CHAIN REACTION an absolutely addictive crime thriller with a huge twist

by Bill Kitson

  The prospect of his long absence had given them licence to indulge themselves to the full, and they were making the most of the opportunity. The game fair he was scheduled to attend didn’t take place until the next day, so he had this one chance to see if his suspicions were justified. Confirmation that his guess had been correct would bring about many changes, of that he was aware. He would never sleep in that room, in that bed, again. He would certainly never sleep with that woman again.

  Faced with a similar situation, many a cuckolded husband would have fallen into despair, or given vent to their feelings with a violent physical rage. He would do neither. He would deal with it in his own way, the calm, logical way. He would take the common-sense approach. The decision made, he felt at once more settled, more at peace with himself.

  He would need to resolve things regarding his wife and her lover first, but that would have to wait on his return. Nelson glanced at his watch. His surveillance had yielded results, but it had made him late for the train he was scheduled to catch. He couldn’t afford to miss it, or he’d be in trouble with his boss. Still, the journey would give him chance to plan his course of action. In Nelson’s eyes, that plan of action meant only one thing — exacting a cruel and terrible revenge for the way he had been betrayed. He would make her suffer.

  Chapter Four

  For the occupants of the large Victorian house close to the centre of Netherdale, it was the day their landlord called to collect the quarterly rents due. All the occupants paid a quarter in advance, which, given the shifting population of private tenancies, was a sensible precaution on the owner’s part. On this particular day, the landlord was particularly keen to catch up with the tenant of flat number three, a young woman whose occupation was questionable, but who usually paid on time.

  The landlord had a shrewd idea how the woman earned her living, but the fact that she might have used her apartment to entertain clients posed no moral issues for him. If she chose to earn her money by offering sexual favours for sale, that was no concern of his. As long as she paid when the money fell due, he had been quite prepared to overlook the dubious legality of her profession.

  However, on this occasion she hadn’t paid on time, so his interest in the woman became personal, in a totally different way to that of her clients. He hammered on her door, but failing to get a response, concentrated on the occupants of the other flats, asking them, as he collected their rent, if they had seen the young woman. Their replies were unanimous, giving him stronger reason to suspect that she had departed without giving notice, a practice known locally as doing a moonlight flit.

  Concern for the money owing to him rather than her welfare caused him to use his master key to enter her apartment. It was dark, so his first task had to be to feed the prepayment meter, before being able to switch the light on. He was surprised to see that the flat appeared to be occupied, in the sense that her clothing and belongings were all still in place. He’d expected to find the apartment stripped of all her personal effects, and possibly even some of his property. He was annoyed, but not alarmed. The idea that anything untoward might have happened to her never crossed his mind. His vexation increased when he checked the fridge in the kitchen. The sparse contents were mouldy, the milk sour. His automatic reaction was to reach for his mobile phone. He rang the maintenance man who took care of all his properties and issued terse instructions.

  ‘The fridge needs emptying and cleaning out and all her clothing either sent to the charity shop or binned. Given that she was on the game, I guess most of it will be underwear, and I suggest you wear gloves before touching it; the same goes with the bedding. In fact, I’d keep gloves on all the time you’re inside the flat.’

  Once he’d given his orders, the landlord locked up and left. He soon forgot about the defaulting tenant, his mind concentrating on finding a new occupant, one willing to pay a higher rent. Had he a stronger sense of public duty, he might have reported the woman as a missing person.

  Two weeks later, at Netherdale Police station, a woman was attempting to report her daughter missing. She had hesitated. She knew how her daughter earned her money, knew she couldn’t change that, but she was worried. The mother had been alerted by the fact that her daughter hadn’t contacted her on her birthday, something that, no matter how bad her life situation was, she had never forgotten previously. Enquiries at the flats and from the landlord merely increased her anxiety over her daughter’s well-being. Her alarm reached such a degree that, despite her reluctance, she approached the local police force to make her concern official. She was too distraught to notice that the person who took the details seemed unsympathetic almost to the point of being unhelpful.

  * * *

  Mike Nash had a problem. It was a dilemma he faced when trying to juggle the requirements of his work as a senior police officer and the demands on his time as a single parent. Under normal circumstances, he was able to fit the two roles together without too much hassle, but in this instance there seemed to be no easy solution. In fact, no solution at all. Nash had been forced to take a week out from his annual leave entitlement to care for his son. Normally, he would have been able to rely on the services of the childminder who looked after Daniel over the school holidays, but she was away during term-time. Unless Nash was able to arrange something, the boy would be without supervision when his father returned to work. Something he would not even consider.

  Daniel had been sent home from his boarding school. Although he was coping with the broken collarbone received during a particularly strenuous hockey match, his main concern at his enforced absence was missing the remaining matches of the season.

  Nash’s quandary was resolved once he discussed it with Clara Mironova. Clara had acted as an unofficial aunt to Daniel ever since the boy had arrived in England from France nearly five years ago as a timid, shy, and nervous six-year-old who until that point had never met his father. It was only after Daniel’s mother died, and the boy was brought to Helmsdale by an elderly aunt of his mother’s, that Nash learned of his existence. Since that time, father and son had bonded well. Daniel’s circle of friends now extended beyond school, and home, to include Clara, who he called Aunt, and her fiancé David Sutton, a recently retired army officer, now deputized as Uncle.

  ‘I could take him to France, but he’ll be going for the summer holidays as usual, and it wouldn’t be fair on his great-aunt Mirabelle. He loves it there and she loves having him, but it would be asking too much.’

  ‘Why don’t we take Daniel?’ Clara said. ‘David’s at home, and Daniel’s stayed with us before.’

  ‘I can’t ask that. The doctor said it could take up to six weeks to heal.’

  ‘So? It will stop David being bored, and he’ll keep Daniel occupied.’

  ‘But I thought you were off to Spain over Easter?’

  ‘We are, but there’s time yet. If we can get a seat on the plane for Daniel, there’s no reason he can’t come with us. David’s hired a villa which sleeps six. There’s a swimming pool, which will be good exercise for Daniel’s shoulder, and after some of the injuries David’s picked up he knows more about physiotherapy than most professionals.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll need to ask Daniel, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled, but shouldn’t you check with David first? If he agrees, and you let me pay for Daniel’s share, that’ll be fine by me.’

  Clara smiled. ‘David’s army career means that he’s used to obeying orders, even the ones I give him.’

  * * *

  Two days later, Nash went into the CID suite on the first floor as Viv Pearce’s mobile was ringing. Nash watched, with amusement, the expression on Viv’s face. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but his body language told Nash all he needed to know.

  Viv jumped to his feet, a look of sheer panic on his face. ‘It’s coming! It’s too soon. What do I do?’

  ‘Don’t ask him.’ Clara had also realized what was happening. ‘He’s only interested in the manufacturing process.’ Before she f
inished speaking, she saw the pained expression on Nash’s face and regretted her joke. Nash ignored her comment and took charge of the conversation.

  ‘OK, Viv. This is what you do. First, you calm down. Where is Lianne?’

  ‘Er, at home. She said her waters have broken.’

  ‘Was she panicking?’

  ‘No. But she said we need to go to the hospital.’ As he was speaking Viv was trying to get his jacket on, but thought someone had tied the sleeves together. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Hold on. Take a deep breath and calm down,’ Nash repeated firmly.

  Viv gave up the struggle.

  ‘Now, stay calm. It’s only a couple of weeks early. Get your car keys, go to the car park, get in your car and drive home. Slowly! Lianne needs you with her, not in a bed in accident and emergency. Got it?’

  ‘Yes, I’m OK. Thank you.’ He set off for the door when he was halted momentarily.

  ‘Viv, give her our best wishes — and good luck,’ Nash said.

  Viv grinned as the door slammed behind him.

  Clara looked at Nash. ‘Mike, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have said that about you.’

  ‘What’s done is done, Clara,’ he replied, with a sad smile that she found distressing. ‘You can’t be guarding your tongue forever because what you say might offend someone. And before you ask, yes, it still hurts like hell, but there’s nothing I can do but live with it.’ He headed for his office and closed the door firmly behind him.

  Knowing him as well as she did, Clara was convinced that her tactless remark, plus Viv’s circumstances, had set Nash to thinking about his own situation, and the losses he’d suffered in the not-too-distant past.

  * * *

  Detective Constable Lisa Andrews was normally stationed at the force’s Netherdale HQ, but with Viv Pearce now on paternity leave, she’d been drafted in to assist at Helmsdale.

  While Lisa made coffee, Nash asked Clara if Daniel was OK.

  ‘Stop worrying, Mike. He’s settled in fine. David has the painkillers if they’re needed, and he reckons a giant jigsaw is on the menu for today.’

  The trio sat down to discuss their current situation. ‘Luckily, things are fairly quiet at present,’ Nash said. ‘If they stay that way until Viv gets back, that’ll suit me fine.’

  ‘When’s he due to return?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘In a couple of weeks, give or take a day or so. He had some holiday entitlement left so he’s tacked that onto his paternity allowance. It’s fortunate for us that Lianne decided to give birth early, and his leave doesn’t clash with Clara’s forthcoming holiday.’

  ‘I’m not sure Lianne had much say in the matter. It must have come as a shock, but at least both mother and baby are well. Having said that, I can’t see Viv handling nappies, can you? Not unless they’ve invented a computerized, digital version,’ Lisa added.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until the following day that Nash was to remember his own advice, not to tempt Sod’s Law. That was his expression for the phenomenon that the very worst thing will happen at the most inconvenient moment.

  With little to occupy him at work, Nash returned home earlier than usual. He had barely entered the house when his mobile chirped to signal an incoming text. The message was from Daniel. ‘I’m OK. Uncle David’s feeding me Toblerone . . . again!’

  Nash smiled a trifle ruefully. Although he already missed his son, a reminder of the separation came as he tackled his next chore, which was to load the washing machine with clothing, most of it Daniel’s. Having set the machine going, he took his evening meal from the fridge. Nash enjoyed cooking and always had a stock of available home-cooked meals in the freezer, which, with the aid of the microwave, often saved him time. Ignoring the dining table, he sat down to eat, using a tray in front of the TV, and reflected ruefully on his solitary existence. When Daniel was at home, there was plenty to distract him. But now, the contrast was stark.

  Nash’s gaze strayed briefly to the large landscape painting that covered two-thirds of the wall over the fireplace. Alondra had painted it as a farewell present after ending their affair. Nash knew the work was extremely valuable, by now worth a six-figure sum, and liable to increase even further with Alondra’s growing reputation as one of her generation’s leading landscape painters. Despite its worth, he’d willingly have given it away if the artist was there alongside him. Nash had been responsible for discovering the truth about Alondra’s past. He’d tried to persuade her to stay, but the darkest reason for her departure was one Nash didn’t care to dwell on, because it stirred up emotions he would rather remain buried.

  He sighed; dwelling on what he’d lost wouldn’t help. In the past, he’d always been able to shake off the feelings of sadness and regret that followed the ending of a relationship, but on this occasion, he was unable to do so. Even with the passage of time, the hurt refused to heal. In fact, it seemed to him that the wound became deeper, more intense. If Alondra had still been with him, she would have looked after Daniel, and Nash wouldn’t have had to rely on the good nature of Clara and David. His thoughts turned to Daniel, recalling how well he and Alondra had got on, aware that he wasn’t the only one who missed her. When Easter came Daniel would be on holiday, and Nash would really have liked to be there with them, but instead he was going to be condemned to this solitary existence for the foreseeable future. Perhaps this was how a convict felt, separated from those near to him.

  He tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere. Possibly concentrating on the television would help, but with little worth watching, it promised to be a long evening.

  Later, Nash found sleep difficult to come by, he was too preoccupied with the past and the woman he’d loved — and lost. When he eventually did manage to sleep, he dreamed of her.

  The bitter disappointment when he awoke to find that he was alone was a bad start to what promised to be a long day. Perhaps when he reached work things would improve. Let’s face it, he thought, they couldn’t get much worse.

  Chapter Five

  Market day in Helmsdale was always busy, the cobbled Market Place closed to vehicles as it gave way to market stalls. It was also a day when farmers congregated at the nearby auction mart for the weekly sale of livestock. Although the focal point of the action was inside the ring, a considerable amount of buying and selling went on between the farmers and dealers leaning on the perimeter fence. Many of these deals, particularly those transacted by the older generation, were cash sales. The agricultural community has a natural distrust of banks, cheques and other methods of payment they couldn’t count in their hand. Deals would be sealed with a handshake, concluded the following week by the delivery of beasts and paperwork in exchange for a corresponding wad of notes. These deals had the added advantage of not being subject to the auction’s fees.

  One of the farmers, who had particular reason to celebrate, retired to the Cobblers Arms for a late lunch of the liquid variety, which he took along with several of his cronies. An hour and several pints later, he excused himself from the company and retired to the toilet to make room for more beer. His progress down the short corridor at the back of the bar leading to the facilities was slightly erratic, possibly because of the urgency of his mission.

  He reached the urinal and began to relieve himself. He was in full flow when he heard the door open. He didn’t look round, knowing that sudden movement could lead to disaster. The next moment, he caught a glimpse of a flash of light in his peripheral vision. Simultaneously, something cold touched the side of his neck.

  ‘Keep on doing what you’re doing,’ a voice in his ear told him. To emphasize the statement, the knife pressed harder on his neck, breaking the skin. He felt a trickle of blood, warm against his skin, escape from the puncture site. Helpless, he sensed the hand searching his pockets, locating and removing his wallet. Then the knife was gone, the door slammed, and he was alone. Alone, but unable to give chase, as he still had unfinished business. At last, trembling with shock, he zi
pped his flies and staggered out to raise the alarm.

  * * *

  The pet supplies stall had been doing a brisk trade throughout the day. Around 3.30 p.m., the stallholder, along with several of his colleagues decided it was time to pack up. Had the day not been as successful, he might have considered staying longer, but the takings were good enough to justify the early closure. He told the girl who helped him to start clearing the stall. ‘Get the boxes from under the tables and start packing stuff. Take all the gear hanging from the canopy down and collect the pegs into that box at the end. I’m going for the van.’

  Before he left, the stallholder removed the notes from the till. There were people who came to buy things as they were packing up, but it was a rare event. He put the notes into the zipped section of the apron he wore around his waist and set off through the archway and down the narrow ginnel leading to the hotel car park. The manager allowed him to park his van in the corner of the yard in exchange for cat food for the hotel’s mouser.

  He walked swiftly, hoping to overtake the redhead in front of him. She had a stunning figure, and he wanted to see if the face would live up to the promise shown by her rear view. Sadly, she seemed to be in even more of a hurry than he was, no doubt something to do with whoever she was talking to on her mobile. A boyfriend, perhaps? Lucky bugger.

  He reached the van, unlocked the door and was about to get in, when he sensed someone behind him. Before he could turn round, a voice forbade him. ‘This knife is very sharp. One move and you’re as dead as the dog meat you sell.’

  The blade glinted evilly in the late afternoon sun. At the same time he saw a flurry of movement, felt the apron strings loosened, the cash belt pulled free. Then he was alone. As soon as he was sure the danger had gone, he looked round, but there was no one in sight.