Minds That Hate (23 page)

‘Never been more serious.’

Nash watched her for a few seconds. Then his mobile rang. ‘Hi, Mike, it’s Lisa.’

‘Anything doing?’

‘There was plenty of action earlier. Rathmell had a couple of visitors. You’ll never guess who one of them was.’

Nash said a name.

‘How did you guess?’ Lisa asked. ‘Oh, it wasn’t a guess, was it? Anyway, they left and Gemma arrived. She’s just gone. I rang you because I heard about the riot on Helm Radio. Wondered if you need help?’

‘Did you really?’ Nash glanced at his watch. It showed 7.15 p.m. ‘Was that a news flash or one of the regular bulletins?’

‘The seven o’clock news. Why, is it important?’

‘I think so. I’m interested to know how they found out about the riot five minutes before I got to know.’

Fletcher watched a flashing display of lights which
signalled the arrival of three vans. These would be from Netherdale. The riot shields in front of the windscreens were taking a battering from the stone throwers, even before they reached the scene. The rear doors of the vans opened almost in unison. Helmeted officers sprang from each. Armed officers; riot shields up. They moved relentlessly forwards.

The crowd dispersed, parting briefly to allow the police passage.
Then began throwing stones. There were several soft explosions and Fletcher saw what appeared to be smoke spreading among the crowd. ‘Tear gas,’ he muttered.

The wind took the gas and Fletcher saw it spread; heard the coughing, choking sounds. The riot police were forced to withdraw or suffer along with their attackers. The mob retreated in disarray. His attention was distracted momentarily by a car. It arrived quietly, coasting to a halt only yards from where Jake was concealed. A couple got out, unseen or unnoticed by everyone bar Fletcher. He didn’t recognize the
woman. The man he knew only too well. ‘Nash,’ he breathed. ‘What the hell’s he doing? Why isn’t he in amongst the rest? And who’s that with him?’

He saw the girl reach back in the car and remove something. He wasn’t sure what, until she lifted it head high. It was a camera. He saw Nash pointing. Directed by Nash, the girl was taking photographs; recording the scene. Fletcher was in a quandary. He knew Nash was the danger, wanted him out of the equation. But Fletcher was alone. And Nash was armed. He knew that because he’d been told Nash would be carrying.

The mob hadn’t dispersed. That was never the plan. The police charge had been met with only token resistance. When the officers advanced, the crowd separated into groups and moved away, down the maze of intersecting streets. There they would re-form and seek new targets. At the head of each group was a member of the
Juniors. They had their plan and knew their role to perfection. Hardly surprising, as they’d been coached in it for days.

From their vantage point Nash and Becky watched the retreat. ‘That was very tame,’ she said.

‘Too tame. I don’t like the look of this. I don’t like it at all.’ Nash pulled out his mobile.

‘Tom? Where are you?’

‘Just coming into the estate. How are things looking?’

Nash gave him a quick rundown. ‘It’s too well organized. As if they knew what they’d be up against and how to deal with it. What concerns me is what they’ll do once they’re out of reach.’

‘I’ll be there in a few minutes. What do you suggest?’

‘Who’s in charge of the uniforms?’

‘Jack Binns is running the guys with shields and batons. Creepy’s headed up the ARU.’

‘I suggest you split them. Put some of the blokes in riot gear into groups with one or two armed men. Follow the rioters. Do what they’re doing. Split up and walk through the estate. I think they’ll either regroup, or form small attack units. This doesn’t seem like a spontaneous uprising. It all looks carefully orchestrated.’

‘Any ideas as to their targets?’

‘At a guess, migrant workers and their property.
All done in the name of, and in memory of, Appleyard.’

‘Are you out of harm’s way?’

‘As you ordered, Tom. For once I’m following instructions.’

‘And have you any more thoughts about tonight?’

‘Oh yes, Tom. As soon as this is over, I’m going to start asking questions.’ Nash disconnected and stood watching.

‘What was that all about?’ Becky asked.

‘When I spoke to the superintendent earlier, he ordered me to stay clear of trouble. He wasn’t prepared to have me finish up as the victim of a mob. Not when there were reinforcements on the scene. He told me to keep a watching brief.’

‘That’s not all though, is it? What about your conspiracy theory? About the way the mob acted?

‘You mean the fact that they’re being controlled? That the level of violence is just enough to grab newspaper headlines and be put out in radio bulletins? Or the fact that for the second time in the past few days, police from Netherdale arrived suspiciously quickly; quicker than those from Helmsdale? I can’t comment yet. Not on the record.’

Nash scanned the scene in front of him. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. ‘Lend me your camera a sec.’

Becky passed it over. ‘How do you work the telephoto?’

‘Twist the barrel of the camera. When it’s fully extended, that’s your close-up. Turn it the other way for wide angle.’

Using the camera as a telescope, Nash concentrated on the figure he’d glimpsed on the outskirts of the mob. He kept the camera steady. ‘Get my mobile out of my pocket. Press redial and hold it to my ear, will you? I don’t want to lose sight of this character.’

He waited for his call to connect. ‘Tom? I need a group of lads to chase someone down. Four should be enough.
As long as one of them is armed.’

Danny took a swig from the flask. The neat spirit was harsh, painful almost. He didn’t mind that. It was what he needed. That and the drugs he’d taken, needed, to cope. The war he was in had claimed Billy’s life. Danny knew who to blame. Now it was payback time. All he needed was a target.

It didn’t take long for him to find one; or rather two. Two men heading home through the estate, steering well clear of the violent mob. Men Danny recognized.
Juris and another worker from the farm. He took another hefty swig from his flask. Time for action and this time there’d be no mistake. This time he wouldn’t leave everything to chance. This time he’d not risk missing them. He’d walk right up to them. Stick his gun in their scrawny bellies and pull the trigger.

It took him longer to get close to them than he’d banked on.
Partly because they were walking quicker than he’d expected, and partly because he didn’t want to show himself until the last minute. They were within sight of their house when he reached them. He pulled the pistol from his pocket and walked up to Juris.

Danny had been so preoccupied, he’d not seen anything. Not heard anything. His finger was actually curling round the trigger when he heard a sound. In the same instant he saw a blur of movement to his right. Then a sharp pain shot through his
hand. He heard the crunch of breaking bone. As he cried out, he saw what was happening clearly. Saw the baton swing back. Then down. He squealed in agony; dropped the gun. Then felt a second blow across his shoulders. Then a third at the back of his knees. Danny howled, staggered; then ran.

‘Mike? Jack
Binns. Danny Floyd’s escaped. We caught up with him. He was about to off a couple of migrant workers. Our lads fetched him a few good whacks, but he bolted down one of the alleys. We chased him, but this place is a warren. Could be anywhere by now. One good thing though. We’ve recovered his gun; dropped it when he was hit.’

Bereft of their leader, the Juniors began to lose heart. The amount they’d ingested didn’t help. The riot petered out, the mob disappeared. A few went home, more gathered in The Wagon and Horses. The Westlea troubles were over. Not counting Billy Floyd’s death, the most serious casualties were Danny’s broken fingers and a scalp wound for one of the firemen.

Nash met Pratt outside the industrial units. The fire was under control now. As they stood watching, Doug Curran joined them and said, ‘We’ve had reports that there was someone inside when the blaze started.
Probably the bloke who torched the place. You’ll not need a cremation service. With this wind, he’ll be all over the county by morning.’

‘Doug, sometimes you’re a sick bastard.’

Curran grinned cheerfully. ‘I’ll leave one of you to phone Mexican Pete and the forensics.’ He waved farewell.

Pratt watched him depart. ‘I’ll see to that. What’s your next move?’

‘I’ve got to check on Vickers. Then I’m going home, hopefully to get some kip.’

‘Anything you want from me?’

‘There is something.’ Nash told him what he wanted.

‘Right, I’ll fax the details in the morning. Care to explain?’

Nash shook his head. ‘I’d prefer to leave it until I’m certain.’

Nash returned to Becky. ‘Let me give you a lift home.’

‘Are you going to Grove Road? That would mean doubling back. Do that first; then drop me off.’

‘Right, let’s go. I’ve had enough of the Westlea for one night.’

The armed guard reported that all was quiet, both inside and out. ‘Vickers is very much on edge,’ the man told him. ‘I think he wants a word with you.’

‘I’ll see what he wants.’

Becky joined him as he went up to the door. ‘You don’t have to come in if you don’t want.’

‘You’re not leaving me out.’

Nash could tell Vickers was restless. ‘What’s eating you?’

‘Have you made any progress? Finding out who killed Stacey, I mean?’

‘I’m nearly sure I know who killed her,’ Nash told him quietly. ‘All we need is more evidence.’

Vickers looked at him oddly. ‘I’m going to bed now. One of the minders will let you out.’

When the door closed behind Vickers, Becky asked, ‘Are you serious? You think it was
Gemma or Carlton Rathmell, don’t you? Does that mean they murdered JT as well?’

‘Oh yes,’ Nash said calmly. ‘The problem is the only evidence I have in either case is circumstantial. Short of a confession, I can’t see a hope in hell of proving it. I don’t honestly think we’ll ever bring the killer to trial.’

‘Have you any idea which of them actually committed the murders?’

Nash’s mind went back a couple of days. He was standing in a shop in the Market Place. Becky saw the distant look on his face and wondered again about Nash’s thought processes. This was what her godmother had described, she guessed.

It was a shop Nash had never been in before. The owner was surrounded by stacks of CDs and assorted musical instruments. ‘Do you stock piano wire?’ Nash asked him.

Between listening to the man’s complaint that he sold so little it wasn’t worth keeping it, except as a service for a few dwindling customers, Nash gleaned the information he was seeking. The names of those who’d bought piano wire recently. There were very few, but one name stood out.
A woman’s name. A woman who’d bought piano wire within the last week, and also fifteen years earlier. The shopkeeper knew her well; had good reason to. A reason he explained to Nash. And when he heard that name, Nash knew the identity of the killer.

Nash returned to the present. ‘Yes, I know which of them did the actual killing,
The one who killed both Stacey and Tucker. But I’ll never be able to prove it. How can I stand a chance of telling whether both parties knew about the murders beforehand? I suspect they did, but I’m not sure it really matters. In my eyes they’re equally guilty.’

On the other side of the door Gary Vickers listened intently. Nash had grown to like Vickers. He believed the convicted killer to be a pleasant, easygoing character. As Nash was speaking, there was nothing likeable about Vickers’ expression. It was neither pleasant nor easygoing.

Becky hopped out of the car when Nash pulled up. ‘Go get some sleep,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to work on my report of tonight’s fun and games. I’ll bring it round to your place in the morning. I’d rather you saw it before I send it in.’

‘There’s no need, Becks. I trust you.’

‘I know.’ She smiled brightly. ‘But I want to. And you should be able to get some rest, now all the trouble’s died down.’

C
hapter twenty three

Gemma Fletcher had always been an early riser. She was up and about by 7.15. By 8 a.m. she was showered and dressed. She sat on a bar stool in her kitchen with a mug of coffee, going through the paperwork she’d need. When the doorbell rang she glanced at the clock. Too early for the postman, it could be a parcel. But she wasn’t expecting anything. She went to the door and opened it slightly. Not wide. This was the Westlea after all.

Her visitor pushed the door open.
‘You!’ She gasped. ‘What are you doing here?’ She looked down. Saw what was in her visitor’s hand. Her knees trembled with fear.

Nash slept so soundly he didn’t hear the bell the first time it rang. He staggered to the door and peered blearily out. ‘Becks! What are you doing here? What time is it?’

‘I said I’d bring that article over, remember? And it’s 8.30. I take it you’ve just got out of bed?’

‘I wouldn’t have, if somebody hadn’t leaned on the doorbell. Come through.’

Nash read the copy. ‘That looks fine, but remember, I didn’t ask for it. You can’t be censored by us before you go into print.’

‘Normally I’d agree. But you’ve made me privy to things a reporter doesn’t usually hear. That means I’ve to be extra careful not to violate the confidence.’

‘I wish all reporters were like you.’ He slid a glance at her.
‘In more ways than one. Before I leave, I’d better check everything’s okay at Grove Road. Excuse me a minute.’

He used his mobile to ring Vickers’ number. It was one of the officers who answered. ‘Yes, it was quiet all night. The biggest problem was keeping awake.’

‘What about Vickers?’

‘Don’t know. He hasn’t surfaced yet.’

‘And I thought I was late rising.’ Nash frowned. ‘He doesn’t usually sleep in; fifteen years of prison routine stopped that. Go check on him. I’ll hold on.’ He attempted to fill the kettle, one handed. ‘What! How did that happen?’ Nash listened. ‘Right, leave it to me. Stay there. The house still needs protecting.’

‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he said as he disconnected. ‘Vickers has done a runner – again.’

‘When?’

‘By the sound of it, sometime early this morning.
His bed was slept in, still warm apparently. But the back bedroom window was open. He must have climbed onto the flat roof of the kitchen. Now he’s roaming about Helmsdale with Jake Fletcher and his cronies after him. Just what I need.’

But Nash was wrong. Vickers was no longer the prey. He was the hunter.

Nash was still pondering this development when his mobile rang again. He glanced at the display. ‘Yes, Viv.’

‘We’ve had a sighting of Danny Floyd on the
Westlea. By all accounts stoned out of his mind; sitting in the gutter, crying his eyes out.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘That’s the strange part. Apparently he’s outside Gemma Fletcher’s place.’

‘Take some uniforms. I’ll meet you there.

Nash looked round. Becky was watching him. ‘Want a slice of the action?’

‘Try keeping me away.’

‘In that case, you drive. I might need to use the phone.’

‘The downside of all this preferential treatment is I finish up as a glorified chauffeur,’ Becky grumbled.

‘Regard it as a public service.’

‘Where are we headed?’

Nash gave her the address and explained as she drove. They arrived at the same time as Pearce. Sure enough, Floyd was half sitting, half lying at the edge of the pavement. He would have been flat out but for the road sign propping him up. Nash signalled to the others to stay back.

‘Danny.’ He spoke slowly and clearly, as if to a deaf man. ‘Danny, can you hear me?’

Floyd squinted up at the voice. ‘Nash, Nash, copper to bash,’ he chanted. ‘Got my orders, got my orders, bash Nash, bash Nash.’

Nash smiled grimly. ‘Who else had you orders for, Danny?’

‘Vickers, Vickers, frilly knickers. Seen him, seen him, tried to bean him.’

‘Seen him? Seen who?’

Floyd was rambling; Nash couldn’t be sure who he was talking about from one sentence to the next.

‘Seen him, seen him,
tried to bean him.’

‘Yes, Danny, we know that. But who have you seen?’

‘Vickers, frilly knickers, Vickers. Seen him, seen him.’

‘You’ve seen Vickers, have you?’

‘Seen him.’

‘Where did you see him? And when?’

Two questions at once was too much. Floyd lapsed into silence.

‘Where did you see Vickers, Danny?’

‘Gemma Fletcher, gonna getcha, gonna getcha.’

‘You saw Vickers here?
With Gemma Fletcher?’

‘Where’s the slag, where’s the slag?’

‘Did you talk to Vickers? Danny listen! Did...you...talk...to Vickers?’

‘Where’s the slag live? Where’s the slag live?’

‘Vickers asked you where Gemma Fletcher lives? Is that right?’

‘In the car, not too far.’

‘Vickers left here with Gemma Fletcher? Is that what you’re telling me, Danny? In Gemma’s car?’

It was a question too much. Floyd slid sideways onto the pavement and lay staring sightlessly.

‘Get an ambulance,’ Nash told Pearce. ‘Get him to Netherdale General as quick as you can. God knows what he’s been taking. Stay with him and when he’s fit enough, stick him in a cell.’

‘What about Vickers?’

‘I’ll deal with him. I’m more concerned with Gemma Fletcher’s safety. If there was any truth in Danny’s ramblings, Vickers has Gemma hostage. He thinks she killed Stacey. If we don’t find them quickly, I don’t give much for her chances.’ Nash’s phone rang. He answered and listened intently. Eventually he spoke. ‘Oh no! When did it happen?’ He listened again. ‘Where is he?’ After a pause he said, ‘Keep me up to date, will you? I’d come through, but I can’t as things are. Thanks, Jack.’

He lowered the phone and stared blankly ahead.

‘What is it?’

Nash looked at Becky as if she wasn’t there. His gaze transferred to Pearce, who was in the middle of organizing the ambulance. He beckoned the DC over.
‘Bad news, Viv. Tom Pratt’s collapsed in his office; suspected heart attack. He’s been taken to Intensive Care at Netherdale. Too early to say how bad it is. When you get there, see what you can find out? Binns promised to keep me up to date, but as you’ll be in the building you might be able to learn more.’

‘I’ll do my best.
Poor Tom.’

Pearce turned away and went to check on Floyd. Becky laid a sympathetic hand on Nash’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, Mike.
Mr Pratt’s such a nice bloke. You’re pretty close to him, aren’t you?’

Nash nodded. ‘Tom’s one of the best. Not just as a copper. And yes, we work really well together. I trust him. When Tom says he’ll do something, it always gets done.’

‘How will this affect what’s happening?’

Nash tried to force his mind back to the situation in hand. ‘It isn’t going to make life any easier, that’s for sure. For one thing I’ll now be reporting directly to DCC King. And won’t that be fun,’ he added sourly.

He should be concentrating on what had happened to Gemma Fletcher. Had she been kidnapped or had she gone with Vickers of her own free will? Nash thought it unlikely. But if he’d taken her, how had he coerced her? He wasn’t armed. Or at least he hadn’t been. Had he collected a weapon en route? If so, how and where? And what would it be? Nash couldn’t think straight. The news about Tom Pratt had knocked him sideways. ‘Bloody hell! I can’t concentrate,’ he fumed.‘Mike, you have to,’ Becky urged him. ‘There’s nobody else. And I’m sure Superintendent Pratt wouldn’t want you worrying about him at the expense of solving this case. Or rescuing somebody from danger.’

Nash was still trying to marshal his thoughts when his mobile rang. It was the officer at Vickers’ house. ‘What now?’

‘Sorry, sir.’ Over the officer’s voice, Nash could hear another.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Next door neighbour. Came round to complain as soon as she could. She’d have been here earlier, but she’d to take the kids to school. Apparently she saw Vickers leaving.’

‘What’s she complaining about?’

The officer explained. Nash was still trying to make sense of this, and to puzzle out where Vickers had gone, when his mobile rang again. Nash glanced at his watch. It was almost 10.15. If Vickers had taken Gemma out of town, they could be anywhere by now. Anywhere within a fifty-mile radius. Needles in haystacks would be easier to find. He answered the phone, dreading what this call might tell him. Becky could see the tension in his face relax as he realized who the caller was. ‘Lisa. I’ve some bad news for you I’m afraid.’

He told her about Pratt. ‘But we’ve still got a job to do. And what’s
happened this morning means it’s far from over yet.’

‘What do you mean, what’s happened?’

‘Vickers has got away from the officer protecting him and kidnapped Gemma Fletcher. Or that’s what we think has happened. Unfortunately we’ve only Danny Floyd’s word for that. And he’s spaced out and not making sense. Are you at Rathmell’s place?’

‘Yes. Do you still need me to watch him, or you have you anything else for me to do?’

‘No, hang on there. There’s a chance Vickers will pole up with Gemma. Give me a bell if anything happens.’

Nash began wandering aimlessly around. In the distance the high-pitched wail of an ambulance siren could be heard. Nash looked over at where Pearce and the other officers were standing round the comatose figure. Someone had put Floyd into the recovery position. Nash walked across. ‘How is he?’

Pearce felt Danny’s pulse. ‘Still living,’ he reported. ‘Pulse is erratic, but I suppose that’s to be expected.’

Nash turned to the others. ‘I’m going to need you two, after you’ve seen to this.’ He pointed to Floyd. ‘So get back in the van and wait for fresh orders. Hopefully by then I’ll have had a flash of inspiration.’

Nash wandered off towards the building where Gemma Fletcher lived. Becky thought she could guess what was going through his mind. Trying to puzzle out what Vickers was planning. Why had he taken Gemma? Where had he gone with her? And what was he going to do?

As he was struggling for inspiration, his mobile rang again. ‘Mike,
it’s Lisa. Rathmell’s just left the Grange in a tearing hurry. Damn near took the gatepost with him. Do you want me to stay here, or follow him?’

In an instant Nash’s mind cleared. Now he knew what Vickers had in mind. ‘Follow him, Lisa. And make sure you don’t lose him.
Rathmell’s our only hope of finding Gemma.’

Nash
signalled to the team. He made a wind-up motion. ‘Ring me when you’ve some idea where he’s headed, Lisa. You’ve got hands-free, haven’t you?’

‘No problem.’

‘Thank God for technology.’

‘Sorry, Becks, we might have to move at a moment’s notice. This could get nasty, and I can’t take the risk of you getting hurt.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m not putting you in harm’s way. We’ve been lucky a few times. I don’t want to push our luck. You mean too much. Besides,’ he added, straight-faced, ‘I don’t want to risk your godmother’s wrath.’

‘Don’t worry. I can walk back to town. But let me know when it’s over. And be careful, Mike. Please be careful.’

Nash watched her walk away. He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to run after her and bring her back. He sighed. She’d really got to him. The fact that he was missing
her when she was still within sight proved that. Now he had to do some proving of his own. He had to convince her there were no ghosts. No dead lovers or memories of other girls. But that would be for later. For the present he had a job to do. And it was the hardest part of a policeman’s job. Waiting.

‘We’re heading towards Helmsdale,’ Lisa told him.
‘Just coming up to the ring road. Hang on; he’s signalling to turn left.’

As Lisa spoke, Nash realized where
Rathmell was going, knew where Vickers had taken Gemma, and why.

‘He’s heading for Helm Woods, towards the river,’ Nash told her. ‘That’s where Vickers has gone. He’s taken
Gemma to the place where Stacey was killed.’

Gemma was scared. She’d never been so terrified in her life. She was used to being in control. Always got what she wanted, either by her own efforts or with the help of her brothers. She knew what she wanted and she’d have it, no matter who got in her way.

Now she was alone and terrified. She was in the hands of a man she’d used and discarded. A man who’d come seeking revenge. In the last few minutes
Gemma had learnt why he needed revenge, and how terrible that revenge would be. Now she knew how, and why, she was going to die.

Her plight was desperate, her position precarious; hands tied behind her back, a noose round her neck. She was standing on the branch of a huge fir tree. On the edge of the clearing she knew so well. One slip and she’d be dead. The drop was no more than fifteen feet.
Gemma was only five feet six inches tall. The noose chafed her neck. But that was the least of her worries. By a long way.