by Bill Kitson
‘She’s probably just grateful. And I don’t have to ask you to keep quiet about this. I feel sure you won’t say a word.’
He’d almost reached home and was thinking about the task ahead of him when something Toni had said about steak came back to him. He swung into the drive and parked. He sat for a while with only the light from his security system glaring down on the car, thinking over what he’d just realized. ‘Of course,’ he muttered, ‘I must be getting senile. Why didn’t I see it ages ago?’
He lifted his purchases from the car and went inside. Having dumped them in the kitchen, he took out his mobile and dialled. He needed to speak to Clara, to tell her what Lee had said, and his theory. There was no reply from her number, so he left a message on her voicemail. He knew that Clara wasn’t squeamish, so she’d hardly be daunted by their first task the next morning.
She returned his call shortly after ten forty-five, apologising for the delay. ‘I went to the cinema, so I’d switched my mobile off. It sounded urgent, and I didn’t think you’d be in bed, not unless you’ve got a new girlfriend.’
Nash ignored the snide comment. ‘Important rather than urgent,’ he told her. ‘I went to collect some meat I’d ordered, and Lee told me he thought they’d had intruders.’ Nash paused and added, ‘Not in the shop, in the abattoir. And it gave me an idea I wanted to run past you.’
‘Hang on, Mike, why would anyone break into an abattoir and not steal anything? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I agree, that’s what I thought to begin with, but then I had another idea; all to do with blood.’
Nash heard Mironova groan. ‘Not another one, Mike, you know it’s bad for you. Go on, tell me the worst.’
He grinned, but told her, ‘What if the intruder didn’t break in to steal anything, but to work.’
‘A moonlight butcher?’
‘You could say that. Think about it, Clara, you go through what happens in an abattoir.’
‘They kill the beast with one of those captive bolt things and then bleed the carcass . . .’
‘Exactly, I think we might have found the place where the killer operated on his victims.’
‘I suppose it could have been. But don’t you think that’s a bit far-fetched, even for you?’
‘Put it this way, I can’t think of many places more suitable if you want to exsanguinate a body. I believe they even have a tank where they collect the blood after they’ve butchered a beast. I think you and I should visit the abattoir first thing tomorrow morning. By first thing, I mean around seven o’clock. We’ll collect some samples from that blood collection tank and send them off for testing. I bet we’ll find that they contain human blood as well as the blood from the animals Lee and his brother have butchered.’
There was a moment’s silence before Clara responded. ‘I didn’t appreciate it before, Mike, but I can see now why you’re so successful with women. You really do know how to show a girl a good time. And seven o’clock; why, by then I’ll have been awake for almost ten minutes.’
Nash put his mobile on charge and walked through to the kitchen to load the dishwasher. He’d only taken a couple of strides when his mobile rang. ‘Is it different?’ Clara asked.
‘Is what different?’
‘The DNA structure of human blood as opposed to that of a cow, or a lamb?’
‘Sergeant Mironova, don’t you pay attention during those expensive forensic courses we send you on? I’m almost certain it is, but before we take the samples I’ll phone Mexican Pete and check with him.’
‘Ringing our worthy pathologist at that time of the morning? You’ll get a load of abuse, Mike, but it will probably be in Spanish, so you won’t understand a word of it.’
* * *
‘You were right, by the way,’ Nash told Mironova as they waited for Lee Giles to unlock the door to the abattoir.
‘I was? What about?’
‘I did get a load of abuse, and it was pure Castilian. A while back I was tempted to learn more Spanish, but this morning finally decided me against that idea. I’ve enough problems with French. And yes, the DNA structure is different. Speaking of our revered pathologist, I have a pleasant task for you. When we finish here I want you to take the samples through to Netherdale and deliver them to Forensics. While you’re there, get them to send a team out here to do a sweep of the premises. I doubt they’ll find anything, judging by how careful the killer is and how professional the Giles brothers are, but you never know, we might get lucky.’
‘OK, just don’t tell the others. They’ll think it’s favouritism, me getting all the best jobs.’
Lee Giles watched as the detectives looked round the premises for any sign of illegal entry before collecting blood from the tank. Not unnaturally, he was perturbed that his abattoir might have been used for such macabre purposes. As he was talking to Nash and Mironova, however, it seemed his concern was more for the effect the events would have on his business, rather than sympathy for the victims. ‘I hope the Food Standards Agency doesn’t get involved. An inspection from their people, plus the measures I’m sure they’d ask us to put in place, is the last thing we need.’
‘I don’t see how they can blame you for someone using the place in the dead of night.’
Lee smiled wryly. ‘It’s easy to tell you haven’t had to deal with them.’
‘If this proves right though, one major question is how they got in. Are all your keys in place?’
‘As far as I know, but I’ll double check and let you know if any are missing.’
Once Clara was en route for Netherdale, Nash headed for the station. He was surprised to find Detective Superintendent Fleming seated behind his desk.
‘Good morning, Mike. I came for an update on these murders. The chief has a media briefing tomorrow and it would be useful if I had some progress to report.’
‘As you know, we think we’ve established the connection, and probable revenge motive, even if we don’t have an identity for the killer yet. However, we might be getting closer to him. We’ve got the files on Wes Stanton, to see if there’s a link that was missed.’ Then he explained where he and Mironova had been, and the thinking behind their actions.
‘That sounds logical. What about the killer’s identity, though?’
‘It makes it trickier without the degree of local knowledge regarding the Bishopton area. However, I’ve an idea how we can get round that. It should be easier now all the team can concentrate on this case, rather than having to investigate those burglaries.’
‘Ah, yes, the burglaries.’ Jackie’s eyes widened as she stared directly at him. ‘It’s strange how everyone retracted their complaints and Mr Hemmings made that generous donation all around the same time. You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose?’
‘Me?’ Nash looked the picture of innocence. ‘What makes you think I might know something?’
‘Only the fact that I met Gilbert Hemmings yesterday evening at a Chamber of Commerce event in Netherdale and he was singing your praises. He told me what an exceptional detective you are, a real credit to the force. Now why would he say that, do you think?’
‘It’s extremely kind of him, considering I only met him once.’ Nash’s embarrassment was obvious.
Fleming relented. ‘OK, Mike, we’ll leave it at that. Just remember the old saying, “no good deed should go unpunished”.’
Nash took her through the details of each of the murders, and then explained that they believed the two men acquitted of the murder of Wes Stanton might have been kidnapped. ‘The problem is that they haven’t been reported missing, and Gus Harvey, Dale’s father, maintains that they’re on a motoring-cum-skiing holiday in Europe. However, I got Pearce to ask a few questions at their places of work, and he was told that they disappeared without saying anything about a holiday.’
‘You think Harvey senior has been warned off talking to us?’
‘That’s our guess.’
They were still discussing how to proceed w
ith so little information and even less cooperation, when Mironova returned. She was already speaking as she entered his office. ‘Mike, I think I can match your abattoir . . . oh, hello, Jackie.’
‘What were you going to tell me?’ Nash asked.
‘As I was returning from Netherdale I got stuck behind one of those Mitsubishi Warrior things.’
‘What about it?’
‘This one was black, and all I could think was that it looked just like a hearse.’
‘Right. And your point is?’
‘That was when I remembered that in the same yard as the abattoir there’s an undertaker’s premises. That’s how I think the killer moved the bodies in and out of the abattoir. If he used a hearse, nobody would consider it odd the vehicle being there. And when it came to delivering them to where they were found, he would switch to the van that witness saw at the library. Nobody would pay attention to a van near the abattoir, behind the library, or outside the greengrocer’s or the social club. They would automatically assume it was someone delivering something, which I suppose they were.’
‘That’s good thinking, Clara,’ Fleming told her.
‘There’s more, though. I’ve been puzzling over where I thought I recognized Gus Harvey from, and it came to me when I was in Netherdale. I need to check first, but I think he was one of the stars of Georgina Drake’s porn shows. Not the movies, though, the stills.’
‘Clara has this fascination for staring at naked men,’ Nash explained to Jackie. ‘Let’s take a look.’
Nash asked Pearce to put the picture folder into slide show mode. The fifth image caused Mironova to exclaim, ‘Stop it there, Viv. No, go on to the next one.’
In the sixth image, the man had shifted position, and his features were clearly identifiable.
‘You’re dead right, Clara,’ Nash congratulated her, ‘that is definitely Gus Harvey. He’s a good deal younger there, but it’s certainly him. The point is, when was that photo taken? Can you tell, Viv?’
Pearce right-clicked the image. ‘August, 2007.’
‘Then I think Mr Harvey has some explaining to do. If Gus Harvey and Georgina Drake were already in a relationship, there is no way that she would be an unbiased juror when his son was tried for murder,’ Jackie stated.
‘Yes,’ Nash agreed. ‘And if we were able to prove collusion, Mr Harvey might well have to answer a charge of perverting the course of justice, especially if we could prove more than his connection to Georgina Drake. I think a closer look at the affairs of Henry Maitland, Richard Graham, and DI Hoyland might yield results, and we’re already taking a closer look into the background of the victim, Wes Stanton.’
Chapter Seventeen
It was one thing telling Jackie Fleming that they would get closer to identifying a suspect once they knew more about Wes Stanton, but obtaining information about a murder victim who had died over eight years earlier proved no easy task. Nash and the team relied heavily on the local knowledge provided by Jack Binns and Tom Pratt, but even consulting them was of little use in this instance.
‘The problem is, Bishopton didn’t come under our jurisdiction in those days, so we never got involved.’ Binns looked at Nash and smiled ruefully. ‘You’d just arrived here, and as I remember, we had more than enough problems of our own to contend with, let alone worrying about what happened in someone else’s patch. And to be honest, Hoyland didn’t encourage anyone to ask questions. I remember the walk-out at Helmsdale Plastics; it led to a big strike. The name Stanton rings a bell because he was the trade union rep, but that’s about as far as it goes.’
When Nash reported the conversation to Mironova, she asked if he had any thoughts about where to discover more about Stanton.
‘I’ve no idea, but I did think of asking Jonas Turner. He might not know anything himself, but with a bit of luck he might point us in the direction of someone who can tell us something, not only about Wes Stanton, but also about what went on in Bishopton back then.’
‘Hah! That sounds to me suspiciously like a feeble excuse for you to go for a pint with your boozing buddy,’ Clara taunted him.
Nash looked at her severely. ‘I thought I’d taught you better than that, Sergeant. It is a detective’s duty to follow leads and seek information whenever and wherever he can, no matter at what personal inconvenience.’
Clara’s laughter told him the rebuke had fallen on stony ground. He gave up the attempt to convince her.
* * *
That evening, he parked on his drive before strolling back along the lane to the Miners Arms in Wintersett village. The bar was all but deserted when he arrived. Within minutes of his entrance, the man he was seeking walked in. Turner’s faithful companion, a Jack Russell terrier, bounded across the room to greet an old friend. As Nash bent over and stroked the dog, he murmured, ‘What’s wrong, Pip, not getting a regular supply of crisps? I’ll report Jonas to the RSPCA for cruelty if you want.’
He bought the old man a pint, and when they were seated, Turner thanked him. ‘This’ll go down a real treat,’ he told Nash. ‘Ah’ve been working on my veg plot all day, an’ it gives a man a reet thirst.’
They chatted for a while before Nash broached the subject of Stanton. ‘Do you remember him?’
‘Ah remember t’ name, but ah’m blowed if ah can think where from.’ Turner puzzled over it for a few minutes, during which time the level in his glass sank to almost critical depths. ‘Got it!’ The old man cried, disturbing Pip. ‘Useful welterweight, wi’ a reet good left jab an’ a neat right hook. That ‘im?’
‘He was a boxer in his younger days, I believe. I didn’t know you were interested in pugilism.’
‘Ay, well, ah were, but not like some. There’s summat else an’ all. Weren’t Stanton murdered?’
‘That’s right, over in Bishopton.’
‘Ay, well, nowt surprises me ower there.’
‘Do you know much about what went on in that neck of the woods?’
‘Don’t know owt; don’t want t’ know owt. Steer well clear o’ t’ place, I do.’
‘That’s a shame, because I was hoping to find someone who might be familiar with the area and could fill me in with some background. Despite the fact that he was reasonably well known, there seems to be no way of finding out much about Stanton.’
‘Ah’ll ‘ave a think on it,’ Jonas told him.
‘Let me help lubricate the thinking mechanism.’ Nash picked up the old man’s empty glass. ‘Same again?’
By the time Nash returned with two full glasses, Turner was smiling triumphantly. ‘Got a name for you. The best bloke t’ ask, ah reckon. In fact t’ only bloke, ‘cause if ‘e don’t know it, it won’t ‘ave happened. Name’s Ronnie Thornton.’
‘How come he’ll know so much about Bishopton?’
‘Ah, well, Ronnie used t’ cover t’ area when ‘e were a reporter fer Helm Radio. That, plus ‘e were a nosy bugger at best o’ times. Reet suited to ‘is job, ah reckon.’
‘He sounds like the man for me. Do you know where I can find him?’
‘Not got t’ foggiest. ‘e’s retired now. ‘ang on, though, they might know at t’ radio station.’
‘Good thinking, Jonas.’ Nash drained his glass. ‘I’ll have to be off. I’ve left one in the pump for you.’
‘Ta, Mr Nash, yer a gent.’
Nash bent down and consoled Pip. ‘Don’t worry, old fellow, there’s a packet of cheese and onion waiting for you.’
As Nash stood up to leave, Turner said, ‘You know what? It’s a rare event t’ see you wi’out a smashing-looking lass on yer arm.’
Nash smiled, but it was an expression of sadness rather than amusement. ‘Not these days, Jonas. Not since . . . well, you know as well as I do.’
‘Ay, I did wonder if that were it.’ Turner had been involved in the case and knew what Nash was referring to. ‘You can’t go moping over t’ lass forever, tha knows. T’ ain’t natural.’
‘We’ll see, Jonas. Given time, perhaps. They s
ay time is a great healer, but I haven’t seen much evidence of it yet.’
Turner watched the detective leave and looked at the Jack Russell. ‘I reckon we both know what he needs, Pip, and it ain’t a packet of cheese and onion crisps.’
* * *
Next morning, Nash briefed the team on what Jonas had told him. ‘We need to locate this man Ronnie Thornton if we’re to have any hope of finding out more about Wes Stanton. If not Thornton, then someone who knows as much about what went on in Bishopton as he did. Viv, will you phone Helm Radio and ask them if they have an address for him. I tried the phone book earlier, but that was no good, because there’s a page and a half of listings for Thornton, and none of them might be our man. He could be ex-directory.’
As Pearce was talking to the radio station, Nash’s phone rang. He answered the call, and drew a couple of concentric circles on his pad. Clara turned away to avoid laughing aloud. Nash’s depiction of the aerial view of a sombrero was sufficient to identify the caller.
He confirmed this on ending the call. ‘Forensics has just reported that the blood samples you took from the abattoir contain significant amounts of human blood mixed in with those of the animals. The CSI team you ordered to go through the building has also reported, but in their case, we didn’t get as lucky. The killer was too careful to leave evidence of his presence, even though the blood seems to confirm that it was in the abattoir that the victims were dispatched.’
As he finished speaking, Pearce returned with a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve got an address and phone number for Thornton,’ he told them. ‘He lives at Drover’s Halt, in that terrace alongside the pub.’
Nash took the paper from him, as Viv continued, ‘Don’t forget I’m due back in court today, so I’ll be unavailable.’
‘In that case,’ — Nash looked across the office — ‘Lisa, will you stay and mind the shop for us?’