Depth of Despair (15 page)

‘Have you had any feeling there before?’

‘No, never!’

‘This is bloody great. Let me call your physiotherapist. She’s got to hear this.’

The telephone rang insistently, ‘Butler speaking. Yes Mr Martin, what can I do for you?’

Both of them knew this was a rhetorical question. There could be only one reason for the call.

‘I have a package for you, Doc.’

‘I see. When would you be delivering?’

‘Tomorrow evening?’

‘I think we can cope with that. I’ll make the arrangements.’

Nash was standing near the entrance staring at the building with a puzzled frown when Clara arrived.

‘Everything alright? Stella okay?’

‘Yes, everything’s fine, couldn’t be better. I was just wondering about what you said the other day. There does seem to be a lot of security men hanging around. I was puzzling out why they need so many. Anyway, that’s not important. I’ve some terrific news. Stella’s beginning to get some feeling back in her left leg.’

He described how they’d discovered the returning sensation. ‘I spent the last twenty minutes watching the neurologist playing darts on her legs. He says she’s now got fifteen per cent nerve
reaction
. Not much, I know, but it’s fifteen per cent she didn’t have before.’

‘That’s wonderful.’

‘It’s early days. The doctor told her she mustn’t get her hopes up. It may be a long time before there’s any improvement, and there’s still no guarantees. He said this might be all she gets.’

‘How did Stella react?’

‘She wasn’t listening; or she wasn’t prepared to accept it.’

‘That’s good, surely. If she went along meekly she wouldn’t put the effort in. What we need is the old feisty Stella who’ll fight all the way.’

‘You’re right. I left her making plans to increase her daily regimen. What worries me is her confidence is too fragile to stand setbacks.’

‘Let’s hope there aren’t too many then,’ Clara glanced at Nash. Whatever the effect had been on Stella, the development had
obviously
been good for him. He was looking better than she’d seen him for a long time.

‘What did Mexican Pete have to say?’

‘You mean when he wasn’t busy telling me about the girls in Paris or trying to feel my tits? Tell me, are all pathologists perverts?’

‘There’s nothing perverted about wanting to touch you up. I guess you’re right, though. All the pathologists I’ve ever dealt with have been weirdos. Goes with the job.’

‘He reckons you’re on commission from somebody called Sharon, whoever she is.’

Nash laughed. ‘He’s trying to impress you with his classical education. In Greek mythology, Charon was the ferryman who transported the dead across the River Styx to the underworld.’

‘He’s had a preliminary look at the bodies from Desolation Tarn. They’re much more recent than the ones from Lamentation. He’s also noticed something unusual. He wouldn’t tell me what, but he says we’ve to prepare ourselves for some shocks. He’s set the first post-mortem for 9 a.m. tomorrow. But he wants you there before that, say about 8.45.’

Nash fell silent. What would provide a shock? He considered the possibilities. He remembered Saunders’s insistence they avoid looking at the corpses when they were at the lake.

Jackie and Viv greeted them with the news that they’d got the phone records. ‘Jackie was brilliant,’ Viv enthused. ‘She told the woman she’d given the records to an impostor! That the search warrant he used was a forgery. When she named the villain as Tom Pratt I nearly gave the game away. She said he was the leader of a gang responsible for defrauding grieving relatives. Then she threatened to arrest her for obstruction if she didn’t hand them over. By that time the poor woman was nearly peeing herself in her eagerness to help. She was so frightened she’d dropped a clanger that would cost the company millions.’

‘Well done, the pair of you,’ Nash said. ‘I’m going to call Tom. I think it’s time to consider issuing warrants, but I’m curious to know what Mexican Pete’s found. I want a meeting tomorrow afternoon in Netherdale. Jackie, I want you and Viv there tomorrow morning. Start putting some names and addresses to those phone numbers. We’ll come along when we’ve finished at the mortuary.

‘Clara, as I’ve got to be there early, would you bring Zena. You can drop me first then go and pick her up. I don’t suppose what Ramirez wants will take long.’

That night Nash almost forgot his medication again. He
swallowed
the tablets with the last of the whisky he’d treated himself to as a nightcap. His deep sleep was disturbed.

Nash was up early. Up, but hardly up and about. His limbs were stiff. His body ached as if he’d been used as a punch bag. He crept into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower in the hope that it might help. It didn’t.

Drying himself was laborious and uncomfortable. He shuffled back to the bedroom. A few gentle exercises might reduce the aches and pains. They didn’t. He tried arm and leg exercises from a standing position. He tried, and failed, to do some press ups, sit ups, side bends in the hope this routine might help. It didn’t.

He dressed slowly, much as he imagined an extremely elderly
person would do, then went through to the kitchen. His walk was suggestive of someone with a severe arthritic condition. He sat with a mug of coffee. He finished his drink and shuffled across the kitchen to put some toast on. After he’d eaten he thought a second mug of coffee might help. It didn’t.

He studied his tablets and was wondering if one might help get him through the morning when he heard Clara pulling up. He shoved the container in his pocket. Clara watched as Nash locked the door and shuffled slowly across the pavement. His movement was a bit like Clara imagined a crab with a hangover might walk. She watched him lower himself gingerly into the passenger seat and reach with obvious discomfort for the seat belt. ‘Are you okay, Mike?’

‘Been better.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Bad night,’ he grunted, settling back in the seat with a sigh of relief.

‘Bad dreams?’

‘Bad nightmares. How did you guess?’

‘You mean apart from the black circles under your eyes. The fact that you’re walking like someone with a hangover or a bowel problem and you got into the car like a man who’d forgotten his Preparation H. Apart from that how did I guess? What was the nightmare this time?’

‘I’ve had it before. It’s horrendous. I wish I knew what it meant.’ He recounted the details.

Clara speculated his pending visit to the hospital could be an explanation and watched with concern as he walked slowly across the car park to the mortuary.

Zena was waiting outside The Golden Bear. As they drove, Zena enquired about Nash. The Russian listened sombrely whilst Clara recounted his nightmare. ‘It’s strange this should keep happening to him. Does Mikhail tell you everything?’

‘Pretty much, I guess, except about his love life,’ Clara grinned. ‘He leaves some of the more intimate details to my imagination, thank God.’

Zena studied Clara for a moment. ‘Have you ever danced with Mikhail?’

Clara took her eyes off the road for a second, ‘Danced with him?’ She asked. ‘That’s a strange question. Why do you ask that?’

‘Superintendent Pratt said Mikhail is a keen dancer. He said Nash’s favourite dance is the horizontal tango. I don’t understand.’

Zena was surprised by Clara’s outburst of laughter. ‘Have I said something funny or stupid?’

‘Not really. Superintendent Pratt was being rude. He was referring to Mike’s love life. Horizontal means lying down,’ she explained.

‘Ah, so perhaps that’s not a good question to ask, but you and Mikhail are so close perhaps it’s natural to think this way.’

Clara’s cheeks were slightly redder than normal. ‘I suppose it is natural, but the answer’s no. I’ve never danced with Mike.’

‘Perhaps this is something you wished for?’

Clara shook her head. ‘You’ve seen our office. Far too small for dancing.’

Zena caught the allusion. ‘I understand. When you’re together working it’s a bad thing?’ Clara nodded. ‘But perhaps forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest?’

‘That’s something we’ll never know,’ Clara said firmly. Perhaps a touch too firmly, Zena thought.

Nash had lost count of the number of post-mortems he’d attended. He shivered; it wasn’t the cold, more a physical expression of his emotions. Morbidity and depression, anger and impotent rage. He could never rid himself of the dread that accompanied these visits. It didn’t help that he’d barely slept. Mexican Pete looked unusually grave, ‘I wanted a private word before the others arrive. During my preliminary examination I noticed several, shall we say unusual signs. I found them extremely disturbing for reasons which will become apparent. I’m speaking of all but two of these corpses. These other two are completely different.’

‘In what way?’

‘All but one were completely naked. That victim was fully clothed. She was shot in the back of the head like the bodies from Lamentation Tarn. One I’m not sure about, but the rest were killed in a totally different way. I think I should warn you what you’re about to see is disturbing.’ Ramirez paused and added, ‘Very disturbing. I think it’d be better to show you rather than attempt to explain.’

Once Nash was gowned up, Ramirez asked, ‘Are you ready for this?’ He moved to the nearest of a line of mortuary tables and gently pulled back the sheet.

Nash felt vaguely sick as he looked at the pathetic remains. The bloated, unrecognizable features of what had once been a child. Ramirez pointed, directing Nash’s attention to a small coloured object on the victim’s clothing. He recognized the tiny row of small, rounded figures secured on a brooch pin. He’d been expecting this; it was the reason the search of the tarn had been organized. Nash
felt an overwhelming surge of sadness for Sergei and Anna Svetlov. ‘Matrioshka,’ he murmured. ‘We’ll be able to confirm the identity of this child by DNA matching. I think it’s safe to assume her to be Katerina Svetlova. Her parents are here in Netherdale. They came to search for their daughter.’

Ramirez eyed the detective sympathetically. ‘This abuse of children is very distressing, but I’m afraid you must brace yourself for worse; much worse.’ He turned to the next table and removed the sheet.

Nash looked down at the naked corpse; then recoiled in horror. ‘Oh God,’ he cried. ‘Oh dear God.’ He gagged as vomit threatened to choke him. Despite his exhaustion he turned and ran. He ran from the room, down the corridor, into the toilets.

It was five minutes later when he emerged white faced and shaking, having taken one of his tablets to try to calm down. Ramirez took his arm and led him to his office. ‘Are you alright, my friend?’

‘I’m not alright,’ Nash said violently. ‘How could I be alright after seeing that? I don’t think I’ll ever be alright again. What the hell was that?’

Ramirez’s voice was drenched with sadness as he explained.

‘Dear God,’ Nash said. ‘I don’t believe it. I can’t believe anyone could be so evil.’

‘That’s because you’ve a normal, law abiding mind. I’d ask you to think carefully before exposing the others to what you’ve just seen.’

‘I don’t need to think. I know already.’ Nash gestured to the mortuary room, ‘Nobody should see what’s in there, unless there’s absolutely no alternative.’

‘I agree. However, as you know, I cannot conduct a post-mortem without a police officer present.’

‘In that case I’ll have to remain. At least I’m prepared. I can’t expose anyone else to that.’

Ramirez nodded towards the doorway. ‘I’ll leave you to explain. They’re arriving now.’

Nash braced himself for an argument as he walked towards them. ‘There’s been a change of plan,’ he told them bluntly. ‘Professor Ramirez asked me here early to show me the condition of the bodies. I don’t want anyone else to see what’s in there.’

He raised his hand to quell the protest. ‘Believe me, what lies inside that room is too dreadful. I wouldn’t want either of you saddled with that memory. You wouldn’t want to live with the horror.’

Any doubts they had were pushed aside not only by Nash’s words but by his face. He looked old, old and ill, his normally healthy tan replaced by a grey pallor. Both women accepted his ruling without question.

It was mid afternoon before the planned meeting took place, by which time those waiting at Netherdale Police Station were in a fever of impatience. After the post-mortems, Nash walked back to the station, badly in need of fresh air. He tried to rid himself of the horrors he’d witnessed, grateful that his medication had been in his jacket. He sat down wearily and gratefully accepted the mug of coffee offered by Jackie.

Pratt spoke first. ‘Mike, do you want to start?’

He was about to begin when the sergeant came in. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Tom. There’s an urgent phone call for Mike.’

‘Can you put it through here?’

‘Yes, hello,’ Nash greeted the caller. He listened, then asked, ‘When was that?’

He waited again. ‘Thanks, that’s been a great help. It’s exactly what I was expecting.’ He listened for a moment longer.

‘I don’t know if it’ll be necessary, but if it is I’ll be sure to do that.’

He put the phone down and looked round. Clara was glad to see he appeared to have regained some composure. ‘Sorry about that. Tom, I must apologize, because throughout this enquiry I’ve missed the most blatant piece of evidence imaginable. On the day the first bodies were recovered from the lake I was handed clues that should have enabled me to identify who was behind this. It’s taken all this time before I realized their significance.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up, Mike,’ Pratt interrupted. ‘There wasn’t just you investigating this case.’

‘I blame myself because I allowed anger to control my thinking.’

He turned to Clara. ‘Do you remember that first day at the tarn?’ She nodded. ‘Remember when we were at the bothy, can you recall
what we were talking about? You were there too, Viv.’ He glanced across at Pearce.

‘Yes,’ Pearce said after a moment’s thought. ‘You worked out that the girls must have been murdered. I was surprised until you explained why.’

‘Can you remember what reasons I gave?’

‘You said there was no way they could have got there on their own.’

‘Exactly, and that was the first massive clue. That area isn’t exactly well known. The road goes nowhere, it isn’t on a tourist route and the tarns only appear on a few highly detailed maps. What we all failed to pick up on was there had to be someone involved who had local knowledge. So what else do we know about this mysterious person? Quite a bit actually. He has to be someone who’s driven by money. Someone ruthlessly cold blooded enough to dispose of the girls when they ceased to be useful. And somebody with contacts in the places where the trafficking originated.’

‘So who is this person?’ Zena asked.

‘Simon Wardle of Howlingales Farm. He’s lived in Cauldmoor all his life and was in desperate need of money to rescue his parents’ farm. By the time the farm was in trouble, he’d already got involved in the trafficking business. In fact, I’d guess he’d been running it for years. Ever since he served in Bosnia. He isn’t just involved; he’s the head of it. If you think the organization is only involved in providing sex workers think again, they’re into far more than that.’

There was stunned silence. Nash leaned forward and spoke to Clara. ‘Remember what the secretary of the angling club told us? How successful Wardle had been in turning his parents’ farm from the verge of bankruptcy into a thriving business? That doesn’t happen these days. Not with the state of agriculture in Britain. Then there was that story about being up there alone one night and hearing a noise as if someone had thrown something heavy into the tarn. I bet he was laughing to himself because he would have been the one heaving the body into the water.’

‘But you’re not making a connection with Vatovec,’ Zena objected. ‘And where does Martin Hill come into it?’

‘Commander Dacic is right,’ Pratt agreed. ‘It’s an interesting theory, but it’s all speculation. It isn’t even strong enough to be called circumstantial evidence.’

‘I realized that, so I did some checking. Wardle never intended to be a farmer. The man from the angling club told us that. He was an army officer. That phone call,’ he nodded towards the receiver, ‘was from a friend at the MOD. He checked Wardle’s record for me. Wardle served in Bosnia during the conflict and was part of the IFOR peacekeeping force after it ended. He was also Martin Hill’s commanding officer.’

There was a long silence whilst they took in what Nash had told them. ‘So what now?’ Pratt asked. ‘Do we arrest Wardle and hope we catch Hill and Vatovec into the bargain?’

‘We could do,’ Nash agreed. ‘But it’s a bit more complicated than that. There’s more to their operation. Far more and, I’m afraid, far worse. There are others involved we haven’t even got close to yet.

‘I thought this was all about human trafficking and that’s bad enough. That was until this morning. I thought these monsters who kidnap children couldn’t sink any lower.’ His face was grim. ‘But I was wrong. I underestimated just how evil they are. They’ve found more ways of making money from these poor youngsters than selling their bodies to paedophiles.

‘One of the bodies was clothed and in a different condition to the others. I believe it to be the remains of Katya Svetlova.’ He produced a sealed evidence bag from his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘That was found pinned to the coat the victim was wearing.’ They stared at the Matrioshka brooch. ‘Why she was murdered is as yet unclear, although Ramirez believes she may have been carrying an infection. Further tests will confirm that.’ The others looked at him in surprise. ‘If Katya had AIDS it would render her useless for what they had planned.

‘A couple of the bodies from Desolation Tarn had been put there only recently, so decomposition wasn’t advanced. Ramirez managed to separate and identify a quantity of heroin from one of them. A quantity that was too large to have been present in a user. The only conclusion is that the girl was also being used as a drug mule. This suggests some of the victims may have died because the heroin containers burst.’

‘Christ, it gets worse and bloody worse,’ Pratt muttered.

Nash shot him a glance. ‘You think that’s bad; the other bodies were mutilated.’

Nash paused, took a drink of water. ‘You remember I’ve said all along that the death of Dr Stevens was connected. Now I know how. Believe me I wish I didn’t. I thought I’d seen the full extent of the depravity humans can sink to. But what these monsters did is almost beyond comprehension.’

He sighed, an expression of disgust and sadness. ‘These bastards are greedy. They added a subtle refinement to their business. With the exception of Katya and the corpse with traces of drugs, the other bodies had been operated on. Professor Ramirez says great skill was used by whoever carried out the procedure. That means we’re looking for a surgeon of exceptional ability. One capable of removing every internal organ. Heart and lungs, liver and kidneys.

‘Anyone with sufficient money, anyone desperate enough for a replacement organ would pay enormous sums to find a “donor”. The bodies from Desolation Tarn were only empty shells. These children had been …’ Nash paused and uttered the final word as if it was an obscenity, ‘… harvested.’

He allowed the full horror of what he had told them to sink in before adding. ‘Ramirez told me that for these operations to be effective the victims had to be alive at the time. Stevens wanted to specialize in anaesthetics.’

In the ensuing silence Nash looked round. Clara and Jackie Fleming were crying unashamedly. Zena’s eyes were lowered, bright with tears. The men were in little better shape.

‘The sick bastards,’ Clara broke into the long silence.

‘How could anyone be so evil?’ Pratt agreed.

Zena raised her head, ‘I am grateful to you, Mikhail, for stopping me viewing the corpses.’

‘Me too,’ Clara added.

‘We must move on,’ Pratt said heavily. ‘No matter how distressing we find it, we have a job to do. We must put our
feelings
to one side. God knows how. We’ve got to stop these evil bastards before there are any more victims. We’ve got to raid Wardle’s farm as soon as we can; tonight if possible.’ He glanced at
the clock. ‘I’ll see if I can get the Chief Constable to obtain a warrant. Clara, you and Pearce go start the paperwork.’ He reached for the phone.

The Chief Constable was predictably horrified. ‘Leave it with me,’ she told Pratt. ‘I’ll phone you back. Give me quarter of an hour, tops.’

In less than ten minutes the Chief rang back. ‘You don’t need to take the warrant for signature. I’ve arranged for someone to come to you. Have it ready in twenty minutes.’

‘Mike, how do we handle the raid?’ Pratt asked. ‘We can’t simply expect them to surrender meekly.’

‘We need to talk to Clara about the layout. She’s the only one who’s been there. We also need specialist back-up, ARU as well as uniforms. I think we should also call for help from Catterick. My contact suggested it. He said they’d be happy to lend a hand in a case like this.’

‘You’re right,’ Pratt agreed. ‘You lead the force, Mike. You’re younger and fitter than me. Who do you want with you?’

‘I’d like Fleming and Mironova. I’ll split the force and they can each take charge of a party. Clara’s the one with local knowledge. She can work alongside me. I don’t suppose Zena will want to keep away so we’ll include her.’

‘What about Viv?’ Clara objected. ‘He won’t want to be left out?’

‘I’ve another job for Viv.’ He looked over at Pratt. ‘Tom, will you give Pearce all the help he needs? We need information as fast as we can.’

He saw everyone was looking puzzled. ‘We must find the place where the operations were conducted. That means trawling through Stevens’s phone records to identify who he called and who called him. I guess he assisted in the operations to gain experience as well as for the money. Then perhaps he got cold feet, or a conscience. Either way, I think that’s why he was killed.’

Pratt agreed, ‘I’ll give Pearce a hand. If we find anything I’ll ask the Chief for another warrant and start putting a second raid together. In fact, I’ll give her another call now.’

Pratt was reaching for the phone when the door crashed open and Armistead burst in. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ He demanded, his voice barely below a shout.