Minds That Hate

by Bill Kitson

  ‘Maybe, but you’re not. Not with what you’ve got to do tomorrow.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  ‘Good night, Mike.’

  Nash’s first impression of Vanessa Rathmell was of coldness. She was in her mid fifties, he guessed. Her hair was bleached blonde, but the effect was more mousey than striking. Her figure would be called slim by anyone with tact. Scrawny by someone striving for accuracy. Her blue eyes stared at Nash with chilling hostility.

  ‘Why do you insist on searching my house? Isn’t it enough that my husband has been murdered, without putting me through this ordeal? Why are you not concentrating on catching the perpetrators? No doubt some enemies of my husband – possibly one of those migrants.’

  Generations of landowning quasi-aristocracy had left her with the undoubted notion that when she spoke, others should obey. Her nasal tones betrayed her though, the overall impression being more of whining self-pity. There was certainly little sign of grief.

  Nash opted for shock tactics. ‘We already have the person responsible in custody. And it wasn’t a politically motivated crime. Your husband’s body was discovered close to that of the woman who’d been his mistress for over fifteen years. The man who killed them did so as an act of revenge. You see, Mrs Rathmell –’ Nash leaned forward slightly ‘– he learned that your husband and his mistress murdered the woman’s daughter to keep their affair secret. More recently they murdered a journalist for the same reason. Would you like to know what the murder weapon was?’

  He didn’t give her time to answer. ‘It was a length of piano wire. Wire bought from the music shop in town. Bought by you, Mrs Rathmell.’

  Nash pressed home his advantage. ‘The reason we intend to search this house is that we have evidence your husband was behind the violence that has left at least six people dead. Others were involved in the plot, but your husband was the ringleader. We’re here to find proof of the involvement of others. Now, I’ve a busy day ahead, Mrs Rathmell, so we’ll start with his study. If we find what we’re looking for there, we might not need to search the rest of the house. We’ll try to keep disruption to a minimum.’

  Nash nodded to Lisa. ‘Get the rest of the team inside, will you?’ He signalled towards the room they’d just left. ‘I want the forensic boys to check that piano and see if any of the strings have been replaced recently. I don’t want anything left to chance. I’ll be in Rathmell’s study.’

  When Andrews returned she brought four of the team with her. ‘The others are on with the piano. Where do you want me to start?’

  ‘The desk,’ Nash said. ‘I’ve unlocked it. I’m going to concentrate on the safe.’

  Within an hour, they had what they wanted. Nash studied the documents keenly. Lisa watched his expression change to one Mironova would have recognized. Nash the hunter: remorseless and dedicated.

  Nash was back at Helmsdale station before 1 p.m. Pearce was reading the early edition of the Netherdale Gazette. ‘Tomorrow’s will be even more dramatic,’ Nash told him. ‘Did you get what I asked for?’

  ‘Yes, but it was a bit of a struggle. I don’t think I’d have stood a chance but for the backup.’

  ‘Right, be ready in five minutes. I’ve a phone call to make before we go.’

  Nash got through to the Gazette. ‘Becks, we’re setting off. We’ll meet you at Netherdale nick, in the car park.’

  Outside, Nash tossed Pearce the keys. ‘You drive. I want to collect something from home. When they reached his flat, Nash went inside. A few minutes later Pearce stared in astonishment at the object in Nash’s hand. Lisa, on the other hand, showed no surprise.

  They pulled into Netherdale police station yard a few minutes before 2 p.m. Becky Pollard sauntered over. ‘Everything set up?’ Nash asked her.

  ‘Just as you asked,’ Becky replied. She tapped a slim document case. ‘I’ve brought the stuff, and made the phone call.’

  ‘Right, let’s get on with it.’

  Inside, Nash paused to talk to Binns. ‘Everything okay, Jack?’

  Binns nodded. ‘I had a phone call from the ward half an hour ago. Tom’s off the critical list. They reckon he should make a full recovery.’

  ‘That’s great news. And the other matter?’

  ‘All in hand. Come with me.’

  DCC King was seated at his desk, Crawley opposite him. Nash entered without knocking, leaving the door open behind him. ‘Nash! How dare you burst into my office?’

  ‘I thought you wanted to see me,’ Nash spoke quietly.

  ‘I need an explanation. You allowed Vickers to escape. He killed an innocent woman and a highly respected member of the European Parliament. A man who has served this community unstintingly for over a decade. You’ll be lucky to keep your job, Nash. And I, for one, will be glad to see you go. You’re a disgrace to the force.’

  ‘You never let facts get in your way, do you?’ Nash was as calm as King was heated. ‘Vickers didn’t escape. He was a free man. Nobody could have stopped him going to Helm Woods. I agree he killed Rathmell and Gemma Fletcher. But she certainly wasn’t innocent. Nor was Rathmell the selfless public servant you make him out to be. On the other hand, they were a couple of ruthless and cold-blooded murderers, who’ll be no loss to the community.’

  King tried to intervene, but Nash wasn’t to be denied. The adjoining office door on Nash’s left opened softly. Gloria O’Donnell entered, unnoticed by everyone.

  ‘They certainly committed two murders themselves. They killed Stacey Fletcher: the crime for which Vickers was convicted. More recently, they murdered the journalist Tucker. In addition Rathmell organized a spate of violence around Helmsdale that resulted in the deaths of at least another six people.’

  ‘This is a catalogue of rubbish. You’re just trying to protect your job. You have absolutely no proof.’

  Nash allowed King to rage on. When he stopped, Nash beckoned Lisa. She handed him a slim file. ‘This is Jake Fletcher’s statement,’ Nash said. ‘In it he describes a series of meetings at which the campaign of violence was planned.’

  King, from being almost purple, had gone deathly white. ‘What credence can you put on the unsupported testimony of a hardened criminal?’

  ‘Fletcher’s reputation is certainly not the best,’ Nash agreed, ‘but to describe him as a hardened criminal isn’t right. He’s never been convicted of anything more serious than a series of motoring offences. But I felt sure you’d not take Fletcher’s word alone, so I unearthed other supporting evidence.’

  Nash held up a box. ‘This is a collection of tape recordings Rathmell made. They were in his safe at Houlston Grange. Effectively, they’re the minutes of those meetings I mentioned. They’re all neatly labelled with times and dates. They’re very enlightening to listen to. Especially when we look at other evidence connected to the violence.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this. Get out of my office. You’re suspended from duty forthwith, pending an investigation into your conduct. Hand in your warrant card and pistol to Inspector Crawley and leave this rubbish here. The rest of you, clear out.’

  ‘Nice try, King,’ Nash said calmly. ‘Jack, do your bit, will you?’

  Binns stepped forward. ‘Martin James King, I am placing you under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, arson and foment civil disorder. You are cautioned that anything you say...’

  ‘I take it you can prove all this, Mike?’ The interruption was spoken so quietly the other occupants in the room were shocked to see the chief constable standing in the corner.

  ‘I can indeed, Ma’am. The first incident refers to the fire at the Hassan flat. DCC King ordered a rapid response unit to Helmsdale with specific instructions to protect the fire brigade who were coming under attack from an unruly mob.’

  ‘I don’t see the significance.’

  Nash fished into his file. ‘This is a copy of the station log recording the request for the RRU. Attached to it is the record of the 999 call made to the fire brigade. Unless DCC King is clairvoyan
t, I fail to see how he ordered the unit to Helmsdale five minutes before the emergency call was made.’

  ‘I see,’ the chief breathed. ‘I take it there’s more?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am. These photos were taken by DC Andrews. They clearly show Jake Fletcher and King with Rathmell in his study. You will note the date and time shown on the corner of the photo.’ Nash fumbled with the box of tapes and extracted one. ‘This is a tape recording of that meeting. Rathmell was meticulous to the extreme. The date of the meeting is written on the side of the cassette. The three men are discussing the disposal of Councillor Appleyard. Appleyard was beginning to get cold feet about the violence. Rathmell decided to have him killed. He said it would do the cause good to have a martyr. You can hear the others laughing at the joke.’

  He slid the tape into the cassette player he’d brought and pressed play. After a few minutes he switched the machine off.

  ‘That would seem to be conclusive.’ O’Donnell looked at her deputy as if he was something unpleasant she’d just stepped in. ‘Take him away, Sergeant.’

  Binns led the unresisting prisoner from the room. ‘Well done, Mike. I’m glad that’s over.’

  ‘But it isn’t, Ma’am.’

  ‘What! Surely that’s everything wrapped up?’

  ‘Not quite. There was the incident of the arson attack on the industrial estate. Becks, the photos, please?’

  Becky handed Nash a sheaf of photos. ‘Again, these are dated and timed. They show the officers from Netherdale quite clearly. Those officers arrived at the scene before I did. Before the uniformed men from Helmsdale. Tom Pratt, who learned of the riot by normal means, was twenty minutes after them. The incident even got onto Helm Radio before I arrived.’

  ‘Wasn’t King responsible for that as well?’

  ‘He couldn’t have been. He was away at the same conference as you. However, King’s right-hand man was here, and was on duty, and did ring Helm Radio. The station requires identification before they accept a news story like that. They confirm it was Crawley who made the call. In addition, the incident room log shows the time Crawley despatched the team to Helmsdale. Again it was before the request for assistance came in.’

  Nash looked at Pearce, who stepped forward. O’Donnell nodded, and Pearce administered the caution. The chief watched Crawley being taken from the room followed by the others. She turned to look at Nash. ‘I hardly dare ask...’

  ‘That’s it this time, Ma’am.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that. Better get this evidence logged safely and have transcripts of those tapes made. I want to see everything before we submit details to the CPS. I’ll also have to inform HM Inspector of Constabulary and the Police Complaints Commission. You’ve just dropped a whole tool box into the works, I hope you realize that. Now, as you’re the most senior officer remaining...’ She corrected herself, ‘The only senior officer remaining, you’ll have to take immediate charge here. I’ll have to see what the long-term prognosis on Superintendent Pratt is before any decisions are made for the future.’

  ‘That’s alright, Ma’am, as long as I can have the rest of the day free. I’ll start tomorrow.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘Yes. I intend to take your goddaughter out for dinner.’

  It was Nash’s turn to choose. He opted for La Giaconda. ‘The owner might act a bit funny, but the food’s terrific.’

  ‘Why might he be funny?’

  ‘I, er, well, I was dating his sister.’

  ‘I see. He won’t poison the lasagne, will he?’

  ‘No, hopefully not.’

  ‘But he might not like it, seeing me with you?’

  ‘I don’t care what he thinks.’ Nash took her hand. ‘You’re with me. That’s all that matters.’

  He felt her hand quiver slightly in his. At the time he wasn’t sure why.

  Over the meal they kept the conversation light. At one point, however, Becky asked, ‘What will happen to Vickers? Will he go back to gaol? It doesn’t seem fair if it turns out like that. Not after what they did; and what he suffered because of them.’

  Nash shook his head. ‘We’ll prepare the paperwork and send it to CPS, but I doubt if anything will come of it. Once the doctors finish examining Vickers, I think they’ll report that he’s unfit to plead. Effectively, he’ll be locked away in a secure mental unit for the rest of his life. A rotten end to what’s been a rotten case.’

  ‘Speaking of which, I was handed a lousy job this morning too. I had to go through JT’s files and stuff, clear his desk out and everything.’

  Nash sympathized, ‘Not the most pleasant task.’

  ‘One file was interesting, though.’ Becky fumbled in her handbag. ‘JT labelled it “to follow up”. It was a collection of unsolved mysteries. This was the one that intrigued me.’ She passed over a newspaper cutting.

  Nash looked at it. It was the report of an inquest into the death of an unidentified woman. The findings were not so much inconclusive as non-existent. Not only had the police been unable to find any clue as to the woman’s identity, but the cause of death couldn’t be established because of the condition of the corpse. It was the note Tucker had made in the margin that intrigued Nash.‘Well, well, well,’ he said eventually.

  ‘You see why it interested me?’

  ‘I do indeed. But I can’t see what could be done about it after all this time.’

  Becky smiled. ‘You never know – something might turn up.’

  It was a light-hearted comment, more of a joke than anything. Nash would have cause to remember that later.

  As the evening wore on, Nash became aware that he’d had too much to drink, and that Becky was in little better condition.

  ‘I’d better get you a taxi,’ he said, when he’d paid the bill and they were heading for the door.

  ‘It’s a nice night. Let’s walk.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s a long way to your place.’

  ‘Your flat’s nearer.’ Her eyes sparkled as she slid her arm through his.

  Nash looked at her and smiled. He looked again and his smile broadened. ‘Oh. Oh, alright, then.’

  Pearce was checking the tape transcripts next morning when Mironova walked in. ‘You look well. Good holiday?’ he asked.

  ‘Great. We went camping in the Lake District. No radio, no telly, no newspapers or mobile phones. I didn’t want to come back.’ She sat at her desk and sighed. ‘Anything interesting happened while I’ve been away?’

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR, BY THE AUTHOR

  My ambitions are simple. I'm a storyteller. I want to write books that people will enjoy so much they will look out for the next one with my name on the cover. Although reviews are important, it is the opinion of readers that matters most to me.

  With seven books in the DI MIKE NASH series published, I have decided to set aside the crime books for the time being in order to focus my attention on a long overdue project that is close to my heart.

  Under my pen name WILLIAM GORDON I have recently released WATERING THE OLIVES, a collection of light-hearted stories, and THE LAST RESORT, both set on a fictional Greek island. However, the principal reason for the change of direction is the BYLAND CRESCENT series, a five-volume family saga that will span the period from late Victorian times until the present day, with each book centred around a new generation of the families.

  The series will take the reader to such diverse locations as West and North Yorkshire, Australia, Europe and America. The first book, REQUIEM, is available in paperback and both REQUIEM and book two,RENAISSANCE are now available to download on KINDLE. The remaining titles in this series, will follow in due course.

  That doesn't mean that I've given up my life of crime. There will be more Mike Nash stories on the way soon. Watch this space!

  OTHER BOOKS BY BILL KITSON

  Identity Crisis

  Alone in an isolated cottage, a young housewife awaits the arrival of her sister, Jo. Outside, as storms lash the
country, Dr Johana Grey struggles to reach the house, but when she does, she finds it deserted, in darkness.

  With Mike Nash on leave, DS Mironova leads the investigation. The woman’s husband cannot be accounted for. Is he responsible, or has she been abducted by the sadistic serial killer nicknamed the Cremator?

  Back Slash

  What is the secret of the forester living a hermit-like existence in the remotest part of the Wingate Estate? Is he a callous murderer? Is he now taking a terrible revenge on those who wronged him? Or, does the truth lie elsewhere?

  A ruthless killer is on the rampage, one with a distinctive trademark. With resources decimated by a flu epidemic, Mike Nash is forced to use unorthodox tactics to expose a web of corruption and deceit spanning the years.

  Altered Egos

  When you take an ordinary man and train him to kill, he becomes dangerous. When his mind is clouded by drugs, he becomes unstable. When he loses everything he loves, he becomes a lethal killing machine.

  Depth of Despair

  When two skeletons are discovered from Lamentation Tarn, talented detective Mike Nash and his team have little evidence with which to work, until a surprising discovery prompts them to contact law enforcement agencies in Eastern Europe. A joint taskforce is formed to uncover a criminal network involved in prostitution, drugs and human trafficking, but Nash’s preoccupation with internal politics, as well as with an attractive Russian detective, proves to be a distraction. Finally, a young victim escapes the gang’s clutches, providing Nash with much needed evidence. A search of the neighbouring tarn yields further corpses and reveals an even more heinous crime. Two more bloody encounters must occur before the criminals are brought to bitter justice.

  Chosen

  How do you solve a crime when there’s no evidence one has been committed? When Sarah Kelly fails to return from a night out, DI Mike Nash can only speculate, until a chance remark causes him to look deeper into other cases; girls who have vanished without trace. Nash spots chilling similarities: no bodies, no witnesses, all disappearances explained away. While investigating seemingly unconnected crimes, Nash strives to come to grips with the psyche of a most unusual serial killer. He needs to find a solution and fast as two more women vanish, making it personal and potentially fatal; both for Nash and for the women who have been chosen…