SLASH KILLER an absolutely addictive crime thriller with a huge twist (Detective Mike Nash Thriller Book 5)

by Bill Kitson

  An incident involving an arson attack on a site operated by Alan Marshall’s former employers might have seemed significant if the CID team had made the connection. However, the report didn’t reach any of the officers who were familiar with the Marshall case.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Extra pressure had been caused by the arson attack. If Harry Rourke’s hopes were for an improvement, they were dashed by another phone call. The call came from Sheffield where another Broadwood Construction site was due to start operating. The site manager was almost incoherent with rage and mortification as he reported the calamity.

  ‘We brought the machinery down from Leeds as you ordered. We had the two excavators, the loading shovel and the dump trucks ready to start work tomorrow. I got a call from the police an hour ago. I’m at the site now. Somebody cut the fuel lines on all the machines and torched the lot. All that’s left is a pile of twisted metal, fit only for scrap.’

  ‘Oh fucking hell, not another. If I get hold of the bastard who’s doing this I’ll bloody kill him. I’m on my way. Make sure the police and fire people are still there. I’ll be with you in about an hour.’

  ‘What is it this time?’ Tara asked.

  Harry seethed as he told her. ‘One,’ he added, ‘I could have put down as a random act of vandalism, two looks like a deliberate campaign.’

  ‘Will it cost a lot?’

  Harry grimaced. ‘I don’t want to think about it. We’re talking six figures for the damage at Wakefield alone. Fuck knows what this will cost. I can’t go on losing money like this.’

  Broadwood Construction’s head office personnel were dreading another incident. Harry Rourke’s volatile temper was on continuous fast boil these days. Business was tight anyway and the company had missed out on several massive contracts. They were contracts Harry had been confident of getting. To lose out to their main rivals Coningsby was especially galling. As if all that wasn’t bad enough, the vandalism was the last straw.

  Even Freddie, Harry Rourke’s trusted right hand man, had been unable to placate him and if Freddie couldn’t, nobody could. When news filtered through of the third and most violent attack to date many of those working in Broadwood’s impressive head office building began wishing they’d chosen a less stressful occupation, such as a Formula One racing driver.

  ‘They’ve really done it this time.’ Harry slammed the phone down.

  ‘Go on, Harry, tell me the worst,’ Tara said quietly.

  ‘If I could get my hands on the bastards I’d kill them. They’ve only rammed a fucking excavator into the sodding wall of Kirkbridge Shopping Centre, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh God, is it badly damaged?’

  ‘I don’t bloody well know until I get there. The site manager reckons the wall will have to be completely rebuilt. That’s going to cost a mint. Apart from that, the centre’s due to open in two months. There’s fat chance of that happening, which means we’ll incur penalties for late completion. The bill could run into millions.’

  If Harry Rourke had been angry, now he appeared depressed. He’d spent the last two days poring over the figures Freddie had collated, figures that represented the potential cost of the attacks on their sites. To add to the estimates of the physical damage, which no insurance company would cover, was the consequential loss amount in contract delays and penalty clauses. To add insult to injury, Harry had been forced to authorize the expenditure of extremely large sums for a security firm to undertake round the clock patrolling of every Broadwood site.

  The bottom line figure was the cause of Harry’s depression. The noughts, neatly typed in, leapt from the page as if they were in 3D. Within a matter of weeks his personal wealth had been more than halved. Although Broadwood Construction was a limited company, Harry was the sole shareholder. The loss to the company was mirrored by the loss to Harry.

  Tara looked across the dining table at her lover. ‘Harry, talk to me. Tell me about it. Don’t just keep staring at your plate and pushing your food around. That won’t help. Neither will bottling it up, you have to talk about it.’

  Harry looked up and smiled but it was a pale imitation of the smile that had captivated her. ‘I’m bloody bad company, sorry love,’ he told her. ‘This vandalism business has brought us damned close to ruin and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Go on, tell me,’ she urged.

  ‘Where to start, that’s the problem. There’s so much.’

  Slowly she coaxed the bad news out of him. ‘That’s appalling,’ she sympathized. ‘Will you be able to survive, keep the company afloat?’

  ‘What’s matter? Worried about your lifestyle?’ he snapped. Then he saw the hurt expression on her face. ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.’

  ‘Harry, I love you, not your money. I didn’t ask for any of this.’ Tara gestured at their opulent surroundings. ‘If it all goes, and we finish up in a one bedroom flat I don’t care. I only care about you, Harry.’

  ‘I don’t deserve you, Tara. I’m sorry I said that, but I was so pissed off I wasn’t thinking straight.’

  ‘Who did this? Who hates you that much?’

  ‘Don’t think I haven’t asked myself that time and again. The answer is I’ve not got a clue. I’ve done some dodgy things in my time. You can’t get to the top in this industry and remain a saint. Off the cuff, I can’t think of anyone alive who hates me that much.’

  Tara tried to lighten his mood. ‘Well, if it isn’t anybody alive we’ve really got a problem. Mind you, I’ve yet to hear of a ghost capable of setting fires and ramming walls with excavators,’ she added thoughtfully.

  His smile was a little brighter; the worried frown a little less noticeable. Tara stood up and walked round the table. She stood directly in front of him, one arm on his shoulder. ‘Let’s leave the dinner plates. I can sort them in the morning. I can think of something that will cheer you up.’ Some tactics have never been known to fail, Tara thought later; much later.

  ‘I have a concern.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to contact Brown.’

  ‘Is that important?’

  ‘Not in itself no, however, I would like to know where he is so I can arrange for him to tell the police everything he knows.’

  ‘What? You must be mad.’

  ‘Not in the slightest. It isn’t madness to want Brown to tell the police everything. I’m not just hoping for it. I’m counting on it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You’ve lost me.’

  ‘If Brown tells the police everything, that’ll include the identity of the person who’s paying him.’

  ‘What! Oh yes, now I’ve got it. That’s absolute bloody genius.’

  ‘Thank you. But if Brown isn’t available we have a bit of a problem.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. How will you get round it?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I’ve been ringing his number for the last couple of days, but there’s been no reply. He doesn’t have voice mail, and I wouldn’t use it in any case. I’ll just have to keep trying. If the worst comes to the worst we have our fallback.’

  ‘You mean the man the police are seeking so strenuously?’

  ‘Yes, but without success. I rather wish he was out of the equation. He still worries me.’

  ‘Why should he worry you after all this time?’

  ‘He always did. Call it fate, superstition, whatever you want. From the moment I met him, I had the notion he’d ruin everything.’

  ‘He can’t harm us now. He’ll be caught soon, you’ll see. Then they’ll put him away for life.’

  ‘They did that once before and look what happened. I’d be far happier if Brown gets to him first.’

  ‘Maybe he already has. Maybe that’s why you can’t get hold of Brown. Because he’s dealing with our other problem.’

  ‘Anyway, with or without that being resolved, I think it’s time we exerted more pressure. I’ve got all the evidence together. All we need to do now is post it off.’

 
Miles away, in Helmsdale CID suite, Mike Nash was also concerned about Marshall’s fate. If, as Nash was now certain, Marshall had discovered Brown’s flat and confronted him, what were the chances that Marshall would still be alive? And if he was alive, how had he managed to avoid recognition and capture, given that his face was on the front page of every newspaper, on TV screens during every news bulletin, and that every police officer in the country was on the lookout for him? As he waited for DC Andrews to report the result of her disciplinary interview, Nash sat at his desk, pondering the likely chain of events. Where would Marshall have gone? Where would he have felt safe? Safe, not only from the police, but more important, from the hired assassin, Brown, who was also missing. Although Russell and his colleagues had conducted surveillance at Brown’s flat, he hadn’t returned.

  Brown would also be searching for Marshall, of that Nash was certain, aware that the killer wanted the bounty Nash felt sure there must be on Marshall’s head. After a few moments’ thought, the solution came to him. Of course: it was obvious. He smiled, wryly. How come it had taken so long? One man would be able to confirm the accuracy of his theory. He reached for the phone and his filofax simultaneously. He thumbed through the address section until he came to the letter W. Then he began to dial.

  For the first part Lisa’s interrogators had been fair, courteous and relaxed. They’d asked about Marshall, what her relationship with him had been, but only politely. Soon, however, things changed dramatically.

  ‘How long have you and Marshall been lovers? How long have you been sleeping with him? Have you been to bed with him since he became a wanted man?’

  ‘That’s all lies,’ she insisted angrily. ‘I’ve only met Marshall a few times. I’ve never been to bed with him. I’m not even a friend of his.’

  ‘We think differently, Andrews. If you’re not in a relationship how come his fingerprints were found in your flat?’

  ‘How the hell did you find them? You can’t do that sort of thing. It’s not legal.’

  ‘You should read your procedures manual more closely. You’ll find that when it comes to investigating misconduct, there is very little we can’t do. So would you answer my question?’

  ‘He visited my flat once to ask a favour.’

  ‘When you knew he was wanted for the murders of Stuart Moran and Lesley Robertson?’

  To the astonishment of both officers Andrews started to laugh.

  ‘I’m glad you consider it funny,’ the senior of them said angrily.

  ‘Marshall couldn’t possibly have murdered Moran and the woman. But everybody seems hell-bent on pursuing him for a crime he didn’t commit instead of looking for the real murderer.’

  ‘Very impressive.’ The officer’s drawl was bitingly sarcastic. ‘And can you explain what your “friend” Marshall was doing in Leeds? Can you explain that, Andrews? Because unless you can and make it damned convincing, when you walk out of this office you’ll be suspended from duty pending a full investigation. An enquiry that will seek to prove you should be dismissed from the force and face criminal charges as an accessory to murder. I suggest you do some fast talking, and some even faster thinking.’

  If he’d expected to intimidate Andrews he misjudged her. Lisa stared at him and then leaned forward slightly, threateningly. ‘I know nothing of what happened in Leeds. If you want to toss me out of the force; then go ahead. What you can’t do is get me on a charge of being an accessory to murders that Marshall didn’t commit.’

  ‘You seem mighty sure of yourself, young lady.’ The other investigator broke in. ‘Would you mind telling us what makes you so certain these crimes weren’t committed by Marshall when everyone else is convinced to the contrary?’

  ‘Don’t call me young lady again,’ Lisa snarled. ‘It’s Detective Constable Andrews to you. That’s number one. Number two: if I answer you, will you forgo the suspension? I don’t think so. In that case we’ll leave things as they stand. That’s with you and all the other great detectives convincing themselves Alan Marshall’s a mass murderer, when I know for a fact he’s innocent. I rather like the thought of that. It will be such fun watching you all make arseholes of yourselves. So you’d better get on with it and do your worst.’

  Twenty minutes later, her warrant card handed in, Miss Lisa Andrews walked out of Netherdale police station. She walked out with her head held high and a dangerous glint in her eye. She’d vented the heat of her temper on the investigators. What remained was an icy cold rage.

  She reached Helmsdale and stalked into the CID suite, her face like thunder. Once inside, she stopped, her shoulders relaxed and a smile spread across her face. Nash and Binns had been looking at the paperwork. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Like a dream. I’m now officially suspended, if you know what I mean. How’s it going here?’

  ‘I thought about where Marshall might have headed for, if he’d wanted to go to ground. Where better than the area he knows best? You’ve seen that forestry. You could search for someone in those woods for months without even coming close to them, unless you had heat-seeking sensors or whatever fancy gadgetry they use.’

  ‘I take your point, Mike, but how will we find out if he’s in there?’

  ‘Well you can’t sit about in your flat, that’s for sure, so I’d like you to go find Alan Marshall.’ Nash held out an envelope. ‘These are copies of all the stuff we got from York. Ask Marshall to go through them and give me a call. Not on the station phone, though. He’s got my mobile number.’

  ‘But how? I mean, how will I find him?’

  ‘Work it out, Lisa.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mike,’ Andrews said after a while. ‘Not everybody’s got your brilliant mind.’

  Nash grinned. ‘Clara usually says devious, so brilliant makes a pleasant change. I suggest you go see his friend Barry Dickinson.’

  ‘How do you know he can help? I mean how can you be sure?’

  ‘Because I’m a detective. That’s what detectives do. Barry Dickinson might know Marshall’s there, or he might not, but I’ve just been talking to Sir Maurice Winfield. When I explained that I needed to talk to Marshall, he was most helpful. Tell Dickinson to ask Sir Maurice to put you in touch.’

  ‘You mean Sir Maurice knows where Marshall is?’

  ‘Not exactly, but he and some members of his staff know he’s close by. Sir Maurice is convinced Marshall’s innocent. As sure of it as we are. Given that conviction, and the fact that he doesn’t answer to anyone, not even us, he was the logical choice for someone to help Marshall. How else has he survived all this time? He’d have to get supplies from somewhere.’

  Shirley Dickinson was washing up when a car drove across the gravel yard and screeched to a halt opposite her window. She paused, staring out in astonishment, until a trickle of water up her forearm reminded her she was still holding a part-washed utensil.

  She dropped the item back into the sink and looked round for a towel. As she peered outside she saw Lisa Andrews erupt from the car. The driver’s door was hurled back into the frame with a resounding crash before she marched across the yard.

  Shirley hurried to the back door to rescue it from Lisa’s furious assault before the glass panes caved in. She opened it as wide as she could and stood in its shelter, half-expecting Lisa to stalk straight past her.

  Instead Lisa looked at her, her face a mixture of emotions as anger vied with distress. She screwed up her nose and eyes in a fierce effort to control herself. She gave a hiccuping sob. ‘I’ve been sacked,’ she declared dramatically. ‘I’m suspended from duty.’

  Shirley took her hand and guided her inside. As she closed the door Lisa straightened up. ‘I haven’t really. That’s just a ruse. I’ll explain in a bit. That was just acting in case anyone was watching.’

  ‘Do you think they might be?’ Shirley’s alarm was apparent.

  ‘Probably. But don’t worry. You’re not in danger. Now, let me tell you what’s going on. At least the part I know.’

  Lisa ha
d barely begun telling her tale when Barry returned from Winfield Manor. ‘What’s going on, Lisa?’ Barry asked as he came in. ‘Sir Maurice told me to make sure I was in the house tonight, at all costs. What does that mean?’

  Lisa just smiled. ‘I’m not sure, but I think it means that Alan will try to contact us tonight. We’ll have to wait and see. The thing is, my flat has been bugged along with my phone, so I can’t do much from there. I don’t like to impose, but do you think I could use your spare room?’

  ‘No problem at all. If we are being watched, I’ll feel safer with someone else here when Barry’s out. Added to that, you want to be on hand if and when Alan does get in touch. Besides, Nell’s glad you’re here,’ Shirley told her. She looked across the room to where the Labrador was lying, her head between her paws and a soulful expression on her face. ‘She’s quiet now, that’s because she’s hoping some leftovers might fall into her bowl, but she’s been extremely restless over the last few days. Normally you hardly notice she’s here, but lately she’s been unable to settle. She prowls up and down the house for hour after hour, and when Barry takes her out he has no end of trouble even though he keeps her on the lead.’

  ‘Shirley’s right,’ Barry confirmed. ‘I’ve never known her behave like this. Usually, she’s the most placid of animals. I think she’s pining for Alan. In fact I’m sure she is.’

  ‘Maybe you could take her for a walk?’ Shirley suggested.

  Lisa opened the back door, slipped the lead over the dog’s head and guided her towards the lane. The dog seemed bent on heading in the opposite direction. Even when she had completed her comfort break the Labrador continued to pull against the restraining leash towards the woods.

  The afternoon was cold, cold and grey enough for Lisa to wonder if it might snow. The first impression she got of the forest was of sound. There was a gentle breeze blowing, stirring what few leaves were left on the trees. There had been a frost overnight, sharp enough to penetrate even where the woodland provided shelter. Lisa heard the grass crackling with every step. Their passage disturbed a variety of game. More than once a woodcock rose with a squawk of alarm before hurtling into zigzag flight away from them.