by Bill Kitson
Nash looked down at the corpse.
Vickers was calm, unnaturally calm. ‘Have you met Mr Carlton Rathmell?’ He gestured to the remains. His voice lowered to a reverential tone. ‘He’s a very important man, you know. A member of the European Parliament, no less. What do you think about that?’
‘Gary.’ Nash fought to keep his voice calm. He didn’t feel calm. ‘Where’s Gemma? What have you done with Gemma?’
‘Gemma?’ Vickers giggled insanely. ‘Oh, she’s hanging around somewhere. She’s always hanging around when Rathmell’s about. Did you know they were lovers, Mr Nash? I didn’t. I hadn’t the slightest suspicion. And him a married man too. Don’t you think that’s naughty, Mr Nash? I do. I think they should be punished. Yes. Punished.’ He lifted the hammer once more and brought it down with a sickening thud. ‘I’d no idea. None at all. Not until Stacey told me, but I wish she’d told me who,’ he said somewhat wistfully. ‘But, yes,’ he repeated, ‘I do believe Gemma’s hanging around somewhere.’
Vickers seemed to find this immeasurably funny. It was a few seconds before he calmed down. Then, to Nash’s horror, he started whistling again. This time, Nash recognized the tune far quicker, but the significance came less readily. Norwegian wood. What on earth did that mean to Vickers’ tormented brain? Nash looked round for clues, inspiration, anything.
A gentle breeze ruffled the trees. It was then Nash saw Gemma, and realized why Vickers had stolen his neighbour’s clothes line. Gemma was beneath the branch of a large fir tree. Her face was purple, constricted by the line around her neck. As the breeze strengthened, her body swung, in time with the leaves, in time with Vickers’ whistling. A stray, totally inappropriate thought crossed Nash’s mind. Was the fir tree Norwegian? Shock, he realized had almost taken control. Hysteria wasn’t far away.
‘Gary.’ Nash again fought to keep his voice calm. ‘Don’t you think we should go now? We should leave this place.’
Vickers had been watching him, waiting for his reaction. Nash’s suggestion seemed to shock him beyond measure. ‘Leave them alone, Mr Nash? I don’t think that would be right and proper. Do you think it would be wise? Heaven knows what sort of wickedness they might get up to if we leave them alone. You don’t know them like I do. I know what they’re capable of, you see.’ He lowered his voice and continued in a confidential tone. ‘I made the mistake of leaving them alone once, and they murdered Stacey. They killed her, because she threatened them, and their dirty little affair.’ He began to cry.
‘They can’t harm anyone now, Gary,’ Nash comforted him. ‘You’ve seen to that.’
Vickers stared at the detective for a long, silent moment, then looked across at where Gemma hung from the tree. He glanced down at Rathmell’s corpse and a slow smile of satisfaction spread across his face. ‘I have, haven’t I? Do you think Stacey will be pleased, when I tell her?’
‘I’m sure she will. Now come on, let’s be going.’
Nash helped Vickers to his feet. He motioned to the others to keep back. He didn’t bother with handcuffs. Vickers was quiet now, a spent force. He cast a glance back as they left the clearing. Lisa ran to Gemma and checked her pulse. She turned to Nash and shook her head. The sight of Gemma’s body seemed to comfort Vickers. He allowed Nash to lead him back down the path towards the car park. Nash handcuffed him and handed him over to the uniformed men. ‘Take him back to Helmsdale station. Make sure he’s not able to harm himself. Lisa, get onto Mexican Pete and SOCO, would you.’
Nash watched them put Vickers into the police car. For a brief moment Vickers stared out of the window towards the detective. But Nash guessed all Vickers could see was Stacey. Then, as the car pulled away, Nash heard the sound of a voice raised in song. As the words filtered through the driver’s open window he recognised the melody. Yesterday. Nash shuddered. There was an awful, appropriate irony in the words. Yesterday was all Vickers had left.
Nash saw Lisa was busy on the phone. He walked into the shelter of the trees and leaned against a massive oak. Reaction overtook him. He began to tremble. Before he knew it, he started to cry. Not for Rathmell, and not for Gemma. He wept for Stacey, for Gary, and for all the other victims.
Eventually he recovered and glanced back at the car park. Lisa was still on the phone. He took out his mobile. ‘Becks,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s over.’
Chapter twenty four
Viv had joined them in the woods on his return from Netherdale. ‘They reckon Floyd will recover, but he won’t be compos mentis until tomorrow at the earliest. By the way, you remember that rumour? The one that said the arsonist went up in his own fire? I bumped into Mexican Pete when I was leaving the hospital. He said they’d been able to recover some bone fragments. They might be able to pull some DNA from it. He was taking the sample to the lab; then he’s coming straight over.’
‘I want you to pull Jake Fletcher in. Don’t tell him Gemma’s dead. I want that to come as a surprise. Before you go, I want you to apply for a search warrant. It’s urgent, so don’t waste any time. If possible, I want to be able to execute it later this evening.’
Nash gave Pearce the details. Pearce wrote the address down in his notebook. When he left the crime scene fifteen minutes later, he was still puzzling over Nash’s request.
By 6 p.m. Nash made it back to the office. The day had been wearisome. Hamstrung by the lack of available personnel, Nash had been unable to request assistance. He could have asked, but with Pratt unavailable, knew he’d be wasting his breath.
The news from Netherdale General was as noncommittal as hospital bulletins usually are. ‘Comfortable’ and ‘as well as can be expected’ were all Nash could get.
Before going to interview Jake Fletcher, Nash collected a file from his desk. He checked the contents as he walked along the corridor. Only when he was satisfied did he open the door.
Fletcher was sitting opposite Pearce. Of the two, he looked the more relaxed. Probably because he’d had the less stressful day, Nash thought. Well, he’d soon change that.
‘Thank you for joining us, Jake.’ Nash nodded to Pearce, who went to set up the tape machine. ‘Now, we’ve had a bit of a day of it here, so I’d like to get on. First of all I have some bad news. Your sister was killed this morning.’
Nash saw Fletcher’s face drain of colour. ‘What?’ Fletcher croaked.
‘I’m afraid so. She was murdered in Helm Woods. Close to where your niece was killed.’
Eventually Fletcher asked, ‘How was she killed?’ His voice was shaky and Nash saw his hands trembling. The iron man was coming apart.
‘She was strangled.’ Nash was letting the information out in dribs and drabs. ‘There was another body close by.’
‘Whose body?’ Fletcher was struggling to take all this in.
‘Carlton Rathmell, the MEP,’ Nash told him. ‘I believe you know Rathmell?’
‘Was he strangled?’
‘No, his head was beaten to a pulp with a lump hammer.’
Fletcher went even paler, if that was possible. Nash waited again. ‘We’ve arrested someone in connection with the killings. There’s no doubt this time that we’ve got the right man.’
‘Who is it? And what do you mean, “no doubt this time”? What other time do you mean?’
‘The man we arrested is Gary Vickers. We know he killed Gemma and Rathmell. Just as we know for certain he didn’t kill Stacey.’
Fletcher jumped to his feet, the colour back in his face in abundance. ‘That bastard! Let me at him. I’ll kill the...’
‘Sit down!’ Nash’s voice was like a whiplash. ‘Now!’ Nash continued. ‘Some might call it murder. What he did today, I mean. Others would call it justice.’
‘How do you mean, justice?’
‘Justice or revenge. Of course, I can’t condone it. But I can understand why. Because he knew that your sister and Rathmell killed Stacey. Just as they killed the journalist, Tucker.’
‘I don’t believe you. This is a cover-up. What motive could
Gemma have for wanting Stacey dead? You know Vickers killed her. A jury convicted him. He raped her, then strangled her.’
‘No, he didn’t. He didn’t rape her at all. Vickers was in love with Stacey and she was in love with him. Sure, they had sex together. As often as they could, by what Vickers told me.’ Nash stilled Fletcher’s protest with his hand. ‘And I’ve got proof.’
‘What proof? Why hasn’t there been any mention of this proof before?’
‘Because we only found it a few days ago. It’s a letter from Stacey to Vickers, a love letter; and a warning.’
‘That still doesn’t mean Gemma killed Stacey. Her own daughter.’
‘By what I’ve been told, there was never much love lost between Stacey and her mother. Certainly not the usual mother and daughter relationship. If Gemma felt threatened by Stacey, and was protecting someone, I don’t think she’d have had any compunction in disposing of that threat.’
‘Who’s she supposed to be protecting?’
‘Her lover: Carlton Rathmell. Either she killed Stacey, or he did. I can’t say for sure which of them put the wire round Stacey’s neck and choked her, but they certainly killed her, Just as they killed Tucker, because he was also a threat.’
‘Rathmell? Gemma’s lover. I don’t believe you. They hardly knew one another.’
Nash spilled a selection of photos onto the table. ‘For the benefit of the tape I’m showing Mr Fletcher exhibit 3C. These were taken by Tucker before he was killed.’
Fletcher glanced at the images. Nash saw doubt in his eyes. He pulled more photos from the file. ‘And these were taken by Stacey, exhibit 3A.’
As the doubt grew, Nash played his trump card. ‘You might care to read this, Jake. It’s the letter I told you about. The letter from Stacey to Gary. We found it at Grove Road. If we’d known about this all those years ago, everything that’s happened since would have been avoided.’
As Fletcher was reading, Nash continued, ‘The existence of this letter and those photos explains a lot. It explains the repeated attempts on Vickers’ life, both when he was inside and after his release. It explains the break-ins and arson attack at Grove Road. Because Gemma and Rathmell were determined to silence Vickers, before he discovered this.’ Nash indicated the paperwork. ‘And when they failed to dispose of him in prison, they tried burglary. But Stacey had hidden the evidence too well for them. So they decided to burn the place down. A pretty tale, isn’t it?’
Nash waited for Fletcher to digest this. Then continued, ‘Some people think this case is over, but I know there’s more. I know Rathmell’s been behind the trouble on the Westlea. He was responsible for organizing Floyd and his gang to make trouble. He was behind the attacks on the migrants. Both to further his own racist ideals, and to mask the attacks on Vickers. And I know he ordered the shooting of Appleyard.’ He paused before adding, ‘We have Danny Floyd in custody.’
The implication that Floyd had confessed worked. Nash could see what was left of Fletcher’s confidence ebbing away. ‘All I need from you is some additional information. It won’t bring Stacey back. It won’t bring Gemma back. Nor will it give Gary Vickers back the life that was taken from him. But you owe it to Stacey. You owe it to her and to Gary, for the life they’d have had together. They tell me you doted on her. You loved that girl as if she was your own daughter. Probably more than Gemma loved her. So it’s up to you, to put everyone connected with Rathmell behind bars. Rid yourself of the association. He was evil, Jake. Totally and utterly evil. I’ll tell you a story to prove how evil Carlton Rathmell was.
‘When I was investigating Tucker’s murder, I went into the music shop in town. I wanted to find out if anyone had bought piano wire recently. The owner said, “I only have one customer for piano wire. And she only comes in every fifteen years.”
‘I asked him if he knew this customer. He said, “I should do – I sat next to her for five years at junior school.”
‘I asked him why he was sure it was fifteen years, because I didn’t believe anyone could have that good a memory. So he told me, “Because it was the day before I got married. My father-in-law ran the shop whilst we went on honeymoon. If she’d come in a day later I wouldn’t have seen her.” That was when he told me her name, and the date. He never forgets his wedding anniversary.’
‘Was it Gemma?’ Fletcher’s expression was tortured.
‘No, Jake. I told you Rathmell was evil. The buyer was Vanessa Rathmell. He got his wife to buy the murder weapon used to kill the girl who was threatening his affair with his mistress.’
Now Fletcher was only too keen to reveal everything he knew about Rathmell. The information only acted to confirm what Nash already knew. But for Pearce, hearing it for the first time, it was like a thunderbolt.
On the way back to the CID suite, Nash was stopped by the receptionist. ‘There’ve been a couple of calls for you. Or rather half a dozen calls but only from two people. DCC King has been on four times. And a Miss Pollard rang twice.’
‘Any messages?’
‘DCC King said he was going off duty, but you should speak to Inspector Crawley immediately you’re available. He was very insistent.’
‘He would be. You didn’t tell him who I was interviewing, I hope?’
‘No, he didn’t ask.’
‘Good. Did Miss Pollard leave a message?’
‘She asked if you’d ring her, if you weren’t too busy. She’d understand if you couldn’t.’
From his office he rang Becky. ‘Hi, Becks, how goes it?’
‘Mike, are you okay?’
‘I’m alright, I suppose. The thing with Vickers knocked me sideways. And I’ve just interviewed a witness, which was a bit harrowing in places.’
‘Are you still busy?’
‘I’m just waiting for Pearce. He’s getting the witness statement transcribed. Then it has to be signed. After that we’ve a search warrant to execute. Or at least I was going to, but I’ll probably defer it until morning.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘Not yet. I’ll probably grab a takeaway.’
‘Why not come round here? I’ll do a risotto or something?’
‘I bet that was how Eve tempted Adam. Risotto sounds much better than a Granny Smiths.’
‘Give me a call when you’re leaving.’
Nash put the phone down and smiled. His expression changed swiftly as he realized he still had to phone Crawley. He dialled again. ‘I had a message. What do you want?’ Nash’s tone was on the abrupt side of curt.
‘Nash, DCC King has been trying to contact you for several hours.’
‘So? What do you want?’
‘I’ve to inform you that DCC King expects you to report to his office at 10.30 a.m. tomorrow without fail.’
‘Tell him to expect away.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m busy in the morning. Can’t make it.’
‘DCC King said you’d to be there.’
‘I know; heard you first time. No can do.’
‘This attitude will do you no good, Nash. I’m warning you for the last time. You are expected at 10.30 prompt, tomorrow morning.’
‘Crawley, are you learning impaired? Which part of the word no don’t you understand? For the final time, I won’t be there. Is that clear enough? Tell King I should be free sometime tomorrow afternoon. I’ll see him then.’
Nash put the phone down as Pearce wandered in. ‘They’re typing Jake Fletcher’s statement. I’ll get it signed as soon as it’s ready.’ Pearce glanced at the clock. ‘Do you want to do that other job tonight?’
‘No Viv, I’ve had enough for one day. Is Lisa still here?’
‘She went off about half an hour ago, straight after she’d been to inform Mrs Rathmell.’‘Damn. Give her a call, will you? Ask her to be here as early as she can tomorrow. Say no later than 8.30. I’ve a change of plan. I want her along with me to do the search.’
Pearce’s face fell. ‘I thought you wanted me to do that?�
��
‘I’ve got another job for you. I want you to get something for me. And I want it ready by lunchtime. Then we’re all going through to Netherdale.’
Nash was quiet throughout the meal. Becky watched him. He offered little in the way of conversation and seemed preoccupied. ‘Are you thinking about what happened today? You couldn’t have prevented it, you know. And a lot of people would say that if you couldn’t get them for the murders they committed, what Vickers did was a kind of justice.’
‘I realize that. It doesn’t make me feel any better though. But I wasn’t thinking about today, actually. I’m more concerned with tomorrow.’
‘Why? What’s going on tomorrow?’
Nash told her. As he spoke her eyes widened. ‘There’s something I want you to do for me. A couple of things actually.’
‘I’ll do whatever I can.’
Nash explained. ‘First of all, I want you to be available tomorrow afternoon. Can you do that?’
‘What time?’
‘Say, around one o’clock. It may take the rest of the day though.’
‘Okay. What else?’
‘Bring those photos you took the other night. The ones at the Westlea riot.’
‘No problem, I’ve got them here. Is that it?’
‘Er, almost. I wonder if you’d mind making a phone call for me? Here’s what I want you to say.’
It was almost ten o’clock when they finished eating. ‘I’d better get off,’ Nash told her. ‘Not that I want to seem ungrateful. It was a great risotto. Thank you, Becks, much better than a takeaway, or an apple. But if I don’t go soon I’ll be asleep on my feet, and I’ll be good for nothing in the morning.’
She walked to the door with him and smiled. ‘Go on, get yourself off and get a good night’s sleep.’
‘Just one thing before I go.’ He reached forward and kissed her.
She felt the desire in his embrace, the longing and the passion. She knew she could respond. She pushed him away. ‘Go home to bed.’
He reached for her again. ‘I’d rather stay here and go to bed.’