Running Scared (DI Mike Nash Book 10)

by Bill Kitson

  Chapter seventeen

  Clara took the girl back to the station and placed a cup of tea in front of her, assessing her value as a witness. In other circumstances, Clara thought, she might be really pretty. However, shock, horror, and grief, combined with the affects of her addiction had robbed her of any pretension to beauty. The girl, who looked to be little older than eighteen, was painfully thin, malnourishment adding a gaunt appearance, her cheeks sunken. She had already given what little details she knew of her friends’ identities and Clara was trying to establish the facts.

  ‘I’ve been away. I didn’t go into the house until this morning. And then I wished I hadn’t.’

  ‘Away where?

  ‘I went to visit a friend.’

  ‘Where was that?’

  ‘Netherdale, but I never got there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘I got into a fight.’

  ‘A fight, how did that happen?’

  ‘I needed a fix, but I couldn’t get one without money. So I thought, if I could get one punter, maybe two, that would pay for the stuff.’

  ‘Anyway, I was on the lookout for one when out of nowhere this old bitch comes at me, shouting and screaming because I’m on her patch. She starts whingeing on about how bad trade is, even without the competition. I told the ugly old cow a paper bag over her head might help. Then she starts pulling my hair, kicking and scratching me.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well, I stood back and kicked her where it hurts. She went down, but then her pimp rushes at me. Came out of nowhere he did, and starts waving this big knife around saying he’s going to carve me up into little pieces if I don’t clear off.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘We were outside that new residential development. You know the one, all maisonettes and superior one-bedroom apartment. Boxes, more like. Anyway, I ran off, and this guy chased me – so I hit him with a gnome.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I’d run into the yard of one of the maisonettes. The owner had tarted-up the back yard with all sorts of ornaments, so when this pimp comes at me I crowned him with a garden gnome. If it hadn’t smashed I’d have probably got away with it, but the owner rang the police, and I was arrested. I spent all weekend in a cell.’

  If her alibi checked out, it was as cast iron as could be.

  ‘So you came back here this morning and went to the house? That was when you found the bodies. Did you touch anything in the room?’

  ‘No way! I took one step inside. That was enough. The sight, the smell, and those bloody rats and maggots.... After I was sick – I ran.’

  ‘I’ll want you to sign a statement, confirming what you just told me, and I’m going to get someone to check your story.’

  After a long period of silence, the girl asked, ‘What killed them?’

  ‘We don’t know for sure yet. They could have just overdosed, but we believe the heroin they took might have been contaminated in some way. We’re waiting for forensic reports to be certain. If we’re right, our biggest concern now is that there might be a load more from the same batch out on the street. It would help if we were able to trace the bad stuff. The only way to do that and be sure we got the whole of the batch is if we knew where they got the stuff from, or who their dealer is? I need you to tell me who that is.’

  The girl looked horror-struck. ‘The people we buy from would kill me if they found out I’d told you who they are.’

  ‘They could only do that if they were able to get to you. And that wouldn’t happen if they were in prison. Let’s be fair, if we were able to catch them and prove they supplied what killed your friends, they’d be going to prison for a long, long time. Think about it, and think about your friends. I saw the bodies too, and I can tell you, one look at their faces was enough to tell me they died in extreme agony. Do you want to end up that way? Could you live with yourself if other people take the same stuff and end up like that, without you having done anything to help prevent it? Because the next few grams you buy could have that same lethal cocktail inside it. Right now, even as we’re sitting here, someone could be handing over a large amount of cash for something that will kill them as surely as a bullet between the eyes. Don’t you want to get your own back on the people who were responsible?’

  There was a long silence.

  Clara tried again. ‘Tell me something. Why did you start taking the stuff in the first place? What was it that got you hooked?’

  After a few moments, the girl replied, ‘I was at Netherdale College. I’d got a place there on a nursing course. To help pay my rent, I took a job behind a bar. The landlord tried to ... well, you know. Then, because I wouldn’t let him touch me, he sacked me. My boyfriend found out, and thought I’d been shagging the landlord. That was what he was told. So he walked out on me. The worst of it was, he was living with me and contributing half the rent. I got depressed; then one night someone offered me a joint. I felt better after it, much better, and so I went on a binge; a drink and drugs bender. The result was I got kicked out of college, kicked out of my flat, and finished up at the squat. The thing is, I only take the stuff now and again. I’m not a big user like them, but I’ve nowhere else to live, and I can’t go back home.’

  She began to cry, and, after a few minutes, when she had recovered slightly, between her tears, she began to talk, to tell all she could about the drugs she and her friends had used, and where they got them. Clara made note after note, surprised by the girl’s observational skills and her recall of names, places and her ability to describe faces.

  When she had told Clara all she could, Mironova summoned Tom Pratt. She handed him the notes. ‘I’m afraid there’s quite a bit to that statement. Before you get someone typing it up, would you ask Superintendent Fleming to come down? She’s up in Mike’s office.’

  When Jackie Fleming entered the interview room, Clara explained, ‘This young lady has very bravely given us some highly-valuable information that I feel sure will help us track down and arrest those responsible for distributing the drugs that killed her friends. She’s prepared to give evidence against them, providing we can give her the necessary protection. In view of that, and the fact that with luck we should be able to wind up a big part of at least one of the gangs bringing drugs into the area, I think we should give her that protection. Added to that, she wants to enter a rehab programme, which I believe is something we should also assist in.’

  Maureen, PC Riley’s widow, had decided to return to work. Her relatives had been shocked by her announcement. ‘It’s too soon. You should take more time to grieve,’ several of them told her.

  That was the last thing she needed as she explained to her brother. ‘After I’ve done the school run, I’d be sitting around at home on my own, moping. Everything there would be a reminder of Geoff. It’ll be bad enough having to go home at night and face all that, without having it twenty-four, seven. Apart from that, it’s what Geoff would have wanted me to do, and above all, I need the money.’

  ‘Surely there are funds to cope with times like this? Compensation, insurance and all that.’

  ‘There are, but they won’t pay up instantly, and if I’m at work I can access the HR people to get the ball rolling quicker. In the meantime, I need money now.’

  ‘I can help out. How much do you want?’

  She put her hand on his arm. ‘No, it’s kind of you to offer, but I’m not begging. That wasn’t why I mentioned it. I know I’ve only to ask, but I won’t. Thanks, anyway.’

  ‘I only wish there was something I could do. I feel so helpless.’

  ‘Just let me go back to work, and if I get down, bear with me when I moan. That’s all you can do. Honestly, being at work is the best thing for me right now.’

  Although there was no way she could have known it, Maureen’s decision to return to work was crucial, both in the timing of it and what followed. Had she not chosen that course, at that time, her husband’s killer might well ha
ve escaped justice.

  Her first morning was a difficult one, made more so by the nature of the clumsy but well-meaning kindness of her colleagues. It was after eleven o’clock before the tide of questions about her health, her plans and for her and her son’s future died down. The questioners touched on almost anything and everything that avoided mention of Geoff’s name.

  It was as the last of her inquisitors moved away from her desk that Tom Pratt approached her. Whereas Maureen’s work was for the most part confined to reports generated by uniform and traffic division, Tom dealt almost exclusively with those from CID. Their work patterns were flexible though, allowing them to help each other out if one of them had too much to cope with. As she saw him walk towards her, Maureen braced herself for yet another painful quizzing.

  ‘Relax,’ Tom told her. ‘I’m not going to ask any daft questions.’ He gestured in the direction of the departing officer. ‘They mean well, that’s about the best you can say.’

  Maureen smiled faintly. ‘Thanks, Tom.’

  ‘What I am going to do is ask if you’ve time to help me out preparing some reports. I’m a bit snowed under at the minute.’

  ‘I haven’t much to do,’ Maureen conceded. ‘That might be down to the fact that someone seems to have taken care of my work whilst I’ve been off. That wouldn’t be you by any chance, would it?’

  Pratt held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Guilty as charged. It seemed the least I could do. The problem is I’ve had a sudden avalanche of stuff from CID. I think they must have promised Clara a productivity bonus and as it’s all come at once I’ve too much typing and too few hours. Would you mind typing a couple of reports to CPS for me?’

  ‘Of course I’ll help. Pass them over and I’ll get started right away.’

  He returned a few minutes later with the files and waited until Maureen had skim-read them. ‘I don’t think there’s anything in these to frighten the horses,’ she told him. ‘Leave them with me; I’ll have them ready before the end of today.’

  ‘Thanks, Maureen, you’re a star.’ Tom patted her shoulder, a gesture of gratitude and affection. Strangely, that, and his comment, affected her more than all the insensitive questions.

  After some time, Maureen had all but tied down the first of the files. The second promised to involve far more work, as there were a considerable number of offences and the associated witness statements to report on. She decided to take her lunch break first.

  Having brewed a cup of tea, Maureen took it back to her desk where she opened her foil-wrapped sandwiches. She could have used the staff rest room, which was her normal practice, but in there she knew there would be a chance of encountering yet more questions.

  As she ate, Maureen read the report she had typed up on her screen, checking it for both factual errors and spelling mistake. Although she had recorded the details verbatim, she had not absorbed the sense of them. Now, as she went through the text, the meaning became clear. She reached one paragraph and paused, her half-eaten sandwich poised in mid air, as the significance of the words struck home. Maureen had worked for the force for a number of years, and had been married to a police officer for even longer, and knew there was something within this report that should have been followed up, but there was no mention of this having taken place.

  She put her sandwich down and wiped her hands on a tissue, before thumbing through the work papers Pratt had given her. She could see no mention of the fact, so it wasn’t something she had missed. She pressed the print icon on her computer and collected the sheaf of papers from her printer, before walking over to her colleague’s desk.

  ‘Tom,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I have a question for you. I know that strictly speaking it’s none of my business, but I’ve looked everywhere in the file you gave me and I believe there could be an important item that is either missing, or which has been overlooked.’

  She pointed to the relevant section of the report and explained what she had been puzzled by. Pratt read the report a couple of times, checked the paperwork he had given her, and then glanced up. ‘I reckon you’re dead right. It isn’t surprising given the amount of stuff they’ve had to deal with. I’d better phone Helmsdale and have a word with them. I’ll ask Viv Pearce, he’d be the one to handle it, if anybody. Apart from anything else, he’s the only one with the technical know-how. I’ll be sure to let him know it was your idea, too. Well spotted, Maureen.’

  Clara and Viv were crossing the reception area en route to CID when the constable on desk duty stopped them. ‘Tom Pratt wants you to phone him, Viv. He told me it was something to do with one of your cases. Said to tell you he’s got an idea that might help you.’

  As soon as they reached his desk, Pearce rang Netherdale. ‘Tom, you wanted a word. What’s this idea you’ve got?’

  ‘It isn’t my idea. I passed the papers to Maureen to type up the report for CPS. She came up with it.’

  Pearce listened to Pratt’s explanation. ‘That’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant,’ he said when Tom finished. ‘Say thanks to Maureen for me, will you?’

  He rang off and turned to Clara. ‘Listen to this,’ he said, his voice reflecting his excitement.

  Chapter eighteen

  The pace of developments left Mironova breathless. Given the constantly stretched manpower she was used to being busy, but as the week progressed she had little time to concentrate on anything but work. In particular, the three deaths at the derelict police house plus the consequences.

  Following their interview with the girl from the squat, Jackie Fleming had briefed the chief constable immediately. The matter of informing the public of the potential threat of contaminated drugs was left in abeyance until the results of the post-mortems, at O’Donnell’s insistence.

  ‘We can’t afford to panic the public with a premature announcement,’ O’Donnell had said, resisting pressure from her superintendent. ‘We have to be sure of the cause of death first; more certain than we are at present. For all we know at this stage, they might have all eaten something containing poison, in which case the presence of the heroin would be a red herring. Added to which, if we let everyone know in advance that we’re searching for the source of the drugs, it will mean when you do find out where the suppliers live they’ll probably be sitting with their feet up in Mexico or Guadalajara. I appreciate the danger in risking other people being exposed to possibly lethal drugs but, without evidence, that’s a risk we’ll have to take. However, it does emphasize the need to resolve the testing quickly, so I’ll have a word with the laboratory to add my weight to that of Professor Ramirez.’

  With that, Fleming had to be content and phoned Clara to update her.

  The only solace Clara could take was the thought of the hapless head of the laboratory who faced the prospect of being harangued by both O’Donnell and Mexican Pete. Clara only hoped the chief’s intervention would have the desired effect, in time to prevent further deaths.

  Next morning, Clara and Jackie Fleming attended the post-mortems of the drug addicts. The outcome was much as they expected.

  Briefing them in his office following the extremely long session, which in itself was an ordeal they would have given a fortune to avoid, Ramirez told them, ‘I’ll need toxicology results to confirm the cause of death, but the heroin remains the prime suspect. Certainly, there is nothing to indicate otherwise. The two victims who were naked on the mattress died first, at around the same time, which would have been sometime late on Friday or early Saturday. The third one, the male who was fully clothed, died at least eight to twelve hours later. It may have been that he was more resistant to whatever killed them, or perhaps he didn’t take as much of it, we won’t know for a while.’

  He turned the page of his report form. ‘The man and woman on the mattress had both had sexual intercourse shortly prior to their death. Presumably that was with each other, judging by the fact that they were both naked, but I’ll need DNA results to confirm that as well.’

  Ramirez paused and th
ought for a few moments. ‘Actually, now that I come to think of it, the difference in the times of death might have something to do with that.’

  ‘Sorry, Professor, you’ve lost me.’ Clara looked confused.

  ‘If the couple on the mattress took the heroin then had intercourse, the physical activity would raise their metabolic rate, thus speeding their death.’ He smiled, a little sadly. ‘As the saying goes, at least they died happy.’

  ‘When will you know about the heroin we found at the scene?’ Jackie was anxious to know.

  ‘I rushed the samples over to the lab late yesterday and I spoke to the boffins before you arrived. Apparently the chief constable has already had a word with their executive officer. The results should be back with me late today, and given the potential gravity of the situation, they will be with you about five minutes later.’

  ‘The chief constable doesn’t want us to go public on this until we’re certain, but I think we should warn the hospitals in the area to be on the lookout for anyone exhibiting symptoms that might be down to whatever killed these people.’ Fleming waved towards the examination room.

  ‘I think that would be wise,’ Ramirez agreed. ‘If this is a contaminated batch of heroin we don’t know how extensive that contamination might be. It could simply have been this one lot, which would make these people extremely unlucky. On the other hand, there could just as easily be several kilos more of it waiting for distribution. A ticking time bomb,’ he added.

  He saw Fleming’s indecision and threw her a lifeline. ‘Look, if the chief constable has banned you from telling the media, that’s one thing. But warning Accident and Emergency departments in hospitals throughout this region to be on the lookout for a certain set of symptoms is quite another. Secondly, they’re not as likely to panic, or rush to the media. If it simplifies matters, I’ll warn them, shall I? In any case, it’ll probably carry more weight coming from me.’

  They both thanked him, their relief obvious. Before they left, however, the pathologist uttered one final, chilling message. ‘Take my advice. I’d concentrate on nailing the source of these drugs. I don’t think you can view this case in isolation. If it is contaminated and you don’t track down the consignment in full, you could find yourselves dealing with more cases such as this – many more.’