by BILL KITSON
Nash was unable to resist asking, ‘Did she tell you about it, or did you know?’
‘When she’d made love, you mean? Oh yes, I tackled her about it. She just grinned and said “show me a book as exciting as that and I’ll read it”, something like that.’
‘Suppose we manage to get this sorted out. Do you think you might be able to lead a less monastic existence?’
‘I don’t know. I certainly hope so, but perhaps it’s too late. The damage might be irreversible. What I’d really like to do is to sell this house.’ She saw his shocked expression. ‘It’s a lovely house and it would make a super family home, but it’s wasted on me. It’s become my prison, holds nothing but bad memories. I wish my parents hadn’t bought it, wish we’d never moved here. At the time we were all in favour of the move but in hindsight it was a disaster.’
‘I assumed you’d lived here all your life.’
‘No, we used to live in Netherdale. We moved here when Danny and I were fifteen.’
‘Where would you go? If you were able to sell this house, I mean. Would you stay in the area?’
Monique shook her head. ‘I’d go to my other home,’ she smiled at his look of surprise. ‘Did you know my mother was French?’ Nash nodded. ‘My grand-mère left the family home to me. She died four years ago, since then my aunt and her husband have taken care of it. It’s easy for them, as they live next door. They’re often on at me to go live there.’
‘Why don’t you, if you want it so badly?’
‘Partly because I’m scared, but mostly because I’d feel I was deserting Danny.’
Nash called in at Helmsdale police station on his way back home and left Monique’s list on his desk. Pearce was still there, with some mildly disturbing news. ‘I went round to Bailey’s house after he did a runner,’ he told Nash. ‘It was all locked up, no sign of life. Could be he went straight home from here then scarpered. What do you want me to do?’
‘Not much we can do. It’s not as if he’s committed any crime that we know of. As far as the law’s concerned, he’s innocent until we can prove otherwise. All he’s done is lie about his movements last Friday. If we start hounding him, we lay ourselves open to accusations of harassment. We’ll have to wait until he surfaces. Check with Rushton’s tomorrow morning, see if he turns up for work.’
‘Why would he do a runner, if he’s nothing to hide?’
‘You’re thinking like a copper, Viv. Plenty of innocent people are scared of the police, for all sorts of reasons. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve committed a crime. When I was a DC, I went to interview a witness to a street fight. He hid from me, and I’d to go back three times before I found him. It turned out he thought I’d come about an unpaid parking fine.’
Nash got to bed in reasonable time, swallowed his tablets and was hopeful for a good night’s sleep. He thought about the evening he’d spent with Monique, and what she’d told him about herself and Danielle. He was still picturing the two girls when he fell asleep.
Something had changed again. Sarah was aware of it as soon as consciousness began to return. Something about her felt different. She felt vaguely nauseous. She opened her eyes. She was dressed again. She noticed this without it seeming in any way remarkable. Nor was she lying on the bed in the nursery. She looked round. The sudden head movement made the room swim for a moment. She waited and her eyes refocused. She felt relaxed, her limbs limp. As far as she could see, the room appeared to be a small breakfast kitchen and she was seated at the table. There was a place setting on the table directly in front of her. She realized she was hungry. She looked down. The clothing she had been put into was another strange set. A long-sleeved paisley-patterned blouse that was buttoned right up to the neck, and a fawn miniskirt. She swung her legs out in front of her and saw she was wearing white ankle socks and sandals. She frowned at the garments in bewilderment. She’d never worn anything like this.
‘Sassy dearest, you’ve woken up at long last. I’ve been waiting such a weary time for you to waken.’ The same gently caressing voice disturbed her thoughts. She looked up and saw him smiling at her but something he’d said was wrong. What was it? Her name, surely that was wrong? What was it he’d called her? She frowned in a furious effort of concentration. Sassy, that was it, he’d called her Sassy. But Sassy wasn’t her name, was it? She felt so confused. It was all too much, too tiring. She gave up the effort.
‘You must be hungry after all that time asleep. Look, I’ve made you your favourite breakfast, Sassy. Toast soldiers with boiled eggs, the yolks all golden and runny. Just as you like them. Come along, let me help you.’
He offered her a slender finger of toast coated in egg and she began to eat. He’d done it again. He’d called her Sassy again. If only she could remember her proper name, she could tell him. That wasn’t all, the eggs and toast soldiers tasted really nice and she was very hungry, but they weren’t her favourite? She wasn’t really sure but she thought she could remember having corn flakes for breakfast.
She gave up trying to work out these puzzles and concentrated on eating. Even that was enough of an effort; it was making her feel oh so tired. One good thing at least, the nausea was wearing off. She felt light and airy. She was beginning to float on a magic carpet of toast covered by golden runny egg yolks. She closed her eyes and heard his voice. It sounded distant although she knew he was still close by. ‘Open wide, Sassy dearest. One last mouthful, just to please me.’
He watched her, patiently waiting for the drug to work. It would be quicker this time; it always was. It was only topping up from the previous dose. He slipped his hand beneath her skirt and began gently stroking the inside of her thigh. ‘Hello, cheeky boy,’ she murmured without opening her eyes.
His smile widened. He stood up and slid one arm beneath her knees, the other round her back and lifted her from the chair. He carried her across the room and through the connecting door into the nursery and laid her on the bed. He stared at her for a few moments then began unbuttoning her blouse, his fingers trembling with renewed excitement.
chapter thirteen
It was another early start when Mironova greeted Nash and Pearce. ‘What’s the plan for this morning, Mike?’ Nash looked tired. Was that due to pressure of work, or something else?
‘We need to resolve the Lizzie Barton killing. But before we speak to Jennings and his girlfriend, I want another word with the barman from the pub. Send someone to bring him in, and we’ll see if we can persuade him to change his story for something closer to the truth.’
‘Do you think he recognized the killer?’ Pearce asked.
‘I think so, and I think I know who. But first, when you ring Rushton’s about Bailey, see if Jennings is working today’s shift. While you’re on, speak to their MD. Ask if we can have a copy of Bailey’s personnel file. We could get a warrant, but I’d rather do it the simple way as Rushton’s have been so cooperative. Either Jennings killed Lizzie, or Cindy did and Jennings is covering up for her. I also want research done on our friend Bailey. That’s down to you, Viv. See what you can find out. Go back as far as you can, to his childhood if possible. This afternoon we’ve got to see more parents so we’d better get on. Clara, you go and find Cindy Green, then put her in an interview room with a cup of tea.’
After they left, Nash spoke to Joan Kelly, who sounded close to collapse. All he could do was repeat that they were maintaining their efforts. Whilst he was talking he was idly fingering Monique’s list. When he’d finished he sat for a moment, thinking. Then he rang Monique Canvey, ‘How are you this morning?’
‘Better than I expected. I believe it’s done me good to talk about things. I’ve tended to keep everything bottled up, partly because I’ve never felt close enough to anyone to be confident of baring my soul without them thinking I was a crazy woman. Last night was different. Somehow I knew you’d understand.’
Nash laughed. ‘Nutters of the world unite. You have nothing to lose but your minds.’
‘That�
��s about it. Anyway, how are you? You sound tired.’
‘I’m feeling a bit jaded.’
‘Is that a result of our conversation, or is it the case?’
‘There are three cases I’ve got on my plate, all causing problems.’
‘You mustn’t let it get to you. I believe you’re the one person who can solve this.’
‘I’ve been looking at the list you gave me and thinking about something you said before, when we were in Helm Tea Room. I’d like to ask you a few more questions if that’s okay?’
‘I’ll be at the office all day.’
‘And unfortunately I’m likely to be tied up here.’
‘If you’re angling after another dinner invitation, why not just come straight out with it?’ she told him with mock severity.
Nash blinked in surprise. ‘I wasn’t,’ he protested, then added, ‘however, if you’re offering, I certainly wouldn’t refuse.’
‘I wasn’t offering, but I don’t suppose it’d do any harm. After all you are an “officer of the law”. It was fun cooking for someone and seeing them enjoy the food. I’d forgotten how pleasant that is.’
‘That’s very kind, but I still need to speak to you.’
‘I’m always here. Let me know when you want to call round.’
‘Do you know what this is?’ Nash held up a sheet of paper.
The barman squinted at it. ‘No idea. You’ve got it wrong way round.’
‘No I haven’t. The blank side tells me more than the written side. Officially it’s called a witness statement. To be specific, it’s the statement you signed. Unofficially, I call it a load of bullshit.’ Nash leaned over the table dividing them. ‘I’m not surprised you haven’t bothered to deny it. That’s because you know I’m right.’
‘You may know what you’re talking about, but I’ve no idea.’
‘Lying to a police officer isn’t a criminal offence. Lying on one of these forms is. Now, I’ve got a couple of options. Either I send this to the CPS and get you done for perjury, or you tell me the truth. Because I’m of a forgiving nature, I’m willing to tear this up. Before you decide, I’ve something else to show you.’
Nash produced a photo of Lee Machin and placed it on the table between them. The barman glanced at it, winced and turned his head away. ‘Not a pretty sight, is it? Go on, take a good look.’
The barman shook his head, unwilling to look at Nash. Even more unwilling to look at the photo. ‘I’ll tell you anyway. That lump of tenderized meat isn’t off a butcher’s counter. It’s a man’s face; a man not much older than you. I’ll bet he doesn’t pull many birds, looking that way. Want to know how he got like that? Someone beat seven bells out of him. Want to know why?’
Nash leaned further across the table. His face was only inches from the barman’s. ‘The reason someone did that to him is he’s a dirty little blackmailing toerag. Like you. The problem is, one of his victims found out who he was.’
Nash sat back whilst the message got through. ‘How will you stop Alec Jennings guessing who you are? I don’t reckon he’s the type to submit to blackmail. You could finish up like this character, or worse. He was lucky. I know you’re a thief, if I wanted I could do you for that, but I haven’t got time. I could mention your activities to Joe Rawlings. I bet he knows how to deal with people who steal from him. Or, I could say nothing and let matters take their course.’ Nash gestured to the photo. ‘I said this guy was lucky, and I meant it. Lots of blackmailers end up buried in woodland, or at the bottom of deep lakes. Some become part of the foundations of new buildings. You may be braver than me. I wouldn’t take that risk. Especially as it wouldn’t be any use. You see; we know who killed Lizzie Barton. What’s more, we can prove it, with or without your evidence. So what’s it to be?’
Half an hour later, the new statement had been typed and signed. Nash watched him leave the building, all the swagger and bluster gone. He turned to Clara. ‘You know what we have to do.’
‘Yes, and I don’t like it.’
A constable appeared with Bailey’s personnel file and handed it to Nash. The managing director had been keen to help.
‘Do me a favour, Viv, have a look through it while we’re in the interview room. Let me know later if you find anything relevant.’
Cindy Green was pretty but not strikingly. She was beginning to show obvious signs of her condition. She fiddled nervously with the edge of the table as Nash went through the formalities for the tape. ‘Before we begin the interview, Sergeant Mironova will formally caution you, but I should advise you that you’re entitled to have a solicitor present during the interview, if you wish. Do you have one?’
She shook her head. Nash told her gently, ‘I’m sorry, you have to answer out loud.’
‘No,’ Cindy replied, ‘I don’t have a solicitor.’
‘One can be appointed for you. Just say the word, and we’ll suspend the interview until a solicitor arrives.’
‘No, let’s get it over with,’ the girl said wearily.
‘If you change your mind, just say so and we’ll fix it. Okay, I want to talk to you about what happened to Lizzie Barton. I have to tell you that we found some DNA traces on the knife that was used to stab her. Do you know what DNA is?’
‘Yes,’ Cindy replied, her expression haunted.
‘And do you know that one person’s DNA is different from everyone else’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘We also have an eyewitness, who saw you close to where Lizzie was stabbed at about the time of the murder. And finally, we’ve received the result of some tests the pathologist carried out on the body.’
Nash paused, and let Cindy take in what he’d said. ‘The findings point to what I think is the motive for her killing. They reveal that Ms Barton was HIV positive. We know your boyfriend Alec had been having an affair with Lizzie Barton. Did she infect him? And in turn did he infect you? Worst of all, did he infect your baby? Is that why you followed Lizzie Barton down that alley and into that yard? Is that why you stabbed her, Cindy?’
‘Yes, I stabbed the slut,’ the words tumbled from Cindy. The trickle became a stream, the stream a torrent. ‘I killed her, and what’s more I’d do it again and again. I killed her because she poisoned my baby. My little baby may never have a decent chance in life. I found out two weeks ago. When the specialist told me, I thought I was going to die. All weekend I thought about killing myself. Then, on Tuesday morning, I saw the slag walking past our house, bold as brass with her tribe of disgusting healthy children. Oh yes, her children are fine. Mine might never be well, and I can’t even risk having another because of that whore. So I decided not to kill myself. I decided to kill her instead. Let her kids know a bit of pain. Let them know what life’s really like. Let them sit through my trial and learn what a filthy whore their mother was.’
‘Does Alec know any of this?’
‘Him,’ Cindy spat the word out. ‘He’s as bad as she is. If he hadn’t kept going with her like a tom cat on the prowl, this wouldn’t have happened. He doesn’t know, because I’ve hardly spoken to him since I found out. I can’t stand him near me. I can’t bear to be in the same room.’ Cindy fought back her tears. ‘Well, you’ve got what you want. What happens now?’
‘I’m very sorry, Cindy. I know that sounds like easy sympathy, but believe me this doesn’t give us any satisfaction. We’re human beings, despite what a lot of folk think. I just wish it could have been different. For you, and for your baby.’
Cindy nodded, unable to speak.
‘Now, Sergeant Mironova, Clara her name is, will take your statement, and ask you to read and sign it. After that, she will charge you and I’m afraid you’ll have to remain in custody until a preliminary court hearing. Do you understand?’
Cindy nodded again. ‘Now, if there’s anything you want, let the officers know. If they can’t sort it for you, insist they ask for me or Clara, okay?’
Nash stepped into the corridor to find Pearce waiting. ‘How did it go?
’
‘She admitted she killed Lizzie Barton. I hated every minute in there. I’m not condoning what she did, but I can understand why.’
‘Jennings is waiting in the other interview room. What shall I tell him?’
‘Tell him to.…’ Nash bit down on his anger. ‘Tell him Cindy doesn’t want to see him. Tell him why she’s here. What she did, and why she did it. Tell him to go home and reflect on it. Don’t mince your words either, tell him straight. Just don’t let him near me, Viv. I might be tempted to say something I’d regret. Get rid of him. I’m going to my office.’
‘Hang on, Mike, I’ve got something for you.’ Nash stopped. ‘I had a look through Bailey’s file. He’s only been at Rushton’s eighteen months. He came from Lincolnshire, moved to Yorkshire in 1989. His first job there was with a firm of landscape gardeners. They contract out to local councils, maintaining sports fields, hospital grounds, and the like. I managed to get hold of the firm’s boss. He remembers Bailey well. He said Bailey was in charge of the gang doing schools’ playing fields in the area. He wasn’t sure about the next bit, but he seems to think Bailey had lived in The Lake District, either there or Scotland, when he came back to England. He’d been working somewhere in America. He seems to remember Bailey saying he was moving from Lincolnshire because it was too flat and he missed the hills. It stuck in his memory because Bailey didn’t strike him as the outdoor type.’
Nash frowned, something Pearce had just said made him think. ‘That could be relevant.’
‘Yes, but there’s more. After he left there, Bailey got a job as a caretaker,’ he paused and added, ‘at Helmsdale Secondary School.’ Pearce looked across at Nash. ‘What is it, Mike?’