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

by Bill Kitson

  Freddie found his voice. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to confess or beg for forgiveness. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No, my original plan was to kill you. After all, I served time for a murder I didn’t commit. Perhaps I could trade that one against one I did commit. What do you think, is that fair?’ Marshall spread his arms wide like a prosecuting counsel appealing to a jury. ‘You robbed me of my wife. You framed me for her murder and you robbed me of my love for her.’ Marshall leaned forward and his cold, pitiless eyes drilled into Harrison’s. ‘You robbed me of that love when you got Moran to lie.’ Marshall’s eyes were no longer cold, they were as hot as molten lava. ‘You robbed me of that love,’ Marshall’s voice was quiet now, quiet but deadly, ‘when it was all that I had left of her. You killed Anna twice. You slaughtered her body then you besmirched her memory. Can you think of a good reason why I shouldn’t kill you, Freddie? Can anyone here think of a good reason why I shouldn’t kill Freddie?’

  For the first time Harrison knew he wasn’t going to escape. It was all over. He knew it and was powerless to prevent it.

  Into the silence after Marshall’s final question a voice answered quietly, ‘Yes, I can. I can think of one very good reason.’

  Everyone turned towards the speaker. The woman standing in the lounge doorway held a small but extremely efficient-looking automatic pistol in her hand. ‘Would the three of you go across to that settee and sit down.’ She waved the pistol to emphasize the point as Freddie stared at her, his expression vague.

  She turned to him. ‘Do you recognize this gun? I took it out of your safe yesterday morning when I was showing them all those interesting documents and that very nasty video you have of Chris Davidson with those poor little boys.

  ‘I loved Gary,’ Linda Watson continued. ‘It wasn’t a perfect marriage but it was a good marriage. I remember the day he died; the day they came and told me he’d fallen from that building. All these years I’ve believed it. Believed it was an accident. I was hurt and upset when he died, grieving and in need of consolation. And there you were: kind, considerate Freddie. A shoulder to cry on. A helping hand for a widow alone. You timed it perfectly, didn’t you? Made your move on me when I was at my most vulnerable: lonely and in need of companionship. So I became your mistress. Not for love; affection was the best I could feel for you. It wasn’t the same as what I’d lost, but it was something.

  ‘That was until yesterday morning, when these two arrived with their incredible tale of murder and plots, of fraud, and lies, and deception. I found it hard to credit what they were telling me. Until they played the tape, and I heard the man you paid confessing. Telling how he pushed Gary from that building. You had him murdered, just so you could get me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, Freddie? I’ll tell you, shall I? I feel dirty; cheap and dirty. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel clean again. When I found out, every warm feeling I had for you was washed away in an instant. And what replaced it? I’ll tell you, hatred. You should never underestimate the power of a woman’s love, Freddie, or her capacity to hate. But then it’s a little late for you.’

  Linda turned towards Marshall. ‘You asked a question. You asked if anyone knew a good enough reason for you not to kill him.’ Marshall nodded. ‘Well you can’t,’ Linda told him. ‘Because I have already claimed that pleasure.’

  ‘Go on, then.’ Harrison spoke to her for the first time. ‘Shoot me and have done with it.’

  ‘You’ll die when I’m good and ready, and not a minute before,’ Linda snapped. Then she smiled. ‘But at least I gave you a good send-off. After all I’d heard, Freddie, I still made you your favourite meal, a parting gesture. A really hot, really spicy curry to send you on your way to Hell. Don’t you think that was nice of me, Freddie?’

  Harrison attempted to rise from his chair, trying to fight this strange feeling of inertia. ‘For God’s sake, get it over with,’ he snarled. ‘Shoot me, damn you.’

  ‘No, Freddie. I’m not going to shoot you. I’ve something far better in mind. We’re all going to sit here quietly and watch you start to die.’

  Harrison stared at her, uncomprehendingly.

  ‘I made the curry extra hot and extra spicy, to conceal the taste of the additional seasoning. Of course, it does say it’s odourless and tasteless on the packet, but you can’t always trust what the packet tells you. Can you? I checked it on your computer. It told me what the effects were. The nervous system gets attacked first, but the effects can still be reversed at this stage. You’ll be immobile soon, Freddie. That’s because the motor nerves have been attacked. But that’s not fatal. It isn’t until the convulsions start that the irreversible stage has been reached. Then you’ll know. You’ll know that death is inevitable. But what you don’t know, Freddie, the best part of the joke is that it won’t kill you tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day. This poison is so good it’ll keep you alive for years to come. Just think of it, you’ll have all that time to think about what you’ve done. That’s all you will be able to do of course, because if I got the dose right you’ll be totally paralysed. I do hope so,’ Linda added thoughtfully. ‘I measured it ever so carefully.’

  ‘Where did you get the poison?’ Lisa asked in revulsion.

  Linda turned and smiled. There was a sort of sick horror in the sweetness of that smile. ‘That’s the best bit. I think it’s so appropriate. I got it from Freddie’s own greenhouse. It’s his favourite weedkiller, and look, it’s killing this weed.’ She pointed at Harrison and began to laugh.

  It was then that the first tremors began. It was then he finally realized that it was all over.

  Linda had walked to the lounge door and was through it before Nash reached her. He heard the click of the lock being turned from the outside. ‘Damn,’ he glanced at his watch. ‘Twenty minutes before the rest of the team get here.’ He reached for his mobile and dialled the control room.

  Nash and Marshall tried the windows; the double-glazed units were locked, the keys removed. Linda Watson left the house carrying a small briefcase containing all Freddie Harrison’s disposable assets. Her planning had been meticulous. She waved cheerfully to them as she began reversing her car down the drive. There was nothing they could do to prevent her departure. They stood at the window, watching. None of them gave a thought to Harrison, still sitting helpless in his armchair.

  When Mironova arrived she unlocked the lounge in time for the paramedics to remove Harrison to hospital. With them, they took an empty box of weedkiller Nash had salvaged from the kitchen waste bin.

  At the prearranged time, when the rest of the police and their media entourage were in place, Marshall emerged from the house flanked by Nash and Lisa, who had taken hold of his arm with one hand, and his jacket collar with the other, as though she were detaining him. They were surrounded by uniformed officers, many of them armed. Cameras flashed as the press, TV and radio reporters crowded closer. The officers formed a circle around the trio. In the centre of this group were Superintendent Dundas and DS Smailes. Nash turned towards Marshall, reached out and began to shake his hand. Dundas stood, open-mouthed. ‘Nash, what the hell are you doing?’ he blustered. ‘Arrest him!’

  Nash glanced at Dundas, then held up a hand to quiet the babbling questions from the media. ‘You were told there would be some meaningful arrests made this evening. This man’– he indicated Marshall – ‘is Alan Charles Marshall, who has been accused of murdering three people. And this’ – he indicated Lisa – ‘is DC Lisa Andrews, who has for the last week been working undercover, to bring the persons responsible to justice. I imagine what has happened tonight will give them both great pleasure.’

  Nash nodded slightly to Clara, who signalled to the edge of the crowd. The Chief Constable of Yorkshire Central Task Force, accompanied by Gloria O’Donnell stepped forward. The senior officer began his statement. ‘Officers from a combined task force have this evening arrested Julian Corps. He will be charged, along with Frederick Harrison, with conspiracy to murde
r and a host of other offences. The murders include those of Anna Marshall, Councillor Jeffries, Stuart Moran and Lesley Robertson. All charges against Alan Marshall have been dropped. The arrests are the culmination of a brilliant operation led by Detective Inspector Nash of Helmsdale CID. He and his small team, although under-staffed, have uncovered a conspiracy to rob and defraud involving millions of pounds over the years. Other arrests will follow.’

  Then the media went wild. The mêlée to get from the senior officers to Nash, from Nash to Marshall, Marshall to Lisa Andrews was so bad that at one point Nash thought riot police would have to be brought in.

  Eventually Nash and Marshall escaped to the police car. ‘We’ll need a statement from you, of course, but I hope this is the end of a nightmare,’ Nash told him.

  ‘I hope so too,’ Marshall agreed. His eyes slipped to Lisa, who was busy fielding questions. ‘Let’s call it a chance to look forward instead of dwelling in the past.’

  The following day’s Netherdale Gazette carried only one story, headlined: POLICE BLOW THE WHISTLE ON BIG BUSINESS, a story that had been carried across the national press that morning. It showed photographs taken the previous evening and statements issued by both chief constables. Under a separate banner headline, PARLIAMENTARY CANDIDATE ARRESTED, the article described the detention of Julian Corps in lurid detail. There were photos of Corps being led away from the rally in handcuffs alongside election posters of him. Another shot had Nash chuckling. The photo showed the deputy leader of Corps’s party peering furtively from behind the curtain of the theatre hosting the rally, as police swooped to make the arrest. The caption read: SHADOWY CABINET MINISTER. Further down the page Nash read another piece with equal interest. ‘In an operation linked to this investigation police raided the offices of Leeds solicitors, Hobbs & Hirst, and removed a quantity of documents. The Netherdale Gazette has also learned that another man involved in what is being described as a massive conspiracy was found unconscious at his home in suspicious circumstances. He is being treated under guard at hospital. Police are anxious to interview a woman, Mrs Linda Watson, who they believe may be able to help them with their enquiries’.

  Nash closed the paper and handed it across his desk to Ruth Edwards. ‘Thank goodness that’s over. All we need to sort out now is the possible involvement of Smailes. But that’s not down to me; that’s your department. Then, perhaps we can return to some semblance of normality. Who knows, I may get a day off.’

  Ruth smiled. ‘And I can return to my proper job. Not for the first time, you’ve used some fairly unorthodox methods, Mike. I realize they’ve been necessary, but I’d hate to go away thinking that’s how you normally go about policing this area.’

  Nash shook his head. ‘We’ve been through some fairly trying times over the last few weeks,’ he pointed out. ‘But I wouldn’t change anything.’

  ‘I’d better get off then. I’ve still got my packing to do.’ She smiled again as she stood up and turned to leave, but paused and looked back at Nash. ‘No regrets, then?’

  ‘That you’re leaving? Of course, but I’ll always have the memory of us working together. And who knows, one day we might do so again.’

  He reached to answer the phone. ‘Hello, boss, it’s Viv. I’m fit enough to come back to work. Thought you might be a bit pressed without me?’ Pearce stared at the phone in confusion, listening to the laughter and wondering what Mike Nash found so funny.

  After Ruth left his office, Nash thought about all that had happened. It had been the second time he and Ruth had worked together. On this occasion she’d even stayed at his flat. Normally, the presence of such an attractive woman in such close proximity would have set his pulses racing, but that hadn’t happened. Was it simply because she was a fellow officer? Or could it be that he was getting old? Nash smiled wryly, a smile that was interrupted when he sneezed violently, once, twice, three times.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Three months later the postman delivered a letter to Woodbine Cottage. Earlier that week Corps and Harrison, the latter brought from hospital in a wheelchair, had been remanded for trial in what the papers referred to as ‘The Coningsby Affair’. Brown would stand trial alongside them on several counts of murder. Davidson was implicated in the sabotage plot and as paymaster for the corruption. He had far more serious matters to worry about, as he’d also be standing trial on charges of child sex abuse. Several officials in local and regional government departments had either been sent for trial or suspended from duty. Although most of them were unknown to Marshall, one name on the list of those awaiting trial caused him quiet satisfaction: that of Detective Sergeant Donald Smailes.

  Marshall opened the envelope. It contained a cutting from the financial pages of one of the papers. Under the headline: BROADWOOD SNAPS UP COLLAPSED RIVAL it described Harry Rourke’s acquisition of Coningsby Developments. Purchased from the receivers for what was described in the article as a ‘nominal sum’ and gave space to Harry’s announced intention to form a public company.

  Attached to the cutting was a Broadwood compliments slip on which was scrawled the message, ‘I said I owed you. I always pay my debts. Harry’. Pinned to the compliments slip was a share certificate. Alan Marshall had been granted a twenty per cent stake in Broadwood Holdings Plc.

  Marshall smiled. The acquisition of Coningsby had been the final chapter of the revenge he’d cooked up with Harry Rourke. It had been Marshall’s idea to turn the tables on the plotters and do to them what they had planned to do to Rourke. Once the conspiracy failed, it would only be a matter of time until Coningsby Developments folded, and when it went into receivership Harry could pick it up for a fraction of its worth.

  The plotters would know beyond all doubt who’d master-minded their downfall. They’d also be painfully aware that none of this would have happened if they hadn’t murdered Anna. Marshall’s ambition was for them to fret their lives away in prison, year after year. Knowing it had been in vain. The knowledge that their grubby little scheming, the slaughter they’d paid Brown to commit, was all futile would gnaw away at them for the rest of their lives. That was the greatest revenge Marshall could imagine. Knowing it gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

  He picked up the recently installed phone and dialled a local number. ‘I’ve something to celebrate. Fancy a dirty weekend?’

  ‘Whereabouts?’ Lisa demanded.

  ‘Anywhere but the Golden Bear!’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ Lisa agreed. ‘Oh, just one thing. Who’s calling?’

  THE END

  The D.I. Mike Nash Series

  Book 1: WHAT LIES BENEATH

  Book 2: VANISH WITHOUT TRACE

  Book 3: PLAYING WITH FIRE

  Book 4: KILLING CHRISTMAS

  Book 5: SLASH KILLER

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