by Bill Kitson
Lee’s mother was curious as to why the detective seemed so confident, but was reluctant to ask. She was more anxious to get the proceedings over and leave before anyone from the village saw them. Gossips were never kind.
Lee, however, couldn’t wait to get to school and entertain his mates with the story, in which, within his mind, he had already become the star witness — and even more important, to tell Milly.
After he’d signed the statement, countersigned by his mother as appropriate adult, Nash accompanied them to the door. The laughter in Nash’s voice was reflected in his eyes as he bade them goodbye, aware that the pleasure the boy had got from this was written on his face.
Lee heaved a huge sigh of relief once he was clear of the building.
* * *
Once they had Lee’s statement printed and copies of the photos, plus the revealing one Clara had taken of Aishe, Nash was ready to tackle Hajdari.
Nash thanked Lisa and said, ‘I’ve decided to take Viv on this one. I don’t want Hajdari ogling you during the interview. He doesn’t know how English law works, and he could be intimidated by us. I think two men might just put the wind up him. Before we go, I want you to find out the name of the solicitor appointed to defend him. If we know that beforehand, we can plan our interview strategy better. Will you also fax that statement from our truanting photographer through to Maureen, so that she can have a copy of it typed up to give to the defence brief? Meanwhile, I’m going to check with Jackie Fleming and get her approval for what we’re proposing to do, and that she’ll have some time spare for us to update her afterwards.’
If Lisa was disappointed, it didn’t show. She knew Nash had good reason.
* * *
Having learned which solicitor had been allocated, Nash decided on his line of approach, which he outlined to Viv as they drove to Netherdale.
Viv commented on the variation to previous interviews he’d witnessed. In response to which, Nash explained, ‘I’ve met this solicitor before. Having recently seen one interview technique, he’ll most likely be expecting something similar, so by changing tactics we should be able to catch him unawares and thus gain the upper hand. From my experience, if you can gain control in the early stages of an interview, you’re far more likely to retain command of the situation. Otherwise, you get the suspect reverting to the old “no comment” routine.’
It was another example of the meticulous approach Nash took, and Viv reflected that Clara had often mentioned this. It was certainly true that Nash rarely went into an interview unprepared, and for suspects to rely on ‘no comment’ was all but unheard of.
Having obtained Superintendent Fleming’s go-ahead for his line of attack, and collected the typed statement, Nash and DC Pearce sought out the solicitor. Nash invited him in to a second interview room and indicated to Viv to load the tape recorder and set it running.
‘Your client, Mr Hajdari, is next door, but, in the interests of accuracy, for full disclosure I am taping this interview to avoid any misunderstanding.’ Nash smiled at the solicitor. ‘Your client is charged with having committed a series of attacks comprising robbery with violence. Before we continue, I think you ought to take a look at several photographs, of which DC Viv Pearce has copies for you.’
Nash signalled to Pearce, who produced the snaps culled from Lee’s phone and laid them side by side on the table facing the solicitor. He paused as Nash had instructed him beforehand, holding the envelope in front of him, ensuring that it was directly in the solicitor’s line of sight as he awaited his cue.
‘As you can see, those photos clearly show the robbery of the market trader and that of the Market Cafe owner taking place, and the video clearly identifies Mr Hajdari as the perpetrator. Not only that, but when we searched the suspect’s house, we found a bank bag identical to that taken from the landlord of the Black Bull pub, which we expect to carry the landlord’s DNA. Concealed within that bank bag was a Taser, bearing your client’s fingerprints, and a balaclava on which we await DNA results. Together with a large quantity of cash, there was also a generator, the serial number of which tallies with the one stolen from Bishopton market.’
Nash paused, not only because he was about to change topic, but to let these facts sink in. ‘However, that is not all, far from it, and the next piece of evidence relates to a much more serious matter, concerning which, we have another witness statement and photograph to show you. There is sufficient evidence in our possession to warrant arresting your client and charging him with an extremely unpleasant offence.’
He nodded to Pearce, who drew from the envelope another witness statement, the one signed by Aishe, together with the photograph Clara had taken of the young girl lying handcuffed and naked on the bed. ‘This young woman was found in this situation in the suspect’s house, having stabbed him to ward off his attempted rape. We also have documented evidence of DNA taken from her skin at the Netherdale rape suite which matches your client. The fact that she was able to defend herself does not negate the charge of sexual assault, which is accentuated sharply by the fact that the victim is the suspect’s half-sister.’ Nash saw the look of dismay on the solicitor’s face turn to one of revulsion at his final comment. ‘I suggest we leave you to confer with your client before we begin the interview.’
He turned, switched off the tape machine, and handed a copy of the cassette to the solicitor. ‘For you,’ he said.
As he and Pearce were leaving the room, Nash turned and addressed the solicitor again. ‘Perhaps when you have consulted with him, we can discuss the best way forward. By the way, don’t be fooled by his dumb act. I have it on good authority from his employer that his English is perfectly adequate.’
* * *
Later, as they returned to Helmsdale, Viv Pearce reflected on the satisfactory outcome of their afternoon’s work. Having been made aware of the more serious charge his client was facing and the overwhelming weight of evidence in both cases, the solicitor was more than anxious to see what sort of a deal he could obtain for Hajdari. He eagerly accepted their proposal that his client should give a full and frank confession to the robberies, and at the same time, completely exonerate Aishe from any involvement in all of those crimes.
In return for this, Nash agreed that they would dissuade Aishe from pressing the sexual assault charge. The outcome would be that after serving his sentence for the lesser crimes, Hajdari would be deported back to Albania, which would ensure Aishe’s continued safety and freedom from oppression and fear.
As they approached the outskirts of Helmsdale, Nash glanced at the Range Rover’s fuel gauge, then at the clock. ‘I need to get some petrol, so I’ll drop you at the station. If you take the paperwork up to the office, there’s nothing to stop you going straight home. Tell Jack I’ll be in first thing in the morning, and not to bother ringing me unless there’s a treble murder before then.’
As he passed through reception, Pearce delivered the message and saw Sergeant Binns frown. ‘Is there something Mike should know about?’ he asked.
‘I was hoping to have a word with him, but I don’t suppose it’s anything that won’t wait until morning.’
* * *
That night, Nash was restless and unwilling to cook for himself. Nor was he prepared to sit alone all evening occupied only by a fruitless search for something worth watching on TV. With Daniel away, the washing and ironing baskets were all but empty, and he had already completed other household chores. On a whim, he decided to walk the short distance to the Miners Arms, Wintersett’s only pub, which offered a better-than-average selection of bar meals and snacks. With luck, he’d be able to kill two birds with one stone, by following up on Olivia Brook’s suggestion.
On arrival, he was greeted with wild enthusiasm by one of the regulars, a small but energetic Jack Russell terrier. Nash bent down to stroke the dog, whose grey whiskers were the only sign of his advancing years. ‘Hello, Pip, where’s your boss? Waiting for me to buy him a pint, I’ll bet.’
S
ure enough, Pip’s owner, Jonas Turner, was seated by the window, his glass almost empty. Nash made the signal notifying a refill and was awarded by a wide smile, swiftly followed by the glass being emptied. Having obtained two pints, Nash walked over and sat with the old man. ‘No, Pip, I didn’t forget you,’ he placated the dog, who was sitting at his feet watching him with wide, appealing eyes. He pulled a packet of crisps from his jacket pocket and was rewarded with an acrobatic display of pirouettes.
‘Cheers, Mr Nash, that’s reet good o’ you. ‘Ow’s things down at t’ nick? An’ ’ow’s that lovely Sergeant Miniver? By, she’s a crackin’-looking lass, that one.’
Nash chuckled at his reference to Clara, which came from some confusion at their first encounter and had stuck. ‘Don’t let her fiancé catch you saying that. He’s ex-Special Forces, so you’d be in real bother. Anyway, they’re looking after Daniel at the moment, and taken him to Spain on holiday with them.’
He explained the reason for this, and Turner shook his head sadly. ‘It must be a bugger of a job fittin’ looking after t’ lad wi’ a full-time job like yours, wi’ no regular hours. Tha’ needs to get thisen a missus to help wi’ minding, fer when young Daniel’s not at that fancy school of ’is.’
‘No chance of that, Jonas,’ Nash said, his expression darkened with sadness, ‘and I think you know the reason.’
‘Aye, well, sorry t’ rub it in. Still hurts as much as ever, then?’
Nash shrugged. ‘I suppose so, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Most days I don’t get chance to dwell on it. I’m kept too busy for idle thoughts.’
‘You’ve a lot on, then?’
As they sipped their pints, Nash told Turner as much as he could about the cases he was handling. Having mentioned the market muggings, he added, ‘There’s also a strange case up at Thornscarr. Builders working at the hotel found some body parts that have been there for years. I was talking to Olivia Brook about it, and she suggested I have a word with you, because you might know more about what went on up there.’
Turner sniffed disdainfully. ‘There’s nowt that ’ud surprise me about that place. Reet bandit country out there, it is.’
‘Rough, is it?’
‘One way or t’ other, aye.’
Over the course of that pint and the one that followed, Nash listened with mounting interest as he ate his meal and Turner explained his cryptic comment. He talked about the horrible goings-on when there’d been a suicide, before launching into a fascinating monologue about the former owner of the Harland Estate.
‘Old man Harland, up at big ’ouse, were a reet ’un for t’ lasses, took after ’is father, and when he’d had his fill o’ t’ locals ’e started usin’ t’ imported labour. But ’is son were reckoned t’ be a different kettle o’ fish, that’s afore ’e turned up wi’ a young Eyetalian lass, a reet eyeful she is, an’ must be twenty year younger than ’im. That settled a few people’s hash, ah’ll tell thee.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, when ’e weren’t married, rumour ’ad got round that ’e preferred tradesman’s entrance, if ye get me meaning.’
‘People thought he was a homosexual?’ Nash was amused at Turner’s use of the local euphemism.
‘Aye, and it were only after ’is bride produced first o’ their five bairns that they stopped believing it.’
‘Anything else interesting about Thornscarr?’ Nash’s question was a flippant one, but Turner’s answer was highly revealing.
‘Aye, there’s that place ye mentioned at t’ start. Boar’s ’ead ’otel,’ Jonas laughed scornfully. ‘I ask yer, ’otel, they call it! It’s not what they called it round ’ere, more like Whore’s Bed. Ah reckon that’s cos they weren’t allowed t’ tell folk it were a knocking shop.’
‘A what?’
‘Oh aye, that were one of t’ best kept secrets round ’ere. Even your lot never found out. Like I said, t’ old squire, Harland were a reet tearaway. ’E’d fettle owt in a skirt apart from a Scotsman, and ahm not too sure abaht that. Anyroad, it used t’ be t’ old coachin’ ’ouse, an’ it started as a place for ’im and ’is cronies to bring their totty for dirty weekends, but then, when Harland ran short o’ brass, ’e turned it into a business. There was them as reckoned all t’ lasses as worked there were on t’ game. Local joke were about Gobblin’ teas maids. Rumour was it were doin’ reet well ’til old man Harland snuffed it, four years back, an’ then ’is son leased it out. Med a reet bugger o’ it ’e did.’
The old man lowered his voice, leaned across the table and asked Nash, ‘Did ye hear ’ow t’ old man died?’
Nash shook his head, intrigued and repelled by the revelations. ‘Talk were that ’e died on t’ job, ’ad a massive heart attack as ’e were fettling one o’ t’ lasses there. Course, there were unkind folk med lots o’ nasty snide comments. One bloke said the lass told ’im it were t’ best t’ old man ’ad ever performed, and another said summat abaht rigor mortis doin’ trick. That aside, I know fer a fact they’d t’ get one o’ t’ estate cars t’ cart him back t’ Grange where ’is body were “found” next morning.’ Turner chuckled.
Chapter Fourteen
The morning after Nash’s visit to the Miners Arms, he walked into Helmsdale Police Station as his mobile alerted him to a new text message. This one was from Daniel. He read it and smiled. Clearly, his son was enjoying his holiday, and reading between the lines, being thoroughly spoilt by Clara and David. The last part of Daniel’s text puzzled him. It read, ‘Going for a trip tomorrow. You’d like it.’
What was that all about? Nash gave a mental shrug; no doubt he’d find out in due course; probably some new water park or similar attraction.
Sergeant Binns was on the phone, and judging by his expression and tone of voice, the usually amiable uniformed officer was less than happy. Nash thought it better not to interrupt, so he waved a hand in greeting and mouthed ‘morning,’ but Binns lifted a hand, signalling him to wait. Nash halted, listening to Binns’ valedictory message.
‘You’d better get someone to bring them here immediately. Don’t get distracted or find something else with a higher priority. This situation should never have been allowed to happen. I dread to think what Inspector Nash will say when he hears about it. And as for the chief constable, if she wants to see you, I’d wear two pairs of underpants.’
Binns slammed the receiver down and glared at the phone for a second. He looked up as Nash spoke. ‘My detective skills, which you’ve occasionally called into question, lead me to deduce that something or somebody has upset you, Jack. So tell me, what it is that I’m going to be angry about?’
Binns took a deep breath before he began. ‘I was booking a guy a couple of days ago, a druggie who had tried to snatch a woman’s handbag. Well, he was drugged up, and making no sense. It was so bad that the doctor had him moved to the rehab clinic.’ After noticing the expression on Nash’s face, he added, ‘With God’s agreement,’ using the chief constable’s nickname derived from the initial letters of her name, Gloria O’Donnell, as much as from her position of authority. ‘Anyway, during the course of his ramblings he mentioned a woman’s name. He kept repeating something along the lines of ‘what are you doing about finding Samantha’. That name rang a bell when I linked it to his address. That led me to send a couple of men to the place just to check that she was there. Her full name is Samantha Frost and she has a string of convictions for shoplifting and prostitution. The officers reported back that according to the neighbours she hadn’t been seen for a good while.’
‘Go on, Jack, where is this leading?’
‘That’s where I went yesterday morning, to the rehab clinic to talk to Swift. It seems if you need something doing right, you have to do it yourself,’ he added, the anger in his voice unmistakable. ‘Swift was no longer talking gibberish, and he confirmed he hadn’t seen her for well over a week or so. Then he told me one of his mates in the pub had been drowning his sorrows, and when he got talking, it turns out h
e knew another woman that was missing, had been since early in the year. It was then that I remembered one of the lads mentioning he heard of a woman who had gone missing at Netherdale a few weeks back, another prostitute by the name of Janet Wilson. It was only hearsay, and he assumed that it had been reported. Then I looked on the system, couldn’t find anything, so I got on to Netherdale and asked Tom to check the files in reception and to look further back. He did, and found them, along with a third case back in January, an exotic dancer who worked at Club Wolfgang, among other places, and who supplemented her income by entertaining clients.’
‘In other words, she was also on the game?’
‘Exactly. She went by the stage name of Suki, but her real name is Susan Farmer. There appears to have been little or no investigation carried out into these cases. As far as I can judge, no proper MISPER file has been instigated, and CID have certainly not been informed of the disappearances, let alone given any details. For whatever reason, someone on the desk there seems to think that because these are working girls, their fate isn’t worth what they see as a waste of resources. That’s why I’ve demanded that the files be brought across, because I knew for a fact that you’d do something about it. You’ll care about what’s happened to these unfortunate women, even if nobody else does.’
‘You’re damned right, Jack, and well done for spotting it. Do you know who’s responsible? Which officer it is?’
‘It may not be an officer.’
‘Civilian?’
Binns nodded. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll deal with him, whoever it is.’
Nash thanked him, then shook his head. ‘It’s alarming that there are three such cases within our area in such a short space of time. What I’ll do is alert Jackie Fleming that we might have a potential problem, and ask her to widen the search parameters for any similar cases to include neighbouring forces. If these women have been abducted, which seems more than a possibility, then the perpetrator might have extended the range of his activities. Let me know as soon as you get those files.’