THE BLEEDING HEART KILLER an absolutely addictive crime thriller with a huge twist

by Bill Kitson

  The more she thought about it, the greater the realization that she had handled things badly. It had been stupid to ring him and blurt out the reason for the call almost at once, but she and Mike had never hidden things from one another. She might be somewhat to blame, but the brunt of her displeasure was reserved for Archer. If he hadn’t come whining to her, she would never have rung Mike. Well, not for that, anyway. She would have to find a way of dealing with Archer, but it could wait until after she returned from holiday. She would also have to find a way of making it up with Mike.

  She smiled. She thought she knew of a way to do that. Arranging it would take some finesse, though. Still, if it worked out as she hoped, that would make the effort worthwhile.

  * * *

  Since his return from holiday, Gus Harvey had not seen or heard from Dale, nor had he been able to extract much information from his employees. Despite their fear of Harvey, they could not help him locate his son, and even when he tried to browbeat them, their stories were consistent. Nobody had seen or spoken to Dale. Gus had extended his search, visiting Dale’s closest friend Chad Wilkinson, only to find that he, too, had not been seen recently.

  His alarm spiralled into panic, but Gus knew that the usual avenues for assistance were closed to him. He dare not go to the police. Admittedly there was no crime that could be pinned on either him or his son, but the knowledge that four people who were connected to the acquittal had been killed was an effective deterrent.

  He headed out of the house intending to set off for work, and found his son’s car parked alongside his Mercedes.

  ‘Dale, you little sod, where are you?’ Gus shouted, and ran back to the house, expecting to find Dale in his room. ‘I’ve been trying to get you on the phone for days. Where the hell have you been hiding? Sneaking home in the middle of the night, think you can get past me do you?’ He reached the bedroom and flung the door open — empty.

  He checked every room in the house before he went back to look at the car. It wasn’t locked; the key in the ignition. On the seat was an envelope containing three items. The first was a note, the second a DVD, and the third, a photograph. He looked at the photo, which confirmed what he dreaded. Harvey read the note, his expression one of fear and horror combined. His worst nightmare had come true. After a long moment he looked at the note again. It was typewritten, the message stark.

  “If you want to see him again, follow instructions. Do not contact the police. Watch the DVD and await further orders.”

  Any lingering hope that this might be part of some elaborate hoax, or an attempt to extort money from him vanished as he watched the DVD. More than once as he played the disc, Harvey gagged at what he saw on the screen before him. The final scene was too much. He rushed from the room and just made it to the toilet before he vomited.

  He was still recovering from the shock of what he had seen when the doorbell rang. As if in a trance, Harvey went to answer it, dreading the insidious thought that this might be another communication from the madman who was holding Dale prisoner. He opened the door and stared at the man and woman standing there, at first unable to comprehend what the man said. Then his mind cleared. The threat in the note uppermost in his mind, the two visitors were the last people he wanted to see.

  As they’d walked up the tarmac drive to Gus Harvey’s house, Mironova looked at the substantial building in front of them. ‘And they reckon that crime doesn’t pay,’ she muttered disparagingly.

  ‘Tut-tut, Sergeant, how can you make such slanderous comments about a prominent local businessman, a pillar of our community?’

  ‘Bullshit, Mike.’

  Nash grinned at Clara’s disgust as he rang the doorbell. When Harvey opened the door, Nash identified himself and introduced Mironova. Even as he was speaking, he noticed that Harvey appeared to be in a daze. That soon changed as he demanded to know what they wanted.

  ‘We’re looking for your son Dale and his friend Chad Wilkinson. Do you know where they are?’

  ‘They’re away.’

  ‘Away where?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Why do you want them?’

  ‘We need to ensure they’re safe. We have reason to believe they might be in danger — and for that matter, so might you. Do you have any idea where they are?’

  ‘On holiday. Why do you think they’re in danger?’

  ‘You must have read about the people who have been murdered. Your son’s murder trial is the only connection we can find between the victims. However, if you’re certain they’re safe, that’s all well and good. Whereabouts have they gone?’

  ‘They’re motoring across Europe, hoping to reach Austria in time to do some skiing.’

  ‘In that case, we don’t need to worry about them. Now, what about you, Mr Harvey? If you want, I can detail a uniformed officer to guard you. Would you like that?’

  ‘It won’t be necessary,’ Harvey growled. ‘I can take care of myself.’

  A second later, the door closed, leaving Nash and Mironova standing on the doorstep, staring at one another.

  ‘Well, Clara, as you seem to be the expert, what did you think to the quality of the bullshit we’ve just heard?’ Nash asked.

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  ‘Not a word. Did you notice the beads of sweat on his upper lip and forehead? I don’t believe Dale and Chad are on holiday. I don’t believe Gus knows where they are. I think he’s afraid. I think he’s desperately worried about Dale, frightened for his own life, and terrified to be seen speaking to us. I’m convinced he’s been warned not to approach us. And that means—’

  ‘That the killer might have already got them,’ Clara cut in. ‘Mike, if that’s true, I don’t give much for their chances, do you?’

  ‘No, not much.’

  ‘I suppose there is just an outside chance that he’s telling the truth and they are on holiday.’

  Nash shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. We saw Chad Wilkinson’s car parked outside his flat, and if you noticed, there were two cars in Harvey’s garage. The big Mercedes is obviously his, but I’d suggest the Porsche Boxster is more likely to belong to a young man like Dale, keen to impress the girls.’

  ‘That makes sense, and your point is?’

  ‘If Chad and Dale are on a motoring holiday, why leave a machine like that Porsche behind? I can’t imagine them trundling across Europe, heading for the slopes and the après-ski hoping to strike it lucky with some glamorous chicks, using a rental Fiat 500 to attract the attention of females, can you? Not when they’ve got a babe-magnet at their disposal.’

  ‘You’ve got a point, Mike. The thing that struck me was that I feel I ought to recognize Gus Harvey. I’m sure I’ve seen him before somewhere, but I can’t for the life of me remember where. I was racking my brain all through the conversation, but I can’t think how I know his face.’

  ‘Stop trying,’ Nash advised her. ‘It’ll come back to you when you’re not thinking about it.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  When they reached the office, Pearce was sitting reading the Netherdale Gazette. ‘No work to do, Viv?’ Clara asked. ‘I suppose it must be hard filling your time, with only four unsolved murders and three burglaries on our books.’

  Pearce winced at the sarcasm, but pointed to the paper. ‘This is work,’ he protested, ‘or at least it might be.’

  ‘What have you found?’ Nash asked.

  Pearce handed him the paper and pointed to the article. It was a human interest story, and a very sad one at that. It highlighted the struggle of a young couple, Bruno and Cheryl Kaminski, to raise money. They needed it to fund a trip to America where they hoped to be able to afford expensive life-saving treatment for their baby son. The boy, fifteen months old, was pictured on his mother’s lap. The trust set up by the couple had been boosted by an anonymous cash donation that had been pushed through the couple’s letter box.

  ‘It was the amount of that donation that caught my interest,’ Viv explained. ‘The sum of £27,500 i
s almost exactly the total the burglar got from those robberies.’

  ‘You think the burglar donated his ill-gotten gains to this family?’ Clara asked.

  ‘Something like that. It might just explain the thank-you notes. But I suppose it’s a far-fetched idea.’

  ‘We do them well round here. That’s by no means as wild as some of Mike’s preposterous theories. Mind you,’ she admitted, ‘a lot of them turn out to be correct.’

  Nash was still scanning the article. ‘I don’t think it’s as far-fetched as you think, Viv. Ignore Clara she’s only jealous because she rarely gets ideas, bright, or otherwise.’

  ‘Why do you think Viv might be right, Mike?’ Clara’s question was delivered in a long-suffering tone.

  ‘Because I think I’ve seen that surname somewhere recently, and let’s face it there can’t be many people called Kaminski round here. They’re about as rare as the Mironova family.’

  ‘It’s Polish, isn’t it?’ Pearce asked, ignoring Clara, who was threatening her boss with the newspaper.

  ‘Yes, and I think I’ve remembered where I saw it.’ Nash removed the weapon from Clara’s hand. ‘Lisa,’ he called across the room.

  DC Andrews glanced round. ‘Don’t involve me in your fight.’

  ‘I’m not asking for your involvement. All I want is that email I asked you to get from the leisure centre manager. The one showing the names of people with access to the centre printer.’

  Nash scanned the names. ‘There it is. Mira Kaminski.’ He pointed to the paper. ‘It says she’s a PE teacher at the secondary school that shares the premises. What’s the betting that she’s Bruno Kaminski’s sister, or a close relative?’

  ‘You think this woman robbed those shops to help pay for her nephew to get that treatment?’ Clara asked.

  ‘It’s a possibility, and to be fair; that’s one more theory than we had up to a few minutes ago.’

  ‘We’ve no proof, though. All we have is guesswork. There was no evidence left at the crime scenes other than the notes.’

  ‘First of all, we need to establish that this woman is a relative. There’s a strong Polish community around here, so it may be coincidental.’

  ‘And what if it is just coincidence? Do we keep her under observation and arrest her in the act of committing another burglary? According to that article, they’re still a hell of a lot short of their target.’

  ‘That’s a very interesting question,’ Nash told them. ‘Let me think about it for a while.’

  It was half an hour and a mug of coffee later when he called the team together. ‘The question in my mind is this. If Viv’s theory is correct, how badly do we want to catch this burglar? Admittedly, we can’t ignore someone breaking the law, but as things stand we can’t prove this PE teacher is the burglar. However, we could do as Clara suggested, but what would that gain us, apart from perhaps preventing another crime being committed?’

  ‘We have to act, Mike,’ Mironova protested. ‘We can’t ignore it.’

  ‘Agreed, but I think we have to handle it with great care.’

  ‘Why? What’s so special about this case?’ Pearce asked.

  ‘OK, everyone, let’s say we do catch the burglar, and take the case to trial. Can you imagine what the media would make of it?’ Nash held up the paper, with the photo of the little boy facing his colleagues. ‘Apart from the media storm we’d bring down on ourselves, the money would have to be repaid, and that wouldn’t do this poor little mite one bit of good.’

  ‘I take your point, Mike. But what can we do? Have you a solution?’

  ‘Not at the moment, Clara. I suggest we all go home and think about it, and if anyone has a stroke of genius I’ll buy them a slap-up dinner at La Giaconda.’

  ‘What if you have the brilliant idea?’ Clara asked.

  ‘That’s OK; I’m used to dining alone.’

  It took less than an hour for Pearce, with the aid of his computer, to establish that Bruno and Mira Kaminski were indeed brother and sister. That merely added to what Nash categorized as their dilemma.

  Nash took a copy of the paper home with him and studied the article over his solitary meal. From time to time he glanced across at the dresser, where Daniel’s photo had pride of place. He tried to imagine what his feelings would be if Daniel had been stricken, like Bruno and Cheryl’s little boy. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  The following morning, he called Mironova before leaving home. ‘I’m going to be late in,’ he told her. ‘I’ve a call to make en route.’

  Clara knew him well enough to ask, ‘Does that mean you’ve had a bright idea?’

  ‘That remains to be seen. Let’s hope so.’

  * * *

  Nash entered the department store and located the customer service desk. ‘Where can I find Mr Hemmings?’ he asked.

  ‘Mr Gilbert’s office is on the second floor,’ the girl told him, ‘but he doesn’t usually see people without an appointment.’

  Nash smiled at the old-fashioned way of reference to one’s boss. ‘That’s OK, I think he’ll see me,’ he said as he headed for the lift.

  He found the suite of offices and located the store owner’s secretary. After a brief discussion with her, and an even briefer wait as she spoke to her boss, Nash was ushered into the lion’s den.

  Gilbert Hemmings was due to celebrate his seventieth birthday shortly, but didn’t look his age. The grandson of the store’s founder, Gilbert had a fearsome reputation among his employees and the store’s suppliers alike. The reputation had become part of Netherdale folk lore.

  ‘You should have seen the manager,’ Hemmings told him, ignoring Nash’s outstretched hand. ‘Unless you’ve come to bring my money back, that is.’

  ‘No, I haven’t come to do that. In fact, I very much doubt whether you’ll ever see your money again.’

  ‘Then I fail to see the point of your visit. Have you apprehended the thief?’

  ‘No, and I don’t think we will. Nor do I particularly want to.’

  For a moment, Nash thought he’d gone too far, and that Hemmings was going to have an apoplectic fit right then and there. ‘You’re standing there admitting your gross inefficiency, and you seem proud of it. Have you any idea what the chief constable will say when I tell her?’

  ‘Pretty much, yes. I said we hadn’t apprehended the burglar. I didn’t say we don’t know who it is.’

  ‘You know who stole my money and yet you can’t arrest them, and you don’t seem at all bothered by it.’

  ‘That sums it up exactly, Mr Hemmings, but if I could take a few minutes of your time, perhaps I can explain. I think you will understand when you hear the full story.’

  It was almost an hour later when Nash left the old man’s office. Before he did, Hemmings summoned the store general manager and issued a string of instructions. ‘Who should he liaise with at your office?’ Hemmings asked.

  ‘DC Pearce or DS Mironova,’ Nash told him. He looked at the manager, ‘They will be able to give you the contact details for all the people you need to speak to.’

  After the manager left them, Hemmings told Nash, ‘You may think I’m a soppy, sentimental old fool, but allow me to explain why I’m doing this.’ He stood up and walked across to the bookcase, on which was a photograph of a young man with a small boy. ‘This is my son, Michael. He was killed in a skiing accident ten years ago. The boy is my grandson. His name was Gilbert too, although we all referred to him as Gil. He died of a brain tumour eighteen months ago.’

  The old man looked around the office. ‘All this would have been theirs one day, but it wasn’t to be. I will be the last member of the family to work here.’ He looked at Nash. ‘Do you have any children?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I have a son, Daniel.’

  Hemmings opened the door to let him out. ‘Take care of your boy, Inspector Nash. There is nothing more precious, believe me. And thank you for giving me the chance to do this.’

  ‘Let’s hope it does some good. And, by the w
ay, I don’t think you’re being soppy, sentimental, or foolish. I think you’re being extremely good-hearted and generous.’

  After leaving the old man’s office, the manager had told Hemmings’ secretary what the meeting was about. She watched as Nash walked down the corridor, wondering why he wasn’t wearing his costume; the one bearing a big letter ‘S’ on the chest.

  Once he’d left the store, Nash phoned the station.

  ‘Viv wants a word,’ Clara told him. ‘He’s just finishing a call and seems very excited about something.’

  Pearce came on the line seconds later. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened, Mike. I’ve just had the general manager of Hemmings on the phone. He wants to drop the burglary charge. In fact, he insists we don’t take the matter any further. I don’t know what’s going on, but he said they felt it would be bad for their image.’

  ‘How very strange,’ Nash was glad that his colleagues couldn’t see his expression. ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about that. If they won’t proceed with the theft allegation, we can’t make them. Tell Clara I have another call to make, and I’ll be in shortly after lunch.’

  He reached Helmsdale Secondary School shortly before the lunch break, and after enquiring at reception, went to a small office on the ground floor, where a slim, athletic looking young woman who bore a strong resemblance to her brother was seated writing reports. ‘Miss Kaminski?’ Nash showed her his warrant card, and saw the immediate look of panic on her face. ‘No need for alarm,’ he assured her, ‘but I think it would be a good idea if we were to conduct our conversation outside, where we can be sure that nobody can overhear us.’

  His statement did little to quieten her nerves. She felt a dull, sick, sensation in the pit of her stomach. Had she left a clue, something she had not foreseen. Could she have been captured on CCTV? She was nowhere nearer working out how she’d been caught when they reached the far side of the playground from the school buildings. Once there, Nash enlightened her.

  ‘You should always check that the paper in a printer is plain before you copy anything,’ he told her. ‘Leaving a thank-you note with the leisure centre letterhead on the reverse was a silly mistake, the sort only a novice would make. It gave us a shortlist of possible suspects for the burglaries. And then the mystery donation to help your nephew, that really gave the game away. Now, I could arrest you and take you away for questioning, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Besides which,’ he smiled, ‘I’ve promised not to.’