CHAIN REACTION an absolutely addictive crime thriller with a huge twist

by Bill Kitson

  Nash set the tape rolling before sitting behind and to one side of Aishe as the DS commenced asking questions. His purpose in positioning himself so precisely was to remain out of Aishe’s direct line of sight, which he gauged would be less intrusive should she have to reveal intimate details. He listened attentively as the tale unfolded, his anger at what the young woman, little more than a teenager, had been made to suffer, and marvelled at her resilience in the face of some inhumane treatment. The fact that this had been inflicted by a member of her own family simply made matters worse. He could tell by his colleagues’ body language and the increasingly gentle tone of Clara’s voice as she put the necessary questions to Aishe that both she and Fleming were deeply affected by what they were hearing.

  As soon as Clara nodded to him, signifying that she had nothing further to ask, Nash stated the time and switched the machine off. Only then did he speak to the girl. ‘Regrettably, Aishe, because of what you’ve told us, we must formally charge you with assault and with complicity in the robberies.’

  He paused, and when he saw the look of dawning horror on the girl’s face, added swiftly, ‘However, that is purely to comply with regulations. Do you understand?’

  Aishe nodded as tears began to spill down her cheeks.

  Nash tried to calm her. ‘I will be making urgent representations on your behalf to ensure that those charges remain nothing but a formality.’

  ‘Inspector Nash is correct,’ Jackie Fleming added. ‘I will be pressing the Crown Prosecution Service to comply with his instructions. If that isn’t sufficient, I will ask my superior, the chief constable, to take the matter up with the Home Office. Believe me, Aishe, every effort will be made on your behalf.’

  As DS Mironova was completing the charge procedure, Fleming and Nash discussed the revelations in the privacy of another room. ‘What that poor girl has been through is beyond belief,’ Jackie said. ‘To have been more or less abducted by her half-brother within days of her mother’s death, forced to act as decoy for him in a string of robberies, held prisoner in a small room, beaten up on a regular basis, and then finally the attempted sexual assault, is depravity that matches anything we’ve seen before. I’m surprised the girl had the courage to act as she did, and I will fight every step of the way to ensure she doesn’t suffer any longer. I would suggest the stabbing is a clear case of self-defence, and if necessary, I’ll reveal what she told us that animal said to her as a threat to force her compliance, even though I can barely believe it myself.’

  ‘It is difficult to comprehend that someone could be so evil and do such things.’ Nash shook his head, the outrage apparent on his face. ‘To threaten her with rape, and then say that he would have to kill her, because, according to their culture, she would no longer be a virgin and therefore an un-saleable commodity . . . it’s hard to credit, but that’s the twisted way abusers operate, I’m afraid. One other point we should consider is the possibility that when Hajdari is fit enough to make a court appearance, he could easily get bail and if that happens, Aishe could be at risk. We could keep her in the cells, but I think it would be better if we should find somewhere safe for her to stay.’

  ‘I agree, Mike. Will you tell her that?’

  ‘I’ll get Clara to do it; she’s built up a good rapport with the girl.’

  ‘Anything else to report?’

  ‘Only a total lack of progress on the fingers found at Thornscarr. That case might remain unsolved, because we’ve no idea who they belong to. I’ve put that on the back burner until we’ve wrapped this up. It’s a question of prioritizing due to lack of manpower, and after all this time, a few days isn’t going to make much difference.’

  * * *

  Back at Helmsdale, Sergeant Binns was struggling to complete the remand process of a man who had been detained earlier. He was proving to be a difficult customer. He had been arrested for attempting to rob a woman in the car park behind Good Buys supermarket in Bishopton. Unfortunately, the attempted mugging had taken place under the watchful eye of a couple of police officers who were in their patrol car eating sandwiches in their mid-shift break when the offence occurred. Although patently guilty, the arrested man had proved difficult to detain, and through the custody procedure was even less cooperative.

  ‘OK, let’s try again,’ Binns said patiently. ‘I need your name and address for the record.’

  It didn’t help that the man he was trying to question was all but out of it. Despite Binns’ considerable experience, he initially failed to recognize the symptoms that denoted the sudden withdrawal from a Class A substance.

  ‘You’re not going to get me to talk. I know you’re working for them.’ The man struggled to free himself from the officers’ grip.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Binns was alarmed by the man’s eyes, which were rolling around in their sockets.

  The prisoner looked behind him, to where the two arresting officers were standing in close proximity, in an attempt to prevent him falling over. ‘You’re all working for them,’ he added, trying to gesture towards the uniformed men. ‘They kidnapped me.’ He paused and then looked round, his expression one of total fear. ‘Who said that? Where are you?’

  His head turned from side to side. He leaned forward, so only Binns could hear. ‘There, I told you they were after me. You heard that. They’ve brought me here to kill me. You’ve got to help me escape. Those two,’ — he jerked his head towards the officers — ‘they’re all part of it. They want me dead. It’s not their fault. They’re only obeying orders.’

  His expression changed suddenly and he tried to step away. ‘Why am I telling you this? You’re part of it too. You all work for them. Don’t think I haven’t guessed what you’re up to. They found out I’d been asking questions, didn’t they? That’s why those two were sent to kidnap me. I know what will happen next. I’ll just vanish — disappear without trace just like all the others, just like she did. Do you know why they’re doing it? Do you? No, then I’ll tell you.’

  He looked round again. Seeing the amused expressions of the two arresting officers simply increased his agitation. ‘You think it’s a joke, do you? That’s because they haven’t told you what they’re really up to. If you knew, you’d never have agreed to take part in it. How many others have you taken? I bet they didn’t tell you what they intended to do with the people they ordered you to snatch.’

  He fell silent, and in the pause, as Binns was trying to decide what to do next, one of the patrol officers said, ‘We certainly shouldn’t go hungry tonight, not with the fruitcake here.’

  Suddenly, without warning, the prisoner launched himself towards the speaker. Despite the restriction of his handcuffs, he succeeded in landing several painful kicks, and with his long, talon-like nails, inflicted a series of scratches down the officer’s face before they pulled him off. Even then, he writhed and squirmed his way clear and raced towards the door, only to be brought down by the second patrolman with a tackle that would have been applauded at Twickenham.

  He held the prisoner down by the simple process of sitting on him while Binns unearthed a pair of ankle restraints from the supply cupboard and secured the detainee with them. They picked him up and carried him to the cells.

  If the officer was expecting sympathy, it didn’t happen. ‘Try explaining those to your wife when you get home,’ his colleague told him. ‘She already thinks you’ve got a bit on the side.’

  ‘Can we please concentrate on the job in hand? Will one of you go into the office and phone for a medic? I reckon this guy’s deranged.’

  As one of them went to call the police surgeon, Binns and the other officer watched the prisoner, who, it seemed, had lost the will to fight, and was sitting, head bowed, sobbing quietly and muttering unintelligible words to an unseen audience.

  The prisoner had lost interest, it seemed, and was staring down at his manacled hands in horror. ‘Help me, I’ve got to find her, got to find Sam,’ he said, his voice no more than a whisper.


  Binns and the officer exchanged glances.

  The other officer returned and informed them that the police surgeon was on his way. ‘I described the man’s behaviour and the doc believes he’s possibly suffering from withdrawal symptoms, from either alcohol or drugs. Either that or he’s schizophrenic — or a combination of both.’

  ‘Well we can’t identify him, so the doctor can’t access his medical records to discover what the man’s suffering from. That also means he probably won’t want to give him a tranquillizer, in case that makes his condition worse. Did you search his pockets when he was arrested?’

  ‘No, because he kicked off so violently we were busy trying to restrain him and get him safely into the back of the car.’

  Binns glared at his subordinates. ‘So much for proper procedure, I’ll speak to you two later. Now get on with it.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge,’ they both muttered in response.

  The man began shouting again. As his threats and accusations grew wilder and more incongruous, centring round the mysterious people or creatures he believed were trying to abduct him, they succeeded, but their search had them none the wiser. The prisoner was carrying nothing that could be used to identify him. They tried to think of a way out of the impasse. Their thought process was not helped by the detainee’s continued outbursts.

  Much as Binns had predicted, the doctor was unwilling to administer a sedative until he knew more about the patient and his medical history.

  In the end, it was Jack Binns who provided the solution. He turned to the arresting officers and asked, ‘What about the mugging victim? The woman he tried to rob?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Did you ask her if she knows this man? Bishopton is only a small place, and I can’t for a minute think he drove there to attack and rob her, so perhaps she can identify him.’

  ‘We didn’t get chance to ask her,’ his colleague replied. ‘We were too busy dealing with him to do more than get her details.’

  ‘OK, give her a ring and see if she can tell us who he is.’

  Ten minutes later, the officer returned from the office brandishing a slip of paper. ‘You were right, Sarge, she does know him. To use her words, ‘He’s a low-life by the name of Tyler Swift.’

  ‘Sounds like an American singer,’ his colleague muttered.

  ‘I ran the name through the PNC and I’ve got his address. Seems he’s been arrested before — possession of a Class A substance, but not on our patch, which explains why we didn’t recognize him.’

  The doctor, on hearing this, interrupted, ‘Do you know what the substance was?’

  ‘Cocaine, it said on the file.’

  ‘That would explain his behaviour. The symptoms are typical of rapid withdrawal. Obviously, for whatever reason, his access to the drug has been abruptly halted and the reaction is what’s commonly known as “cold turkey”. Like in the film The French Connection.’

  ‘What can you do to keep him quiet?’

  The doctor considered Binns’ question for a moment. ‘I can give him a mild sedative now I know the likely cause. It won’t put him to sleep, but it will prevent his extreme behaviour. He needs long-term treatment, though.’

  ‘Should I call an ambulance?’

  ‘There’s not much more can be done at the moment. He’d need your officers with him if you do. Can you spare them for however long it takes?’

  ‘Not really. Let me think for a minute.’ Binns turned to the officers. ‘When the doc’s dealt with him, you two had better go to that address and see if you can find a relative or next of kin. Given the state he’s in, there ought to be someone to look after him.’ He glanced up at the wall clock and grimaced. It was going to turn into a long shift. He wouldn’t be transferring him to Netherdale and locking the station at the usual time. Before he did anything, he’d better tell his wife he’d be late home for dinner — and possibly supper as well.

  As the medic was administering the sedative — no mean task, as his patient thrashed about in a violent but futile attempt to avoid the treatment — one of the officers trying to hold him down commented, ‘You’d think with his history, Swift would enjoy being injected.’

  His colleague’s laughter all but masked Swift’s protest, which was directed at Binns. Although Binns heard it, the statement made no sense.

  ‘What about Samantha? What are you doing about her? Where’s Sam?’

  The most important decision to be made was what to do with Swift. Technically, Binns knew he should be charged, but the complications thrown up by his medical condition made it difficult to choose the best way of handling the situation.

  The doctor made a suggestion. ‘There’s a drug dependency unit in Netherdale that might take him and treat him until he’s coherent,’ he said. ‘How that ties in with your arrest, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Neither have I, Doctor, and I think the decision is above my pay grade. I believe the American expression is “passing the buck”, and in this instance, I’m more than happy to get rid of the problem. Will you hang on here until I can raise a decision maker? If they agree, I might need you to arrange for him to go to that unit.’

  Binns set about trying to contact a senior officer willing to accept responsibility for the decision. Both Nash and Fleming were unavailable, so in desperation, Binns’ only resort was to speak to Gloria O’Donnell, the chief constable. Having listened to Binns’ graphic description of Swift’s hallucinatory behaviour, she agreed the plan, but with the proviso that Binns should formally charge him before he was moved. ‘Even if he doesn’t understand what you’re saying at the moment, you can insist he is given one of those cards used to charge people who are hard of hearing. Give it to the doctor with instructions to pass it to the patient once he’s compos mentis again.’

  Half an hour later, Swift, whose behaviour had calmed down to a more manageable level, was in the process of being transported by the arresting officers to the drug dependency unit. Before they left, Binns told them he would ensure that Swift’s next of kin were informed the following day. ‘By the time you’ve got him installed there, your shift will be all but over, and you’ve still the arrest paperwork to do before you sign off. I’ll get someone round there in the morning. They’re probably used to him going missing.’

  Chapter Twelve

  At around the same time as Binns was locking up the Helmsdale station, Mike Nash was seated in the lounge at Smelt Mill Cottage, staring again at the painting that occupied the wall over the inglenook fireplace. His thoughts were on the artist and his recurrent dreams about her. Somewhere in the time he spent looking at the landscape, he came to a decision. He knew what he wanted, and now realized that the dreams were the result of his frustration at being unable to be with Alondra.

  There was only one way to resolve this, and it was a radical one. He would go and see her. He would beg her either to return with him to England, or if she was unwilling, ask her to allow him to move and live with her. That would mean quitting his job, and that would be a huge upheaval, but he now appreciated that the work he did, although valuable, paled into insignificance compared to his peace of mind. But what of Daniel? How would he handle the situation? Nash rubbed his eyes. He had never felt like this, only knew that he was sinking lower than ever before.

  His spirits were at such a low level that he had no confidence in his ability to convince Alondra to change her mind. On the positive side, they had never quarrelled, or disagreed to any great extent. Her reasons for ending their relationship had been more because of her own perceived inability to give Nash what she believed he needed from her.

  Although Nash would have welcomed the opportunity to persuade her that her reasoning was totally wrong, he had been denied the chance. Alondra had returned abroad, to her home, after refusing all his efforts to speak to her. Knowing that, caused Nash to refrain from making contact then, or in the two years since — until recently. He had phoned, but met with no answer. His only hope was that she would recognize the number on
her phone and call him. Now he was determined not to wait any longer before confronting the woman he loved — the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

  Making the decision to visit was one thing; implementing it wouldn’t be straightforward. It certainly couldn’t happen in the immediate future. There was no chance of him being able to take leave. Clara was going on holiday, and once she had returned to work, Nash would still have to spend time getting Daniel off to school, assuming he was fit enough. Only then could he think of making one final effort to rescue some part of his personal life.

  * * *

  Whether it was Nash’s resolve to take pre-emptive action, or simply the fact that he was exhausted, he slept well that night. When he woke next morning, he felt more refreshed and optimistic than he had for a long time.

  His cheerful mood contrasted sharply with that of Sergeant Binns. When Nash arrived at Helmsdale, Binns was in the process of issuing instructions to a couple of uniformed officers. He responded to Nash’s greeting with a scowl, accompanied by a slight wave of one hand, before turning back to the men.

  Nash continued upstairs. Viv Pearce was already in the office, and was speaking on the phone when Nash walked in. A couple of seconds later, he replaced the receiver. ‘Morning, Mike.’

  Clara walked in as Nash said, ‘Morning, Viv, I’m going to introduce myself to the coffee machine.’ He grinned at the DS. ‘Would you both like a mug? It’s so much nicer now than when we had to rely on the snake venom you produced.’