by Bill Kitson
‘Will you go, Clara? Try and determine if there’s a link with the other job. I want to read up all these reports on the murders, and then I’ve to go see Superintendent Fleming. She wants to talk about media strategy, apparently. If I’m not here when you get back, liaise with Viv and see if there’s any traffic cam footage in the areas, from both here and Netherdale. Who knows, we might get lucky.’
* * *
Later that afternoon, Nash listened to his three colleagues as they took it in turn to brief him on the burglaries. Pearce began by telling him what they’d discovered at the department store. ‘The thief or thieves got in via a skylight in the roof. That area is unprotected.’ Pearce shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Their security system is about as up-to-date as a wind-up gramophone. Would you believe it, there are no alarms apart from on the external entrances.’
‘We reckon the burglar must be young, fit, and agile,’ Andrews added. ‘To get to the roof, they had to climb an iron ladder. That in itself is quite a challenge. They then had to cross a sloping roof that was slippery with moss after the rain over the past few days. I certainly wouldn’t attempt it. It looked far too treacherous. I wouldn’t even ask Viv to try it.’
‘OK, so what happened when he got inside?’
‘We couldn’t work out how the thief managed to open the safe without blowing it. It’s a combination lock, so we thought it must have been an inside job, until Viv had a brainwave.’
Pearce had drawn a rough sketch on a sheet of paper that he passed to Nash. ‘The safe is there’ — he pointed to a cross on the paper. ‘That’s the back wall of the manager’s office. Directly opposite is a big window. The office is on the third floor of the building. I got the manager to tell me a bit about the history of the shop. When it was built, in 1897, all there was across the street was a terrace of small shops. Now, there’s a multi-storey car park. I reckon the thief parked in the multi-storey and kept watch on the office. With a pair of binoculars they’d be able to see right in, and make a note of the combination when the safe was opened.’
‘You make it all sound very easy.’
‘We reckon the only difficult bit was getting back out of the building,’ Pearce agreed, ‘but Lisa has a theory about that, and it might help narrow our search for the burglar.’
‘Looking at how he got in, we couldn’t see any marks, or anywhere to fasten a rope. That means he had a drop of almost eight feet from the skylight to the attic floor. That’s not a great problem, but getting back out the same way would be beyond most people. So I think our burglar friend is either a trained acrobat or a highly-proficient gymnast.’
‘That would certainly narrow it down,’ Nash agreed.
‘There is one other thing.’ Lisa Andrews hesitated before continuing. ‘The burglar left a note in the safe.’
‘A note? What sort of note? I take it you’re not talking about a fiver.’
‘No, it was printed on a plain sheet of paper. All it said was, “Thank you for your donation”.’
‘That’s an odd way to put it.’
Mironova had listened with interest. ‘That means we’re looking at the same person for both burglaries,’ she told them. ‘There was an identical note at Bijou Gifts. He got into the shop by forcing a window on the back wall of the building. That’s on the second floor, and the only access is by scaling an iron drainpipe, then sliding a crowbar under the sill. The wood is rotten, and gave way easily, by what I could see. Inside, his task was even easier, because the shop doesn’t have a safe, only a locked drawer in the owner’s desk. Her office is on the second floor, so the burglar didn’t have far to go once he was inside. The alarm only covers the ground floor.’
‘How much did they get away with this time?’
‘Just under four hundred pounds.’
Nash sighed. ‘Anything from CSI that we can use?’
‘They’ve promised to report as quickly as they can,’ Mironova told him, ‘but they’ve a backlog of work to go through. Apparently there have been several murders in the area recently.’
‘OK, I get it.’ Nash said. ‘I’ve been talking to Jackie Fleming. She agrees with me. We want you to take charge of the burglary investigations, Viv. That will free Clara and Lisa up to help me with the murder enquiries.’
Nash saw the look of disappointment on Pearce’s face. ‘We’re not sidelining you, Viv, quite the opposite. I still need you to help with the murders. In the meantime, I want you on the computer and see if you can find any burglaries with a similar MO in other areas. This character sounds too professional to be a novice.’
Chapter Eleven
Although Nash’s training sessions were now far more challenging, he found himself looking forward to them. He thought that in part it was the distraction from the stress of their frustrated attempts to discover the identity of the ‘Heartless Killer’, as Pearce had dubbed him. Nash also felt pleased that his fitness was beginning to improve.
Toni wasn’t about when he entered the building, so Nash went straight into the locker room to change. Once he emerged, he went to the fitness room, but there was no one in sight. Perhaps he’d have more luck in the larger gymnasium. He opened the door and took a couple of paces inside. At first glance, he thought that room was also empty, despite the landing mats arranged in a line across the centre of the floor, stretching from wall to wall below three dangling ropes.
‘Hi, Mike, you’re early. Wait there, I’ll be down in a sec.’
He looked up as Toni waved to him. She was perched near the ceiling hanging upside down from a trapeze. Almost instantly, as he watched, his heart in his mouth, she swung upright and leaped to a rope with barely a pause. After steadying herself, briefly, she set the rope swinging, and when she’d created sufficient momentum, stepped with seeming lack of effort onto the climbing bars fixed to the side wall. She descended them with the agility of a monkey and turned at the bottom.
‘Please don’t tell anyone you saw me do this. I’m not supposed to do that when I’m alone, so I’d be in bother if the boss finds out.’
‘I won’t say a word, even though you terrified me. Where did you learn how to do that?’
‘I’ll tell you about it later. Now if you’ll help me clear away the mats we can get started. The sooner we begin, the better,’ she added with a grin.
Why was that? Nash wondered.
The one-to-one sessions were more gruelling than the group ones had been. When Toni finally called a halt, Nash sank onto one of the nearby benches, gasping for breath and mopping his face with a towel. ‘Were you punishing me?’ he asked when he’d recovered sufficiently to speak.
‘No,’ Toni replied, ‘but now we can work at a faster pace without having to moderate the activity for those less fit. You were ready for that.’
Nash noticed that Toni was also slightly out of breath, which comforted him slightly. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it.’
Once they’d showered, Nash drove her towards Bishop’s Cross. ‘I know this is probably breaking my fitness routine, but do you fancy a drink?’ he asked.
‘Why not? I feel sure you’ve got rid of enough calories to manage a pint.’
The bar was deserted when they entered. Nash ordered their drinks and they sat in front of the log fire. He reminded her of her promise to tell him about her daredevil antics. ‘I can’t believe you weren’t trained to do that sort of thing. Where did you learn?’
Toni smiled. ‘My parents were both gymnasts; that’s how they met. They used to travel all over Europe for competitions. I have shelves filled with their trophies at home. Luckily, I had Grandma to look after me, because my parents were travelling or training all the time. She more or less raised me. I only used to see them during the school holidays. The exciting thing was that I never knew where I was going to meet up with my parents next. One time it might be Budapest, the next Lisbon, the time after that, Madrid. I remember on one occasion being really disappointed when I found out that they were competing in Manche
ster.’ She smiled. ‘I’d been hoping for Athens, Rome, or Venice.
‘I tried it myself; that was really exciting, because as I became more proficient, sometimes they would allow me to travel with them for the junior competitions. I have a few trophies of my own on those shelves,’ she added with a grin.
‘As I got older, things changed, my mother retired, but my father continued as a coach, always striving for perfection. My grandmother made me promise not to follow in his footsteps. She was concerned that I might end up like him.’
Nash looked at her enquiringly.
Toni took a drink, then with a slight shrug of her shoulders she explained, ‘He broke his back in a fall from the parallel bars and was confined to a wheelchair. He was unable to cope with that. He’d always been so fit and active, so he took his own life. He swallowed an overdose of painkillers, and left a note for Mum and me begging forgiveness, but stating that he was unable to live as a cripple — those were his words.’
‘How old were you when he died?’
‘It was a couple of months before my fifteenth birthday. My mother died six months later. The medical people diagnosed a heart attack, but Grandma said it was a broken heart.’
‘How very sad. But what you were doing tonight looked highly dangerous to me.’
Toni shook her head. ‘I know it must appear like that, to someone who doesn’t know the skills, and who is watching from ground level, but what you saw is very basic stuff.’
Nash changed the subject slightly. ‘What made you choose Bishop’s Cross as a place to live?’
‘I didn’t, not really. It was where Grandma lived, and I inherited the house after she died. I couldn’t bear to part with the place. It’s too full of memories.’
‘When was that?’
‘Nine years ago. That was a very bad year for me.’
‘Because of your grandmother?’
‘Not just that. I’d just lost my boyfriend. We’d been together since we met at school.’
Nash nodded, sympathetically. ‘Did you choose fitness instructor as the nearest you could get to being a gymnast?’
‘Something like that, plus it’s a well paid, safe job. Occasionally, like tonight, I find myself hankering after the thrill, which is why I was performing those exercises before you arrived. It’s difficult to explain, but there’s a real sense of exhilaration in being high up, yet knowing you’re in total control.’
Nash was silent, thinking about her last remark. He had a mental image of her scaling that rope in the gymnasium as if it was a ladder. Confident in her own ability, superbly fit and agile — just the sort of person who might regard climbing a three-storey building as a piece of cake. He dismissed the idea — or tried to.
* * *
The following morning, on his way into work, Nash called at Helmsdale Autos and spoke to the service manager, who confirmed Toni’s story and showed him her Mini Cooper.
Nash was still uncertain. His concern was in no way eased when he reached the station. DC Pearce was alone in the CID suite. ‘Where’s Clara?’ Nash asked.
‘She’s gone off to Netherdale. She’s giving evidence this morning.’
‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. How are you getting on with our cat burglar?’
‘I have some good news. Not terrific, but promising. I got hold of some CCTV images like you suggested. They weren’t very clear, because the heavy rain over the weekend was driven by the wind onto the camera lenses, which left them blurred. However, I spotted a car that was parked near Hemmings on Saturday night. Unfortunately, there’s no way I can get the registration number. The car’s too far away, the image is too blurred, and in any case, the angle is all wrong. However, I did spot the tail end of a similar looking vehicle on the Helmsdale footage. The car was going round the roundabout at the top end of the market place late on Sunday night, but by the time the camera had swivelled in that direction it had gone. I tried enhancing both sets of images, but without luck.’
‘Did you recognize the make or model?’
‘All I could tell was that it was a darkish colour, and it could be a Mini or a Mini Cooper.’
Nash stared at Pearce in dismay. He knew of one person who owned a dark coloured Mini Cooper, was totally unafraid of heights, and was a trained gymnast. He blinked, aware that Pearce had more to tell him.
‘I also got the CSI reports this morning. They found something interesting at the gift shop.’
‘What was it?’ Nash hardly dared ask.
‘A footprint left by the thief in the room where they gained access. Just to be on the safe side I checked with the shopkeeper and she told me that nobody has been in that room for over a week before the break-in. I think the print has to have been left by the burglar’s wet feet. Either way, it’s a great clue.’
‘Why will that help us?’
‘Because according to what CSI reported, the print was from a size five shoe, or trainer more like. That means the burglar was either a child; a man with extremely small feet — or a woman.’
Pearce looked up, obviously seeking approval, but all Nash said was, ‘Keep me posted, Viv.’
He went into his office where he sat behind his desk for a long time, silently mulling over the facts. Much as he didn’t want to believe that Toni was a thief, the evidence against her, albeit circumstantial, was very strong. As he sat there, Nash remembered something a long-dead DI had said when Nash was a young DC.
“You can keep all your circumstantial evidence,” he’d told Nash. “I prefer to look a suspect in the eye. That’s the best way to find out if they’re guilty. Circumstantial evidence has led many a promising detective astray, following a set of clues that led to a dead end while the real criminal gets away with it.”
He decided to keep an open mind on the subject — for the time being. His main concern rested with the murders. They still lacked any real information that could point to the killer, or even a link between the victims.
* * *
Gus Harvey had been back in the country less than twenty-four hours. Refreshed by his customary break in the Caribbean, he was now looking forward to returning to work.
Work, for Gus, was as managing director of a small group of highly successful companies that he owned and controlled with a tight fist, both figuratively, and, when the occasion demanded, literally. His interests not only encompassed building, civil engineering, and betting shops, but his most recent venture, a casino in Netherdale. This was already promising to be his most lucrative investment yet, and where Gus was concerned, that was impressive.
There had been objections raised when Gus’s company applied for the casino licence, objections that centred on Gus’s less-than-savoury reputation, but his threat to sue anyone who voiced such suspicions publicly soon dispelled them. That, together with local rumours suggesting that too active an opposition to Gus Harvey could be detrimental to health.
He had been less successful when applying for membership of the prestigious Helmsdale Golf Club, but as a committee member remarked in the privacy of the nineteenth hole, ‘Unlike the Gambling Commission, we don’t have to give a reason for refusing to admit a new member.’
Harvey’s thoughts were not on golf that morning. Nor were they centred on work. In among the mountain of mail that had accumulated during his stay in the West Indies was an envelope that bore no stamp or frank. It had obviously been delivered by hand. He ripped it open, expecting nothing more than junk mail or someone appealing for money for some charitable cause. Charity, for Gus, began at home — and stayed there.
Instead of what he expected, the envelope contained a collection of press cuttings culled from the Netherdale Gazette. He stared at each of the articles in turn, his face contorted by mounting disbelief mingled with horror. It took a lot to shock Gus, but the sender had succeeded — big style. Four deaths, as the articles stated, that were described by the police as “under suspicious circumstances”.
The latest article stated, “Although we have no official conf
irmation that these deaths are linked, we understand that police are investigating the possibility of a connection between the victims. Neither can we obtain confirmation or denial that the victims might have been chosen at random. Police have also refused to release details of how the victims died.”
The police might have no idea of a connection between the victims, but Gus Harvey certainly did, only too well. He reached for his phone and pressed the short code for his son’s mobile. The call went straight to voicemail. Harvey frowned with annoyance. Dale had been in charge during his absence. He knew when his father was due back and must have realized he would want an update immediately on his return. So where was he, and why was his mobile switched off? Had Dale gone on one of his binges? Or was he shacked up, screwing some tart he’d picked up on a pub crawl?
Harvey glanced down at the cuttings once more and his blood ran cold at a stray thought. Suppose, just suppose, someone else had made the connection. Made it and acted on it. No, that wasn’t possible. Only he knew of it. Even Dale was unaware of the whole truth, although he had been the one most threatened by events at the time. Gus hadn’t allowed Dale into that part of the secret. The boy had been through enough. Gus still thought of his only son as a boy, even though Dale would be thirty-three years old in a couple of months.
Dismissing the idea of anything untoward having happened, Harvey gathered up the cuttings and tossed them in the bin. Once he’d disposed of them, be forgot about their existence — or tried to. He completed the task of opening his mail before setting off for his offices in Bishopton. Hopefully, there he’d be able to talk to Dale. But as the day went on, and despite a series of frantic phone calls, he could still find no trace of his son, Harvey’s doubts resurfaced, and the memory of those cuttings returned.
* * *
Although Nash had his reservations about Toni’s possible connection to the burglaries, he decided to continue with his sessions and try to get more background on her. The training was getting ever more gruelling. During the break, Nash asked about a comment Toni had made some weeks earlier, when agreeing to stay for the evenings. ‘Why don’t you like being in the leisure centre on your own? The way you said it, I guessed there was a specific reason, because you don’t seem the type to scare easily.’