by Bill Kitson
‘It happened a long time ago. I’d got a job at Bishopton Leisure Centre.’ Toni stared at her water bottle as she spoke, but Nash guessed her thoughts were far away.
‘I’d worked there since leaving school. I was first to arrive that morning, because I lived closer to the centre than the other members of staff, and I had a swim session to supervise. My first job was to remove the thermal cover from the pool. That was when I found the body.’
Nash saw her shiver and told her, ‘Don’t say any more if it upsets you.’
‘No, I’m better talking about it. After I unlocked, I went to the pool and I assumed whoever had unwound the cover the previous night must have been in a hurry. They’d made a careless mistake and omitted to remove the key. I turned it and pressed the start button. As the cover began to retract, I went to the shallow end and scooped up the guide rope before it trailed in the water and walked back along the poolside. I was about halfway when I saw something in the water. It was a fully dressed body of a man floating face down. I dived in. When I turned it face upwards I knew I was too late. The worst of it was that I knew him; knew him well. The dead man, I mean.’
‘I take it he was a regular?’
‘Yes, he trained at the centre every week; every day in the run-up to a fight.’ Toni saw Nash’s frown. ‘He was a professional boxer. His name was Jack Burrell.’
‘I remember that name, although I confess I’m not a fan of boxing.’
‘The inquest returned a verdict of suicide, but it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t, because he wouldn’t do that, no matter how bad things were. There was an inquiry looming at the time as he had failed the drug test from his last bout. His career was in ruins, so what need would Jack have to train? And why had he locked the main door behind him? I know for a fact that someone put him into the pool, but the police wouldn’t listen to what I said. They didn’t even present my evidence to the coroner.’
He’d heard plenty of scare stories, dozens of conspiracy theories in his time, but somehow, Nash didn’t think Toni was the type to let her imagination run riot. ‘You think he was murdered?’
Toni nodded, her expression sombre. ‘I know he was. There is no way he could have got under that cover, in the dark, not unless someone helped him.’
‘How do you know it was dark?’
‘There were no lights on. If he switched the lights on to kill himself, who switched them off after him?’
‘I take your point, but it’s circumstantial. And you’ve missed something,’ Nash added. ‘Who closed the cover over him?’
Toni blinked. ‘I didn’t think of that. But there is another thing — he never used to go near the pool, never used it.’
‘Why?’
‘He had ear problems from one of his fights and didn’t want to risk getting water in them. He even used ear plugs to take a shower. Then there was the question of what happened to his keys.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
‘Because he used the gym so frequently after hours, the manager of the leisure centre got special permission for Jack to have his own key for the front door, and another for the box containing the alarm. That way he could let himself in and out of the building without the need for a member of staff to be present. After his body was found, we searched his possessions, his clothing, the locker room, the gymnasium, everywhere, but we couldn’t find those keys. In the end, the manager had to have all the locks changed and new keys issued, which didn’t go down well with the council. They tried to blame me, although how they worked that out I’ve no idea. But I stuck to my guns and told them I was absolutely certain that the door was locked when I arrived. The problem was, if I had to unlock it, how did the door come to be locked?’
‘Even if it wasn’t, this man couldn’t have let himself in and disabled the alarm without keys, could he? What did you say his name was?’
‘Jack Burrell.’
‘I’m trying to remember why the name sounds so familiar.’
‘He was being talked of as a contender for the British lightweight title, until they took his licence away. Even that was dodgy. They said he’d taken performance-enhancing drugs, but nobody who knew Jack would believe he’d do such a thing. There were so many unanswered questions, but the police officer in charge of the case wasn’t interested, even later, when Burrell’s former trainer was murdered, and the men accused of that had been acquitted. He said there was no connection between the two, but I don’t think it was a coincidence.’
Nash’s colleagues would have told Toni that he didn’t believe in coincidences. ‘Who was the officer?’ he asked, his tone casual. ‘Can you remember his name?’
‘He was the one in charge before they closed Bishopton station. I think his name begins with an H.’
Nash sat bolt upright on the bench, staring at Toni, his face troubled. ‘Was it Detective Inspector Hoyland?’
‘That’s right. Do you know him?’
‘Don’t you read the papers? Hoyland was murdered, just recently.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Was he on duty? I didn’t think of it before, but your job must be dangerous.’
‘Hoyland was no longer a serving officer. He took early retirement when Bishopton closed.’
‘I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I didn’t like him.’
‘I wasn’t exactly a fan, either.’
Toni looked at him searchingly for a moment, then asked, ‘Do you have any idea why he was murdered?’
‘Not yet, but given time we will.’
‘Is it the same person committing them all? Or shouldn’t I ask?’
Nash shook his head. ‘There’s going to be a public statement next week. I just hope nothing else happens before then. Especially as I’m away this weekend. I’m going to watch my son playing hockey, which makes a change from cricket.’
‘I didn’t know you have a son.’
‘Yes, his name is Daniel; he’s sports mad. He’s at boarding school.’
‘You and your wife must miss him.’
‘Daniel’s mother died when he was very young.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Toni hastened to change the subject. ‘I’m away this weekend too. I have a ticket for Manchester Arena on Friday night.’ Toni mentioned the name of the singer. Nash whistled. ‘That must have cost a bit.’
‘More than a bit. However, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I’m going to stay over. I booked a room in a nearby hotel, and thought I could do some shopping on Saturday.’
‘That sounds more fun than standing alongside a hockey pitch worrying that Daniel might get injured, but I suppose I’m a bit over-protective.’
She stood up, signalling that the break was over.
Once they’d finished and showered, Nash watched her set the alarm and lock up. As they walked across the car park, he recalled their conversation of earlier. ‘Can you remember the man’s name?’
‘What man?’
‘The one you said was murdered. The boxing trainer.’
Toni frowned. ‘No, not off the cuff. It may come to me if I think about it.’
‘Have a good weekend, Toni.’
‘You too, Mike.’ Toni was about to get into her car when she stopped and turned. ‘Stanton,’ she called out.
‘What?’ Nash was baffled.
‘The man who was murdered. I think his name was Stanton.’
‘Oh, I get you. Thanks, Toni.’
Chapter Twelve
On Saturday morning, DC Pearce’s lie-in was interrupted by the phone’s insistent clamour. He groped on the bedside cabinet for the handset and muttered a sleepy, ‘Hello.’
‘Good morning, Viv.’ Pearce recognized the relentlessly cheerful tone of their uniformed sergeant, Jack Binns, and gave a silent groan. It was Pearce’s turn to be on call.
‘Jack, I take it this isn’t a social call.’
Binns laughed. ‘Hardly. I’m phoning you in your capacity as our resident cat burglar expert.’
‘There
’s been another one?’
‘Yes, and this time our friend has hit Netherdale Hardware. He likes to get around, doesn’t he?’
Pearce’s dismay was complete. Today was market day in Netherdale, which meant that the town would be extra busy. Traffic would be like Nightmare on Elm Street; parking would be more like Mission Impossible. ‘Oh, how lovely, Netherdale on market day. Have you requested CSI?’
‘Of course I have. They’re up to their eyes at the moment. They’ll probably nick the last parking place, if they get there at all.’
‘You couldn’t forget you’ve made this call and phone me again in, say an hour’s time, could you?’
‘Sorry, Viv, the call has already been logged. I take it that the delectable Mrs Pearce isn’t on duty today. Please give her my best wishes.’
Pearce put the phone down and glanced across at Lianne, who was watching him warily. ‘I have to go. Burglary at the hardware store,’ he told her. ‘Oh, and Jack Binns thinks you’re delectable,’ he added with a grin.
Netherdale high street was as bad as Pearce had anticipated. After three attempts to find a vacant space, and wishing he’d left the car at home, he opted to use the council car park. It meant a walk of almost half a mile, but fortunately it was a fine morning. When he reached the hardware shop, the owner was standing outside talking to a uniformed constable. The shopkeeper looked more than a little put out by the theft, and by the loss of a lucrative morning’s trade. As he told Pearce, ‘This is my best day of the week, usually. Today is going to be a dead loss, in more ways than one.’
‘Are you insured?’
‘I am, but getting them to pay out is a different cup of tea. They’ll probably shift the blame onto me.’
‘How much did the burglar get away with?’
‘Not a lot, to be fair, just over eleven hundred pounds. It could have been worse.’
Pearce turned to the officer. ‘Have you any idea how the burglar got in?’
‘Forced a toilet window in the flat upstairs.’ He gestured to the shop. ‘How the heck he got through that tiny gap, I’ve no idea. Maybe the thief’s a midget.’
‘OK, I need to check the shop over, and then I’ll come back and talk to you.’ Pearce donned the overshoes he’d brought with him and went inside. There was little he could do, barring consult with the forensic officers, who were going to have a nightmare lifting fingerprints from every item on the shelves. We’re going to be here most of the day, Pearce thought, as he set off to give the owner the glad tidings.
He found the shopkeeper sitting in the front of the patrol car, drinking coffee.
‘Would you care to show me the place where the burglar got in from the outside? I’ve had a look at the interior, but I need to see how he got there.’
The owner took him to the back of the building and pointed out the window, which was open to its fullest extent. Even at that, Pearce reckoned, it must have been a tight squeeze, even for somebody small. ‘I wonder how they managed to get to it.’
As Pearce surveyed the building, he noticed the chimney stack at the end of the roof. If the burglar had tied a rope to that, perhaps he could have lowered himself to the window. Pearce hastened to reassure the shopkeeper. ‘We’ll do our best to catch whoever is responsible, but if it’s the same person who carried out other burglaries, they’re very skilful, and we’ve very little evidence to go on.’
‘Aye, and you’ll have your hands full with those murders I’ve been reading about, I reckon. Although I was surprised to read that Dickie Donut was one of the victims. How you manage to kill someone with the ability to be in two places at the same time is beyond me.’
Pearce was still pondering the shop owner’s strange remark when the uniformed officer called him. ‘CSI want a word. I think they’ve found something.’
The “something” proved to be yet another thank-you note, but Pearce wasn’t confident it would yield anything useful until the officer turned the evidence bag over.
‘Looks like the burglar has made a mistake at last,’ he told Pearce. ‘And a huge one at that.’
His conversation with the owner of the hardware shop forgotten, Pearce instructed the CSI team leader to check the paper carefully. ‘Even if there are no prints on it, there might be something else. A hair, some DNA, anything.’
It was late afternoon before he retrieved his car and drove back to the office at Helmsdale. He needed to do some research, and with luck, hoped he would have the results by Monday morning.
* * *
On Monday morning, Nash took the stairs two at a time, entering the CID suite with a purposeful stride. He was surprised to see that the rest of his team were already there. ‘Good morning, all. I’m not late, am I?’
Mironova looked at him with interest. Nash looked brighter than he had for a long time. What, she wondered, was the cause of that?
‘Anything of interest this weekend, Viv?’
‘There certainly is, Mike,’ Pearce responded. ‘There was another burglary on Friday night.’ He recounted the details, before adding, ‘However, this time the thief made a huge mistake, and as a result I’ve managed to identify a possible culprit. I would have liked to have made an arrest before now, but unfortunately, although I staked out the address for several hours on Saturday evening and yesterday, there was no sign of them.’
‘Have you prepared an arrest warrant?’
Pearce held up a document. ‘It needs your signature.’
‘OK, who is the master criminal?’
Pearce handed the form to Nash, who scanned the first few lines before looking up at Pearce.
‘I’m afraid you’re wrong, Viv. It’s an understandable error. I was having the same thoughts, but I think you’ll find that on Friday night Toni Chandler was nowhere near Netherdale.’
Nash saw his subordinates staring at him, wondering how he knew something so specific about the suspect. ‘Toni is my personal fitness trainer,’ he explained.
‘Wow, Mike,’ Clara told him, ‘Real fitness training? You? Aren’t you a bit old for the Olympics?’
Nash stared at her coldly. ‘You ought to get in touch with that gag writer our dead comedian used. Your act definitely needs polishing up. Anyway, when I was training last Tuesday evening, Toni told me she was going to Manchester Arena on Friday. She had a ticket to see some American pop star in concert, and was staying over the weekend. I think she mentioned hitting the Manchester shops on Saturday. It should be easy enough to check her alibi, but unless she can be in two places at once, I think we can rule her out.’
After all his hard work, Viv looked crestfallen.
‘You said the burglar made a mistake?’ Nash asked.
‘Yes, it was the note. It’s with forensics at the moment, but I thought I had enough to proceed.’
‘In that case, don’t just stand there, go and follow it up.’
‘Right, Boss!’ Viv grinned. ‘Hang on; you mentioning the comedian reminded me of something. You said “two places at once”. When I was talking to the owner of the hardware shop, he said something really curious about Dickie Donut. I didn’t follow up on it at the time, because I was distracted by the discovery of that note.’
‘What did he say?’ Nash and Mironova asked in chorus.
‘He said something like, “I can’t understand how anyone could kill a man with the ability to be in two places at the same time”. I was about to ask him what he meant, but then CSI came along with that evidence. I forgot all about it until you said that just now.’
‘You’d better go back to Netherdale and follow up on that as well, Viv. It may not be significant, but we aren’t exactly overwhelmed with leads on the murder cases.’
‘I won’t be able to do it for a few days, Mike. The reason I wanted to get this burglary thing sorted early is that I’ve had notice that the drugs trial is due to start early. I’ve to be at Netherdale Court tomorrow first thing, and I’ve no idea when I’ll be called to give evidence.’
Nash sighed. �
��I wish the courts would get their act together so we know where we are. OK, in that case, do that checking with Lisa, and hold the fort here. Clara and I will go to Netherdale and talk to the shopkeeper.’
* * *
The journey to Netherdale was conducted for the most part in discussion about the murders and their complete lack of progress. When they reached their destination, Nash was luckier than Pearce had been, and managed to park directly opposite the hardware shop.
Having spent a few minutes inspecting the outside of the premises to check the route the intruder had taken to gain entry, they went inside, where the owner was dealing patiently with a morose-looking man who wanted to haggle over the price of a cordless drill. Once the man accepted the inevitable and paid up, the shopkeeper turned to what he assumed to be a married couple. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked. ‘Something for your house, is it?’
The question seemed reasonable, and he was taken aback when the woman broke into fits of laughter. Even the man looked amused, and yet the shopkeeper didn’t think he’d said anything particularly funny.
‘We’re not married. I think we should explain.’ Nash showed him his warrant card, and when Clara did likewise, the man was most apologetic.
‘We need to know what you meant by your remark to DC Pearce about Richard Graham . . . er . . . Dickie Donut.’
‘I was only saying how busy you must be with all these murders.’
‘Yes. But there was something more than that. Something you said about him being in two places at the same time. That implies that you might know something about his murder.’
He looked horrified at the suggestion. ‘No, no, it wasn’t anything like that. It wasn’t really to do with his death at all. I was talking about something that happened years ago.’
‘Would you care to explain?’
‘Richard Graham gave evidence at a trial. I don’t recall the full details, but it was something to do with a murder. The only reason I remember it is because my wife read the details out to me from the paper. Er — she wasn’t my wife then, we were, — well, you know.’