Killing Christmas (2019 Reissue)

by Bill Kitson

  ‘We’ll soon put you out of your misery,’ Nash promised.

  The raid went according to plan. The two men occupying the house were cautioned. ‘Where’s Dr North?’ Nash asked.

  ‘Who?’ One of the men replied, but Nash saw the involuntary glance the other made towards the stairs.

  Nash signalled to Mironova. She took the steps two at a time and was gone less than five minutes. She returned, shaking her head. ‘There’s nobody up there,’ she reported.

  Nash’s disappointment was obvious, but not half as patent as the astonishment on the two detained men’s faces. ‘Take them to the station for questioning,’ he instructed Binns, who was in charge of the uniformed contingent. ‘I want a sweep doing of the gardens and all the surrounding area. This is the man we’re looking for.’

  He gestured to Mironova, who pulled out a set of photos of North. They were taken from his passport renewal. It’s a well-known fact that passport photos never do the subject justice. North’s aged him considerably.

  Pearce looked over Clara’s shoulder. ‘Oh shit!’ he exclaimed.

  Nash looked up. ‘What’s wrong, Viv?’

  ‘That man I told you I’d seen in the street. The one I thought was a tramp. I reckon it might have been Dr North. He can’t have gone far.’

  One mistake was compounded by another. Nash called in patrol cars to help in the search. Despite scouring the streets surrounding the house, they found no trace of the missing scientist. If they’d thought to look on the bus that passed three of the patrol cars, they might have spotted him. But they didn’t.

  They weren’t to know North would catch the bus. How could they, when he hadn’t planned to. He saw the bus approaching. Saw the destination board. The name was familiar. He was close enough to a stop for the driver to brake and let him on. North fumbled in his pocket and found some change. ‘Single to Gorton, please.’

  He took the ticket and walked down the aisle. The single-decker bus was all but empty – only a fat, middle-aged woman and an extremely elderly man, who appeared to be asleep. North took a seat near the back. Why had he got on the bus? He wasn’t sure, but the name sounded familiar. Gorton, he felt sure he ought to know it. But he couldn’t think why. Maybe it would come back to him when he got there.

  Nash waited with Mironova and Binns for reports. The team of uniformed officers had left the van parked outside the house, together with the CID officers’ cars. As they were waiting, none of them paid any attention to the car that drove slowly past. Smith swore as he saw the collection of vehicles. How had they found this place? He turned the corner and headed towards town. No point in wasting time. His boss had to know the latest setback. He pressed the short code on his mobile and waited. It went straight to voicemail. He’d been trying the number for a couple of hours now, with no success. His concern was mounting, almost to panic level now.

  ‘Anything from forensics on that house?’

  ‘No, I’ll chase them up.’

  ‘Do that, I need to know if North was being held there. If he was, we’ve an excuse for holding on to those two characters we’ve got in the cells downstairs.’

  ‘But how will we know? We don’t have North’s fingerprints.’

  ‘No, but we have an unidentified set from his house at Gorton. The set we couldn’t access on the computer, if you remember.’

  ‘I should do,’ Mironova eyed her boss with respect. ‘I didn’t think to make the connection, but you remembered.’

  Nash smiled. ‘Experience, that’s all, Clara. One thing they can’t teach on courses. As soon as we know, I’ll get a message to his daughter.’

  ‘Via the Merry Widow, I suppose. I don’t know, Mike, you get all the worst jobs.’

  ‘Go do some work,’ Nash scowled.

  Mironova was back within minutes. ‘SOCO reckon some of the prints they lifted from that house match that set from Gorton, just as you suggested. So, what’s happened to Dr North?’

  ‘If Pearce is right, and the bloke he saw walking down the road was North, we must assume he escaped from the two guards. Although where he’s gone, is anybody’s guess.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to pass the news to your lady friend, shall I? Do you want me to close the door whilst you whisper sweet nothings, or can I listen in on your chat-up line?’

  Nash’s reply was non-verbal and extremely vulgar. It involved the use of only one finger.

  There was no reply from Sonya’s house, so Nash tried her mobile. ‘Hi, Mike, I’m at my mother’s. Tommy, my youngest is down with a cold and a bit of a fever, so I thought it best to leave all three with Mum for a few days, until the other business is sorted out.’ Nash could tell by her lowered tone that her mother was within earshot.

  ‘Right, I get you. It’s about that I’m ringing, actually.’ He gave her a brief outline of what had happened at the house. ‘That means that Jessica’s father is still on the loose, but so is Smith. That worries me. I need to get to Dr North first. It’s the only way I can guarantee to keep him safe. It would help enormously if I knew who this boss of Smith’s is. If I could take them out of the equation it would help to neutralize Smith. I’m sure Hirst must have some idea. If not, maybe Jessica can tell me. Will you put it to them, Sonya?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. Try and find him, Mike. I know Jessica’s worried stiff. This news isn’t going to help.’

  After he rang off, Nash called Mironova into his office. ‘Hear all you want, get any good tips?’ he enquired sarcastically.

  ‘Not really, it was all rather boring and business-like.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you. Now, let’s try and work out where to find Dr North.’

  ‘How do we go about it?’

  ‘Something Viv said gave me an idea. He said the bloke he saw looked like an old tramp, and that he was muttering away to himself. Now I know a lot of the winos who wander around behave like that, but as far as we know Dr North isn’t one. So I guess he’s in the middle of some sort of breakdown. Bear in mind he’s just heard that his wife and son have been killed, that his daughter’s been kidnapped, and that he’s been in the hands of some ruthless bastards who have probably been feeding him all sorts of hallucinatory drugs. That seems to be what they’re best at – messing with people’s heads.’

  ‘OK, I grant you he’s probably in a mess. But does that get us any further forward?’

  ‘In that sort of state, where’s the most likely place for someone to go?’

  ‘I don’t know, somewhere familiar, I suppose. Given that he has any memory left.’

  ‘Agreed. Which gives us two favourite options. The laboratory, or his house.’

  As he was speaking, Nash had a fleeting mental image. Of standing in the lounge of the house they’d raided that morning, questioning the two men they’d found there. Over their shoulder, through the lounge window, he’d seen something. Something so familiar his memory had discounted it until now. ‘Clara, ask Viv to get his car. We’ll check the laboratory, North won’t know about the explosion. If we don’t find any trace there, we’ll go out to Gorton. Whilst he’s bringing his car round, get onto Shires Bus Company. Ask them what service passed that house at 1.15 this afternoon.’

  ‘You think North caught a bus. And that was why we couldn’t find him?’

  ‘I do, and I’d be very surprised if it doesn’t go to Gorton.’

  ‘If North was as confused as you think, would he realize where the bus was headed?’

  ‘He would, if it was showing on the destination board.’

  The news Sonya gave them, had Jessica in a frenzy of anxiety. ‘If they’ve harmed him, I’ll—’

  Steve attempted to reassure her. ‘Nash is a good copper. He’ll find him, don’t worry.’

  They were still in the van. Their prisoner was trussed and gagged in the back. Hirst saw Jessica turn to look at the helpless figure lying on the metal floor. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he advised Jessica.

  ‘Think about what?’

  ‘Re
venge. Believe me, it won’t help. Let’s give Nash the information and turn that one’ – he pointed over his shoulder – ‘over to him. Let him deal with it from now on. I’ve to go back tomorrow. Once I’m clear, you can hand this to Nash. By the time anyone can catch up with me, I’ll be way out of reach.’

  He didn’t add that he’d be back in foreign parts, back on duty. Better not to complicate matters. Reluctantly, Jessica agreed.

  ‘That bus does go to Gorton,’ Mironova told Nash as they walked downstairs. ‘Doesn’t it get boring, always being right?’

  ‘I don’t always get it right,’ Nash protested. ‘I make lots of mistakes.’

  ‘I’m talking about work, not your love life.’

  There was no sign of the missing scientist at the laboratory, just one or two demolition contractors watching a crane with a ball attachment knocking down what remained of the walls of the building. Nash had a word with their foreman, who confirmed they’d not seen any strangers hanging about the place. ‘We’re the first people he’s seen,’ Nash told the others as he got back in the car. ‘He said it made a change for them to work without drawing a crowd. Must be the isolated location, I suppose. Right, Viv, head for Gorton, will you?’

  The cottage was a forlorn sight. The blackened shell of what had once been a beautiful house was in stark contrast to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. They picked their way carefully through the debris, which remained as it had been after the fire. The brightly coloured incident tape that had cordoned off the building fluttered and danced in the breeze. It did nothing to enhance the beauty of the scene. As they reached what had once been the kitchen, where the blaze had been fiercest, Pearce stopped suddenly and lifted a hand. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘what’s that noise?’

  The sound appeared to be coming from the upper floor. As the detectives listened, Nash and Mironova identified the noise at the same time. They looked at one another, realization dawning. It was the sound of someone crying. ‘Viv, stay here,’ Nash told the DC, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘We don’t want to crowd him. Clara, with me.’

  They walked as quietly as they could up the stairs, wincing slightly as they trod on broken glass and plaster, the sound of their footsteps amplified in the silence. They traced the weeping sound to the largest of the bedrooms. The door had been burned away by the fire, so they were able to see in as they picked their way across the charred floorboards of the landing. A man was standing by the window, half turned away from them. He was holding a picture frame in his hand. Although the glass had been shattered by the heat, they could make out that the photo within the frame was that of a woman and two small children. ‘Dr North?’ Nash’s voice was gentle.

  The man turned, and Mironova saw the tracks made by his tears down the soot-grimed cheeks of his face. ‘Dr North, I’m a police officer. You’re quite safe,’ Nash told him, his voice strengthening with the desire to get his message through to the scientist’s confused brain. ‘Dr North, we’ve come to take you to Jessica. Your daughter, Jessica,’ Nash repeated. ‘She’s very worried about you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To see Jessica again. To make sure she’s safe?’

  North’s tears flowed faster and faster. ‘Jessica,’ he whispered. He looked down at the photograph. ‘My little Jessica. What happened to us? Adam, Lara, what….’ His voice tailed off as his distress threatened to overwhelm him.

  Nash signalled to Mironova. Clara stepped forward and put her arm around the scientist. Gently, murmuring words of encouragement, she led him from the room, coaxed him down the stairs and out of the ruined building. Nash followed, noticing that North was still clutching the picture frame, the last memory he had of his wife and son, the last memory of what he’d lost. Or more correctly, what had been taken from him. Nash’s resolve to bring the killers to justice hardened. The acts of violence, the lives ruined as completely as the building they’d just left were bad enough. The cold-blooded way it had been carried it out made the whole thing ten times worse.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Clara sat with Dr North in the back of the car, whilst Nash sat in front alongside Pearce. The journey to Helmsdale was conducted in silence. As soon as Nash’s mobile picked up a signal, he sent Sonya a text. ‘North safe, tell J’ was all it said, all Jessica needed to know.

  It was almost dark when they reached the police station. Clara led North from the car. He looked round in bewilderment at the array of police cars, ambulances and fire engines. ‘Where am I?’ he demanded, suddenly suspicious.

  Clara looked at Nash for help. ‘It’s all right, Dr North. I’ve sent Jessica a message, she knows you’re safe. She knows you’re with me. She’ll come to you as soon as she can.’

  North peered at him. ‘What did you say your name is?’

  ‘Nash, Mike Nash. Detective Inspector Nash.’

  ‘Why was Jessica kidnapped?’ North’s memory was returning in snatches.

  ‘She was taken away from those men who were holding her prisoner. The same men who were holding you. A man she didn’t know realized the danger she was in and rescued her, to keep the others from harming her. Like they did to your wife, and to your son.’

  North stared at Nash, bewilderment and horror intermingled. ‘What do you mean? They told me Adam was murdered, but I thought Lara died in a fire?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dr North. They were both murdered.’

  Clara led the distressed man into the building. He’d begun muttering to himself; snatches of words, unrecognizable to his listeners. Nash drew Pearce to one side. ‘Get the police surgeon in. I want him to check Dr North over. In the meantime stick him in a cell, one where we’re certain he can’t harm himself. When the doctor arrives, tell him I want Dr North’s mental state assessing. Also, I want him to take a sample of his blood. Get him to send it for analysis. I want particular attention given to finding any trace of hallucinatory drugs, or anything that might be used to tamper with his mental state.’

  The text message came as an enormous relief. Naturally Jessica wanted to go to her father immediately. ‘No way,’ Hirst told her firmly. ‘Your father’s in safe hands. We’ve a job still to do. Think of your mother and brother; much as you want to be with your father, they deserve justice. The only way we can get that for them is either by handing our prisoner over to Nash, or,’ he drew one finger across his throat. ‘No matter what they’re guilty of, murder is still murder. Let the law deal with them.’

  ‘Very well,’ Jessica hid her disappointment, ‘but how do we go about it?’

  Hirst told her. After he explained, he added, ‘By the time you’re back with your father, I’ll be away. Remember, when you’re telling your story, make sure Nash understands I was the one who destroyed the laboratory. Tell him you were a prisoner in the van at the time, tied up with duct tape.’

  ‘What will they do to you?’ Jessica protested.

  ‘Nothing, because I won’t be around. They can’t prosecute me unless I’m here. And for the foreseeable future I’ll be out of the country. Hopefully, by the time I get back, the fuss will have died down. When the truth about what went on at Helm Pharm comes out, public opinion will be on my side. Who knows, Paul and his eco-warrior friends might even want to claim responsibility for it. Do their credibility the world of good. But you could let Nash know about the marzipan. I don’t want our Sappers trying to destroy a target with marzipan instead of C4.’

  It was late that evening when they returned to Helmsdale. Hirst pulled up outside the row of lock-up garages and opened the end one. He reversed the motorhome out of the building, where the headlights illuminated the interior. He collected the prisoner from the back of the van and dumped his burden in the far corner of the garage, slammed the up-and-over door shut and locked it. When he returned to the motorhome he handed the key to Jessica. ‘Put that somewhere safe until tomorrow,’ he told her.

  Jessica went to put the key inside her bra. ‘No, I said somewhere safe,’ Hirst warned her.

  She grinned and attac
hed the ring to her jeans belt. ‘I’m going to park the van outside the house. I’ll be back in five minutes, then we’ll go somewhere safe for the night. Tomorrow morning I’ll drop you at Sonya’s house, park this on my drive and collect my stuff. I’ll be away by nine o’clock. Then you can phone Nash.’

  There was a reckless abandon about their lovemaking that night. When it was over, and they lay wrapped together, Steve felt the warm salt of her tears, wet against his shoulder. ‘Don’t take on,’ he urged her. ‘Soon, all this will be a memory, because you’ll have lots more to think about. Taking care of your father for one thing. God knows what they’ll have done to him. Forget me, and get on with the rest of your life. You’re young; you’ve got a great future ahead of you.’

  ‘But I don’t want to forget you. I won’t forget you. How could I?’

  ‘You will. And if not, well, who knows, we might meet again sometime. When you’re going where I am, the one thing you avoid at all costs, is making plans for the future.’

  As they fell asleep, Steve’s words were in Jessica’s mind. They seemed almost prophetic.

  The first thing Nash noticed as he drove along the street was the motorhome. He ignored it and parked outside Sonya’s house. She was obviously on the lookout for him, because the door opened as he was walking up the path. ‘Come on in.’ Sonya smiled. ‘I’ll introduce you and pour coffee. I’ll have to go buy some more, the rate you drink it.’

  ‘You don’t imagine for one minute I’d stop coming to see you if there was no coffee?’ Nash teased. ‘Because I can assure you, the coffee isn’t the attraction.’

  Nash had expected to meet a schoolgirl, slightly awkward perhaps, little more than a child. He was unprepared for the poised and attractive young woman who stood waiting for him in the lounge. ‘Miss North? I’m Mike Nash.’

  She shook hands. ‘Jessica,’ she prompted. ‘Call me Jessica. How’s my father? Can I see him?’