by Bill Kitson
‘I can’t believe the chief and Jackie would even consider accusing you,’ Lisa added, ‘the very idea is preposterous.’
‘The fact remains that the reporter must have learned of it from somebody,’ Viv pointed out. ‘Accepting that Mike didn’t tell Becky, that leaves a shortlist of candidates.’
Despite his continued anger, Nash smiled. ‘Let me make one thing perfectly clear,’ he told them. ‘I don’t believe for one minute that the leak came from anyone in this room, or in this building, for that matter.’
‘That leaves only Mexican Pete and his assistants, the Forensic boys and someone from HQ,’ Pearce suggested.
‘Actually, you’re wrong, Viv,’ Clara contradicted him. As she spoke, she glanced at Nash and saw he had the same idea as her.
Pearce looked puzzled. ‘Who else is there? Who else knew that the hearts had been removed?’
‘The person who removed them.’
‘I never thought of that.’
‘It’s the most obvious solution, but sometimes the obvious is hardest to spot.’
‘What do you suggest, Mike? Should we pull the reporter in for questioning?’
Nash thought for a moment. ‘No, I think we’ll tackle it a different way. If we did bring him in, the likelihood is that he’d play the old “refusing to divulge my sources” routine and start howling in the Gazette about freedom of speech and infringement of civil liberties. Before we know where we are, we’ll be held responsible for everything that’s happened since the Korean War.’
They smiled at Nash’s absurd exaggeration, but Clara asked, ‘What have you in mind?’
He told them, and at the end Clara smiled. ‘That would mean going back on your threat not to speak to the chief constable for the foreseeable future.’
‘No it wouldn’t, because I’m not going to speak to her — you are.’
‘Do you think it will work?’
‘Why not? The editor of the Gazette owes me a favour, even if she doesn’t yet realize it.’
‘I thought you’d have a different idea about how to call in that favour.’ Clara’s response provoked grins from both Andrews and Pearce.
‘Has everyone around here apart from me got dirty minds?’ Nash complained. He scowled ferociously at his colleagues’ laughter, which only served to increase their amusement.
‘After Clara’s made her phone call, we’ll go to Bishopton and arrest Gus Harvey. If he’s at home, we’ll search the house. Who knows, we might get lucky and get some corroborating evidence.’
‘You’ll need a search warrant for that,’ Pearce pointed out. Then he realized the significance of Nash’s remark. ‘Oh, no, of course you won’t. If he’s in residence, someone of your rank can authorize the search.’
‘Good to see you weren’t asleep during the lecture on the PACE act,’ Nash smiled.
‘Do you want me to inform Jackie Fleming and ask her to meet you there?’
Nash’s smile changed to a cold stare. ‘No, I’m not speaking to her either. While we’re out, I want you to begin searching for a child born around 1980. The mother’s name is, or rather was, Amy White. She’s deceased, but whether that helps I don’t know. The father could be listed as Wes Stanton, or it could say “father unknown” on the birth registration.’
‘Any clue as to a more accurate idea on the date?’
‘Sorry, no. But as the surname is such a common one, it might speed things up a bit if Lisa helps you.’
* * *
When they arrived at Harvey’s palatial residence, which Clara referred to as a young mansion, they noticed that his Mercedes was missing from the garage. ‘He can’t have gone far,’ Clara pointed to the open space, ‘I don’t think Harvey would risk leaving the place wide open for any length of time.’
Even as they were passing the front of the double garage the roller doors began to close, startling Clara so much she jumped to one side. ‘How did that happen?’ she asked.
‘At a guess, I’d say they were on an automatic timer, set to go off when he’s been out for a certain length of time.’
‘Bloody technology,’ she muttered.
As expected, there was no response when they rang the bell, or hammered on the stout wooden door. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Sit in the car and wait,’ Nash told her. ‘Without Harvey present we can’t break in and start searching the place, no matter how much we’d like to.’
‘How long do we give him?’
Nash shrugged. ‘An hour, or until boredom sets in.’
Boredom and the hour they’d set themselves coincided, and they abandoned their vigil and returned to Helmsdale. They stopped en route to collect sandwiches for the team. As they were handing these out, Pearce asked how they’d got on.
‘We saw three pheasants, a deer, and a squirrel,’ Clara informed him. ‘A grey squirrel, not a red one.’
‘Alan calls them tree rats,’ Lisa commented. ‘Gamekeepers detest them.’
* * *
At about the time they were eating their sandwiches, Gus Harvey arrived in Leeds and made his way to a city centre hotel. His absence from home was in obedience to the final instruction on the kidnapper’s list. What the purpose was for his visit, or what he was supposed to do with his time over the next three days, Harvey had no idea, but the threat of not complying with the order had been as explicit as it was unpleasant. For the first time in many years, Gus Harvey experienced the sensation of being completely powerless to control his own destiny, or the fate of his son.
He had just completed check in, when back in Helmsdale CID suite, Nash’s direct line rang. He signalled to Clara to take the call, and listened with interest to her half of the conversation. Eventually, she said, ‘Very well, I’ll tell him.’
He raised his eyebrows enquiringly. ‘That was the editor of the Netherdale Gazette. She asked for you, but she didn’t seem at all surprised when I said you weren’t taking calls at the moment. She asked me to tell you she’s sorry, but that she’ll get to the bottom of it tomorrow and as she put it, “set the record straight with Aunt Gloria”, which I suppose is a good thing.’
‘You may be right, but it’s only papering over the cracks. The lack of trust shouldn’t have been there in the first place.’
Clara eyed him sympathetically. ‘You’re not going to let this go easily, are you? Did it really offend you that much, or are you milking it for your own purposes.’
‘It did come as a nasty shock, and I guess there is an element of teaching them a lesson in it, but I’m also concerned that a distraction such as this is preventing us doing our job efficiently. If one part of the team can’t rely on the other, we stand little chance of working well together in future.’
Reflecting on it later, Clara wondered whether Nash was getting weary of his job. At one time he would never have reacted so strongly to what must have seemed a trivial upset to others.
* * *
Becky Pollard’s return to work caused one of the Gazette’s staff to refer to the event as Black Friday. This had nothing to do with the retail industry’s discount bonanza. Becky entered the building like a mini-tornado, pausing in the foyer only to tell the receptionist what she expected the area to look like, where it fell short of her high standard, and informing her that the deficiencies should be put right by lunchtime.
Leaving the woman with a deep sense of grievance and wishing for the return of the old editor, Becky stormed into her office, having informed her secretary that she should accompany her. The instruction came via an imperious wave of her hand as she passed, and when the woman entered the inner room, notebook in hand, Becky was already seated behind her desk, impatiently tapping on the blotter with a pencil.
She issued a volley of commands, which resulted in all department heads entering her office, then leaving, having received a severe dressing-down regarding the sub-standard work that was limiting the paper’s appeal, circulation, and most important of all, advertising revenue.
‘Phew,’
one of them remarked as he stood by the coffee machine. He glanced nervously over his shoulder before continuing, ‘It was like coming face to face with Attila the Hun on steroids.’
‘Tell me about it,’ his colleague agreed, ‘I’ve no idea what’s bitten her, but I wish someone would feed her the antidote — and do so damned quick.’
Leaving the worst offenders until last, Becky leaned back in the chair her uncle, father, and grandfather had graced and watched the deputy editor enter, accompanied by the crime reporter, who was wearing what Becky thought was a self-satisfied smirk. It irritated her further, strengthening her determination to erase it. Both men went to sit down, only to be told in peremptory fashion to remain standing.
She held up a copy of the paper, using only her thumb and forefinger to signify her distaste. She pointed to the front page article. ‘And just what do you call this?’ she demanded.
‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ Archer protested. ‘It’s all true, every word of it. I interviewed Harvey myself, at his request.’
‘Really?’ Becky’s tone was icy, her expression glacial. ‘Who else was present at this interview?’
The crime reporter looked puzzled. ‘Nobody. We were at his house.’
‘So there was nobody to verify what took place. Did you record it? Please tell me you recorded it.’
For the first time, Archer appeared flustered. ‘No, I didn’t think that was necessary.’
‘You didn’t think it was necessary?’ The incredulity in Becky’s voice made Archer flinch. ‘So tell me,’ she continued, her tone cutting, ‘if Gus Harvey denies having said any of this and accuses the Gazette of libel, how will you persuade a court of law to accept the word of a down-at-heel crime reporter over that of a highly successful and very wealthy local businessman?’
Archer remained silent, principally because he couldn’t think of anything to say in his own defence.
‘Very well,’ Becky continued, ‘now you can tell me where you got this information about the victims’ hearts being removed? Did Harvey tell you? Did he know?’
‘No. I got a tip off.’ His reply was muttered, and on the dark side of surly.
‘From whom? Was it from a police officer, or a member of the pathology team?’
‘I don’t know who sent it. I got a note. It was in the mail, addressed to me.’
‘By name?’
‘No. For the attention of the crime reporter.’
‘Well, that’s a matter of opinion.’ She glared at him. ‘And did the mysterious sender with an inside knowledge of the case identify themselves?’
‘No, there wasn’t a signature. It was typewritten.’
‘Right, I think I’ve got it now. You wrote this garbage’ — Becky pointed to the article — ‘on the strength of a deniable interview and an anonymous note from a dubious source. Where is the note? Bring it to me, along with the envelope it came in.’
‘I didn’t keep the envelope.’
Becky sat bolt upright, her expression a compound of astonished disbelief and fury. ‘You — didn’t — keep — the — envelope! You are joking!’
Archer shook his head. It was clear that he still hadn’t grasped the enormity of his offence.
‘Let me ask you a question, Mr Archer. Who do you think might have sent you that note?’
‘I thought it was from a police officer who didn’t want to be identified.’
‘Really? And what might they have had to gain by risking their career like that? I’ll tell you: They would have had absolutely nothing to gain, and a whole lot to lose. So I think you can forget about it being a police officer. Have you any other bright ideas?’
There was a long, painful silence, while Archer stared fixedly at his hands, which were clasped tightly in front of him, baffled by the rebuke when he’d been expecting plaudits, and the deputy editor shuffled uneasily alongside the reporter, keenly aware that his turn was yet to come.
Eventually, Becky broke the silence. ‘Did it not occur to you that this note, which gives intimate details about how the victims met their deaths, might have been written by the person who inflicted those injuries?’
Archer’s head reared like that of a striking cobra, and he stared at his employer with dumbfounded dismay.
‘No, of course it didn’t,’ Becky said witheringly. ‘You were far too busy composing your acceptance speech for next year’s Pulitzer Prize to stop and think through what you were doing. By your slapdash reporting and lack of thought you have laid this newspaper open to public ridicule and soured our previous good relationship with the local police force. Plus destroying what might have been a vital piece of evidence that could have assisted, via fingerprints and possibly DNA, to identify and apprehend a vicious serial killer.’
She paused, but only for breath, it seemed. ‘Let me tell you that I had to take a phone call from the chief constable during my holiday, demanding to know how we came by that information. It was not a very pleasant call. Now, I have to go back to her and admit that we received a note from the killer explaining what he did to the victims. And, that we destroyed half of the evidence. In addition to apologizing for your monumental stupidity, I shall have to agree to issue a retraction for this completely unwarranted drivel about police inefficiency. I have to say I’m not looking forward to that conversation. As for you, I think you’ll be extremely lucky to escape a charge of obstructing the police inquiry. If that happens, don’t look to me for help. Now, get out of my sight. And clear your desk!’
‘But—’
Becky glared at the man. ‘You’re still on probation. Out!’
She watched Archer troop miserably from the office, shoulders bowed, before she turned to her deputy.
He wasn’t prepared to wait for her to tear him off a strip. ‘My fault,’ he said, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘I’m to blame for this debacle. You were away, two of the sub-editors were off with flu, and I was under a lot of pressure. That’s no excuse, I know, but Archer swore the piece was kosher, so I took his word for it and didn’t carry out the usual checks.’
Becky sighed. ‘That’s disappointing, but understandable in the circumstances. However, it must never happen again.’ Becky gestured towards the door. ‘That man’s an idiot. Arrogant with it too, and that’s a dangerous combination.’
‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. What about the murder inquiry, though? Who will you get to handle that now? If you’re getting rid of Archer, who shall I get to cover the story?’
‘I’ll handle it myself. It might give me chance to try and re-establish a good relationship with the police.’
As he turned to leave, her deputy let out a long sigh, then bit his lip to suppress a smile. He had been hard pressed not to make a rash comment about her relationship with one police officer in particular, but knew this was definitely neither the time nor the place.
Left alone, Becky took a few moments to marshal her thoughts before breathing deeply several times. Only then did she pick the phone up and dial. She waited, and having identified herself asked to speak to Chief Constable O’Donnell. ‘Aunt Gloria, it’s Becky. I’ve managed to get to the bottom of this mess, and I’m afraid I have some apologies to make.’
‘Wait a minute, Becky. When we spoke yesterday, you said something which I need you to confirm. You did tell me that you spoke to Mike, and that you discussed the case, right?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘What precisely happened?’
‘I started asking him questions, but he refused to answer them and told me straight out that I was taking advantage of our relationship to wheedle information out of him. He got a bit angry, to tell you the truth. In fact, he hung up on me.’
‘Oh hell. That’s what I thought you’d said, but it was a bad line and I wanted to make sure.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘You’re not the only one to balls things up. I accused him of leaking the information about the heart removals.’
; ‘That’s ridiculous! Sorry, Aunt Gloria, but you should know Mike better than that, after all this time. He would never do anything so irresponsible.’
‘Meaning that I have acted stupidly? You’re not the first person to imply that,’ she said, recalling Clara’s angry comments. ‘OK, you’re right, I realize it now, and I suppose it was anger and haste that caused me to say things I regretted soon afterwards. I was made to see the error of my ways, rather forcibly.’
‘By Mike?’
‘No, by Clara Mironova; she told me in no uncertain terms that I was being unreasonable and endangering the morale of the whole team, besides having offended Mike deeply.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me at all. They’re more like brother and sister than work colleagues. Besides which, he inspires loyalty in the whole of that small crew. What has he had to say about it?’
‘I have no idea. He won’t speak to me, or to Jackie Fleming.’
‘That’s unlike him. You must have really upset him.’
‘I think I’m beginning to get that message. Anyway, accepting the fact that Mike didn’t reveal the facts to you, how did your reporter get hold of the information? Please tell me it didn’t come from one of my officers.’
‘It didn’t, and as for the first part of your comment, I think that’s definitely off the menu. As things stand, Mike may not be speaking to either of us.’ Becky explained about the anonymous letter and apologized for the missing envelope, as well as promising to rectify the comment about police inefficiency.
‘No use crying over spilt milk,’ the chief constable replied, ‘and there’s no saying the envelope would have been of use. This killer seems to be too careful to make errors like that. Still, you never know, the note itself might tell us something. Keep it safe and don’t let anyone handle it. I’ll send someone to collect it.’ She paused and added slyly, ‘Who do you suggest? Shall I send Mike?’
‘Better not; I don’t think he’d come within a mile of this place.’ Becky thought for a moment. ‘Could you ask Clara to pick it up?’