Deadly Obsession

by DS Butler

Nathan Cleeves had turned, to see how close Collins was, and he hadn’t seen the case.

  It worked better than Collins dared hope.

  Nathan Cleeves tripped over the case, dragging it along with him for a few strides, until finally, he fell forwards onto his hands and knees.

  The crowd of commuters gave a collective gasp and stood back, pushing each other in their hurry to get away from the crazy man.

  Nathan Cleeves tried to scramble to his feet.

  He didn’t have a chance. Collins slammed into him. Fourteen stones of pressure flattened Nathan Cleeves to the pavement, winding him.

  Collins felt the impact too. The breath left his lungs in a rush. He blinked as dark spots floated before his eyes.

  “What the hell? What have you done to my case?” It was the man in the suit.

  Collins couldn’t talk yet. He didn’t have enough air in his lungs.

  The man’s case lay beneath Nathan Cleeves’ body, and Collins could tell it was pretty squashed. He hoped there were only documents in there. He wheezed a couple of times, then gulped down air, but he kept his knee firmly against Nathan Cleeves’ back.

  “I hope there was nothing breakable in there, sir,” Collins said.

  “Only paper, but the case cost me a fortune.”

  “Well, it has…” Collins sucked down another breath of air. “… it has just helped apprehend a suspect.”

  “Oh, is there a reward for that?”

  If it were up to Collins, he would have awarded the case the George Cross. It deserved a bloody medal for bringing Nathan Cleeves down.

  Collins ached all over, and his ears were ringing as he leaned forward, close to Nathan Cleeves’ head and said, “Where is she?”

  Nathan shook his head and moaned. “Who?”

  “You know who I’m talking about. Anya. Where is she?”

  Nathan’s body shook, and Collins looked down in concern. Maybe he was hurt? Was he having a fit or something?

  Collins eased his grip slightly and leaned closer. Then he realised Nathan Cleeves wasn’t having a fit.

  He was laughing.

  34

  Collins stared in, watching the interview through the one-way glass. Nathan Cleeves sat at the table, his dark eyes stony and a smirk on his face that turned Collins’ stomach.

  So far, Nathan Cleeves wasn’t talking.

  He’d opened his mouth to inform them he didn’t want legal representation. Then he shut his mouth and kept it shut for the last thirty minutes.

  Collins wiped the sweat from his forehead. Why the hell wasn’t he talking? What was he playing at? Collins felt the pressure of the situation start to overwhelm him.

  Cleeves ran from him, and Collins reacted by instinct.

  By arresting Nathan Cleeves, Collins had shown the police’s hand too early. DI Green and DCI Brookbank had been surprised at the speed of Nathan Cleeves’ arrest, not to mention unprepared.

  To say his superior officers were displeased would be an understatement. As soon as Collins arrived back at Wood Street Station, DI Green bawled him out. They had nothing on Nathan Cleeves. No evidence. No proof he was connected in any way to the disappearances of Anya Blonski and Victoria Trent.

  Collins wanted to search the Cleeves’ family flat above the Star Academy and look for the weapon Nathan Cleeves used to kill Henryk Blonski. He thought Nathan Cleeves was the type of killer who would want to keep the weapon as a trophy.

  He tried to convince DI Green to apply for a search warrant. But DI Green practically laughed him out of his office, asking him which magistrate would be crazy enough to issue a warrant based on the evidence they had.

  Collins should probably have been worrying about his career too. DI Green’s furious words wouldn’t be the last ear-bashing Collins got this week. He would be on the receiving end of much worse soon enough.

  Things would be so much simpler if Nathan Cleeves would start talking. Surely, he couldn’t hold out much longer. A man like Nathan Cleeves wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to brag, to let them know how clever he was.

  But for now, Nathan Cleeves was keeping his lips tightly closed.

  Inside the interview room, Nathan Cleeves raised a bloodied tissue to his face. Collins noticed with satisfaction that Nathan’s nose was still bleeding.

  DCI Brookbank sat opposite Nathan Cleeves and pushed over a box of tissues. Nathan plucked a fresh one from the box and screwed it up against his nose.

  “Would you like to see a doctor about that nose, Nathan?” DCI Brookbank asked.

  Nathan narrowed his eyes, then shook his head.

  “Speak, you bastard,” Collins muttered.

  “You better hope, for your sake, he does start to talk,” The voice came from behind him.

  Collins turned and saw DI Green standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

  DI Green didn’t look at Collins. He stared straight ahead into the interview room.

  “He ran, so I chased him, sir,” Collins said, frustrated. “What was I supposed to do? Let him get away?”

  DI Green shot him an irritated look but didn’t answer.

  Inside the interview room, DCI Brookbank was running through the list of charges Nathan Cleeves could face. “… resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer–”

  “Assaulting a police officer?” Nathan’s face turned purple with rage. “He assaulted me! I should press charges. I was just walking along the street, minding my own business.”

  “Walking?” Brookbank said. “Come now, Mr. Cleeves, you were running. Trying to evade arrest. We have several witnesses who can confirm that.”

  Nathan smirked. “Yeah and those witnesses also saw that lunatic jump on top of me. Police brutality, that’s what this is. I’m very tempted to take this to the papers. I’m sure they’d be interested.”

  Brookbank gave Nathan Cleeves a cold smile. “I’ve a feeling you’ll make the papers, Mr. Cleeves, but not like that.”

  Nathan laughed, then winced and clutched his hand against his ribs. “You lot think you’re so clever, but you haven’t got anything on me. You have to charge me in twenty-four hours or let me go.” Satisfied, Nathan Cleeves nodded to himself and leaned back in his chair.

  His smug expression made Collins want to slam his fist into Nathan Cleeves’ face.

  Beside Collins, DI Green muttered, “Someone’s been watching a lot of cop shows on television.”

  DCI Brookbank got to his feet slowly. He stared down at Nathan Cleeves. “I’ll be back.”

  For the first time, Collins felt a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t so much what Brookbank said, but the way he said it. Confident and in control. Brookbank was good at this.

  Nathan Cleeves smiled. “I’ll be waiting,” he said and winked at Brookbank.

  But his bravado was betrayed by a tremor in his voice. Nathan Cleeves’ confidence was slipping away. Collins could tell he was worried by the way his eyes followed Brookbank to the door.

  Yes, Brookbank was good. Collins just hoped, for Anya and Victoria’s sake, he was good enough.

  35

  While Brookbank left Nathan to sweat in the interview room, Collins decided to call Mackinnon. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “I’ve messed up, Jack,” Collins said as soon as Mackinnon answered his call.

  “What? Why? What’s happened?”

  “He ran,” Collins said. “Why would he run if he didn’t have anything to hide? Tell me that.”

  “Who ran? You’re not making any sense, Nick.”

  “Nathan Cleeves. I brought him in for questioning.”

  “Is he talking?”

  “Not yet. And Brookbank’s on the war path. He wants my blood. I think I’ve pretty much blown my chance of getting into MIT with this.”

  “Hang on. Let’s not get this out of proportion. He ran,” Mackinnon said. “If you’d let him get away you’d probably be in trouble for that too.”

  Collins exhaled heavily and tugged at the spiral telephone cord
attached to the handset. “DI Green said the same thing. He’s pretty pissed off with me, but he is doing his best to back me up. But up against Brookbank, I don’t like my chances.”

  Collins waited, but Mackinnon didn’t reply. He heard the buzz of traffic on the phone line.

  “MIT are trying to question him now,” Collins said. “I know it’s him, but he won’t talk.”

  “Give MIT time,” Mackinnon said. “They know what they’re doing.”

  Collins heard a loud rumble of thunder over the phone line. “Where are you? Did you speak to Victoria Trent’s parents?”

  “Yeah. I just left. If there were an award going for awful parents of the year, I think they’d be in the running. I can’t work them out. Her mother seems cut up, but it is almost as if her stepfather doesn’t care. He’s just not bothered. I don’t know whether that is because he believes she is safe and just gone off on her own … Apparently, it isn’t unheard of for her to do that, but still, I expected a little concern.”

  ***

  After Mackinnon finished the call with Collins, he hunched his shoulders and looked up at the sky. Dark storm clouds were gathering fast, closing in on the City. Just a few minutes ago, the sky had been clear. He heard a deep rumble of thunder as the first few drops of soft rain hit his face.

  The situation had changed rapidly now that Nathan Cleeves was in custody. If they were going to make a charge stick, a charge the CPS wouldn’t laugh out of court, they needed evidence.

  Victoria Trent’s family were a dead end. He couldn’t get any leads from them. Anya’s parents were flying over from Poland, so it would be a few hours before he could talk to them. Although he knew he couldn’t count on them to provide many clues.

  Mackinnon rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath, trying to ward off the headache he felt building behind his eyes. The air was thick with the prickly scent of ozone.

  Mackinnon quickened his pace. He would pay another visit to Rachel Cleeves at the Star Academy before heading back to the station. If her brother had taken these girls, surely she would have noticed something. She seemed like a decent person, and more importantly, she seemed to trust him.

  Mackinnon started to run as the rain shot down like needles. He sprinted past Oakland’s Furniture Shop, where Fred Oakland was rearranging the window display.

  By the time he reached the Star Academy, and pressed the bell, Mackinnon was drenched. His soaked cotton shirt clung to his skin, and rainwater trickled down from his hair into his eyes.

  The receptionist’s eyes widened as he entered. “Oh, is it raining?”

  “Just a bit,” Mackinnon said, running his hand back and forth through his hair, to try and get rid of some of the water. “Is Rachel around? I’d like a quick word if she is.”

  The receptionist smiled and picked up the phone. Before she had a chance to dial, there was a clattering sound on the stairs.

  Belinda Cleeves appeared. “I thought it was you. I saw you on the security cameras. You have a nerve coming here.”

  “I hoped I could talk to your daughter,” Mackinnon said.

  “No, you cannot.” Belinda Cleeves strode across the foyer. “I don’t believe it. You’ve arrested my son, and then you have the audacity to come and visit my daughter.”

  Mackinnon frowned. He thought Belinda Cleeves had the wrong end of the stick. “It’s not a social call. It relates to our enquiry into Anya Blonski’s disappearance.”

  The receptionist squeezed past them. “I’ll be off now then. Goodnight.”

  She opened her umbrella by the front door, then after waiting for a response from Belinda Cleeves and not getting one, she gave a little shrug and walked out, closing the door behind her.

  “I don’t care. You can’t see Rachel. I forbid it.” Belinda Cleeves craned her neck to look up at Mackinnon. “And I hope you realise you’ve made a terrible mistake. My son would never hurt anyone.”

  Mackinnon thought back to the circular bruises he’d seen on Nathan’s girlfriend’s arms. “In that case, he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  A clap of thunder made Belinda Cleeves tense. Heavy rain hammered down on the window.

  Two small scarlet patches appeared in the middle of Belinda Cleeves’ pale cheeks. “The little bitches. Those girls ran off to work on a cruise ship. Why have you arrested my son for that?”

  “There are seven girls missing, Mrs. Cleeves. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? All of them from your Star Academy.”

  A creaking noise made them both turn. A door underneath the stairs slowly opened.

  Roger Cleeves appeared in the doorway.

  Mackinnon stared at him. There was something strange, something different about Roger Cleeves. But Mackinnon couldn’t put his finger on it. What was it?

  Conflict flickered across Roger Cleeves’ face. He quickly adjusted his expression, but not quickly enough.

  “What’s down there?” Mackinnon asked, looking past Roger Cleeves and through the doorway.

  “Down there? Nothing. Only the furniture store basement. Storage.”

  “Why were you down there?”

  Alarm bells were screaming in Mackinnon’s mind. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

  “I was just chatting to Fred, the furniture guy,” Roger Cleeves said. “There’s no law against that, is there?”

  Mackinnon forced a smile, even managed to choke out a laugh. “Not as far as I am aware.”

  Roger Cleeves smiled and put his arm around his wife. “Come on, love. I know you’re worried, but there’s no need. Nathan will be back home before you know it.”

  He kissed his wife’s cheek, then looked at Mackinnon. “I take it you can find your own way out?”

  Mackinnon nodded and headed towards the door.

  Roger Cleeves was lying.

  Just before he entered the academy, Mackinnon had seen Fred Oakland in the window of his shop, and Roger Cleeves had not been with him.

  36

  Mackinnon went straight to Oakland’s and tapped on the glass door. The rain was still hammering down, and Mackinnon kept as close to the shop window as possible, trying to stay dry under the small awning. The sign hanging from the door was flipped over to the “Closed” side, and most of the lights inside were switched off.

  Mackinnon knocked again. Fred Oakland was here only a few moments ago, surely he hadn’t just missed him.

  There was a movement inside the shop. Mackinnon was in luck.

  Fred Oakland walked up to the door with a pile of paperwork in his hands and a frown on his face. When he saw Mackinnon waiting outside, he unbolted the door and opened it.

  “I was just about to go home,” Fred Oakland said.

  “Can I come in?” Mackinnon asked. “Just for a minute?”

  Fred Oakland sighed and opened the door wider. “All right. What can I do for you? Is this still about the missing girl?”

  Fred Oakland walked back to the counter and dumped the stack of paperwork by the till. “I can’t help you on that score, I’m afraid. I did see your colleague this afternoon. What was his name?”

  “DC Nick Collins?”

  “Ah, yes that was it. I hoped he was coming back as a customer, but unfortunately not. I don’t suppose you’re here to buy something else?”

  Mackinnon shook his head.

  “Pity.” Fred Oakland pointed to the window display. “I’m trying something new, trying to attract some passing trade.” He shrugged. “Well, you have to try, don’t you?”

  “I need to ask you about the areas of this building you rent out to the Star Academy.”

  Fred Oakland blinked a couple of times. “Oh, I see. Okay. Well, they have the top four floors. Three for the academy and the top floor for their living quarters.”

  “And downstairs? A building like this must have a basement.”

  Fred Oakland nodded slowly. “Yes. I store some of my furniture down there. They’ve rented a small area of the basement, but they never seem to use it.”
<
br />   “Do you know why they needed storage in the basement?” Mackinnon asked.

  Fred Oakland shook his head. “No. Roger Cleeves mentioned something about a recording studio. I don’t really pay much attention. To tell the truth, I’m regretting letting it out to them now. It sounds like a bloody herd of elephants upstairs when they have their dance classes. It puts my customers off. Well, it would if I had any.”

  Fred Oakland punched a couple of buttons on the till and the drawer opened. He started to cash up, counting notes.

  “So Roger Cleeves uses the downstairs as a recording studio? Does his son, Nathan use it?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure that’s what he said it would be used for. He converted one of the larger of the storage rooms into a recording studio, or some such nonsense. I didn’t want to rent out any of the basement at first, but he offered me good money.”

  Fred Oakland stopped counting the ten-pound notes and rubbed the side of his nose. “He must have spent a fair bit of money on it too. He had it soundproofed and everything, but I’ve never seen anyone using it. Waste of money, if you ask me. Still, I’m glad he got it soundproofed. I wouldn’t have any customers left if I had that lot wailing down there every day.”

  Mackinnon grabbed his phone and dialled Collins’ number. While the phone rang, he asked Mr. Oakland, “Do you have a key?”

  Oakland frowned. “For the recording studio?”

  Mackinnon nodded.

  “Um, yes, I have one somewhere. Do you want it now?”

  “Yes.”

  Collins finally answered as Mr. Oakland rummaged around in the cupboard beneath the till.

  37

  Mackinnon walked toward the door, away from Fred Oakland, and keeping his voice low, he brought Collins up to speed.

  “He’s looking for the key to the basement room now,” Mackinnon said. “It might be nothing, but I thought I’d better let you know.”

  “Do you need backup?” Collins asked.

  Mackinnon paused for a beat, then said, “No. I’ll call you if I find anything. How are things going with Nathan Cleeves?”

  Collins sighed loudly. “He’s still not talking. DCI Brookbank’s planning the strategy for a third interview now. But it’s not looking good.”