Depth of Despair (10 page)

There was a prolonged silence as they digested what Nash had told them. Then Pearce asked, ‘How do you think the doctor’s death ties in to this?’

‘I said I might be able to provide some answers. I didn’t say I could solve all of them.’

‘What next?’ Mironova asked.

‘I’m going to talk to Tom Pratt. I want him to persuade Nottingham CID to re-examine the death at Hill’s house. That’ll mean checking all the patients registered at the dentists at that time. We need to find a man without close relatives or friends. Someone who disappeared or moved shortly after Hill’s “death”. Someone of approximately Hill’s age although not necessarily similar in appearance. If we identify this man we might discover Hill’s new identity and with luck even his current whereabouts. If we can persuade Nottingham to do this, it might be necessary to send someone to help. The dentist told me theirs is a large practice. DCI Fleming and DS Thomas should be back here in a day or two, and that’ll free you two to go to Nottingham. Your presence might help persuade them to prioritize this enquiry.’

‘Anything we can do in the meantime?’ Clara asked.

‘Yes, I want a copy of Stevens’s phone bills for the last twelve
months. I want you go to Netherdale Hospital. Find out if Stevens had a locker and get the contents. Talk to the staff, see if he had any close friends and, in particular, a girl friend. What he did for a social life, that sort of thing. Remember the SOCO team found a woman’s fingerprints in Stevens’s flat. Talk to his neighbours and have another word with the landlord, hint that we’re now treating Stevens’s death as suspicious.’

‘Right, we’ll get going,’ Clara nodded to Pearce, ‘Leave these two
milaya
[sweethearts] to get on with things.’

Nash glanced at Zena, but she was glaring at Clara. ‘That word Clara used, what does it mean?’ Nash asked after the others had left.

‘She was being silly.’ Zena was staring at the door, her face averted. ‘Just silly.’

It was early evening when Pearce returned. ‘Stevens was well-liked by his colleagues; they all spoke well of him.’

‘Find out about his girlfriend?’

Pearce grinned, ‘I did better. I talked to her. And it was very interesting.’

Nash raised his eyebrows. ‘She’s a nurse on A & E; that’s how they met. Often their shifts didn’t coincide so they talked on their mobiles or sent texts.’

‘He didn’t have a mobile. All we found was a pager.’

Pearce nodded. ‘It gets better. If they had the chance they sent
emails
. She’d a PC, Stevens a laptop.’

‘We didn’t find a laptop either.’

‘No and I checked his locker; nothing.’

‘Did she say if he appeared worried or upset?’

‘No, I asked her if she’d noticed any change in him recently. She said he seemed a bit preoccupied, that was all.’

‘Any money worries?’

‘Just the opposite. She said he seemed flush. Decent restaurants, weekend breaks, that sort of thing.’

‘On a junior doctor’s salary? I find that hard to believe.’

‘That’s about it. The only other thing she said was Stevens was ambitious. He wanted to get on to the surgical team but there are no vacancies. He’d set his heart on being an anaesthetist.’

Next morning Pratt got news that DCI Fleming and DS Thomas were en route north. Nottingham police had agreed to re-open the case on Hill; Mironova and Pearce would be welcome to help.

Pratt conveyed the news and mentioned that Katya Svetlova’s parents would arrive in London next day. They would spend the night at the Russian Embassy before travelling north.

Nash enlisted Pratt’s assistance with a difficulty they’d encountered obtaining Stevens’s phone records. The companies wouldn’t release them without a warrant.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Zena had taken the day off and gone to York sightseeing.

Nash spent the day helping Mironova and Pearce tidy loose ends on a recent spate of petty crimes.

He finished early. He felt jaded and in need of a break. When he got home he started cooking and uncorked a bottle of Chardonnay. He was half way down the bottle before his meal was ready.

As he ate he refilled his glass whilst mulling over recent events. By 10.30, tired and less than sober, he was ready for a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately that wasn’t what he got.

Nash woke with a start. Knew he’d screamed in terror. His body was wet and slippery. The nightmare was so strong that for a moment he panicked, switched the bedside light on before he knew he was bathed in sweat not blood.

If Nash’s sleep was tormented by a nightmare, next morning found him having to cope with another. He’d given up trying to sleep. He was only partly revived by a hot shower and several cups of coffee. The postman delivered the first shock. Nash tore open the envelope and extracted the letter. It took a while for the meaning to sink in.
It was from Stella. She’d seen through his subterfuge with the therapist. Stella summed her feelings up with a directness that made Nash wince. He cursed the psychologist whose inept handling of the situation must have caused such anger. Far from helping, the stratagem had resulted in Stella being so enraged she didn’t want Nash to go near her.

‘I know you’re only doing it out of duty,’ she ended. ‘I’ve thought so for long enough. Now you’ve proved it. So don’t bother. It’s obviously a burden for you and at least I won’t have to continue pretending everything’s alright when we both know damned well it isn’t. So stay clear of this place, my doctors and me.’

Nash felt sick. Sickness turned to anger, anger at Stella’s
unreasonable
attitude. Anger at his helplessness, anger at the evil bastard who’d put Stella in this situation.

The second leg of his nightmare took the form of DS Thomas. Nash walked into his office at 7.40 a.m. to find it already occupied. He was both astonished and infuriated to see DS Thomas standing alongside his desk scrutinizing the files Nash had left there. It took him a moment to grasp the audacity of the invasion. Realization and reaction were quick and angry. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

Thomas looked up and answered coolly. ‘I’m bringing myself up to speed on developments. As this is an MCU operation DCI Fleming and I will be taking charge from now on. All activity will be routed through us. That way we’ll know exactly what’s going on and we’ll be able to give the investigation the professional attention it merits.’

Nash blinked in astonishment at the man’s nerve. Sleep
deprivation
had shortened his temper, ‘Really? Is that so?’ He drawled. His tone was deceptively mild. ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t tally with my reading of the situation.’

He crossed the room as he spoke, reaching and skirting his desk in a couple of strides. Thomas was leaning on the desk, his left hand braced on the surface. Without breaking stride Nash seized the sergeant’s wrist and jerked his arm up and behind the
astonished
officer’s back. As Thomas straightened willy-nilly, Nash’s right arm encircled his neck. He frog-marched Thomas to the door, where he pitched the hapless detective out into the CID room. As
the evicted man stumbled across the room Nash looked up to see Dacic watching from the doorway in disbelief.

‘Have you got a problem?’

‘I found him in there when I arrived, going through my
paperwork
. I’ll just ensure this piece of shit’s off the premises before I have it out with the head turd.’

Nash got through to Armistead. The conversation was brief and brutal. ‘You can save time and money by recalling Fleming and Thomas,’ he told the MCU chief. ‘I’m issuing instructions banning them from this building. Understood?’

Zena heard an agitated squawking from the phone. Whatever Armistead was saying wasn’t anywhere near complete when Nash put the receiver down.

‘When I arrived in England I had an unpleasant meeting with Thomas,’ Zena said. ‘He insisted MCU would be leading the
investigation
. He demanded sight of all the evidence. He said I should pay no attention to local officers: “They’re country bumpkins who’ll only be useful for running errands and making coffee.” Tell me, what’s this word bumpkin? It’s one I’ve never heard. At first I thought he said pumpkin.’

‘A bumpkin is a peasant, one of low intelligence.’

‘Mikhail, you look terrible this morning. Are you ill? Or has something bad happened?’

‘I had a poor night’s sleep, that’s all,’ Nash told her, unwilling to travel down that route.

The expression ‘saved by the bell’ came to mind when the phone rang. ‘Morning, Mike,’ Pratt’s voice was cheerful and contained a hint of excitement. ‘I’ve had the Home Office on the phone to say Mr and Mrs Svetlov will arrive round lunchtime. They also stressed you’re to take overall charge of the enquiry with Commander Dacic in support. They said that way you could cope with the British and Russian ends of the investigation between you. In recognition of this you’ll have the rank of Acting Superintendent.’

Any hopes Nash might have entertained that the altered circumstances would act as a deterrent were short-lived. DCI Fleming obviously felt that what Thomas had failed to obtain by direct assault could be achieved by stealthier methods. She was waiting
in the CID room. ‘I’d like a word in private, Inspector Nash,’ Fleming stated flatly.

‘My office,’ Nash told her curtly. ‘And I think you should know its Acting Superintendent.’ The glint in her eyes told him Fleming was already aware of the fact.

‘I want to start by apologizing. I’d no idea Thomas was going to do that. I’d have forbidden it. The only excuse is that we’re
desperately
keen to see this case progress. The crime we’re all working on is the most hideous imaginable. Can you blame him for being a bit overeager?’

Fleming was standing in front of Nash. She put one hand on his arm as she continued. ‘I know one isn’t supposed to become emotionally involved. But when you think of the terrible ordeal of those victims how can you fail to become angry? How can you not want to catch and punish those responsible? Please, Mike, put it down to overenthusiasm and let’s start again. What do you say?’

‘Very well,’ Nash agreed.

Fleming looked immensely relieved, her hand moving slightly on his arm. ‘Thank you.’

The cracks were papered over by the time Sergei and Anna Svetlov arrived. Before that, Armistead and Tom Pratt reached Helmsdale. Armistead took Fleming and Thomas off to a café in the High Street. Nash told Pratt and Dacic about Fleming’s apology.

‘Do you trust her?’ Zena asked.

‘About as far as I’d trust a fox in a hen house. That “diligent officer determined to punish evil men” crap was pure flannel. Fleming is out for number one. She’s prepared to use any means to get her own way, even feminine wiles.’

‘You’re resistant to those, naturally?’ There might have been an edge to Zena’s question, but if there was Nash didn’t notice it.

Pratt laughed aloud. ‘That’ll be a first; Mike’s favourite dance is the horizontal tango.’

‘That’s slanderous,’ Nash protested. ‘Anyway, Jackie Fleming’s not my type.’

‘It can’t be slander if it’s true,’ Pratt told him.

‘What is your type of woman, Mikhail?’ Zena asked lightly.

Nash had endured a poor night, a bad start to the day and the
teasing was beginning to get to him. ‘I prefer stroppy, red-haired Russian women.’

Dacic’s face went as red as her hair. Pratt laughed again. ‘You’d better watch him, Zena. Remember, it was Mike who mentioned foxes in hen houses.’

Katya’s parents were younger than Nash expected. Probably in their early forties, he judged. Sergei was tall and distinguished, his air of distinction enhanced by greying hair. He held his wife’s arm protectively as they entered Helmsdale Police Station. Anna Svetlova was tiny by comparison. She was attractive, elegant in both dress and movement, with dark hair and large eyes of so deep a brown they might have been mistaken for black.

Zena performed the introductions. Nash apologized for the absence of Mironova and Pearce. ‘My two junior officers are following a line of enquiry I believe has a connection to the case. I’m anxious to bring it to a conclusion as swiftly as possible. More than that, I’m determined to trap all those involved, not just the small fish.’

Svetlov nodded, a gesture of agreement and approval. ‘The leaders are the ones I am most anxious to see behind bars. My only regret is there is no longer capital punishment in Britain. Anna and I have come to terms with the belief that our beloved Katya is dead. Commander Dacic has prepared us for this. The discovery of the bear was sufficient to put to rest any lingering doubts or hopes,’ he added with deep sadness. ‘We now have three desires. The first being the recovery of Katya’s remains so she can be buried near to us in Moscow. The second is the punishment of those who caused her suffering. The third is to ensure no more parents have to endure the torment we’ve been through.’

Nash nodded soberly. ‘It must be done, whatever the cost. I’m not referring to monetary cost. I mean time and resources. I can’t think of a price too high to pay for success.’

Svetlov requested that they be allowed to visit Cauldmoor. He said simply, ‘We wish to see the place where Mitya was found.’

Nash sat in front, directing the chauffeur through the tangled skein of country lanes whilst Zena accompanied the Svetlovs in the back.

Anna Svetlova shivered as she looked out from the bothy over
the dark waters of the tarn. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice tight with emotion. ‘I feel sure this is the place. It is well named, this lake. Lamentation means great sadness. That is correct, is it not?’ Nash nodded. ‘There is a feeling of such here. So powerful one can almost touch it,’ her voice was soft, barely above a murmur, her attention so distant she might have been talking to herself. ‘I feel close to Katya here.’

She looked at Nash with piercing directness. ‘I sense you are the one to help us,’ she told him, her voice stronger as she explained. ‘You’re able to perceive what others cannot. I am correct, am I not?’

Nash bowed his head. ‘Sometimes,’ he muttered.

Her eyes remained fixed on his, ‘Tell me, please,’ she pleaded.

Nash glanced wildly round. Zena nodded encouragement and spoke in Russian to Katya’s mother, ‘You’re correct. Mikhail has an unusual ability. He told me things that prove it. Things he couldn’t have known.’ She switched to English. ‘If you tell her, Mikhail, you have our promise it won’t go further.’

Slowly, hesitantly, Nash began to recount his dream. By the end Anna was weeping gently whilst Sergei was looking at him with a mixture of doubt and awe. ‘Describe the girl as you dreamed her.’ Sergei demanded. ‘Can you remember anything about her
appearance
?’ Nash shook his head.

Anna smiled through her tears. ‘She loved Mitya and her doll. I hope she had them both with her.’

Nash looked puzzled. ‘We found the teddy bear.’

‘You do not understand, Mr Nash. I mean a Russian doll, not a plaything. It is like a brooch. A large pin with three tiny dolls threaded on to it. They have another and another inside them.’

‘They’re called Matrioshka,’ Zena explained.

Anna looked wistful. ‘We bought her that brooch for her birthday. She treasured it as she loved Mitya. It was beautiful, so many colours but such a bright red.’