The Third Breath

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  “It’s all there, all that we have; the drugs and the money. It’s what was in the hangar safe, his secret stash.”

  “Thank you. You do not know who I am. I’m pleased your father protected you from that fact. Had he not done so then the consequences of this meeting would be very different.”

  The figure pushed the nearest mannequin, the one wearing the face of Jonathan’s father. It wavered precariously and then began to fall. “One potato…” he whispered. The model hovered briefly before crashing to the floor, its arms separating from the body; another cloud of dust particles rose up to meet the second and then third toppling mannequin. “Two potatoes, three potatoes… You see I have spare potatoes.”

  As the boiler-suited man approached the next dummy, Jonathan moved as quickly as he could, curving a path as far away from him as possible. He crashed through the double door and then focussed on the next exit. He could see it was closed. The push bar ran across the centre and he flung himself against it. It opened with his full force behind it, colliding with the metal handrail and bouncing back, threatening to knock him off his feet. He stumbled but maintained his momentum, taking the metal steps two and three at a time before he was on the cobbles. He neither noticed the sun’s warmth nor the face from the upstairs window watching his escape.

  A hand reached for the mask and removed it for a moment allowing the cool air to bathe his face before replacing it. He smiled as he watched the badly shaken youth veer frantically towards the bypass.

  Owen wiped the soles of his shoes across the boot-scrape outside the front door but still removed them on entering. The tea sat in two large blue and white striped mugs next to a tray with four more mugs. “I’ll take these to the boys outside.”

  “Biscuits on the table. Find owt?”

  Owen shook his head.

  When she came back in Owen was quick to ask. “You don’t have a chest freezer I see.” Flecks of biscuit dropped from his lips as if to accompany the start of the question.

  “No, small one on top of the fridge. We try to eat fresh stuff here not that frozen processed muck and my husband’ll eat what I give him.”

  “Thanks very much and thanks for the tea. Can I take a biscuit with me?” Owen’s grin spread across his face when she told him he could take two and that they had been baked freshly that morning.

  As they got in the car, he put them on the dashboard. He waved as she stood at the door. “Like putty!”

  “She’s old enough to be your mother!”

  The police minibus pulled away. “Call Cyril. Tell him this end’s clear. If he doesn’t need us we’ll see him back at the station.” Owen stuffed another biscuit into his mouth, selected first gear and headed for Harrogate.

  Jonathan Stephens did not take the bypass tunnel and retrace his steps to the railway station, instead he kept to the road and jogged towards the dual carriageway. Watching for a suitable gap between the fast-moving vehicles, he crossed to the side where the traffic was heading in the direction of Ilkley and held out his thumb.

  Within minutes a battered transit van pulled to the side, its hazard lights ablaze. Jonathan ran up and pulled at the passenger door.

  “Where you going?” the driver enquired, keeping one eye on his wing mirrors.

  Jonathan was still breathing hard. “Ilkley.”

  “Get in, shouldn’t stop here owing to the traffic,” the driver said. The van was moving before Jonathan had closed the door fully. The journey would take them twelve minutes.

  Cyril opened the driver’s door and a sprightly lady well into her seventies climbed out.

  “There’re not many of you left, gentlemen, that is, not police officers.” She looked at Cyril again. “Mind there aren’t as many of them as there used to be.”

  Cyril smiled. “DCI Bennett. Sorry to drag you all this way but my colleague has informed me that the last tenant is due to leave in the next few days. When is that exactly?”

  “Mr Monk. This Sunday, took it for two weeks and then extended. Normally we do holiday lets with the occasional long term. The clients need to be the right sort of people, if you know what I mean. No riff-raff. You want to look round?”

  Cyril smiled before leaning towards Shakti. “Get on to Owen and April. Our man here goes by the name of Monk but my instinct tells me that’s bullshit. Ask him to translate Munch from the Norwegian to English and he’ll see why.”

  Cyril turned back to Mrs Wilbor. “Did you receive any client details when he made the booking?”

  “For a holiday rental? He saw the local advert and rang, like many do. He said, if I remember correctly, that he saw the advertisement in the Dalesman when he stayed on the first occasion. We get a lot of our bookings from either the Tourist Office in Harrogate and Ripon or from the occasional adverts we place in magazines and local papers. We try to keep away from the Internet, attracts the wrong sort.”

  “This is not the first time he’s rented?”

  “Goodness, no. I should say about three maybe four. I’d have to check. That’s why I was surprised by all of this palaver.”

  “So you’ll have his contact details, Mrs Wilbor?”

  “At home. He paid cash in advance including the deposit against damages and the like, as always. Left the place better than he found it usually, immaculate.”

  Cyril followed her up the path as he waved an arm to direct the remaining two officers to go to the back of the property. The police dog and handler were to follow him. They stopped at the door and Cyril explained to the owner justification for the sniffer dog. “Do you have an alarm?”

  She shook her head. “You’ll not find drugs, not if I know my guests.”

  “Alarm?” Cyril pointed to the box on the front of the house.

  “It’s false. The original alarm caused too many problems for the guests and we were forever coming to silence it.” She passed Cyril the key, her face full of disgust at the thought that someone would use drugs in her house.

  “If you’ll wait in your car, please.”

  Cyril donned overshoes and gloves.

  The dog entered after being unleashed, the Spaniel’s tail animated as it excitedly began working.

  Jonathan Stephens jumped from the van whilst waiting at the traffic lights on Leeds Road. He waved as the driver pulled away. He was less than a minute’s walk away from where he had parked the Jaguar. Turning up Victory Road, he saw the car. He breathed a sigh of relief. Slipping his hand in his pocket, he felt the comfort of the car keys. The doors immediately unlocked as he approached, his hand went to the driver’s side handle and he pulled it before jumping in quickly.

  Back at the mill, the masks were removed from the mannequins and the various limbs that had become detached as the figures had crashed to the floor were moved to the side of the room. They would remain along with their owners, leaving only the bag that Jonathan had dropped in the centre. The man rubbed his hands together and blew on them before retrieving the bag. Feeling its weight, he knew that there should be four kilograms of high quality cocaine and some crystal meth with a street value of a quarter of a million alongside the cash. At this stage, he could only hope that the youth had been honest as there was no going back, for Jonathan there would be no second chance.

  The vibration from his phone made the man pause. He knew what it meant. There was someone in the house and they had activated the motion sensors on the wireless cameras, triggering the alarm on his phone. Removing his mobile, he quickly watched the scene as the dog moved around the corridor leading from the front door. He observed as each door was opened and rooms were checked. He sat back and split the screen showing the live images from the three cameras. His finger hovered over the green alarm button that would allow him to sound a siren within the room as they approached. He pressed it and he laughed as the phone app asked if he were sure. He let his finger hover over the command. As the police dog came into the lounge, the man pressed and as the remote cameras were designed to transmit images and audio, he heard and saw t
he immediate effect.

  The officer and the dog responded in different ways, the dog simply ran from the room and down the corridor, almost knocking Cyril over before dashing through the front door. It settled by the wall where the pulsating sound was much diminished, its tail still and between its legs. The officer, after the initial shock, covered his ears and ran towards the sound. He quickly removed the camera and thrust it into the pocket of his cargo pants, blinding it and muffling the alarm’s shrill scream.

  “If there’s one camera there are more,” Cyril announced. “You get the dog and bring in the others. I want every one of them located.” His voice was filled with frustration.

  Removing the white overall, he rolled it up, ensuring that the photographic masks were safely wrapped within it before leaving by the fire escape. He scanned the area but there was nobody about. The demolition notices seemed to have achieved the desired effect. He walked down past the clock round the end of the building to his car. Lifting the boot, he added the bag and the boiler suit between the suitcases. He was prepared for every eventuality; he was just a couple of days early but his objective had been reached.

  Climbing into the driver’s seat, he removed the paper mask. Would the police ever understand the reason for the potatoes? He doubted they would fully grasp the relevance of the cocktail glass and the beer mat. If they found the mill before it was torn down and discovered the mannequins, then maybe. However, should they discover the masks… then who knew? As he drove out he glanced at the mill clock.

  “Eighteen thirty-seven,” he said out loud, “simply frozen in time.” He then let his eyes fall on the pile of stones tucked within the remains of the demolished section of the mill.

  37

  The dog re-entered after the cameras had been removed and it was soon evident that drugs had been used or stored in the house. Cyril was aware of recent reports suggesting cocaine was so common that one in ten people have traces of the drug on their fingers. He had read about eighty per cent of bank notes carried traces. Nine toilets in the Palace of Westminster had previously tested positive. Finding drug residue within a holiday property would be circumstantial should Mr Monk be traced.

  Cyril stood in the conservatory and looked out across the garden. He observed one of the officers check the hedge and then move to the stone outhouse. He watched as he tried the door. It was locked. The Spaniel came round the back of the fence and worked the garden area. Cyril marvelled at its enthusiasm.

  Mrs Wilbor was still sitting in her car. Her eyes were closed and the sound of classical music could just be heard. Cyril gently tapped on the window. It startled her. He smiled and opened the door.

  “Do you have a key for the building at the bottom of the garden, please?”

  “It’s on that ring, fits the padlock. It’s not accessible to the tenants, just a place we keep some old things. Should be thrown out but you know what it’s like. You keep things believing they’ll come in handy one day!”

  “We’ve tried that key, and according to my officer it’s both the wrong size and the incorrect make.”

  “I can assure you that it was fine a month or so ago and we haven’t been in there since.” Her whole demeanour changed, more defensive than ever. What with the alarm and the key, she felt as though she was losing control. Climbing from the car, she walked round to the stone buildings and stared at the lock. “That’s certainly not right. That’s been changed.” She swiftly took her mobile from her bag and dialled. “Have you changed the lock on the outbuilding at the holiday let?”

  Cyril watched her expression.

  “Well someone has. The police can’t get in. The lock’s been changed!” She turned to Cyril. “My husband is on his way with some tools. You will get in. We’ve nothing to hide, Chief Inspector.”

  One of the officers who had been talking to the farmer approached Cyril. They both moved towards the tree at the far side.

  “Two hundred quid, sir, to make the face. Told us and I quote, it were a piece of piss to do. The guy renting this place, Monk his name is, he said it was to impress a lady friend who’d be flying over. Told us that it attracted a lot of aerial traffic and some came quite low. I asked if he had seen anything being dropped but he said that he wasn’t watching it at all times during the daylight hours and I quote again, How the bloody hell does I know? Christ, it were a bit of fun and these things always attract attention. You should have seen the traffic the huge red heart I made a while back brought over. He told me that his work now even attracted people with drones who come to take pictures. He charges them a fiver to go onto the field if he sees them.”

  A Range Rover pulled up alongside the Bentley. “DCI Bennett? Wilbor.” He leaned offering his hand. “Sorry for this mess. More bloody trouble than it’s worth. Should sell it but then it’s been in her family for some time.”

  He went to the boot and brought out some bolt cutters and a crow bar. “One of these should do the trick!”

  Owen received the call as he was just making a mug of tea. “Which hospital?” He poured the tea away and quickly moved to find April. “Jonathan Stephens, he’s in a bad way. He’s being taken to Airedale Hospital Accident and Emergency as we speak. Touch and go according to the paramedics who attended. Give Flash a call and let him know we’re going over to interview the officer who got him out of the car. Tell him I’ll ring with further details once we know more. Meet me downstairs.”

  With blue lights and sirens, Owen managed to even make April feel more than a little sick.

  On arrival at the hospital, he left April to recover on a bench outside and he entered A&E. He saw the PCSO immediately.

  “DS Owen?” She smiled. “Hazel, Hazel Barnes. He was in a bad way.”

  Owen sat her down. “So what happened? You were to keep an eye on the car.”

  “ I took over at 2.30pm and was told to just keep coming back to see if the car had moved. I wasn’t to watch it all of the time. If it had gone it would be tracked. About forty minutes later, I turned down the road and saw a bloke I now believe to be Jonathan Stephens open the door and get in. I ran down to the car hoping to stop him but he was slumped over the wheel. Throwing the door open, I was met with a vapour-type stuff that drifted over the footwell. To be honest I thought it was smoke and that it was on fire. I just grabbed him and pulled him half onto the pavement. A passing member of the public helped. Stephens had stopped breathing and so I gave him CPR whilst the guy dialled 999. Funny thing was that whilst we were down there, in the gutter with his legs still in the car, I started to feel unwell, dizzy and a little sick. The bloke decided to drag him well away from the car and he did what I instructed. He continued with the resuscitation until the paramedics turned up. They gave me oxygen too.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Okay, thank you. They’ve checked me over and they tell me I’m fine, that I’d done the correct thing. They also said if I’d tried to help him in the car they might well have had two serious casualties. It was just whilst I was down by the side of the vehicle. Something else too, it was really cold. We found a black insulated flask in the passenger side. One of the attending medics suggested that it was liquid nitrogen. They closed the lid. It’s still with the vehicle. I believe Forensics are taking it away once it’s been assessed. They also found four small potatoes!”

  He could tell from her voice that she found that hard to comprehend.

  “Potatoes?” Owen said nothing more about them. “Did you or your colleague see anyone near the car at any time?”

  “People walked past occasionally but I certainly didn’t see anyone open a door or stand by it. Had I done so, I’d have been straight there.”

  “Well done. Do you have a lift back?”

  She nodded. He gave her his card. “Call me. We’ll await your report but let me know you’re okay. Congratulations, Hazel Barnes, you saved someone’s life today, you should feel proud.” He tapped the hand that rested on her thigh before moving to reception. He showed his
ID and within minutes was with one of the doctors who had treated Stephens.

  As the door opened, Cyril immediately saw the chest freezer. “Please wait in the conservatory. Is that your freezer?”

  Wilbor looked and Cyril noted his puzzled expression. “Yes. Where have that bloody bar and the three locks come from? Wasn’t like that when it went in.”

  “Did it still work?” Cyril saw the cable running up to a plug socket on the stone wall.

  “It did, just expensive to run, must be twelve years old, maybe more.”

  Cyril watched him go to the conservatory but saw him stop and pick something up from the grass before entering. One of the officers put the bolt cutters to the first padlock and watched as it fell to the floor. Once the three locks were cut and removed they slid the bolt. Shakti cautiously lifted the lid. As the cold air hit the warm, it condensed forming a grey vapour cloud that hovered above the void.

  Staring back through opaque eyes was Claire Baldwin, her hands by her face as if she were about to scream. Cyril turned his head to look at the figure trapped beneath hers. He looked more closely; the face seemed strange. Through the encasing crust of white crystals, it was the face of Thorndyke that stared back but as Cyril put his gloved hand to the side of the face he realised that he was actually looking at a photograph and that the trapped body beneath the frozen corpse of Claire Baldwin was not human. “It’s a bloody mannequin!” he said lifting his eyes. “The bastard. We’re looking for Thorndyke. He’s led us along all the while. Bloody clever that! Like Albert’s post-mortem photograph it was put there to keep her company!” Cyril allowed the lid of the freezer to close, his frustration and anger getting the better of him. He moved to stand outside, before resting his head in his hands.

  “Inspector, sorry. This was in the grass.” Mr Wilbor handed Cyril an earring. He knew exactly where that had come from.