Buried in the Past (8 page)

Clara sat thinking this over for a while. ‘That is some theory,’ she said eventually, ‘and I can see the sense of it. But proving it after all this time is going to be well nigh impossible.’

Nash picked up their empty fish and chip cartons and deposited them in the nearest litter bin, to the dismay of a pair of screeching, hopeful seagulls. He walked back to the bench and glanced across at the sea. ‘If you don’t fancy a paddle, we might as well set off back.’

Nash had just got into the car when his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen. ‘Yes, Viv?’

‘I thought you’d want to know that Raymond Perry
recovered
consciousness early this morning. It was only brief, barely a moment. Apparently he’s now in a deeper coma than before. The surgeon in charge of the ICU wants to have a word with you. I’m not sure, but I wondered if they’re considering switching the
life-support
machines off.’

‘Did Perry say anything?’

‘Yes, one word, apparently, but nothing anybody can make sense of. Lianne was on duty at the time, she told me about it.’

‘OK, I’ll talk to the surgeon tomorrow.’

‘How did the meeting with Wellings go?’

‘It was highly informative. More so than he realized, I reckon. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.’

Nash put his mobile back in his pocket and looked across to where Clara was watching him.

‘What is it, something wrong?’ she asked.

‘Raymond Perry came round briefly; then relapsed. Viv thinks they want to switch the machines off. If they do that, it means we’ll have lost our best potential source of information as to who might be behind this.’

‘It’s far too soon, surely; unless his condition is worse than we think.’

The following morning, Nash and Mironova listened as Pearce explained what had happened at the hospital. ‘It was just after I’d dropped Lianne off to start her shift in the ICU. I thought whilst
I was there I ought to check with the uniformed man we have guarding Perry and the hospital reception, to see if Raymond’s had any visitors, or anyone asking after him.’

Nash nodded approval and Viv continued, ‘All I can tell you is what Lianne told me. Apparently, Perry woke up briefly. She went to his bedside immediately. He looked at her, muttered something and that was it. Before she could respond he was out like a light.’

‘Did she catch what he said?’

‘She wasn’t sure; said it might have been a name. But she was too busy summoning the rest of the ICU team, checking his vital signs or whatever they do, to take too much notice. I saw all the flap going on and kept well out of the way.’

‘I’ll need to have a word with her. If Perry dies, she’ll probably be the last one to have had any contact with him, so we’ll need a formal statement. That might as well be done now. If you’re right about the reason the head of the ICU wants to talk to me, and they have decided to switch the machines off, Perry will become a murder victim, and Lianne’s evidence might be needed in court, if it ever comes to that. Particularly as he regained consciousness.’

‘I think she’s expecting that. I’ll give her a call. Will later this afternoon be OK? She’s on early shifts all this week.’

‘No problem.’

Pearce hesitated. ‘There’s something else you should know. I’m not sure how significant this is, but Perry had a visitor, or at least someone asking about him. I’d left instructions that if anyone inquired about Perry someone should contact me immediately, or if I wasn’t there, the uniformed man on duty. Just before I left,
reception
buzzed through to the ward to say there was someone asking for Perry. I went straight down, but he’d disappeared. I checked the CCTV, but the picture’s so hazy you couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. System’s been like that for weeks, actually, but they can’t get it repaired. That’s how strapped for cash they are. I asked for a description, but to be honest it’s not much use. It could fit millions of men. Medium height and build, grey hair and casually dressed.’ Pearce paused. ‘However, the receptionist did tell me the man spoke with a very distinct accent.’

‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. A cockney accent?’

‘Wrong! Way wrong. She said his accent was from Belfast. I asked her how she could be sure. Apparently her husband’s from there. She said Perry’s visitor had an accent that was “pure Falls Road”.’

Nash shook his head in bewilderment. How many more surprises was this case going to bring?

It was lunch time before Clara asked Nash, ‘Did you ring Perry’s surgeon?’

‘I did, but he’s in theatre all day. I’ll try again later.’

Later that afternoon, Pearce ushered Lianne into Nash’s office, which, with Clara and Viv in as well, was a little crowded.

‘Thanks for coming in, Lianne,’ Nash smiled, ‘I won’t keep you long, you must be keen to get home and put your feet up and let Viv cook your tea for you.’

‘That’ll be the day.’ Lianne smiled and raised her eyebrows.

‘So can you tell us exactly what happened this morning?’

‘Mr Perry’s monitors started showing increased activity, so I went over to his bedside. His eyes opened momentarily and he stared at me. Then he spoke, but his voice was so weak I hardly caught what he said. I thought it was someone’s name, but I couldn’t swear to it. Now I’ve had more time to think it over, I’m more than ever convinced that’s what it was, but I don’t seem to be able to recall it. Before I’d time to think about what he’d said, he was unconscious again. I got busy, and afterwards I seem to have blocked it out.’

She turned her head slightly, averting her gaze from Nash’s. Obviously her failure to remember was irritating her.

Clara had a stroke of intuitive genius. ‘Lianne,’ she said softly, ‘that name, how many syllables did it have?’

‘One, I think; no, possibly two.’ Lianne starred at some point in the distance, trying to recall.

‘Did it sound like “Frank”?’

She stared at Clara. ‘Yes, it could have sounded like Frank. Although that’s not quite right.’ She thought about it, repeating the word in a low mutter. ‘Frank, Frank, no, Frankie, yes, I think that’s it. Now you’ve said it, I’m sure that’s what he said. How did you guess?’

‘Something we found in his file,’ Clara said ambiguously.

‘Lianne,’ Nash said, ‘I need you to go with Viv and make a
statement
.’ He turned to Pearce. ‘Get Jack Binns to take it, given your personal involvement.’

He stood up and shook hands with Lianne. ‘Thank you for coming in. Your information has been most helpful.’

‘Well, at least we know what was on Ray Perry’s mind,’ Clara said when they were alone.

‘Mmm, makes you wonder if that was the reason he came to Yorkshire, though, doesn’t it? Looking for Frankie Da Silva, I mean. By the way, that was clever thinking on your part.’

Clara bowed. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

Nash’s phone call with the doctor was brief and to the point. ‘We’ve done everything we can for Mr Perry,’ the medic told him. ‘He needs specialist treatment, which we’re not able to provide here.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘The nearest centre capable of handling a case like this is the Freeman Hospital in Newcastle. I’ve spoken to my colleagues there and they’re trying to organize the transfer for as soon as possible. Because of your involvement, I wanted to be sure that you were kept in the loop before we move him.’

Nash gave the doctor his mobile number. ‘I’d like to be informed as soon as it’s done. I’ll need to get the local police to sort out
protection
. Have you any idea when he might be conscious and able to answer questions?’

‘That’s impossible to say. I’ll phone you when the transfer has been done.’

Nash received the phone call before he set off to Netherdale headquarters next morning. ‘Inspector,’ the surgeon told him, ‘Raymond Perry was moved in the early hours. I’ll send you all the details through if you wish.’

‘Please, if you would, and thank you for letting me know.’

Nash called Mironova into his office, and told her what had happened. ‘Accepting the fact that the attack on Perry wasn’t the random act of a psychopath, I think we should try to give whoever was responsible the impression that we don’t realize it was done deliberately.’

‘How do we do that? If we’ve no idea who did it we can hardly send them a message, can we?’

‘Oh, yes we can.’ Nash outlined his idea.

‘Mike, has anyone ever mentioned that you have a very Machiavellian streak to your personality?’

‘I believe something akin to that may have cropped up in
conversation
somewhere along the line.’

As he was speaking, his phone rang. Nash glanced at the caller display. ‘The chief’s back,’ he told Clara before picking up the handset.

‘Mike,’ Chief Constable Gloria O’Donnell began, ‘I’ve just been looking through the paperwork on my desk. What’s been going on in Helmsdale? I go on a well-earned holiday, leaving
everything
peaceful and serene. When I get back, what do I find? Axe murderers and gangsters running amok.’

Nash grinned. ‘Actually, we believe it was a sledgehammer, not an axe, but I take your point, ma’am. And I wish I knew.’ He explained what little they knew about the two events.

‘Any idea what’s behind it?’

‘A couple, thanks to an ex-DCI from London. But who might be responsible is another matter entirely.’ He told her of his interview with Wellings. ‘Fortunately, Netherdale’s been relatively quiet, so I’ve been able to concentrate on what’s been happening here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I have to make an urgent phone call.’

‘Anything interesting?’

‘Yes, I’m going to ask the
Netherdale Gazette
to print an article for me.’

Phil Miller was reading the morning paper. The item he’d been looking for was on the front page. The article told him all he needed to know. He picked up his mobile. ‘Here, listen to this. “Police are appealing for witnesses following the discovery of a seriously injured man on the Helmsdale to Kirk Bolton road, close to Drover’s Halt. The man, described as being in his late forties, has since been identified as Raymond Perry, recently released from Durham Prison having served a life sentence for murder. Police are anxious to interview anyone who was travelling along that stretch of road last Thursday night, particularly if they saw the victim, who was wearing white trainers, blue jeans and a maroon sweatshirt,
and was believed to be walking towards Drover’s Halt. A police spokesperson commented that the injuries sustained by Perry are consistent with some form of collision, but until further tests have been carried out, they refused to speculate on the cause.” That means they haven’t a fucking clue. Dim set of bastards. So, Perry’s on his way out. That will be one less problem. I was worried when he was headed this way, at the thought he might find out about you know what. I went to the hospital, did I tell you? I wanted to finish the job, but I was panicking over nothing, I guess. Now we can get on with the next bit. When do you think you can get away?’

He listened. ‘Can’t you make it sooner?’ Had to accept the reality, ‘No, I suppose not.’

He rang off and glanced around the cottage. His thoughts made him edgy. He hated this place. Couldn’t understand how people could actually enjoy coming here on holiday. He’d hated it all those years ago. Remembered how glad he’d been at the thought that he’d never have to return. Now, here he was and hating it all the more. He was used to the hustle and bustle of the city. He hated the silence. Hated the people; their weird accents and way of talking. Hated the countryside. Couldn’t sleep here. Too quiet. Just as he was getting used to it, some creature would screech or yelp, or whatever they did.

He wanted to be back on home ground. Even when Corinna had been here, he’d wanted to be away as fast as he could. He missed her, not simply because they were two of a kind, her and him:
survivors
. And they would survive again. Survive and prosper. But first, they’d got work to do. And mooning about wasn’t going to get it done.

Shortly after lunch, Tom Pratt popped into Nash’s office with a query regarding a case that he was getting ready to send to CPS. It was a question, Nash knew, none of the others would have thought to ask. As they were talking, Clara and Pearce joined them.

Clara cleared her throat. ‘I was trying to work out how Ray Perry came to be in Yorkshire. It seems strange to me that Perry headed here immediately he was released; as if he knew where to come.’

There was a long silence before Nash spoke. ‘You’re right, Clara,
we questioned it before and I should have spotted it. Do you want to sit here?’ He pointed to his chair. ‘So, what you’re thinking is, who did Perry know here? Because that has to be the key to the whole mystery.’

‘Perhaps he came here looking for his lover; the mysterious Frankie Da Silva,’ Clara suggested.

Nash shook his head. ‘We’ve no evidence connecting her with this area. Mind you, at the moment the same applies to Perry.’

Nash turned to Pearce. ‘I’ve a job for you, Viv, on much the same lines as the one Clara’s doing. I don’t want you to feel left out. Contact all the theatrical and entertainment agencies you can find. Concentrate on those based in London, to begin with. See if anyone remembers a nightclub singer called Frankie Da Silva who was on the circuit during the eighties. She would have needed an agent. Without one, she wouldn’t have got any bookings. If you manage to locate someone who still has her name on file, I need to know if she listed a next of kin, a contact address and especially, I want to know her real name, because I feel sure the agency will have that, as well as her stage name.’

‘Changing the subject, Mike,’ Clara added, ‘I checked voters’ rolls looking for relatives of Graham Nattrass and there are no families called Nattrass living in the area. I checked back via the
Gazette’s
new online service and came up with an obituary for Mrs Grace Nattrass, widow of F. G. Nattrass. She died six years ago, but there was no mention of how long he’d been dead.’

‘Six years,’ Nash said. ‘Isn’t that about the time that Graham Nattrass moved into his flat?’

Clara nodded. ‘I thought some of that furniture looked a bit
old-fashioned
for somebody of Nattrass’s age. I bet he moved there after his mother died. That would explain the healthy bank balance, and the sports car. If he sold the family home, he’d have plenty of cash to spare. What’s more, the initials of the husband mentioned in that obituary interest me. I checked with the registrar’s office and the “G” stood for Graham.’

‘Which puts Graham Nattrass’s background to bed. All we have to work out now is why he was killed in the identical manner to Ray Perry’s uncle twenty odd years ago.’

‘That still leaves the unanswered questions of who attacked Ray Perry and what happened to Frankie Da Silva,’ Pearce pointed out.

‘True, and although we’re no nearer working either of those out, I’ve an idea that the fate of Frankie is the key to the whole puzzle – don’t ask me why.’

The meeting broke up without the team reaching any further conclusions about the way forward. Pratt remained seated when the others left. He appeared deep in thought. ‘What’s troubling you, Tom? You’ve obviously got something on your mind.’

‘That obvious, is it? Not troubling me exactly, but I was just going over everything I heard about this missing woman, this Frankie Da Silva. Do you remember that trip we took out to Bishops Cross? To the site where that murder victim was found? I wondered if that was the same woman.’

‘Remind me of the details again.’

‘The post-mortem showed that the woman had been dead for a long time before the phone call that tipped us off. Bear in mind, I’m going from memory. I seem to remember something about the pathologist testing the soil beneath the body, and concluding she’d been killed elsewhere. The body had been attacked by a wide variety of predators, so there wasn’t as much for us to work with. Given the way the science was in those days, the pathologist did the best he could, but nowhere near what Mexican Pete can achieve nowadays.’

‘Yes, I remember, and didn’t you say the body had been exhumed, and a DNA sample taken? As part of a cold case review, as I remember it? In which case, Mexican Pete should be able to trace that result. It may lead nowhere, but it might answer a whole load of questions. Unfortunately, it might also raise a whole lot more.’

Nash repeated their conversation to Clara.

‘You don’t subscribe to the notion that she cashed in the diamonds and is now sitting on a sun-kissed beach drinking cocktails, then?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure I ever did. However, this one seems about as far-fetched from what little we know at present.’

In the holiday cottage the chirping of Phil Miller’s mobile surprised
him. Not that he should get a call, but that there was any signal in this outlandish place. Tension was immediate, but the caller ID on his screen relaxed him.

‘How’s it going?’

‘I’m still here, aren’t I?’ he sighed heavily.

‘You mean you haven’t got it?’

‘Oh yeah, like, I’d choose this spot for a bloody holiday, wouldn’t I?’

‘No progress?’

‘Only the wrong sort.’

‘So, what’s our next option?’

‘I’ve got to try and backtrack from the boy’s adoption. We know the mother didn’t give him up. She wasn’t available. So it had to be the relative named on the papers. The only problem is I can’t find any trace of her. She was at the Harrogate house, though.’

‘Did you get all the papers? You’re sure you didn’t miss anything?’

‘You saw them.’

‘What are you planning to do next?’

‘Try and trace this elusive relative.’

‘Do you want me to come back up? Everything’s running OK down here.’

‘Tempting, but there doesn’t seem any point, yet, apart from keeping me company. One of us having to suffer this place is bad enough. When we’re in a position to go after the stuff; that’s when I’ll need you to be here.’

‘Just be careful.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.’

Although the club was in London, it wasn’t one of the more
salubrious
West End nightclubs, where the rich and famous gather in the full glare of the paparazzi. It was, to be honest, a dive. The ground floor comprised a large bar, alongside which a gathering of presumably tone-deaf punters gyrated to an uninspiring selection of music.

Upstairs, some of the rooms were given over to gambling, despite the fact that the premises weren’t licensed. In yet more
private rooms, men were entertained by specialist club employees. Here, the gambling was with the clients’ health, betting against contracting any number of sexually transmitted diseases. The premises certainly weren’t licensed for this type of activity. In fact, the rumour was that the only reason the police didn’t oppose renewal of the club’s licence was that with the place open, they found it easy to locate members of the clientele who were wanted for a variety of offences.

The owner of this, and a dozen other similar clubs, by the name of Trevor Thornton, was seated on a bar stool at one end of the counter, watching the Friday night throng. Thornton, known to his close associates as Mr T, bore no physical resemblance to his famous namesake. In fact this short, balding and tubby middle-aged man was about as far away from the other Mr T as could be imagined. They did share one common trait, however, the ability to strike fear into those who had crossed them. In Thornton’s case it was via several bouncers who doubled as enforcers and bodyguards.

A small, nervous, thin-faced man sidled up to Thornton, who inspected him, aware that the man had something to say. ‘What do you want, Freddie?’

The tone was brusque, but the newcomer was used to that. Freddie ‘The Ferret’ Perkins was a betting shop clerk who made a precarious added income by peddling information. This sideline involved the collection and distribution of news items that didn’t make it onto TV, radio, the press or the internet, although in many cases the subject matter ended up in all of them.

‘I got a bit of a puzzle, Mr T, and I thought, my friend Mr T’s just the man to solve it for me.’

If Thornton was offended by Freddie’s claim of friendship, he didn’t show it. Freddie often chose an obscure method to introduce the news item he had to impart and he guessed this was another example of just such an oblique approach. ‘Ask away, Freddie, you know I’ll answer you if I can.’

‘Well, the thing is, I heard on the grapevine that an old friend had suffered an accident. More of an acquaintance than a friend, really. Someone who hasn’t been seen around these parts for a long time’ – Freddie gave a sly, sidelong smile – ‘hasn’t been seen
anywhere, truth to tell. And the thing is, I was quite surprised when I heard that one of his nearest and dearest had gone dashing off to the place where this happened. Obviously, they’d gone to visit the sick, I thought. Except that I then found out that they’d rushed off there before the accident happened. Well beforehand, in fact. And I found that really curious, as if they knew it was going to happen, if you understand me.’