CHAIN REACTION an absolutely addictive crime thriller with a huge twist

by Bill Kitson

  She joined him and they listened together. After a few seconds, she heard it too, a faint, rustling sound. It was almost as if someone had moved something. Paper, perhaps, or plastic. Milly saw Lee’s hand reach for the door handle and her panic spiralled almost out of control. ‘Don’t, Lee. Don’t open that door. Don’t go in. Let’s get out of here. Let’s go back to my house. I don’t care anymore if someone finds out about us. I don’t care if the whole county knows what we’re doing. I just don’t want to stay here. Please?’

  ‘It’ll be all right, trust me,’ he reassured her. ‘We’ll just have a quick look, then we’ll go.’

  He opened the door.

  Instantly, they recoiled in revulsion, both at the swarm of bluebottles that surrounded them, and the appalling stench from within the room. As the insects dispersed, the sound of their buzzing anger was replaced. Into the silence, they heard the sound of footsteps. Small, faint, scampering, scrabbling steps, as tiny paws tried for a grip on the tiled surface of the kitchen floor.

  Lee recovered and shone his torch inside. At the edge of the beam, they could see light reflecting from several pairs of bright, beady, avaricious eyes. In the centre of the room was a table that was swamped with what appeared to be dried blood. On the centre of the surface was a large joint. The meat was covered with hundreds upon hundreds of bluebottles and their junior partners; a colony of writhing, squirming maggots.

  Strangely, the meat on the table was not the focus of the rats’ attention. Lee moved his torch, the beam reflecting his shaking hand. As it illuminated the quartet of black bin liners in the corner of the room, they could see that the rats had been tearing with frantic urgency at the plastic, their sharp claws ripping the bags and allowing some of the contents to spill out.

  The young couple looked on in horrified fascination as one of the bags moved from the stress of countless creatures inside, each competing for their share of the rations. The movement caused a further item to slip into the entrance hole the rats had created. At first, Milly thought it was a bunch of sausages that the tenants had thrown away. Then, with a fresh level of horror, she saw them more clearly, and realized that sausages don’t wear nail varnish.

  Milly began to scream, the sound of her hysteria disturbing the diners, who began diving from the sacks, scurrying in all directions.

  By now, the torch was almost beyond Lee’s control. As he swung round to leave the kitchen, Milly clutched his arm. Her screams grew louder. Then Lee saw what had terrified her. Picked out by the torch beam, in gut-churning clarity, was the kitchen sink and its contents: heads. Four human heads, their cheeks scarred by the rodents’ claws as they gouged for the tasty morsels provided by the eyeballs. As Milly vomited noisily on the dining room carpet, Lee’s final vision of the kitchen before he slammed the door shut was the eyeless horror of those heads.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mike Nash was watching TV. Or rather, the set was turned on but he wasn’t paying the screen any attention. The after-effects of a long and stressful week had been, in part, alleviated by a walk along the banks of the River Helm near to Smelt Mill Cottage followed by a good meal, and had combined to send him to sleep in the armchair. As he had volunteered to be on call, he had foregone the chance of even a single glass of wine. Nevertheless, soon after settling to watch a promising programme, he was asleep. The shrill tone of the telephone woke him.

  ‘Mike? Jack Binns, sorry to disturb you, but we’ve got a really bad one.’ It had to be bad, Nash thought, otherwise Netherdale Control would have phoned him. Binns must already have been called to open Helmsdale station, which meant they were anticipating trouble.

  ‘Go on, Jack, tell me the worst.’

  ‘A couple of teenagers in Thornscarr broke into an empty holiday cottage and found a load of body parts in plastic bin liners. Mike,’ — Binns gulped, emotion threatening to overcome him — ‘it’s so bad we can’t even tell how many corpses there are, but so far we’ve found four heads.’

  ‘Four? Did you say four?’

  ‘Yes, apparently the kitchen is like a meat market. The only reason they can be certain there are at least four is because they found the heads in the sink.’

  Nash felt his stomach churn. Some things you never get hardened to. He wondered what state the youngsters who made the grim discovery were in. ‘Give me the details.’ His voice was calm, which was far away from how he was feeling.

  Binns recited the address, before adding, ‘I’ve raised Mexican Pete. He’s organizing a forensic team to go out there. Will you call DC Andrews?’

  Nash thought for a moment. With Detective Superintendent Fleming away at a weekend conference, he would have to brief the chief constable on the event. ‘I’ll do that, and I’ll also phone God and let her know.’

  * * *

  Obtaining the address from Binns had hardly been necessary. As Nash approached the outskirts of Thornscarr, the cluster of blue flashing lights illuminating through the trees would have guided him better than any directions. Even sat-nav couldn’t have pinpointed the crime scene more accurately. A patrol car was parked on the main street, near the entrance to the lane, beyond which Nash thought he spotted DC Lisa Andrews’ car. She lived closest to Thornscarr and had obviously headed straight there. Nash recognized a reporter from the Netherdale Gazette talking to another man he didn’t know. ‘Didn’t take them long,’ he muttered to himself.

  After entering Nash’s name on the log, an officer directed him along the track. Nash noted the property was on the Harland Estate. Not only that, he thought, but the cottage was only a short distance from the hotel where the fingers had been found.

  He neared the cottage and saw two more gaudily-painted patrol cars had been pulled round so their headlights illuminated the front of the building. Nash pulled up behind and took his bag from the boot. He ducked under the incident tape and headed down the path to the front door, where two uniformed officers were standing. Both men looked pale, and the younger of the two appeared badly shaken.

  ‘Have you seen DC Andrews?’ Nash asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. She’s down the road looking after the kids who found this lot,’ one of them replied. ‘She’s going to try and get them to tell her exactly what happened. Apparently she knows one of them, but they’re both in such a hysterical state I doubt she’ll get much sense from them. Not that I blame them for that,’ the man added, jerking a thumb towards the building, ‘not from what I saw in there.’

  ‘Did DC Andrews go inside?’

  ‘Only briefly.’

  ‘Jack Binns only gave me the barest detail. Is it bad?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s bad, right enough,’ the older officer told him. ‘It’s the worst I’ve seen by a long chalk, even after twenty years dealing with RTAs and the mangled remains from them.’

  ‘Right, I’d better get kitted out and have a look.’ He took a protective suit from his bag and began to put it on. ‘The pathologist and the CSI team should be arriving shortly, and I asked Binns to invite DC Pearce to the party. I wouldn’t want him to feel left out.’

  * * *

  ‘Madre de Dios!’ For Ramirez to lapse into Spanish, Nash thought, things were really bad. The pathologist looked up from where he was crouched in front of the bin liners. Shaking them to remove the last of their uninvited guests had been his first chore. He reverted to English. ‘Whoever has done this is totally insane.’

  ‘I’d sort of guessed that,’ Nash acknowledged. He flinched and screwed up his face, not just at the spectacle in front of him, but at the appalling smell that accompanied the terrible sight. Even the decongestant smeared liberally beneath his nose behind his facemask did nothing to block the overpowering stench.

  After viewing the crime scene for the first time, Nash had barred Pearce from entering what he had heard one of the constables refer to as ‘Hell’s Kitchen’. He’d found Pearce struggling into his protective suit and told him not to bother. He explained, pointing out that there would be less risk of contaminatin
g the scene and adding that the fewer people forced to endure the grisly sight, the better. ‘Believe me, Viv, you really don’t want to see what’s in there — or smell it, for that matter.’ He hadn’t noticed that the smell now permeated the air around the cottage.

  Even the CSI expert who was taking the crime scene photos had emerged from the house to deposit a large portion of his evening meal into a rose bush before bracing himself to re-enter the building.

  Instead, Nash told Pearce to go and help Lisa Andrews talk to the youngsters who had discovered the body. ‘I want you to keep an eye on all three of them,’ he explained.

  Viv blinked in surprise. ‘All three?’

  ‘Lisa saw what was in there as much as the kids. More so, I guess, because she would have followed her training and checked the room over. I can only begin to imagine what they’re going through. I’ve seen more than my fair share of revolting spectacles in my time, but I can’t think of anything to equal the gruesome sight that’s in there.’

  ‘What about you? Will you be OK?’

  ‘I’ll have to be — that’s what I’m paid for.’

  He had just sent Pearce on his way when one of the CSI team approached him.

  ‘This scene might look as if there would be plenty of trace evidence about, but I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ the forensics officer told the detective. ‘Actually, I would hold your breath, but not in the way I meant it. Having given the room the once-over, all we’ve spotted is what appears to be a partial print on the table, but I doubt that it’s going to be enough for a potential match; besides which, it could belong to one of the victims. I should warn you not to get impatient, because it could be a long job going through this lot. One thing that might be important is that there’s no sign of forced entry other than the window that the kids used tonight, and it looks as if that had been left open. I believe that the only way the killer could have got into the house is with a key.’

  ‘Is there any sign of someone living there? It is a holiday cottage, and although it’s early season, there might have been a tenant.’

  ‘Apart from what was in the kitchen, there was absolutely nothing to indicate that anyone has used the house. There were certainly no items of clothing or other personal possessions that you would expect if there was a sitting tenant.’

  As he finished speaking, the pathologist emerged. Until Ramirez spoke, Nash assumed that he had merely come outside for a breath of fresh air. Not that he could be blamed for that. However, even if that had been his prime motive, he was also able to update Nash on his preliminary findings. ‘There were four victims; all women in their twenties or thirties, by what I can piece together.’

  ‘Is that a joke? If so, it’s about the sickest I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘Maybe you should contact the local toyshop,’ Ramirez continued. ‘I could do with a jigsaw expert to assist at the post-mortem.’

  ‘If you’ve finished polishing your stand-up comedy routine, could you tell me if you found anything useful in there?’ Nash asked pointedly.

  The pathologist sighed. ‘At first glance, I’m assuming dismemberment was achieved with the assistance of a chainsaw,’ he explained. ‘At a guess, I’d say that meant it was done during the daytime, when the noise would be less likely to attract attention. Judging by the blood spatter in that room, I’d suggest the victims might have been alive when they were operated on, but if they were, they must have been sedated heavily, perhaps with something that lowered the blood pressure dramatically before the killer commenced carving. Tests at the mortuary will confirm all this. Again, I’ll have to do more work before I can establish when they were killed, but judging by the advanced stages of decomposition of at least two of them, I’d say they all died between one month and six months ago. In one case, possibly a little longer.’

  He paused and stared at Nash for a while, his expression grave. ‘I know you’ve had to deal with your fair share of evil characters since we’ve known one another, Mike, but watch out for this one. Based on what’s inside there, it doesn’t take a psychiatrist to work out that whoever is responsible is way off the charts as far as human behaviour is concerned. If you get close enough to tackle him, make sure you have all the protection and body armour you can put on. Either that, or talk to him from inside an armoured personnel carrier.’

  It wasn’t only the message that conveyed the depth of Ramirez’ concern, but the fact that he’d used Nash’s Christian name.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be extra careful.’

  ‘Think of all the grieving women should anything happen to you. The funeral cortege would stretch for miles,’ Ramirez added.

  * * *

  The attention of the driver approaching Thornscarr was attracted by the blue lights in the distance, much as Nash had been earlier. These had now been supplemented by emergency lights powered by generators.

  He pulled his Land Rover to a halt and reversed into a field gateway to observe proceedings. As he stared towards the hamlet, he frowned with mild annoyance. He wondered briefly how the police had become alerted to the contents of the cottage. Not by a tenant, of that he was well aware. But, if not a tenant, who had told them?

  That was of less importance than how the police operation would impinge on his plans. ‘This rather alters things, my dear,’ he murmured. His companion didn’t answer or give any indication that she either heard or understood what he’d said.

  ‘I hadn’t counted on this. Obviously, someone has alerted the authorities to the presence of your colleagues. I’ll have to come up with an alternative scheme. Let’s call it Plan B, shall we?’

  Again, the driver’s comments failed to evoke a response. He pondered the unwelcome development for some time. It had been his intention to place all the remains in Track End Cottage, ensuring the activity ceased by the end of April, but this idea had now been thwarted. However, with all trace of the previous occupant’s presence having gone, the remnants of the plan still remained in place — indeed, the pivotal section of the scheme could still work.

  ‘Good news, my dear, all is not lost. That evil man who preys upon other people’s property is still going to be blamed — and there is a measure of retribution in that. All we must do is to ensure suitable alternative arrangements can be made for you.’

  He thought for a moment, and then added, ‘I have the solution. I was concerned that you might be lonely, but my new idea will ensure that you’ll still have company. Indeed, there is already someone waiting there to greet you — and I can easily find you more like-minded friends.’

  Yet again the driver’s remarks elicited no response. This was hardly surprising, as Samantha Frost had been dead for several days.

  * * *

  Nash waited outside Track End Cottage, pondering what the pathologist and forensics officer had told him. He had little doubt that the remains would prove to be the women who had gone missing over the past few months, but where was the fifth victim? His other immediate priority had to be identifying the person or persons who had keys to the property and had been able to gain entry without forcing a door or window. As the place was a holiday let, that would mean involving the estate management.

  Nash got on his mobile and rang Jack Binns. ‘I need you to contact the Harland Estate. I want the owner or estate manager here pronto, and I need them to bring details of anyone holding a key to this place. Forensics told me the doors and windows weren’t forced, so the killer has to have access to a key.’

  Ramirez rejoined Nash. ‘I’ve done as much as I can inside there for the moment. I need my assistants.’ The pathologist gestured towards the house as he ripped his gloves from his hands. ‘I’ll also need them to move the bodies to the mortuary, but that will have to wait until tomorrow at the earliest, when Scene of Crime has finished. I think it would be advisable for anyone who was unfortunate enough to view that scene to be referred for counselling, where they can be interviewed by a psychologist specializing in post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m particularly r
eferring to those who came upon the horror without prior warning as to what to expect. That would include not only the kids who found the bodies, but those traffic officers who were first on scene, and DC Andrews. It might be that you will also need to talk to someone about it, but you were at least forewarned as to the ghastly nature of what was inside beforehand.’

  ‘I’ll be OK. I wouldn’t say I was expecting anything this bad, but I had a growing suspicion that something terrible had happened to some women who had been reported missing. That being the case, identification could be conducted by DNA matching.’

  ‘That would be advisable in any case, because I don’t think any relative or acquaintance of these poor unfortunate souls should be compelled to witness the state of the remains. What can you tell me about the victims?’

  ‘Actually, there have been five disappearances notified within the past seven months or so, all women of about the age you suggested, and all involved in the sex trade, which means that one victim still remains unaccounted for. That concerns me, as does the identity of the person responsible for all this. However, as the locks and windows weren’t forced, we should have a reasonably short suspect list. That, in turn, should enable us to wrap up the whole sorry mess reasonably quickly. I’ll get the MISPER files sent through to you as soon as I’m able, and then I’ll have to start the process of identifying next of kin.’

  He was still dwelling on this when Pearce returned. ‘How’s Lisa holding up?’ Nash asked.

  ‘Bloody well, judging by what she must have seen. She’s just finishing up trying to question the kids who found the bodies, not that she’s been able to get much sense from them. I think she wants to know what to do next. The girl’s parents are at a show in Sheffield, so we can’t contact them; their mobiles are off. The boy’s mother works at Netherdale General, and Lisa’s trying to get hold of her. She’s met her before. Guess who the boy is?’

  ‘This is no time for games, Viv.’

  ‘You won’t believe it. Lee, our young cameraman from the market muggers.’