by Bill Kitson
‘Smith was probably under the influence of one of Dr North’s drug cocktails, a product aptly named MAD. It stands for modified amphetamine dependency. It was first trialled recently by a party led by Smith whilst abroad. Their mission was to attack a far superior Taliban group. Smith was instructed to make sure none of his fellow soldiers returned from that mission. One did, however, and it is thanks to him that this information has come out. He is also responsible for Jessica North being alive today.
‘As I see it, Dunning is responsible for the deaths of those soldiers as well as those of Mrs North and her son. In addition, there are countless charges relating to the drugs administered that are down to her. That is the woman in the cells downstairs. The woman whose release the MOD is sending a senior official here to secure.’
There was a long silence. Eventually, O’Donnell spoke. ‘I think you’ve done really well to piece all this together, Mike. If things had been different I feel confident the CPS would have been happy to take the case to court. However, as things stand their hands and ours are tied. If the MOD insists on our releasing Dr Dunning, or Colonel Dunning, or whatever the blasted woman’s title really is, then there’s nothing whatsoever we can do about it. All I’ll be able to do is insist there is no comeback on North or his daughter over this. If I can manage to get them to call their attack dogs off them, at least we’ll have achieved something.’ She saw Nash about to protest and held up her hand.
‘I know it’s frustrating for you. Bloody frustrating, and we all feel the same, but I’m afraid you’ll have to accept it, Mike. I can’t see any way we’ll be able to bring the Dunning woman to court unless the MOD agrees. And that isn’t going to happen.’
Nash broke the news to Mironova and Pearce, and the CID officers spent the afternoon gloomily tidying up files. The thought that they had a murderer in their cells but would not be able to prosecute her didn’t go down well with any of them. After a while, Nash left the other two and went back to his office. He spent half an hour sitting behind his desk, reflecting on the case, before emerging. ‘I’m off,’ he told the others. ‘I’ve some shopping to do. I’ll be out for half an hour or so.’
When he returned, Clara saw that he was in a noticeably more cheerful frame of mind. ‘I didn’t realize shopping had such a good effect on you,’ she commented.
Nash smiled. ‘It all depends on what you go shopping for. Besides which, I’ve got a date tonight.’
‘Oh yes, the Merry Widow.’
‘You got it,’ Nash admitted. He winked at her and went into his office, whistling as he closed the door behind him. Clara stared at the closing door, trying to work out how half an hour could have effected such a change. She turned to Pearce. ‘I wonder if he’s been taking some of those drugs.’
‘If he has, I wouldn’t mind some,’ Pearce told her morosely.
Nash went to his flat and showered before leaving to go to Sonya’s house. He picked up the carrier bag he’d brought from the office, then drove the short distance across town.
‘Have you eaten?’ Sonya asked after she let him in.
They walked into the lounge, his arm around her waist. ‘No, to be honest, I haven’t felt hungry. Something happened this afternoon that spoilt my appetite.’
‘I’ll have to tempt you then.’
‘You don’t need to cook to do that.’
She looked at him, head on one side. ‘Whatever went wrong, you’ve solved it or you’re on the way to putting it right.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Because you made a suggestive remark. You’d only do that if you’d got things sorted. So, what’s in the carrier?’ She pointed to the bag he’d put down on the settee.
‘I’ll show you later. What are you going to tempt me with first?’
‘I thought chicken casserole would be nice. You don’t want anything too heavy.’ He watched her move towards him. Her eyes were smoky with desire. ‘Not before exercise.’
After they’d eaten, Nash told her what had happened at the station. ‘The likelihood is that the MOD will insist that we release Dunning and drop all charges against her. Which sickens me and my colleagues, but on the face of it there’s nothing we can do.’
‘Have they really got the power to do that?’
‘Of course they have. All they need to do is use the “in the interests of national security” line, and there’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘Even though you’ve got conclusive evidence that she’s guilty of murder, or conspiracy, or whatever the technical name is?’
‘That’s near enough. And no, we’ll have to let her go.’
‘And that’s it? You’re going to leave it at that? I don’t believe you’re prepared to give in so meekly.’
‘Did I say I was giving in? Did I say I was leaving it at that? Do you really believe I’m that spineless?’
‘No, of course I don’t. But from what you’ve told me, what else can you do?’
Nash told her what he had in mind. As he did so, Sonya’s eyes widened in shock, which turned to admiration, the admiration cloaking her desire. When Nash finished speaking, she reached across the table and caressed his cheek. ‘Mike, you’re a clever, conniving, cunning bastard. Take me to bed and make love to me.’
Nash hid his reluctance remarkably well. Several times.
Next morning, he wandered into the bathroom and showered in leisurely fashion whilst Sonya went to make breakfast. When he joined her in the kitchen she passed him a coffee, in a mug of considerable dimensions. ‘I know you said I’d to drink a jarful,’ he joked, ‘but I didn’t realize I’d to do it all in one go. This mug’s more like a young swimming pool.’
‘I thought you might be thirsty. Hungry too after last night. So I’m making a full English.’
‘Great, that’ll set me up for the day ahead.’
Sonya glanced across at him. ‘You sound much better this morning.’
‘Well, there’s nothing like a good night’s sleep to set you up for the day. And that was nothing like a good night’s sleep.’
Nash put the mug down and went across to where Sonya was attempting to open a packet of bacon. He slipped his arms round her, feeling the curve of her breasts against his arms, through the towelling of her bath robe. She leaned back against him as he began to caress her, moaning slightly in mock protest as she sensed his arousal. Breakfast was delayed for quite some time.
As they were eating, Sonya’s mobile rang. She glanced at the display and frowned. She answered the call, relaxed and made the sign of a letter ‘J’ in the air. Her conversation seemed to be limited to a series of agreements to whatever was being said. She ended the call and put the phone down. ‘That was Jessica. Her father’s being kept in a clinic in Netherdale until they’ve got the drugs out of his system. She reckons it’ll be two or three weeks. She needs somewhere to stay in the meantime and asked if I could help her out.’
Sonya put her hand on Mike’s. ‘I’m sorry, but the poor girl sounded so lonely and upset, I hadn’t the heart to say no. It’ll mean you won’t be able to come and stay for a while though.’
Nash smiled. ‘Don’t worry about me. Who do you think suggested the idea to Jessica in the first place?’
‘You did? That was thoughtful of you, Mike.’
‘Now, before I go, are you comfortable with our little arrangement?’
‘You mean, about the—’
‘Yes, because if not, I can always take it on my own. You’ll come in for a bit of flak and a considerable amount of publicity.’
Sonya’s eyes strayed to the photograph on the dresser. Of her husband in full dress uniform, taken just before he left for the final time. Any doubts she had vanished. ‘Of course I’ll do it. If only for the sake of Steve and others like him.’
When Nash reached Netherdale HQ, the chief constable was already in a meeting with the official from the MOD. He waited patiently in the outer office until O’Donnell appeared. She introduced Nash to the civil serva
nt. ‘I’m afraid I have to leave now. I’m due at the Home Office this afternoon and if I don’t get off soon I’ll miss my train. Detective Inspector Nash is aware of most of what you’re asking for. I’m sure he’ll do his best to comply.’
The official’s back was turned to the chief constable. Nash, whose eyes were on her, hid a grin as he noticed the crossed fingers.
‘So, Nash,’ the official started almost before the door closed. ‘You’ll release Colonel Dunning this morning. All charges against her will be dropped. That has already been agreed.’
The words were issued more as a command than a request. Nash waited for the rest. ‘In addition, I’ll travel to Helmsdale with you, to take charge of the sensitive information that was stolen from Helm Pharm.’
‘That’s evidence in a murder inquiry,’ Nash protested.
‘It is also protected by the Official Secrets Act.’ The official did little to disguise his triumph. ‘Which outweighs your murder case. Finally, I want all the evidence you have about the person who is responsible for the destruction of Ministry of Defence property, by which I mean the Helm Pharm laboratory.’
‘I’m afraid you’re asking too much,’ Nash told him. ‘I will release Colonel Dunning, under protest. I will relinquish the disks and documents in my safe, under protest. But no way will I give you information that might or might not be relevant to the explosion at that laboratory. For one thing, I don’t trust you or your department to handle it correctly. For another, much of it is speculation. That wouldn’t be good enough for prosecution by the CPS, but I’m far from confident that you’d be as discriminating. In other words, I’m not prepared to give you ammunition for you to indulge in a witch-hunt.’
‘You’ll do as you’re told, Nash. If you value your career in the police force, that is.’
‘Sorry, did I get that right? Are you threatening me?’
‘Too damned right I am. If you don’t do exactly as requested, your career will be over, and all your pension rights will be forfeit.’
‘I see,’ Nash replied thoughtfully. He gestured towards the third occupant of the room, a young woman sitting quietly in the corner, taking notes. ‘You are aware that this conversation is being witnessed and minuted, I trust.’
‘I don’t care what you and your secretary cook up between you,’ the civil servant snarled, without either civility or servility.
Nash smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t I introduce you? This isn’t my secretary. This is Chief Superintendent Edwards. She leaves here in two days’ time, to take up her new role as a senior officer in Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary.’ Nash paused to let the unpalatable news sink in. ‘And that, I think, trumps your ace.’
Nash returned to Helmsdale and asked Binns to prepare the release forms. He took the MOD official to his office and handed over the disks and papers from inside his safe. ‘Get a receipt for these,’ he told Mironova. ‘And don’t let him leave without signing it.’ He saw little point in indulging in politeness. ‘Treat him like one of your drug pushers, not to be trusted. I’ll be downstairs seeing to the release of our murderous Colonel.’
Dunning was waiting by the reception desk, with Binns hovering close by when Nash appeared, followed by the civil servant and Mironova. Nash signed the forms and escorted the released prisoner to the door. The MOD official was already outside when Nash caught hold of the woman’s sleeve. ‘Listen!’ he told her.
She frowned. ‘Listen to what? I can’t hear anything.’
‘No, neither can I,’ Nash replied. ‘Which means the fat lady hasn’t started to sing.’
‘What was all that about?’ Mironova asked as they watched the MOD car leave. ‘About it not being over? Surely there’s nothing we can do now?’
‘Don’t be too sure, Clara,’ Nash told her cheerfully. ‘My father had a few favourite sayings. One of them was, “there’s more than one way of skinning a cat”. I never understood exactly what he meant until now. He’d another too, which Colonel Dunning might come to regret never hearing. It was “never trust a politician – you’ll know when they’re lying because their lips move”.’
‘I’m sorry, Mike, you’ve lost me completely.’
‘Come on, I’ll make coffee and explain.’
‘I’ll make it if you want,’ Clara volunteered.
Nash shuddered. ‘No thanks, I want coffee, not dishwater.’
Around lunchtime, Nash rang Sonya. ‘I hope you’re calling to say it’s all systems go,’ Sonya said. ‘I’ve just got back from the shops. It’s cost me a fortune. Do you know how much some of those things cost? Particularly the amounts you asked for.’
‘It’s go all right,’ Nash calmed her. ‘When can you make a start?’
‘I’m not sure. I can only do it after I’ve put the children to bed. And I’ve Jessica coming to stay, bear in mind.’
‘Get her to help you,’ Nash suggested. ‘It might make a welcome distraction from worrying about her father. And she’ll enjoy it, especially when she knows what it will achieve.’
‘Good idea. I’ll put it to her tonight. The only problem is when am I going to see you? It makes things very difficult, with Jessica and the kids here.’
‘I’d an idea about that too. You can always ask Jessica to look after the children overnight. Then you can come round to my place. You’re not the only one with a double bed you know.’
‘Another great idea! Two in five minutes! Mike, you’re really on top form.’
Nash was still smiling when he put the phone down.
Four days later, when Becky Pollard reached her office, Helmsdale was far from her thoughts. Her regrets at ending the affair with Mike had been shelved as she plunged into the busy life of an assistant editor for one of the national dailies. There was a large padded envelope on her desk. She frowned, she wasn’t expecting anything. She examined the handwriting – it was unfamiliar. The postmark was familiar though; Netherdale. Something from The Gazette perhaps? She opened the envelope and slid the contents out. She ignored the other items and went straight to the letter. She began to read, curiosity turning to astonishment, mounting to shock. She put the letter down and picked up the other papers. She read them through once, then a second time, then a third. When she’d finished, she scooped everything up and put it back in the envelope. She set off for the editor’s office. Irrational though it was, she couldn’t help casting a glance over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching her.
When she reached the editorial suite, her boss was engaged. Becky sat with his secretary for ten anxious minutes until he finished his meeting. ‘What is it?’ he asked, eyeing the envelope in her hand.
Becky explained. ‘This arrived this morning. The fact that it was addressed to me tells me DI Nash has caused it to be sent.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because Mike and I were in a relationship. I ended it when I came down here,’ Becky told him. ‘The thing is, this woman, Mrs Williams, has written this because she knows the only way to get justice for the victims is to expose what was going on at that laboratory. She says’ – Becky pulled the letter out and scanned it – ‘she’s giving us a forty-eight hour exclusive. Then she’s sending it to all the other nationals.’
‘Let me have a look.’
Becky passed the envelope across. ‘Have you tried the disks?’
She shook her head. ‘I brought it straight to you.’
He began reading. After a few minutes he said, ‘Bloody hell! This is C4, Semtex and dynamite all rolled into one.’ He buzzed his secretary. ‘Get the head of legal off his fat arse and down to my office immediately.
‘If this is kosher, we go to print the day after tomorrow. We need to check it out and run it past the legal bods first. If they OK it, we run it. Get the senior crime man on it. He can do the interviews and write up. You do the verification. Ring this Nash character first. I take it you’re still speaking to one another?’
Becky reassured him.
As she
was speaking, a few miles away, an office in the Ministry of Defence was filled with the sound of the overture from Carmen. It had seemed appropriate to Nash to substitute the computer disks for an opera about a woman who betrayed her lover.
Chapter Twenty
Most thunderstorms start with a few clouds on the horizon. As the storm builds, the lightning flashes and the rolling thunder become more frequent. So it was with the Dunning case, as the papers began to call it. When first one, then all of the dailies started carrying the story, official denials became less and less convincing. When the intensity increased, and the likelihood of the story losing impetus faded, questions began to be asked in Parliament. Members demanded answers. At first it was radical MPs who took up the baton. Then opposition parties waded in, glad for a chance to embarrass the government. An official inquiry was demanded. Once, twice, three times the Minister of Defence denied the claims, refused the inquiry. An early day motion was tabled, and in the resulting debate, the government only scraped a majority by virtue of a three line whip.
Within a month of Dunning’s release from custody, Nash received a phone call. It was from the same MOD official who’d high-handedly demanded her release. When the conversation was over, Nash put the phone down and looked across his desk at Mironova. ‘Colonel Dunning will be delivered by the military police into our custody in an hour’s time. The MOD will not oppose her being sent for trial on charges of murder and conspiracy.’
‘That’s terrific news. What about Smith? Do we get him as well?’
‘Unfortunately not. At least not at the moment. That will have to come later. Apparently Smith’s gone back onto the front line. He’s currently serving abroad, I believe.’ Nash thought for a moment. ‘I guess that means I’ll have to go and retrieve the real evidence from Sonya tonight, so we can deliver it to the CPS.’