Minds That Hate (14 page)

The footsteps ceased.
Silence. Turning off his torch, Nash slid noiselessly into the corridor. He advanced slowly, one step at a time, each movement taking an age. As he neared the kitchen, there was a sudden flurry of movement. A solid object cannoned into him. He grappled with the intruder and they fell to the floor. Nash wrapped his arms round his assailant. He felt the soft curves. At the same instant he caught the whiff of a light, fragrant perfume. His captive squirmed and wriggled. Nash freed one hand and switched on his torch. ‘It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?’ The voice conveyed anger and fear.

Nash scrambled to his feet. ‘I was going to ask you that.’ Nash’s mind raced over the possibilities. Tucker’s girlfriend? Neighbour? He switched the light on. The woman was young, in her early thirties he guessed. She was pretty, or would be if her features weren’t contorted by fear. He reached for his warrant card. ‘Police,’ he told her. ‘Detective Inspector Nash. Helmsdale CID. Now, who are you?’

She took the card and inspected it, even checking his likeness against the photo. She ignored his question. ‘What are you here for? Where’s Tucker?’

‘I’ll tell you, if you’ll give me some answers.’ He helped her to her feet.

‘I came to check up on Tucker. He hasn’t been in contact for a couple of days. I work with him.’

‘You’re with the Gazette?’ She nodded. ‘And your name is?’

‘Becky Pollard. Now, please tell me why you’re here.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Pollard. I’m afraid I’ve some bad news. Tucker’s dead.’

‘Dead?
How? I mean, was there an accident?’

‘Not exactly.
His body has been found in suspicious circumstances. Let’s go through to the lounge and sit down. I’ll tell you what I can. In return, I need information about Tucker. What stories he was working on, that sort of thing.’

She went to move and swayed slightly, dizzy with the shock. Nash put out a hand to steady her. He turned the lounge light on and guided her to the sofa. ‘Tucker’s body was discovered in Helm Woods yesterday evening. The pathologist estimated he’d been dead since Tuesday. I haven’t got the post-mortem results yet, but we’re treating the death as suspicious.’

‘I can’t believe it. JT was our top reporter. He provided us with lots of great stories; some of them terrific exclusives. You’re saying he was murdered, aren’t you?’

‘It seems highly likely, I’m afraid. Can you tell me what he was working on?’

‘I don’t know.’ Becky’s thoughts were a disjointed jumble. How was she going to break this to the Gazette? What was the reason for JT’s murder? Should she tell this policeman what she knew? Which wasn’t much.

‘Very well.’
Nash didn’t believe she was as ignorant of Tucker’s activities as she professed, but was prepared to wait. ‘Tell me how he operated.’

‘He was allowed to do his own thing. He was more like a freelance than a staffer, even though he was on the payroll. That was because he was so good.’ Her head came up as she added with a touch of pride, ‘My
family have owned the Gazette for three generations. Part of the reason for our success is we’ve always been independent, with no political allegiances. That makes it easy to go in for the sort of investigative journalism JT was good at.’

Nash studied the girl as she was speaking. Attractive, intelligent and articulate were his initial impressions. ‘And what’s your role in the Gazette?’

‘We tend to double up. I’m IT manager, deputy features editor, and staff photographer and relief reporter all in one.’

Nash kept it light. ‘That’s quite a package,’ he commented.
‘Attractively wrapped too.’

Becky blushed slightly.

‘Tell me,’ Nash continued conversationally, ‘in which role was it that you were working with JT? I mean, why did you come to find him, if you didn’t know what he was working on?’

Becky’s colour faded as quickly as it had come. ‘I
...er...he asked me to get him some equipment. It arrived and I left messages for him, but he didn’t collect it.’

‘What sort of equipment? Was it computer stuff or photographic?’

‘Neither. It was...’ Becky hesitated, aware of the illicit nature of the listening equipment. ‘It was electronic equipment.’

‘We recovered a camera near the body. I’m waiting for forensics to finish with it before I check what photos are in it. Was that Tucker’s camera?’

‘I expect it was one JT borrowed from me. Was it analogue or digital?’

‘I think it was analogue.’

‘I’m fairly sure that belongs to the Gazette. JT wasn’t much good with high-tech equipment, so the old-fashioned film-bearing camera was enough for him to cope with.’

‘If he wasn’t technically minded, how do you think he’d have coped with surveillance equipment?’

The question was delivered so casually, it took Becky a second to realize what Nash had said. She gasped and said weakly, ‘I never said it was surveillance equipment.’

Nash laughed. ‘What else could it be? You told me Tucker wasn’t technical, yet he borrowed a camera rather than taking you along. You said he was an investigative journalist. Stands to reason he’d want to find out what someone was up to without being rumbled. What was it? Listening and recording gear?’

Becky nodded. ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll get in awful trouble if they find out. I was just doing him a favour. It was nothing to do with the paper.’

‘I’ll keep it to myself, on one condition.’

Becky eyed him with suspicion.

‘Tell me what you know about the story Tucker was working on.’

‘I don’t know much. It had something to do with Carlton Rathmell.’

‘The MEP?
The one who’s been making the headlines?’

Becky nodded. ‘JT borrowed the camera for that story.’ She was about to add more when she stopped. Her head lifted. She sniffed. ‘What’s that smell?’

Nash turned and inhaled. As he did so he heard a click. A letterbox? Then he caught the scent. ‘Petrol!’

He jumped to his feet. Then they heard a gentle sigh of wind.

Nash took three quick strides to the lounge door, Becky alongside him. He glanced down the corridor. A tongue of flame shot upwards and began to spread. He slammed the door shut and glanced round. ‘Window!’

As they stumbled around the furniture, Becky looked back. The door frame was etched in a faint orange glow. The fire was spreading. The window was their only way out. And it didn’t look as if they’d much time. ‘Hurry!’ she urged him.

Nash stared at the frame. It was double glazed and the window locks were on. There was no key in sight. Then the room was plunged into darkness. Becky screamed and clutched his arm. ‘Electrics are shot,’ Nash said. His voice was calm. He didn’t feel calm. ‘Fire’s probably burnt through the cable. I can’t open these windows. They’re locked and there’s no key. We’ll have to break them.’

Becky fought against the rising tide of panic. ‘But they’re double glazed.’

Nash shone his torch on the corner of the glass. There was a kitemark. ‘Damn! Toughened glass; shatterproof.’ Bad had just become a whole lot worse.

Chapter sixteen

‘Hold the torch.’ Nash handed it to Becky.

‘What are you going to do?’ The tide of panic was rising.

‘Figure out how to open this window.’

Becky looked back. The glow round the door edges was brighter. She swung the torch towards it. Along the base of the door she saw a wispy grey tendril, curling with the sinuous grace of a snake and just as deadly: smoke. She caught the first whiff in her throat and coughed.

‘Bring that light back!’ Nash ordered.

‘There’s smoke coming into the room,’ Becky spluttered.

Nash glanced back. ‘More reason to hurry. Shine the beam on the window.’

‘Won’t someone notice? Raise the alarm?’

‘Not fast enough. If we’re going to escape we’ve to do it ourselves.’ There was a way. It might work, but Nash was reluctant to try it. He had his pistol; he could shoot at the pane. There was no guarantee it would break, even with the impact of a bullet. No guarantee where the bullet would ricochet. He’d have to be desperate to try. He wasn’t that desperate. Not quite. Not yet.

The window wasn’t new. The double glazing was from the early days. The age gave him hope. Not much, but a little. He took out a multi-bladed penknife. ‘Keep the beam on the edge of the glass.’ He stretched to the top corner and felt for the joint. There it was. A narrow slit between the horizontal and vertical pieces of the frame. Concealed on the outside, exposed on the interior. Nobody expected burglars to break out of a building. Hope increased, marginally.

He selected a short, stubby blade. After a few false starts, he worked it into the slit and began to lever the blade to and fro. There was a sudden cracking sound. For a second Nash thought the blade had broken. Becky swung the beam away. She gasped. Nash looked over his shoulder. The upper panel of the door had split. A tongue of flame reached round the broken timber, licking greedily at the blistering paint. The heat intensified. Instantly. ‘Come on,’ he urged.

She fought the desire to glance back. Better not look. Better not know. Nash inserted the blade again. There was another sharp crack. Something flew past, at eye level. She blinked.

‘Got it.’ Nash levered the top part of the frame away. ‘Now for the others.’ His voice was calm. She felt soothed by his refusal to panic. She struggled for breath as a choking cloud of smoke billowed. The dragon hadn’t given up on its victims.

Nash’s hand touched her shoulder. ‘Get down low, the air will be clearer.
Keep the torch shining up.’ She crouched down.

Nash was coughing as he set to work on the side of the frame. She watched. Watched and prayed. Within seconds both vertical strips were off. He knelt and took a long shuddering breath, then levered the bottom of the frame clear. ‘Move back out of the way,’ Nash ordered.

Becky felt trapped. If she moved she’d be nearer the fire. Devil or deep blue sea? She opted for the devil and shuffled backwards. The heat was on her back. The torch beam reflected curls of smoke throughout the room. Now Nash had the bottom piece of the frame in his hand. He threw it to one side and reached for the exposed edge of the pane. Becky saw him change for a longer blade and slide it under the glass. He levered it and the pane fell inwards. Nash pushed it to one side. It landed with a soft thud.

‘Come forward.’

Becky needed no second invitation. She crawled alongside the detective. ‘What now?’ she gasped. Two words, long enough when you’re choking.

‘On your back.
Feet against the window.’

‘What?’

‘We’ve got to try...push...the outer pane out.’ Nash was gasping for breath. ‘Try with...our feet... Ready?’

They lay side by side, feet against the glass. They pushed.
Nothing. ‘Again.’ They pushed again. Still nothing.

‘Kick
...at the corner,’ Nash coughed.

Becky’s throat was tight. Her lungs felt as if they were bursting.
‘Again.’ His hand gripped hers. She kicked out. Feebly. Strength fading. ‘Harder!’

She kicked again.
Then again. She swung her foot once more. Her foot met no resistance, at the same instant a cool current of air washed over her. Momentary relief. There was a huge roaring sound behind: the dragon reached out for them. Nash dragged her half upright, then pushed her over the ledge and out through the window. He dived after her. They landed in a tangled heap, scrabbling about as if on ice. They’d fallen on the glass. Nash rolled, hauling Becky to one side, and they lay on the tarmac, gasping in huge draughts of the cool night air. Behind them the thwarted dragon roared and belched flames and smoke.

‘Come on. We’re not safe yet.’ Nash reached down and pulled Becky to her feet. ‘Falling masonry, roof tiles,’ he explained succinctly. They staggered across the car park until they were clear of anything the burning building could throw at them.

Nash pulled his mobile out and dialled 999 as they slumped to the ground, exhausted, still gulping at the night air. Becky waited until he’d finished the call and tugged at his sleeve. ‘Mr Nash.’

He looked at her.

‘Thank you. If I’d been alone, I’d be dead now.’

Nash would have none of it. ‘If I hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have got inside.’

Becky hadn’t the energy to argue. The adrenalin of fear had gone. Shock and reaction were setting in.

There was little hope of saving the building. The fire service deployed all their equipment and managed to check the other flats were empty, but the flames had got too strong a hold. Nash and Becky sheltered in the back of an ambulance, receiving oxygen. The paramedics tried to persuade them to go to Netherdale Hospital but they refused. The doctor who arrived shortly afterwards checked them over and reluctantly agreed to their release.

‘How did you get here?’ Nash’s voice sounded hoarse.

‘Walked. I left my car at home.’ She whispered her reply, aware that her voice too was husky.

‘I’ll take you home.’

‘Thanks.’

Nash spoke to the chief fire officer. ‘Where’s Doug?’

‘Off  duty. He’ll be sorry he missed this one. Not every day we get a DI involved. You take care. Plenty of fluids, and gargle as often as possible. Smoke can do no end of damage.’

‘Will do, but let me have a report in the morning.’ Nash took Becky’s arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Vickers and Pearce had discovered a mutual liking for Indian cuisine. They studied a menu from the local takeaway. The restaurant had recently introduced a home delivery service. ‘Cash and Curry,’
Viv explained.

Vickers groaned. ‘I hope the food’s better than your jokes.’

There would be a forty-minute wait, Pearce was told. ‘I’ll check the front and back whilst we’re waiting. Don’t do a runner. Nash would have my bollocks on a platter if we lost you again.’

Vickers smiled. ‘You don’t think I’m going to disappear having ordered that food, do you? You like Nash, don’t you?’ he asked as an afterthought. ‘Is he a decent bloke to work for?’

‘The best,’ Viv told him. ‘We had a couple of wasters before him. Mike’s a top man. He’s got his failings, but they don’t intrude on work.’

‘What failings?’

‘One, to be exact.’ Pearce made a gesture with one hand on the other forearm, his fist clenched.

‘Women?’

Viv nodded. ‘You’ve heard the expression “sexoholic”?’

‘Nash is one?’

‘Pretty much. He loves women and they adore him. I can think of more than a handful he’s slept with since I’ve known him. All stunners too.’

‘Lucky bastard.’

‘That’s as maybe. We reckon they’re substitutes for the one he lost.’

Vickers lifted an enquiring eyebrow. ‘His girlfriend was killed a while back. Mike put the murderer away, but I don’t think he’s ever got over it.’

‘Cancel “lucky bastard” then. Seems Nash and I have more in common than I thought.’

Pearce stared at him.

‘Forget what you’ve been told.’ Vickers’ voice took on a harsher note. ‘Stacey and I were lovers. Somebody robbed me twice. They took Stacey from me and they took fifteen years of my life.’

‘You didn’t kill her? But all the forensic evidence
...’

‘Points to the fact I’d had sex with her? Well, of course I had. Every chance we could get. But there’s no evidence that shows I raped her.’ Vickers’ voice lowered. It was almost as if he was speaking to someone else, to the ghost of a long-dead girl perhaps? ‘I didn’t need to rape her, did I? She was there for me whenever I wanted her, as I was there for her when she needed me. Until that last time, the time she needed me most; the time when she was in danger. Then she was alone. And one day I’ll find her killer. I’ll not rest until the bastard who took Stacey’s life pays.
With theirs.’

Viv
continued his inspection of the exterior, which took only minutes. ‘All secure,’ he reported as he re-entered the kitchen. ‘I’ve left the front door on the latch for when the delivery arrives.’ He was about to slide the bolt on the back door shut when the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll get it.’ Vickers was out of the room before Pearce could object. He heard the sound of voices from the hall. One at least sounded angry. He took a few cautious steps into the dining room. The hall door was open. He looked through the slit, between door and frame. His view was obstructed by a man’s shoulder. Not Vickers. Pearce moved slightly, changed the angle of vision. He was only able to see part of another man’s face in the gap; enough to recognize him. It wasn’t a takeaway delivery. Not unless Ronnie Fletcher had a new job.

Nash and Becky had reached the Market Place when his phone rang. He pulled off the road onto the cobbles. ‘Sorry, won’t take a minute.’

He glanced at the screen. ‘Yes, Viv?’ he croaked.

Becky saw his expression change. The tension was back; in full. He gestured to Becky. She didn’t understand at first. He
signalled again, a driving motion. It was only when he got out of the car that she got the message. He was still clutching the mobile to his ear as he opened the passenger door. She slid across to the driving seat, adjusted the seat and mirror, fumbling with the unfamiliar controls. Nash began to speak. Not to her but to the caller, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’ll be there as fast as I can. Keep out of sight. Don’t try anything. Don’t provoke them. I’ll come to the back. Five minutes.’

Becky engaged first gear and waited. Nash pointed ahead. She let the clutch out slowly. The car moved off easily. Nash was still listening. Then he lowered the phone and looked at the screen.

‘Where am I going?’

‘Grove Road. I’ll direct you.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Potential hostage situation,’ Nash pressed a button on the phone and waited.

‘Clara? Get to Vickers’ ASAP. Bring as many uniforms as you can. Better request an ARU from Netherdale too. Ronnie Fletcher’s turned up. He and one of the Floyd brothers have got hold of Vickers. Viv rang me. He was out of the room when they arrived. As I was talking to him the phone went dead. I’m on my way there now.’

‘Direct me where to go.’ The tension had got to Becky.

‘Turn right in about a hundred yards.’ Nash pointed. ‘Just past where that van’s parked. Keep moving. Drive slowly to the end of the street, then turn right at the junction. There’s a back lane runs parallel – turn into it.  I’ll tell you when to stop.’

Nash kept one eye on his mobile. Willing it to ring again, hoping
Viv had cut him off to avoid discovery. Praying he wasn’t a hostage; fearing the worst.

‘What are you going to do? I assume Pearce is one of your men, but who are the others?’

‘DC Pearce is one of my officers and the home owner is under our protection. I can’t explain why. The others are the ones we’re protecting him from.’

‘What will you do?’ Becky was persistent.

‘I’ve no idea till I get there.’ Nash was coughing from speaking so much.

As they turned into Grove Road, Nash shuffled sideways. He leaned as far across her as was safe. He could smell the mixture of her perfume, smoke from the fire and perspiration from their ordeal. He found it mildly erotic and distracting. ‘Slow right down,’ he said. ‘That’s thirty-two, the one with the bay.’

Becky took her eyes from the road for a second. Subconsciously her foot eased off the accelerator. ‘Not too slow,’ Nash warned. ‘We don’t want to stall it.’

Becky glimpsed a figure standing inside the bay. They were alongside now. She dare not risk another look. The space between parked cars was too narrow for one thing. Nor did she want to risk discovery. ‘Who’s that?’

Nash had time for a longer look. Too tall for Vickers, not broad enough for Pearce. ‘That’s Ronnie Fletcher.’ His tone was grim.

‘You know him?’

‘Too well.’ Nash was busy with his phone. ‘Clara, go round to the back. Fletcher’s looking out of the front.’ He glanced sideways. ‘Look for my car. There’ll be a young woman waiting, name of Becky Pollard. I’ll explain later. I’m going to try and get in.’

Becky followed Nash’s directions, still driving slowly. ‘I thought it better not to speed up after we passed the house,’ she explained. ‘That would look suspicious.’