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

by Bill Kitson

  Brown attempted to make one last defiant gesture by urinating on his tormentor. Unfortunately for him the gesture was as empty as his bladder.

  Marshall released his captive from the tree and watched him crumple to the floor. Brambles were growing there and Brown felt every thorn in a thousand small pinpricks of pain. Then he felt his leg grasped. Then he felt the knife point against his skin. Then he felt the point scratching away at his skin. Then below the skin. The agony increased. The nerves shrieked protest to his brain as the tissues of his flesh separated. When the pain became intolerable he began to nod, and nod and nod and nod.

  Half an hour later, Marshall walked away. Towards the end of Brown’s confession he’d heard what he needed to know. He’d heard the name of the man who paid Brown to murder Anna. He’d heard it, but did not believe it.

  There was a council of war that evening at the Dickinsons’ cottage. The only item on the agenda was Brown’s confession. After the tape recording had been played several times everyone was convinced Brown had told all he knew. Everyone apart from Marshall.

  ‘Look, Alan,’ Barry insisted. ‘What Brown said was real. I was there, remember. Do you need to hear the tape again?’

  Lisa shuddered. ‘Barry’s right, Alan. Why would Brown say it if it wasn’t true?’

  ‘Brown’s got no chance of escaping. Nobody’s coming to his rescue. What option has he but to tell the truth,’ Shirley backed her. ‘I know loyalty’s admirable, but don’t you think you’re carrying it too far?’

  All three stared at him, willing him to admit the inevitable. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s not right. I hear what you say, but I don’t accept it.’

  ‘Why would Brown lie?’ Barry asked.

  ‘I’m not saying Brown’s lying.’

  ‘You are. You keep saying it, over and over. You’ve just said you don’t believe what Brown said was true.’

  ‘That’s not quite the same. You don’t get the point do you? Maybe he believed it, but that doesn’t mean it was true.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Alan, I don’t follow.’

  ‘OK. Try this. Lisa, tell everyone what happened after you took me to hospital.’

  Lisa looked blank for a moment, whilst the others looked totally nonplussed. ‘I went back the following day and they told me the name I’d been given for you was wrong. What’s this got to do with Brown’s confession?’

  ‘I’d told everyone my name was Andrew Myers. I hadn’t been asked to prove it. Everyone accepted it. Don’t you see? That’s the weakness in Brown’s confession. Do you honestly believe whoever paid Brown would give their right name? Brown got his money, so he wouldn’t be bothered. He wouldn’t care if the bloke said his name was Mickey Mouse. If the cheques had bounced he’d have been a whole lot keener. Failing that, Brown’s not going to worry who paid him.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but you keep saying you don’t believe this man Harry’s the culprit. The evidence still points to him. Brown named him and you haven’t offered an alternative,’ Barry insisted.

  ‘That’s true. But I can’t think of a motive. Why would Harry have Anna killed? Harry’s capable of many things, lots of them underhand, some of them illegal. But not murder. I can’t picture him as a killer and I’ve one advantage over you. I know the man.’

  ‘What if Anna discovered something about Harry,’ suggested Shirley. ‘Something so bad he had to order her killing? Something that bad it made him desperate.’

  ‘Shirley’s right. Men do things out of desperation they’d be horrified by in normal circumstances; look what you’ve just done to Brown. Why do you persist in being so obstinate? Harry’s the only one connected to you, to Anna, to the construction industry, to Jeffries and the others. What about the man Brown pushed off the building? He worked for Harry. It was one of Harry’s buildings he fell from. How much of a connection is that? Why not accept it and stop being so bloody stubborn?’ Barry was becoming exasperated.

  Marshall remained unconvinced. ‘There was a time when everything pointed to me, when nobody believed me innocent. A few days ago the police thought I was a multi-murderer. Majority of them still do. I was convicted on far stronger evidence than you’ve got for saying Harry Rourke’s guilty. Perhaps that’s why I don’t believe it. I need a hell of a sight more to convince me, than the word of a killer desperate to save his skin.’

  Towards the end of their argument Lisa had come round towards Marshall’s viewpoint, but the others were still sure he was wrong.

  ‘I’ve had an idea.’ Marshall announced.

  ‘What is it?’ Lisa asked.

  When he told them, Lisa was shocked, angry and dismayed. Barry looked at him with something approaching respect.

  ‘Surely the police will have done it already?’

  ‘Maybe, Lisa, but they’d be at a disadvantage. They wouldn’t recognize the significance. Remember the words in Moran’s letter? “Marshall knows more about this than he realizes.” I might find out what the police couldn’t.’

  All attempts to dissuade him proved fruitless. If he’d appeared stubborn before, now he was intractable. Lisa turned to Barry for support. He shrugged. ‘It could be dangerous. But how else is Alan going to get at the truth? And if he doesn’t, it’ll keep festering away inside him.’

  Lisa stared at Alan. ‘You believe you owe Anna this, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. But I have to do it for my own sake. I have to know the truth.’

  ‘All right. Go ahead with this stupid scheme of yours. God help me. I must be crazy to even consider going along with it.’ She shook her head in resignation.

  ‘Hang on. You don’t have to join in.’

  ‘I must be as mad as you to even think about it.’

  ‘We have to dispose of Brown first. We can’t do anything until he’s out of the way,’ Barry reminded them.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Lisa rounded on Marshall. ‘I suppose you’ve had a stroke of genius about that as well? What do you intend to do, stick bananas in his mouth to suffocate him and drop him down a mine shaft?’

  ‘Not quite.’ He smiled. ‘But I think I know how to get rid of him. Now he’s told me all he can, he’s more of a nuisance than anything.’

  Lisa sighed with relief. Half her concern had been that Marshall might be tempted to do something silly. Understandable, given that he was holding prisoner the man who had murdered his wife. But the outcome would have been that he would again be arrested for murder; and this time with justification. She listened as Marshall outlined the scheme.

  ‘That’s about all you can do with him, as far as I can see,’ she agreed. ‘My only concern is that they react quickly enough. I know you’re not worried about Brown, but I’m a police officer, even though I’m currently under suspension, and if he dies, and people got to know that I was aware of his situation, that would be curtains for my career. It would also put you back in the dock, for manslaughter at the very least.’

  Marshall shrugged. ‘Better that he doesn’t expire, I suppose. Not that I care, one way or the other.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Within five minutes of Rourke’s arrival at his office the staff at Broadwood Construction knew they were in for a rough day. At first they were convinced there must have been another attack of vandalism. The only person brave enough to enter Rourke’s office was Freddie. He lasted only five minutes, and the sound of Rourke’s voice told the listeners that whatever Freddie was saying to try to placate his boss was having little, if any, effect. When Freddie emerged he was ashen-faced. ‘I wouldn’t go in there today,’ he told Rourke’s secretary and anyone else within earshot. ‘Not unless he asks you to. Even then I’d think twice.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Freddie?’ Harry’s secretary asked.

  Freddie shook his head. ‘That’s the problem. I’ve absolutely no idea.’

  Tara heard Harry’s car long before he entered their drive. Normally he treated the car gently. Today it was being subjected to severe cruelty. Even after he pulled to a screech
ing halt and yanked the handbrake on, the abuse continued. The violence with which Harry slammed the driver’s door and then the rear passenger door would have caused considerable damage had the car been less sturdy. Once he’d finished with his car, Rourke attacked the front door. Had that not been solid oak, it would probably have finished up as matchwood under his assault.

  He marched across the hall and flung open his study door with such violence that it crashed into the wall. When Tara entered the room he was standing by the drinks cabinet with his back towards her. ‘If we do have to sell the house wouldn’t it be better in one piece?’ Tara suggested calmly.

  Harry swung round. The whisky tumbler in his hand was full but there was little evidence of ice or water in the glass. Tara lifted one eyebrow. ‘A bit early for that, isn’t it?’

  Harry glared at her. ‘I don’t care. I need it after the day I’ve had.’

  ‘More vandalism?’

  ‘Worse than that. I’ll show you.’

  Rourke reached into his brief case. ‘Come and look at this. I’ve had an offer for the company.’

  Sergeant Binns was ending a phone call as Nash arrived next morning. ‘Morning, Mike. I’ve just had a call from Dickinson. Murderer Marshall’s mate.’

  Nash concealed a smile. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He rang to report they’ve had poachers roaming the woods. He thinks they might be after deer and wanted to ask if we can send a patrol car.’

  ‘I’m sure we can do that easily enough.’

  ‘It depends on what manpower we have. We’ve a couple more uniforms but still not enough. Ideally I’d suggest we stake the woods out, but the expense wouldn’t be justifiable.’

  ‘I’m sure I can leave it to you.’

  Nash’s phone rang, it was DS Mironova. ‘How are you feeling?’ was his first response.

  ‘Awful, but I’ve decided not to die. I’ve just seen my doctor and I’ve asked to come back to work.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re fit enough?’

  ‘I think I can manage, but reading the papers isn’t doing me any good. Sounds like you’re stretched to the limit. I can’t sit here while you run yourself ragged chasing a triple murderer. I don’t suppose Viv’s back?’

  ‘No, he’s going to be off another week or so.’

  ‘That’s because he’s got man-flu, I’ve only had flu!’

  ‘Listen, I’ll tell you what, I need back-up over in Netherdale. Tom Pratt’s still off and they’re running at half strength, there’s only two DCs there. I’ve got Jack Binns, and a couple of uniforms are back on duty. Would you go to Netherdale and help there, if you feel up to it?’

  ‘No problem, at least I’ll be doing something. I’ll be there tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks, Clara, I owe you a pint. I’ll be through at some point and bring you up to speed.’

  After he’d put the phone down Nash sat for a few moments, reflecting on the conversation. It was typical of Clara’s dedication that she wanted to return to work, although her voice suggested she was far from one hundred per cent fit. And it would be good to have her back. He missed being able to bounce ideas around with her and Pearce. Andrews was proving very capable, but he’d got used to relying on the members of their small team.

  He also missed Tom Pratt. The superintendent had shouldered all those tasks that Nash hated, the routine administration job, the mountains of paperwork that went along with policing. It was only in the months following Tom’s heart attack that Nash realized exactly how much Tom had taken off his shoulders. Sadly, the longer he was absent, the more unlikely it seemed that he would return at all.

  The phone call was from a mobile. The harassed civilian drafted in from Netherdale took the call in between typing reports and custody sheets.

  ‘I wish to report an abandoned vehicle,’ the woman told her.

  ‘Can I have your name, please?’

  The request went unanswered. ‘It looks as if it might have been stolen by joy riders or something. It’s in a lonely spot, and the keys are in the ignition. I tried the driver’s door but I think it’s locked. It’s parked on the western edge of Layton Woods, at the end of Woodbine Lane.’

  The civilian receptionist repeated her request for the woman to identify herself, but with no more success than previously. ‘There’s one more thing,’ the caller’s voice was no more animated than if she’d been ordering a takeaway pizza. ‘There’s a man’s body on the back seat. I knocked on the window, but got no response. I think he might be dead. His hands are tied together with that tape they use on parcels.’ She gave the registration number, then immediately ended the call.

  The receptionist was left staring at the hastily scribbled note on her pad. ‘What’s wrong?’ Binns asked her.

  The woman explained. ‘The caller wouldn’t give her name. All she said was she’d found a car and there’s a body on the back seat. The odd thing is, although she wouldn’t give her name, she insisted on telling me the registration number.’

  ‘I’ll get Nash to look into it. It’ll have to be Mike and me. There is no one else. What’s so special about the registration number, I wonder?’

  The receptionist glanced down at her pad and repeated it.

  ‘What!’ Binns exclaimed. ‘That’s the car belonging to that missing bloke from York. What the hell is it doing up there? I only hope the body inside isn’t whose I think it might be.’

  As he was speaking, Marshall looked across the table. Shirley and Lisa were sitting next to one another. They were alike in many ways. Their build was similar; their hair colour almost identical. The sight of them together suggested a refinement to Marshall’s plans. He sat back and thought about it for a few minutes. The others noted his distraction. Shirley glanced at Lisa. ‘Is he all right?’ she asked with mock concern.

  Lisa grimaced. ‘He might be, but I’m beginning to recognize that expression. He’s planning something, and that means trouble. Not for him but the rest of us. Just you wait.’

  ‘Big Issue. Get the Big Issue here. Plenty to read in the Big Issue, only one-forty for the Big Issue.’

  ‘You’re new, aren’t you?’ The bank clerk hunted amongst the change in her purse before finding a £2 coin lurking inside.

  ‘I’m not new, but I’m in very good condition. Low mileage and one careful lady owner,’ replied the vendor with a grin.

  The clerk laughed. ‘You’ll do all right with chat-up lines like that.’ She handed over the coin in exchange for the paper. She smiled at the vendor. ‘Keep the change. See you again.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that. Thank you for buying the Big Issue.’

  She smiled again and departed, clutching her copy and her salad sandwich. ‘Low mileage, one careful lady owner’ indeed; he deserved to succeed. She wouldn’t leave the paper lying around. She’d read it and then take it home. That way the other girls in the bank would have no excuse when the vendor approached them.

  The vendor watched her go. ‘Big Issue,’ he called out. He decided to try a new slogan, ‘The sun ain’t out, the sky is grey, but buy the Big Issue today. Come and get it, only one-forty for the Big Issue.’

  The call brought a couple more buyers, part of the army of scurrying office workers dashing to and fro on any number of secret missions they must complete in their short lunch break. Like giant ants they dashed purposefully across the broad pedestrian precinct. The vendor frowned and concentrated on the reason for being there. ‘Plenty to read in the Big Issue, only one-forty for the Big Issue.’ This time the call yielded five customers.

  Pleased with his success, the vendor wandered further along the precinct, passing between new buildings and renovated ones. ‘Big Issue. Get the Big Issue here,’ got him another three customers. This was proving a good site. So it should with plenty of well-heeled customers anxious to salve their social conscience by paying something towards the homeless. There were banks and solicitors, insurance companies and accountants as well as the shops. All full of workers emerging only for lunch. Every
journey outside their building represented a sales opportunity for him.

  The pitch had been profitable so far. He’d done so well during the week that there was the temptation not to bother on Saturday. There wouldn’t be the office workers moving around. On the other hand, town would be busy with shoppers, particularly as Leeds United had an away game. He decided to give it a go. You never knew who might be out shopping.

  The Internal Affairs officer was embarrassed. ‘It was a natural mistake to have made.’

  ‘Tell me, what went wrong?’

  ‘The car belonged to Lisa Andrews. The woman driving it looked like Lisa Andrews. She was wearing an identical silver quilted jacket. Our surveillance team followed the car as soon as it came out of the Dickinsons’ drive. They followed it all the way into Netherdale and hung back until they saw the woman park and go into the supermarket. One of them followed her inside. He thought she might be using it to meet Marshall. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of her face that he realized they’d been following Shirley Dickinson, not Lisa Andrews.’

  ‘Bloody brilliant.’

  The team leader stiffened with resentment, suspecting sarcasm. His superior continued, ‘A superb decoy operation. It was a natural assumption to have made. Andrews’ car, Andrews’ coat and so on. We can’t even prove it was intended to mislead us.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘That’s a bloody good question. Let me think a minute.’

  After a silence lasting much longer, the head of the investigation unit said, ‘If the idea was to distract us from Lisa Andrews’ real destination, that suggests she’s going to meet Marshall. We know Marshall hasn’t contacted her direct, so he must have done it through the Dickinsons. What we don’t know is if she’s set off yet. The best bet would be to go back to the cottage and check to see if Mrs Dickinson’s car’s still there. If it is, Andrews will still be at the cottage and we won’t have lost anything. Get the team back there as fast as you can. We can’t afford to lose a minute.’