by Bill Kitson
When the chastened ARU leader had radioed the brief to the snipers, Nash told Fleming, ‘I have only one reservation with all of this.’
‘What might that be?’
‘We don’t know if Nelson is alone, or whether he might have a hostage with him.’
‘If he had, he would have made it known before now. I think that’s a chance we’ll have to take. I’m not prepared to let one of our officers bleed to death while we’re making our minds up about something that is nothing more than a possibility.’
The diversion worked. Once the rescue vehicle was in position, the marksman was given his cue and fired a percussion grenade though the window. Then the others commenced shooting at the outbuilding, carefully selecting targets to intimidate rather than inflict injury. The loud accompaniment of shattering window panes added to the dramatic effect. Moments later, their fusillade provoked an angry response from within, delivered via a rapid succession of shots fired haphazardly, which caused no injuries but enabled them to identify the shooter’s weapon. ‘It’s a five-shot semi-automatic pump action shotgun,’ the ARU leader reported. ‘From what we’ve been able to tally up, we reckon he’s already used well over two full boxes of cartridges; that means in excess of fifty shells. All of which would be useful if we knew how many he had to start with.’
As he was speaking, the rescue party completed their mission, and it was with some relief that they were able to watch the tail lights of the vehicle reach a point that was out of range of possible retaliation. Further good news came from one of the first-aiders inside the car, who reported that the wounded officer’s injuries were not as bad as they appeared, and they were nearing the ambulance.
‘Tell them we need a replacement ambulance. We must have the reserves on hand the way this is going,’ Fleming ordered.
Inside the piggery, Nelson waited, taking time to regain his composure. He stared at the remaining ammunition. It had only seemed like minutes ago that he’d had plenty, boxes of the stuff. Now he had only a handful of cartridges. ‘This is proving to be a very expensive morning,’ he muttered, ‘I think it’s time we upped the stakes somewhat.’ He placed the shotgun carefully on the bonnet of an old vehicle that was standing to one side of the piggery stalls, its outline draped in dust sheets. ‘Look after that for me,’ he said, although there was no one else in sight. ‘I might need it again soon.’
He reached down and slid the stalking rifle from its gun slip and checked the telescopic sight, making a minute adjustment before he was satisfied. ‘Now it’s time to really party,’ he said as he took aim.
Nelson only managed one shot before a bullet missed him by inches. He ducked, hoping to go beneath the line of fire. The result wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for. The second bullet that would have hit him in the abdomen pierced his right eye socket and exited the back of his head, spilling part of his brain tissue as he crashed, lifeless, to the ground.
There was a long silence.
* * *
Nelson might have only managed one shot, but its effects were catastrophic. The bullet aimed at Detective Superintendent Fleming’s head missed its target by a fraction. In his overheated excitement, Nelson had forgotten that his rifle always shot lower than the telescopic sight allowed for.
The bullet hit the bonnet of the detective’s car, ricocheting off to strike her shoulder. She cried out in distress as she slumped to the ground, losing blood and consciousness fast when her head hit the stony ground.
‘Officer down!’ Nash shouted. He dived across and covered the wound with the only thing he had available, a handkerchief, applying pressure as he tried to use his free hand to call for assistance. ‘Viv, go to my car and get the first aid kit. Then contact Netherdale control. I need that other ambulance here quick. Jackie’s been shot and it looks pretty bad.’
The ARU team member with specialist first aid training in gunshot wounds took over from Nash, and by the time the ambulance arrived, Jackie had been stabilized. Although she was still unconscious, they had at least managed to stem the blood flow.
As soon as Nash was free of his medical duties, he reassessed the situation. There had been neither sight nor sound from the piggery during the period they had been attending to Fleming. The focus now was on whether it would be advisable to risk approaching the building.
He rang the chief constable at home and put the problem to O’Donnell as succinctly as the situation allowed. ‘It could be that Nelson’s playing a waiting game, and as soon as we’re exposed, will inflict further casualties. Alternatively, he could have run out of ammo — or we might have wounded or killed him. I need some guidance as to how we should proceed.’
‘I’ll get there just as soon as I can. In the meantime, you have my backing whether you decide to go in or not. Just don’t take any chances, either yourself or with any of our men.’
If that was intended to comfort him, Nash thought, it was cold comfort at best. He called the ARU leader across, and as they sat propped up against the side of Fleming’s car facing away from the piggery they discussed the situation.
‘We could try a limited exposure tactic to try and provoke a reaction,’ the firearms officer suggested. ‘If two of my men appeared at either side of his line of sight briefly, fired a couple of shots each and then ducked back under cover, we’ll see if he’s capable and prepared to respond.’
Nash agreed, albeit reluctantly, and after briefing the men and selecting their positions carefully, they waited, the tension visible on everyone’s face. The minutes passed agonizingly slowly before both men reported they were ready. The team leader gave the order. The others watched as the men appeared, crouching as they ran forward, to use the garden wall for cover as they edged towards the outbuilding, their attitude one of obvious menace. Shots rang out, one from each officer, before they ducked down to safety. The silence after the echoes died away was long and heavy with suspense.
‘Now what?’ Nash asked.
‘I think we have to risk a more meaningful approach. What if we get someone up the path at the rear and he works along under the shattered windows with a periscope mirror. That way, we can find out exactly what’s going on and the others can cover him from here. Nelson would have to show himself if he tries to shoot the officer under the window.’
The decision made, Nash left it to the ARU team to carry out the risky operation. Ten minutes later, having successfully got within range and used his periscope mirror, the officer got to his feet.
‘All clear, the only occupant is dead from a single gunshot wound. If that’s Nelson, he’s taken after his namesake, the Admiral.’
‘Sorry, what do you mean?’ his superior asked.
‘He’s only got one eye. We must have shot the other one out.’
The rest of the ARU team advanced slowly to the barn; the leader kicked the splintered door open. ‘We’re just checking the rest of the building.’ There was a pause before the man exclaimed in horror, ‘Oh shit!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Nash was afraid they had encountered unexpected problems.
The man’s tone was grim. ‘We’ve found a head. A woman’s head. It’s been hacked from her body.’
It was Nelson’s final flourish, leaving Samantha to greet the incoming officers.
Chapter Twenty-two
Having secured the outbuilding, the ARU team went on to check the house. While they were crossing to the cottage, Nash spoke to the chief constable again.
‘I’m just leaving,’ she told him, ‘have there been any developments?’
‘Nelson’s dead. One of the ARU team’s bullets must have struck him soon after he shot Jackie. I don’t suppose you’ve had any news about her condition yet, have you?’
‘Only that she’s scheduled for emergency surgery, and first indications are that the wound isn’t life-threatening, which is a huge relief. Have you found any evidence that proves Nelson is the killer? I assume he must be, otherwise, why resist like he did?’
‘I haven’t been
inside yet, but according to what the armed officers told me, there’s a dismembered head in the outbuilding close to where he was holed up. So I think it’s safe to assume that we’ve got our man, but we don’t know the full extent of his killing spree yet. I’m very much afraid that we might discover yet more victims.’
‘What do you need?’
‘Once we’ve had the all clear to enter the house and the outbuilding we’ll need Mexican Pete and a full CSI team here — a large one at that. Also, in view of the fatality and Jackie’s injury, I suppose we’ll have to notify the Independent Police Complaints Commission. No doubt they’ll want to see that we handled this correctly.’
‘OK, I’ll contact CSI and the IPCC. I don’t suppose there’s any requirement for me to drive out there now, so I can be of more assistance acting as liaison from this end. Let me know if you need anything more.’
‘I will do that. DC Andrews should be on her way to Netherdale by now. She collected a DNA sample from a potential relative and was scheduled to drop it in first thing this morning. If you see her will you divert her here, or if not, leave a message with Jack Binns? We won’t be able to enter the premises until the CSI boys arrive, but after that, I reckon we might need all the help we can get.’
‘OK, Mike, leave that with me. I must go now. I’ve just had a message that somebody wants to see me as a matter of urgency. I don’t know what that’s about.’
The chief constable must have used the full authority of her office, because the CSI team arrived much earlier than Nash anticipated. Within minutes, he and Pearce had donned their protective suiting and overshoes and accompanied them into the outbuilding. For once, Ramirez refrained from making any remarks about Nash’s seemingly infallible ability to attract corpses. Obviously, the fresh horror of this scene, coming so quickly after the appalling discoveries at Track End Cottage, had dampened his tendency towards sarcasm.
With no evidence of rodent or insect predation to mar the appearance of the head, Nash was quickly able to identify the remains from the woman’s MISPER file. ‘That’s Samantha Frost, the most recent of the missing women,’ he told Ramirez.
Pearce hastily averted his eyes from the ghastly image of the human head staring sightlessly at them, and from the corpse of the killer gazing with one eye towards the roof. Pearce glanced nervously towards the corner of the building closest to him, apprehensive as to what he would see there. His interest was caught by a pile of objects, and after a moment he identified one of them in particular. Recognition made his heart sink.
He put his hand on Nash’s arm. ‘Mike, look over there.’ He pointed to the corner. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, isn’t that one of those portable easels that artists use when they’re travelling?’
Nash’s expression was grim as he replied, ‘It is. I guess we now know why we didn’t find any of Barton’s possessions in Track End Cottage. The only problem we now face is finding out what happened to him. I reckon that means searching for his body. For that matter, we also need to discover what happened to Kim Nelson, and I’m afraid that might mean we’re also looking for her corpse.’
He turned and spoke to Ramirez and the CSI leader, explaining the significance of the property they’d found and the grim implications. ‘I think we’re now looking for at least two more sets of remains, plus the rest of Samantha Frost’s corpse. The other victims could have been dead for at least six months, so heaven knows what condition they’ll be in.’
Before the search began, DC Andrews, dressed in the same protective clothing, appeared in the doorway. ‘I was in Helmsdale station when I got the chief’s message,’ she told Nash, ‘and apparently she’s been trying to call you but without success.’
‘Probably because there’s no signal in here,’ Nash said, glancing at his mobile. ‘What did she want, did she say?’
‘No, it was Jack Binns who passed me the message. All he said was that it was extremely urgent.’
‘OK, I’d better go outside and phone her. I won’t be long. Let’s hope it isn’t more bad news.’
His call to the chief was diverted to her secretary. ‘She’s got someone with her,’ the secretary told him, ‘but she wants you to return to Netherdale station immediately.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘No, but she made it abundantly clear this was an order, not a request.’
‘OK, I’ll brief the crime scene people and my officers, then I’ll be on my way.’
When he re-entered the building to the flashes from the photographer, two of the forensic officers were in the process of removing the sheeting that covered a vehicle in the far corner of the piggery. Nash just had time to notice that the car was a BMW 3 series. It looked to be in almost showroom condition, despite the fact that the number plate indicated the vehicle was at least twenty years old.
He collared Andrews and Pearce. ‘The chief wants me back at Netherdale. In the meantime, if you discover anything relevant I want to know about it immediately, OK? Even if it means ringing me while I’m en route — or in with the chief.’
As he began the journey from Thornscarr, Nash puzzled over the bizarre discovery of a high-quality good condition car in such a strange location. There had to be a logical explanation for it, but at that moment he couldn’t think of one.
* * *
Nash had only been on the road for a few minutes when one of the CSI team made a new discovery. Andrews was checking the mound of baggage and artist’s materials in the corner. Pearce was checking the BMW with the forensics officer who had removed the cover when a startled cry from the opposite end of the building attracted everyone’s attention. The CSI man who had called out was standing next to a black bin liner, but as they watched he backed away hastily; a look of revulsion on his face.
‘There’s a body in there,’ he said, his voice unsteady, ‘it’s all chopped up.’ He gulped and then added, ‘But there’s no head. It must be hers.’ He gestured towards the object near the entrance, now masked by an evidence bag.
Ramirez and his assistants hurried across to take possession of the remains while Pearce, now joined by Andrews, watched the other CSI members continue to check over the BMW. ‘There’s a tax disc on the far side of the windscreen,’ Andrews pointed to the left of the car. ‘Although it’s badly faded, the expiry date appears to be July 1997.’
The saloon section of the vehicle yielded nothing until they opened the glove compartment, where they found a large brown envelope containing two slim volumes that turned out to be diaries. These were handed to the forensics men for later examination. As they were sealing the books in yet another evidence bag, Pearce muttered to Andrews, ‘It’s to be hoped they brought a big enough supply of bags. They’ve used a few already, and we haven’t even started on the house.’
They moved to the rear of the vehicle, where the CSI men were about to open the boot. As they looked inside, all four officers took an involuntary step back, as if choreographed. ‘I think you should get Mexican Pete,’ Andrews told Pearce, ‘while I update Mike. He said to let him know if we found anything relevant, and I reckon this certainly qualifies.’
Pearce was still staring at the twin sets of human remains in the boot. ‘I agree,’ he said after a moment, ‘there can’t be an innocent explanation for hiding two sets of remains inside a car stored in a locked, disused outbuilding in the middle of nowhere.’
Andrews left Pearce to liaise with the pathologist and went outside, where she took a deep breath of fresh air before calling Nash.
‘Lisa, what have you got?’ Nash asked immediately.
She could tell by the tension in his voice that he was expecting bad news. ‘We’ve found the missing body parts we believe belong to the head you identified as Samantha Frost,’ she began, ‘then, just a couple of minutes ago we opened the boot of that old BMW.’ Lisa gulped before continuing, ‘Inside we found two more bodies. Like the others, all chopped up, but these were skeletons. We’re waiting on Mexican Pete to examine them. I think we migh
t have found Donny Barton and Mrs Nelson.’
‘This nightmare just continues to get worse,’ Nash said. ‘Are you OK? How about Viv?’
‘We’re fine, Mike. It was a bit startling, that’s all, even though we half-expected something like that.’
‘OK, stick with it, and let me know if anything else turns up. Which means,’ he added, ‘that I’m hoping not to hear from you. I’m nearly at Netherdale.’
‘And I’m hoping I don’t have to call you,’ Lisa muttered as she turned and headed back to the barn.
* * *
Nash was relieved to reach the car park at HQ without receiving further grim tidings from Thornscarr. Thinking over what Lisa had told him he was now convinced that the bodies found in the boot of the BMW would turn out to be those of the missing artist, Donny Barton, and Nelson’s wife, Kim. He wondered if the two had been lovers, and if so, had their liaison led to their murders and the killing spree that followed. Alternatively, it could have been nothing more than the fevered imagination of Nelson’s sick mind that had prompted him to go on the rampage, seeking out vulnerable women as victims. If Barton’s relationship with Kim Nelson had been merely a casual acquaintance, they had both paid dearly for it. Being in close proximity in such an isolated spot might have caused Nelson to put a totally erroneous spin on their behaviour.
When Nash entered the headquarters building he headed straight to the top floor, where the chief constable’s suite was located. On reaching the outer office, he waited for a second as her secretary was on the phone, but immediately she looked up he was given hand signals pointing towards the inner sanctum. He knocked on the door and was bidden to enter.
In addition to Chief Constable O’Donnell, there were three other people in her office. The chief greeted Nash and introduced him to the first of these, a man of about Nash’s age, who rose to his feet and shook hands. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Baines from Greater Manchester CID,’ she told him. ‘He and a colleague have driven over from Manchester this morning bringing with them a man and woman who were arrested when they got off the Paris flight first thing. I believe you might recognize them.’