The Third Breath

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  Gillan clipped the first of Owen’s toes, the position of the chiropodist’s hand ensuring that the nail travelled towards the floor before answering. “No, it’s simple to use, as easy as a laser but a laser doesn’t need storage vessels, doesn’t need venting. You used to have to store the small Dewar or the flask but now there are more sophisticated ways. Just take the Cryopen, for example. It holds small cartridges containing cold inert gas in liquid form that are safe and easily stored. It’s really accurate too, but like all new technology, too expensive for a small practice like this. I have used liquid nitrogen and other freezing gases when I worked in the hospital but here? No longer viable.”

  There was a pause. “You might recall an issue with a food factory over York way. They had a problem with liquid nitrogen and they were fined heavily for a blatant disregard of Health and Safety guidelines. It was in the press, local and national but no mention of LN. I heard that from one of my clients.”

  Owen immediately sat up.

  “Please try to keep still, Mr Owen. You could have lost a toe!” Gillan smiled. “Only joking.”

  “Was your client directly involved?”

  “I couldn’t say… you know how it is with client confidentiality, sorry.”

  “Do you have the Dewar still, if that’s what the containers were called?”

  “No, this place is too small to store equipment I no longer need so I sold it. Strangely, there’s a ready market.”

  Owen twitched as the nail clipper cut through a thick nail. He did not ask another question but concentrated on what Gillan was doing to his toes. “That nail seems to have some fungal infection, you’ll need to watch that.”

  Cyril had finished working with the communications team. The images of Baldwin and Thorndyke would soon be posted on the North Yorkshire Police social media site. He knew that it was a long shot but one that he had to take. Shakti dashed into his office.

  “Check your computer, sir. Mrs Stephens has received a photograph. It’s from her husband’s missing phone. On receiving it her son called 999. An officer is with her now and the image has been patched through. The recorded call is also filed.”

  Cyril allowed Shakti to bring up the image as he reached for his reading glasses. They both stared at the computer screen. Cyril moved a little further away trying to discern what he was looking at. From what he could make out, it was a close up of a face.

  “We believe it to be Arthur Thorndyke, sir. He’s in a freezer according to the report and has been for some time.”

  “And it was sent using Stephens’s phone?” Cyril moved more closely to the screen.

  “They’re trying to find the location from which the call was made and although that’s possible, it could mean nothing. It’s a mobile after all.” She shrugged. “But at least we’ll know if it’s in the right area. Here’s the message.” Shakti moved the cursor to the file icon and clicked the computer mouse.

  Which Emergency service do you n—

  Jonathan Stephens blurted out his name and address.

  Is this your mobile number you’re calling from, Jonathan?

  Yes, yes. Please listen, please!

  Transferring you to the police, Jonathan, stay on this line.

  Jonathan, this is the police.

  My father died a couple of weeks ago and we’ve just received a photograph of what looks like… There was a long pause. A frozen corpse… When Mum’s phone rang it showed Dad’s picture, the one taken of him in France, the one she loved so she knew it was from Dad… problem is the police have been looking for the phone. It’s been missing since he died. We need to see someone, we need help, to see the police. My mum’s in bits, crying and shaking, she needs help.

  Paramedics and police are already on their way. Stay on the line, Jonathan. Where’s your mother now?

  She’s here with me. He used to see a face… my dad that is… for weeks before he died… a person… I think it frightened him but he’d never show it. He…

  The sound of a siren could be heard in the background.

  Someone’s here now. Thanks, thanks, bye.

  Cyril turned and looked at Shakti. “Get that written up and then we’re going to pay Jonathan a visit.”

  It did not take a detective to deduce that the young man was clearly shaken and far less confident than he had appeared.

  “Mum’s lying down." He fidgeted with his hands putting his fingers together and then spreading them over the phone that was on the kitchen table. “They gave her a sedative. Our GP came out, made a special trip. He’s calling later too. She never goes to the doctor.” It was clear that Jonathan had been chewing his lip.

  “Is that the phone on which you received the call?” Cyril nodded towards the mobile on the table.

  He shook his head. “The other police officer put it in a bag and removed it whilst the lady officer remained here. This one’s mine. I’m keeping it near just in case.”

  Cyril turned and acknowledged the officer sitting in the corner near the Aga. “Gone to Technical, sir, as requested.”

  “Tell us about the face, the person you thought your dad had seen.”

  There was a long pause before Jonathan spoke. “Started a while back, I can’t give you an exact date but maybe March. I think March because I clearly remember him coming in with some flowers he’d left in the car as a surprise for my mum’s birthday the following day. It was late. When he came in, he was quite shaken which is not like my father at all. He said he’d seen someone at the end of the driveway, just staring, a mask-like face focussed on him, but then he thought he’d been mistaken, perhaps a trick of the light. My father was leaning into the car and as he was about to get out he said that he saw him through the windscreen. When he moved away from the car, the figure was gone. He told me that he went down the drive but there was no one, nothing.”

  “You said it was late. How late? Was it dark?”

  “About eleven. There are lights down the drive and on the gateposts. That’s probably why he was slightly confused.”

  “Had your father been drinking?” Shakti asked.

  “Wine with dinner and some Champagne, mother’s favourite. Not enough to make him hallucinate though.” Jonathan paused again. “I’d wanted to tell you this when you first came round to inspect the car but Mum said that Dad had nightmares and occasionally saw demons and devils. Sometimes he’d wake up screaming and she thought that the face and the figure were all part of that. As you know, he liked cocaine too. I only found this out after he died, when the search dog found a small quantity in the garage.”

  “Do you have any idea where the drugs came from?”

  He shook his head. “As I’ve just said. It’s news to me. What with his health problems… I was shocked. I don’t believe he took any that night. He appeared neither drunk nor under the influence of drugs. He had a cold, that’s all, I remember that.”

  Shakti took a quick look at Cyril. It did not go unnoticed. The significance was not lost on him.

  “Did your mum take it too?” Cyril asked.

  Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t! I can assure you of that.”

  “Did anyone else see this face, the late night figure?” Cyril asked keeping his eyes on Jonathan’s expression as he considered the question.

  “Do you know what? I felt as though someone was there the other day. I’d taken the Jaguar from the garage and I felt as though someone was watching me. It was bright daylight too.”

  “Did you look carefully?”

  “Yes, nothing. To be honest I felt a little scared and got in the car and drove away.”

  Cyril looked at Shakti. He nodded, just enough for his colleague to notice. She folded her notebook and took out a card.

  “Should you feel as though you’re being watched again, call me no matter what the time.” She smiled and pushed the card in front of him. “We’re here to help.”

  24

  Stuart Park looked through the logbooks for Stephens’s aircraft. It surprised him that
there was an engine log, a propeller log and one for the aircraft airframe itself. Noting that it was based on flight hours, he swiftly checked through each before boxing them and signing a receipt. The one good thing was that the logs were controlled by the flying club so he could be assured of their accuracy. The aircraft was occasionally used by club members to learn to fly an aircraft with a variable pitch propeller and retractable undercarriage.

  The acknowledgement that the receptionist recognised both William Baines and Claire Baldwin when he showed the photographs had surprised Stuart. It was one of those moments when you do not quite believe what you are hearing. He had hoped that there might be a connection between Thorndyke and Stephens but to get a positive visual ID for two out of the three was not dissimilar to winning the lottery.

  “Funny really, I remember them quite clearly, it’s the circumstances you remember and then everything seems to click into place.”

  “Circumstances?” Stuart Park leaned forward, ready to note down what she was about to say.

  “The weather had been dreadful, the weekend especially. David had returned from a trip to France and the cross wind here at Leeds Bradford, we still call it Yeadon, can be dreadful. It was the day he was due in. We’re on a hill you see and exposed to all the vagaries the wind can throw at us. Anyway, he was expected in according to his flight plan at 1500 but he arrived early. The cloud base was low and a storm was threatening, contrary to the forecast. It was touch and go whether or not he’d need to divert but he’s a good pilot, safe. Anyway, ten minutes after landing, the heavens opened and he came in here wet through after getting the plane into the hangar. On that occasion he received a visit from customs, just his luck! Gave me a bottle of Champagne, made my day.”

  Stuart was a little confused, neither knowing where the story was leading nor what relevance it had regarding the photographs.

  “That’s what I mean by circumstance, the storm and the Champagne, you remember things. When he eventually came in here, he laughed and said he’d never fly again as it was the worst and most frightening flight he’d ever made. IMC all the way.” To Stuart’s inquisitive look, she explained. “Flying in cloud, officer. He was buzzing, probably all the adrenalin. I see that a lot after a student has just completed a first solo circuit or cross-country flight. It’s like it saps everyone’s energy.

  “Two days later, I heard his helicopter land. It was then that I noticed the couple, thought that they were husband and wife. I didn’t speak to them that day but the next time I saw him I pulled his leg about his promise never to fly again and we laughed about it. He said that the couple worked for him and that it was a reward flight. I should have their forms. Everyone coming into the hangars has to fill in a form… Well, the pilot does it for them they just read and sign it, as if we don’t have enough red tape! Informs them of safety, just as you’ve done. You all have to sign your life away when you come in here. He left the forms in the hangar, there’s a specific tray.” She giggled as she moved towards a filing cabinet. “So sad to hear about David, though. Who’d have thought it? A heart attack and at his age too. I shouldn’t be surprised as it happened to one of our instructors a few years back. One day he’s flying students all day and the next he keels over at a football match. He’d just had his medical too!”

  Park looked at the two forms. The addresses on both were that of Stephens but the names were different. Both forms appeared to be signed by the same hand. “Can read neither. David should have been a doctor with handwriting like that!”

  “No, I can’t make out the names on these forms and it looks like the same person has signed them both,” Stuart remarked.

  She took them back before looking at him. “These were handed in and simply filed. No one was injured or hurt while here and so they’ve never been looked at again until today.”

  “I’ll need copies of those. And you definitely have never seen this man? Take your time.”

  She looked again at Thorndyke’s photograph. The door opened behind her and a man in his forties appeared. He nodded to Stuart Park and blew on his hands before rubbing them.

  “Frank, have you seen this man before?” She handed him the photograph. “Sorry, Frank, this is DC Stuart Park from the North Yorkshire Police. They’re looking into the death of David Stephens. Frank is my husband. He owns the flying club or in these days of emancipation, I should say we own the flying club.”

  “Sad affair that,” Frank said. “How’s Jonathan taken it? Don’t suppose he’ll be up for flying for some time. Too many memories.”

  “It’s never easy to lose one’s father at that age and at such a critical time in the young man’s life.”

  “So who’s this?” Frank asked focussing on the image. “I’ve certainly seen him before. Yes, how could I possibly forget?”

  Stuart’s heart leapt. “Arthur Thorndyke?” he asked, knowing that he was leading him. Park noticed his expression suddenly change. “No, he’s not who I thought it was. Thorndyke you said?”

  Stuart nodded. “Who did you think it was?”

  “Albert Baldwin, may have been Arthur. I’m not sure. How could I forget the man? It’ll be on file.”

  Both his wife and Park looked at each other and then back at Frank.

  “Absolute waste of bloody space. You must remember him, Pat. He was with us less than two months, temporary. Said he’d always wanted to learn to fly and would work for nothing in exchange for some flying lessons. David Stephens supported him financially too. Originally he flew with other students. He had two single lessons if I remember correctly, flew with David a few times. More than likely took pity on the guy. He ran that Tomahawk into the back of a client’s Chipmunk, removed part of the tail and damaged the prop when he was helping to close the place down one evening.”

  “David Stephens?”

  “Yes. David was very generous, often took students with him if Jonathan wasn’t flying. That’s the kind of person David was. Bloody sad, his passing.”

  Pat turned to the computer and typed in the name Baldwin. “It’s a while ago. A. Baldwin, thirty-eight. We have his address as, The Main Street, Appleton Roebuck, just outside Tadcaster.”

  “Bloody posh address for the guy. Always arrived in a battered, old van. Dripped oil, I remember that. You both look as though I’ve said something wrong.” He tossed the photograph onto the desk. “He said he’d received a small inheritance that had allowed him to give up working for twelve months to realise his dream.”

  “Was he married? Kids?” Stuart Park asked with a degree of optimism.

  “I think so. A daughter, Vicky, if I remember correctly. I know because I thought it sounded old-fashioned. She’d be in her late-teens I’m guessing from what he said. I never saw her so the age thing is a stab in the dark.”

  Stuart’s skin tingled on hearing the name Vicky. He extended it to Victoria.

  “She lived with her mother. Baldwin even made a mess of his marriage. As I’ve said, waste of time and space and believe me, you can ill afford incompetents in my line of work. Now if there’s nothing else… any chance of coffee for the team, Pat?” He pointed to the office clock suggesting the coffee was late.

  “Just one more thing. You said he was thirty-eight. Can you describe him?”

  Stuart could see that he had just poked the bear.

  “Medium build, about my height. Hair colour as your picture suggests, dark. Rubbed his hands a good deal. Kept himself to himself. To be honest he was a bit of a miserable bastard but then people sometimes say that of me.” A forced smile appeared on his lips. “Now, if you’re done?”

  It was when Stuart Park returned to Harrogate that he called control for as much information as possible on an Arthur or Albert Baldwin living in or near Appleton Roebuck. It was then that Stuart suddenly remembered about the name and the coincidences with the addresses of those missing or dead. He dialled Cyril’s number.

  “Bennett.”

  “We have a match for two people at the flying club.
Baldwin and…” He let the first name hover for a while.

  “Thorndyke the second?” Cyril asked and from his tone, he was clearly not in the mood for guessing games.

  “Baines, sir.”

  “Baines?”

  “However, there’s more. The owner recognised Thorndyke not as Arthur Thorndyke but as an Albert or Arthur Baldwin. Worked there in a past life. He had one child, a girl and the girl’s name….”

  “Don’t tell me, Victoria.”

  “Sir.”

  “How the bloody hell does that stack up? If this gets any foggier we’ll be flying on instruments ourselves. We’re already in the bloody dark.”

  Park was amazed how swiftly Cyril connected the two but then that was why he was a DCI and not a DC; Park felt quite humbled.

  “Do we have an address?” Cyril asked.

  Park could detect a degree of enthusiasm in his boss’s voice and quickly responded. “Being checked but my guess is it’s false, sir. Pat, the receptionist and wife of the club’s owner, recognised Baines and Claire Baldwin but could not recall ever meeting Thorndyke. It was Pat’s husband Frank who clicked on to it resembling this Baldwin chap. Originally remembered his name as Albert but then wasn’t sure. Find it strange that she didn’t even take a second look. She was adamant that she’d not seen him and yet his name was filed as an A Baldwin.”

  “Get everything uplifted onto HOLMES. With luck, if there are links they’ll be tracked. Get info on Arthur Baldwin then check it with Claire’s history. Something’s not squaring up.”

  25

  Owen started the meeting, informing everyone that Colin Strong and two representatives from a producer and supplier of liquid nitrogen would be joining them at eleven. “They want to keep it informal. Elijah and Noah will brief us on the stuff.” Owen smiled and nodded at Cyril. “I kid you not, two for the price of one!”