CHAIN REACTION an absolutely addictive crime thriller with a huge twist

by Bill Kitson

  ‘I need to think this over,’ Jackie told him. ‘It’s a very tricky situation we’re in. Normally, I’d say let’s go to the pub and thrash it out, but that scarcely seems appropriate. Give me a while to digest all the implications.’

  Nash didn’t reply, and when Fleming glanced at him, looking for a response or some sign that he’d heard her comments, she noticed that he had that familiar, faraway expression on his face. Something she’d said, or something he’d repeated, or perhaps even something he’d witnessed in the mortuary had triggered a train of thought, and she knew better than to interrupt. Along with her colleagues, Fleming was aware that often, when he appeared to be daydreaming, Nash later emerged with facts or theories that would lead to a case being solved. She wandered a couple of yards away and attempted to compose her own thoughts.

  The pathologist’s prediction about the shortened timescale of the procedures proved correct, and they emerged soon after lunchtime into the pale sunlight of a cold April day.

  As they walked across the car park to their vehicles, Fleming spoke; the first time either of them had said anything since Nash had outlined his reservations about Barton’s guilt. ‘Having heard your side of the story, and with the benefit of the fingerprint evidence, I’m convinced that your theory is the correct one. Like you, I don’t believe Barton acted with an accomplice, and that means we’ll have to start looking for someone totally different. But the question is, where do we go from here? We can’t simply act in direct defiance of Chief O’Donnell’s orders.’

  ‘Although Barton might not be the murderer, we still need to account for him,’ Nash pointed out. ‘He disappeared as completely as those poor women, leaving the cottage he’d rented without a trace of him ever occupying it apart from those fingerprints. That being so, the chief’s nationwide hunt for him is as equally relevant as a missing person as it would be if he was a murder suspect, and the media coverage could be extremely useful in our efforts to locate him.’

  Nash paused to allow Fleming time to digest this before changing tack slightly. ‘As for trying to track the guilty party, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with pursuing a different line of enquiry. Simply because we have what, in the chief’s eyes, is a prime suspect doesn’t prevent us from exploring other avenues of investigation, or lead us to ignore other potential culprits. I admit that as things stand we’re faced with the difficulty that there are no such candidates, but that’s partly due to this being the early stages of our inquiry, and we haven’t been given the opportunity to look elsewhere. Doing so wouldn’t be running contrary to the chief’s orders; it would simply be good police procedure. At present, for example, although we have suspicions as to the identity of the victims, we have no concrete proof that these are four of the five missing prostitutes, and until we follow up on Viv and Lisa’s work in tracing their relatives by obtaining DNA, we can’t even dignify them with their real names.’

  ‘I agree with everything you’ve said, Mike. But that leads me back to my original question, how do we proceed from here?’

  ‘I’ve been dwelling on that while we were in there, and I have a couple of ideas, one of which I have to thank you for. I believe our priority should be to get those DNA samples. In the meantime, I’m off to the pub tonight.’

  Fleming stared at him in astonishment. Nash wasn’t a great drinker; that she knew, and such behaviour was most unlike him. She began to wonder if the chief constable’s intransigence was contagious. Nash saw her surprise and grinned. ‘Don’t worry, the case hasn’t turned me into an alcoholic overnight. Your mention of a pub sparked a memory, so I’m going to seek out an old friend who might have some interesting background material. Whether my research will yield anything pertinent or be simply a wild goose chase is open to doubt, but last time I saw him, he mentioned a couple of facts that have roused my curiosity.’

  ‘Good enough. I’ll leave you to get on with it, but keep me in the loop if you do find anything worthwhile. In the meantime I’ll ask Andrews and Pearce to get those samples ASAP.’

  * * *

  The local news bulletin was on TV, and one of the room’s two occupants was watching with rapt attention as the details of the events at Track End Cottage unfolded. The media conference footage was followed by an image of Donny Barton’s face, ironically culled from the artist’s own website, to which, in addition to the caption entitled ‘The man police want to interview’. The anchor described Barton as a “well-known artist who is believed to be the prime suspect in the gruesome murders of at least four women. The artist rented the cottage for a six-month period late last year and hasn’t been seen since then.”

  As the bulletin changed to another topic, the viewer switched the set off. ‘I know it isn’t perfect,’ he told his companion, ‘but it’s the best I could have wished for in the circumstances, don’t you think?’

  She failed to respond, and to be fair, he no longer expected her to. He’d become used to Samantha ignoring him ever since he’d brutally raped and strangled her. He walked over to where she was lying on the settee, as if asleep, and noticed with satisfaction that the effects of rigor mortis had worn off. ‘I think it’s time for your operation, my dear,’ he told her. ‘I know you’re going to be a bit cut up about it, but it can’t be helped.’

  He giggled slightly at his pun before continuing, ‘Storage has become such a problem since the police put a stop to me using my last venue. But then,’ he added reflectively, ‘come to think of it, storage has always been something of a concern round here.’

  Chapter Twenty

  It was shortly after eight o’clock when Nash reached The Miners Arms, but he was still there before Jonas Turner. The old man Nash wanted to talk to arrived only a few minutes later, by which time the detective had already ordered him a pint and purchased a packet of crisps. Turner’s dog, whose sense of smell had not declined with advancing years, detected Nash’s presence immediately and deserted his owner, knowing that the friend would have some form of tasty sustenance for him.

  By the time Turner joined Nash at his usual seat at the table by the window, the terrier was already munching his way through a handful of crisps thoughtfully provided for his enjoyment.

  ‘By gum, Mr Nash, ah’m reet surprised t’ see thee ’ere,’ Turner greeted him, ‘be what ah ’eard and saw on t’ telly, I thought thee’d be up t’ thy armpits in corpses, not sittin’ ’ere swiggin’ a pint. What’s going on up t’ road, then?’ Turner accompanied the question with a gesture in the general direction of Thornscarr.

  Nash shrugged. ‘There’s not a lot I’m allowed to say, Jonas, except what you might have gathered from the news. I will say that it has to be one of the most horrific and gruesome cases I’ve ever had to deal with. You’ll have heard where those corpses were found, no doubt?’

  Turner nodded. ‘Aye, somewhere in Thornscarr, weren’t it? Funny we were only talkin’ abaht the place a week or so back. Mind you,’ he added, ‘there’s little ‘u’d surprise me abaht yon spot. A rum hole at best o’ times.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper as he asked, ‘Is it true they were all chopped t’ bits?’

  Nash shook his head. ‘I can’t comment one way or the other, Jonas. Let me explain why I wanted a word with you. Last time we were talking, you mentioned something horrible that happened up there a while back, a suicide, I think you said, but you left out all the details. Would you care to elaborate on that?’

  ‘Aye, well it were twenty years or so since. It were another rum do; but then the bloke as topped hissen were a weird sort o’ character.’

  ‘Tell me more.’ Nash encouraged the old man, listening intently as he continued feeding the Jack Russell with crisps.

  Turner eyed him with suspicion. ‘Is this what they call professional interest or just a load o’ gossip?’

  Nash smiled. ‘Maybe a little of both, Jonas. How did you mean when you said the guy who committed suicide was a strange bloke?’

  ‘Aaron Nelson his nam
e were — ’is missus were a reet eyeful, made me wonder what she saw in ’im, but then she ’ad other things t’ think abaht. Anyroad, story were that she upped and buggered off wi’ a fancy man. After she’d gone, Aaron couldn’t thoile to be on his tod wit’ young un t’ mind. It got too much for ’im, an’ he stuck a .12 bore in his gob and pulled trigger.’

  ‘Oh, very messy.’

  ‘Aye, well, young Elijah, Aaron’s kid, found t’ body when ’e came home from school. That’s tale as went the rounds and t’ coroner were obviously happy abaht it, cos ’e ruled it as suicide, but ah reckon there were a bit more to it than that.’

  ‘You don’t think it was suicide?’

  ‘Oh aye, ’e topped hissen reet enough. It were t’ rest o’ t’ yarn I ’ad me doubts on.’

  ‘What do mean by that?’

  Turner scratched one ear reflectively as he thought about the best way to put it. ‘What puzzled me then, and allus ’as, is ’ow come nobody’s seen ’ide nor ’air of Elijah’s mother since the day Aaron told everyone she’d scarpered wi’ ’er fancy man. That were weird too, almost like ’e were trying t’ convince folk that were what ’appened.’

  ‘You think something else went on?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Turner looked at Nash slyly. ‘I’m not a detective same as thee. Ah never gave it much of a thought till ah started talking wi’ Elijah’s missus. She told me Elijah’s never ’eard or seen ’is mum either. Now that’s not reet. She were fond enough o’ t’ lad when ’e were a nipper, so ah’d ’ave thought she’d ’ave come running when she learned what happened to ’is father, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘It seems logical. You said it was the son Elijah’s wife you were chatting to. I take it he still lives round here.’

  ‘Aye, ’e does that; in t’ same ’ouse on t’ estate. That must be ’ard after what ’e saw there. Elijah’s ’ead gamekeeper fer t’ estate.’

  ‘I guess it must be. But if he’s happily married with kids to care for, a tied cottage will be worth a lot.’

  ‘I dunno so much abaht happily married, but ah do know there are no kids. Elijah’s every bit a difficult character as ’is father were, so mebbe all’s not well in t’ bedroom department. That’ll be summat else you’re more of an expert on than me.’

  Nash grimaced. ‘Not so much these days, Jonas.’

  ‘Aye, well yer still young. Plenty o’ time to put that reet.’

  ‘When you said Elijah is as difficult as his father, what did you mean?’

  ‘Ah mean ’e’s got a reet short fuse and a mean vindictive streak. Got in trouble over his temper a while back, an’ that were another reet rum do.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Jonas studied for a moment. ‘It were afore old man Harland kicked t’ bucket. Lad got into a fight in Helmsdale; reckoned some bloke ’ad made a comment abaht ’is missus. Anyroad, Elijah were up afore t’ beak and got hissen a conviction fer assault.’

  Nash smiled at the reference. He supposed anyone under forty years of age would be a lad to Jonas. ‘What was odd about that? Such things happen quite often; otherwise, we might be out of work.’

  Turner chuckled. ‘What were rum were t’ way estate owner stuck up fer ’im; allus ’ad done. Old man Harland took care of ’im after ’is father’s death. Then didn’t sack ’im when they should ’ave, an’ gave ’im a glowing reference in court. Rumour ’as it they got ’im a fancy solicitor. Ah reckon that probably saved ’im from going inside. Got off wi’ a fine, and that there community service. Wi’ Harland’s reputation wi’ t’ lasses, it med me wonder if Elijah might a been one of ’is bastards. There cud a bin a few o’ em, ah reckon. Might also explain why Aaron Nelson weren’t over bothered about leavin’ t’ lad alone when ’e topped hissen’

  ‘You said you’d met Elijah’s wife; what’s she like?’

  ‘Kim, ’er name is, and she’d be reet up your alley if she weren’t spoken fer. A reet bonny lass, wi’ a sweet smile and a cracking figure. As bonny as Elijah’s Mum, ah recall — in fact, now ah come t’ think on it, if the light weren’t too strong yu’d almost tek ’em fer sisters.’

  ‘How come you know her so well?’

  ‘Ah wouldn’t say ah know ’er that well, but ah chat t’ ’er every week on t’ Dales Bus. I allus get t’ sit next t’ ’er if ah can — or at least ah used to.’ Turner’s face clouded with disappointment as he continued, ‘I reckon either Elijah’s bought ’er a car or she’s got use o’ one from t’ estate, cos she stopped using t’ bus a while back.’

  ‘When was that, can you remember?’

  ‘Ah’m not reet sure, Mr Nash, mebbe six months or so since. It were afore Christmas, ah can tell thee that.’

  ‘How come you’re so certain?’

  The old man chuckled. ‘Ah picked a sprig o’ mistletoe and kept it in me pocket every time ah took bus, in case ah got to sit wi’ ’er, but ah never got chance t’ use it; more’s pity.’

  ‘You’re an old rascal, Jonas. Do you fancy another pint?’ Nash got to his feet, but only picked up the old man’s glass.

  ‘Aye, why not, all this gabbin’ meks you thirsty — and not so much o’ the old, there’s no need t’ rub it in. Going are ye?’

  ‘Sorry, Jonas, can’t stay. Early start tomorrow.’

  Back home, Nash glanced at the clock before picking up his mobile. He decided to make the calls. He spoke to Fleming first and outlined what he’d heard from Turner. ‘What concerns me most is that Nelson’s wife hasn’t been seen since around the time these other victims started to go missing. That may be coincidental, but—’

  ‘I know, I know, you don’t believe in coincidences. OK, what do you suggest?’

  Nash outlined his idea. Normally, he wouldn’t have needed to consult before acting, but given the chief constable’s opposition to alternative theories, felt it wise to cover his back.

  Fleming gave her approval, adding, ‘I’ll come into Helmsdale first thing tomorrow and see what you’ve discovered. Then we might be able to move forward.’ She paused, before adding, ‘Are you thinking what I am about Barton’s disappearance and the fact that Kim Nelson hasn’t been seen for several months?’

  ‘I’m afraid I am. The fact that there’s no trace of him at Track End cottage and that Nelson’s house is around a mile away concerns me deeply. If I remember correctly, no one’s been to Nelson’s property to make inquiries, probably because they didn’t know it existed. By what Turner told me, Kim Nelson is extremely attractive, and if Barton and she became close, her husband might have gone off the rails. And if my theory’s right, that might mean we’ve another two bodies to account for.’

  After ending the call to Fleming, Nash rang Pearce’s mobile. Lianne answered, explaining that Viv was changing the baby’s nappy. After asking her how she and the baby were, he reassured her, ‘It isn’t urgent. But I know Viv is intending to go to Teesside tomorrow to collect a DNA sample. However, there’s been a change in plan. He might still be able to do that, but I want him to come into Helmsdale station first thing — in fact, as early as he can manage.’

  ‘I’ll make sure Viv’s in early. I’ll move Brian’s crib so it’s on Viv’s side of the bed. That will act better than any alarm clock. Hold on, Mike, he’s here now.’

  ‘I know this is unorthodox, Viv, but is there any chance you can have a quiet word with your neighbour Alf from the CSI squad? Ask him for a favour, we don’t have time to join a queue on this. Try bribery, tell him next time you’re on leave or rest days you’ll neglect to notice if he pops home during his shift, or something like that.’

  * * *

  Sergeant Jack Binns wasn’t easily shocked, but when he arrived at Helmsdale Police Station that Wednesday morning he was startled to see that three of his colleagues’ vehicles were already in the car park; this was becoming too regular. He might have expected Mike Nash’s car to be there, as the detective often came in early, especially in recent times, when there were no female distractions to keep him in bed late. On
occasion, DC Pearce had arrived before or at about the same time as Binns, but to see Detective Superintendent Fleming’s car in Helmsdale at that hour was virtually unheard of.

  Binns hurried into the building and almost ran upstairs to the CID suite, concerned that an emergency or something equally momentous had happened of which he was unaware. He opened the door and the trio of detectives in the general office turned from their inspection of the computer screen in front of them, to glance at the intruder.

  ‘Morning, Jack,’ Nash greeted him with a smile.

  Binns took a deep breath. ‘Is something wrong? Have I missed a shout, or have you caught that Barton guy? If not, all I can think is that there’s been an outbreak of a new disease called contagious amnesia.’

  ‘There’s nothing to panic about, Jack,’ Fleming reassured him, ‘it’s nowhere near as serious as you might think. All we’re doing is following up on some information Mike obtained last night. It’s imperative that we tackle it as our first priority.’

  Binns sighed again, this time with relief. ‘Thank goodness for that. I was afraid somebody had discovered yet more bodies.’

  Nash shuddered as Binns’ suggestion matched his worst fears. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  ‘No, I won’t. Instead, I’ll think about brewing some coffee, if anyone’s interested.’

  There was complete harmony in the three replies — all of them in the affirmative. As he was heading for the kitchen, Binns heard Pearce say, ‘Here it is, I think this is the file we’re after.’

  During Binns’ absence, the detectives read the information on the screen pertaining to the arrest of Elijah Nelson. ‘I find it interesting that the Harland Estate made a specific request for Nelson’s firearms licence not to be revoked, citing possession of such weapons was necessary given his occupation,’ Nash commented. ‘That would seem to bear out Jonas Turner’s insinuation that Nelson was somehow being looked after.’

  ‘Yes, look who represented him! That would have cost a fair bit. Perhaps Nelson has some sort of influence over the estate owner,’ Viv said.