nash’s phone rang again. ‘It’s busy this morning,’ he muttered, before picking the handset up. When the caller identified themselves, he nodded to Clara to leave. As she was closing the door, she heard Nash say, ‘Good morning, Toni, is there a problem?’
Clara smiled, wondering why Nash’s personal trainer was phoning him at work. Perhaps the word personal was taking on a special meaning. With Mike, that was usually the case.
‘Mike, I’m awfully sorry to bother you at work,’ Toni told him, ‘but I’ll have to cancel your session tomorrow night. My car packed-in on the way to work this morning, and the man at Helmsdale Autos reckons it will be Wednesday before I can get it back. That means I’ve to catch a bus home, and the last one leaves at half past six, so unless I’m lucky enough to get a lift, I’d be stranded here.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Bishop’s Cross.’
Nash thought for a moment. ‘How about I give you a lift? It isn’t far out of my way.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘Of course I’m sure. I live just outside Wintersett, so it’s only a few minutes’ drive.’
‘OK, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
Nash had only been off the phone a few seconds when Clara re-entered his office.
‘There’s been another break-in. Jack’s just had a report back from one of his officers,’ she told him. ‘I didn’t realize this was National Burglary Week.’
‘Where is it this time?’
‘About five minutes’ walk from here. Probably less, if you’re really fit.’
Nash stared at Clara, wondering if there was some significance in her fitness comment. ‘Where exactly?’ he asked.
‘The Bijou Gift Shop. From what I can gather, the robbery also took place last night. Do you want me to go and talk to the owner, or shall I leave it to Jack’s team to sort? Apparently CSI will attend as soon as they’ve finished in Netherdale.’