Chosen (15 page)

His final task was to dress her in the clothes he'd picked. He swung her from the table and cradled her in his arms. He whispered in her unhearing ear. ‘Come along, dearest. I've some people I want you to meet.'

 

In his study he unlocked the cabinet and went unerringly to the file he wanted. Placing it on his desk, he opened the cover and gazed at the photograph. She would be next. She had been chosen. Reluctantly, he closed the file. The file containing the photograph of Monique Canvey.

Wednesday was calmer, a welcome respite after the traumas of the preceding days. Nash found it difficult to believe that it was nearly two weeks since Sarah Kelly disappeared, a week since the murder of Lizzie Barton.

He instructed Pearce to prepare the file on the Barton murder. ‘We can't send it to CPS until we get Cindy Green's DNA analysis from forensics, but we should have it in a couple of days. Make sure everything else is ready, so there's no delay. I want the hearing as quickly as possible. I want the trial as quickly as possible. Cindy Green's got enough to contend with; the last thing she needs is a long spell on remand.'

‘What about Bailey? I've phoned Rushton's again. He still hasn't turned in. Hasn't rung in sick either.'

‘Nothing we can do, Viv.'

‘But what about the schools thing? That connects him to the missing girls. Then he scarpered before we could question him. Isn't that enough?'

Nash smiled grimly. ‘I'd advise you to run it past a decent defence lawyer and watch him sharpen his claws. He'd tear us to shreds if we pursued Bailey with nothing more than that. No, you'll have to be patient. Keep working through the files, compiling what evidence you can, until something breaks. It's about time we had some luck in this case. In fact, it's long overdue. Clara's not coming in and I'm hoping to be here all day.'

Nash dialled Netherdale. ‘I agree with you,' Pratt told him. ‘We can't do anything about Bailey without more to go on. Any ideas how to move things forward?'

‘Not yet, at any rate. What I intend to do is review all we've found out and see if there's anything we've overlooked. Some clue to where we should look next. I can do that today unless a riot breaks out on the Westlea. I'm in the office so I should get a chance.'

‘Don't say that even as a joke,' Pratt implored. ‘Anyway, you're pushing it a bit, aren't you?'

‘Not really. I've given Clara the day off, and I'll be giving Viv a hand tying up loose ends before he goes on his forensics course. He's away for two days from tomorrow.'

‘Don't overdo it, Mike. I'm still trying to find cover for you to have a break. Now I've withdrawn the search parties I might be able to find someone.'

‘I'll be okay, but while you're on, I need a favour. I've found a new flat and a reference request has been e-mailed in. Can you help speed it up?'

‘Anything to do with HR could take forever. Tell you what; I'll write one and fax it through to you. That help?'

‘Thanks, Tom. It certainly will.'

At lunchtime Nash went out for a sandwich. He took with him the fax he'd received from Tom. Monique was on the phone when he arrived at Charleston's. She waved at him across the office and mouthed the words ‘two minutes'.

‘Can I help you?'

Nash turned towards the speaker, a slim, erect figure in his early to mid fifties. He had a mane of blond hair, tinged with grey at the temples. ‘I'm Peter Charleston. Excuse the dust,' he said as he brushed his hands together. ‘I've just been helping our sign erector load his van.' He indicated his companion, a nondescript looking middle-aged man in a brown dustcoat. ‘That's Les Franklin, our maestro of the “FOR SALE” boards.'

Nash shook Charleston's hand. ‘Pleased to meet you; I'm Mike Nash. I'm going to be renting the Rutland Way property from you.'

‘Ah yes, the policeman. Monique told me about you. Is everything all right?'

‘Everything's fine, I've brought in a reference from my boss. I know how long these things can take through “channels”.'

Charleston smiled. ‘Oh, that's good of you. Well, I must get on. I'll leave you in Monique's capable hands. Nice to meet you.'

Charleston waved his hand in farewell and the two men walked through the door leading to his own office. Nash had a momentary glimpse of the tidy room before the door closed. He smelt a faint aroma. Was it after shave? He dismissed the idea. It was a chemical smell. Probably from the signs, or the paint they used. It seemed vaguely familiar.

Monique crossed the office. ‘Hello, Mike.'

He explained the reason for his visit, and passed her the envelope.

‘That was kind of you.'

‘Your Mr Charleston said the same.'

‘Oh, you've met Peter, have you? You're honoured, and lucky. He's hardly ever here. But that's his own fault. With the expansion of the company, everyone's workload has increased. He's just had a few days off in Scotland, now he's here today, then off visiting the other branches. Heaven knows when we'll see him again. Not that it matters too much. Everything runs well even when he's not here.' She coughed. ‘That's down to the efficiency of the manager.'

‘Who is the manager?'

‘I am,' Monique laughed, ‘why do you think I said it. The problem is, whenever he's been away, he always brings us a little present back. This time it was a young mountain of shortbread. And me on a diet.'

‘Could have been worse. It might have been haggis.'

‘No fear, not with Peter, he can't stand the sight of blood. I got a tiny paper cut on my finger once and asked him to put a plaster on it. I thought he was going to faint.' She looked around to see if she could be overheard. ‘I thought you'd come about those questions you wanted to ask me.'

‘Well, yes, but perhaps somewhere a little more private?'

‘I'm busy all day, so it will have to be my place I'm afraid. Chicken dinner okay?' She was shocked at her boldness.

 

The afternoon was lacking in incident, at least as far as CID was concerned, so Nash had plenty of time to analyze the files received from other forces and study his findings.

He was unable to discover anything significant in either the original reports or from their meetings with the parents. Although
there was nothing to show for his efforts, Nash was left feeling dissatisfied when he closed the cover of the last folder.

Something was niggling at the back of his mind. Something he'd seen or heard, or something someone had said or done? No matter how hard he tried, the memory eluded him. In the end he wearied of the effort and gave up, but the impression remained within his subconscious. At some point he was sure he'd been given a clue that would lead him to the killer.

 

Monique looked better, more like the photograph of Danielle. The strain in her face had gone. The tension behind her eyes was absent too. ‘You look tired, Mike,' she said when he arrived that evening.

He felt it. ‘I'd a lousy day yesterday. Today was just frustrating,' Nash told her.

‘Are things going wrong?'

‘Not really. We tied up the stabbing case, you remember, the woman who was stabbed in the pub yard? The result was very sad. I know all violent crime has a sad aspect to it, but this was very distressing.'

They were sitting at Monique's dining table. ‘Are you allowed to tell me about it?'

Nash told her about Cindy Green's confession and the motive for the murder. ‘How awful,' Monique exclaimed. ‘What that poor girl must have gone through.'

‘It was pretty harrowing,' Nash agreed. ‘It's one of the few times I've empathized with a murderer. I'm not passing judgement on the victim either; her only fault was being betrayed by her own impulses and desires. Anyway, if that wasn't bad enough for one day, I had to interview more parents. Louise Harland went missing eight years ago. I find it impossible to talk to the families and hold back. The only problem is the inference they draw is blindingly obvious.'

‘You tell them you're investigating the disappearance of all the girls like you told me?'

‘What else can I do? If I didn't give some explanation, they'd either think I was off my head or start drawing their own conclusions. The truth's bad enough, without them indulging in wild speculation. It's only fair they should know. I'll tell you what's so
distressing. These people make you so welcome. You sit down in their home and you tell them news that's going to shatter their last remnant of hope. Then you look into the eyes of the mother. It's as if someone's snuffed a candle out. The light disappears, and it's as if you're looking into the darkest place in the whole world. To be honest, the only time that didn't happen, was when I talked to you.'

Monique smiled. ‘It didn't distress me as much because, as I told you, I'd already worked out that Danny was dead. I didn't know about the others, of course; that was a shock. I actually think your telling me about the others helped me, took away some of my guilt by providing an explanation for me being left whilst Danielle was taken.'

‘That puzzled me too. Seeing that photo of the pair of you on the hall table started me thinking. I know you'd said you were identical, but until I took a peep at the photo I didn't realize how alike you were. I thought, why Danielle, why not you? At lunchtime I took a walk along the route you and Danielle, went before the assault. I wanted to see the place you were attacked. I have a theory which might explain why you survived.'

Nash paused and took a sip of water. ‘I heard something once about twins often being right and left-handed, as if one side of the brain is predominant in either twin. Was that the case with you and Danielle?'

‘Not entirely. I'm right-handed in most things, whereas Danielle was ambidextrous. What's that got to do with why I was attacked and Danielle abducted?'

‘When you walked together, did one always walk on the right, the other on the left, or didn't it matter?'

Monique thought about it for a long time. ‘I'd never given that a thought, but now you mention it Danny always walked on the left and I walked on the right. Is that important?'

‘This is pure speculation, but when I walked along the footpath I noticed there's a bench set in an alcove, surrounded by a tall privet hedge. That would be the perfect place for someone to lie in wait. If I was planning to attack someone, I couldn't have designed a better spot. The point is you would have been on the side nearest the bench; nearest the attacker. If my theory's right, the reason you
were attacked instead of Danielle is that you were walking on the right.'

‘The more I think about it, whenever we walked together Danny automatically went to the left and I fell in alongside her. If that's the only reason, then I've been feeling guilty all these years for nothing.'

Monique reached across the table and laid her hand on his. ‘Thank you, Mike. If it's any comfort to you, set that against all the unhappiness you've witnessed. You've put my mind at rest about something that's always troubled me. Now, if you've had enough to eat, I'll clear away.'

‘Yes, thank you,' Nash responded, ‘it was delicious.'

‘By the way, I forgot to mention, I sent off e-mail requests for your bank references for the flat on Monday. I don't foresee any problems. With luck I'll have the replies soon.'

Over coffee, they talked about anything and everything apart from the case. Nash recounted one or two of the more amusing and less gory incidents from his career.

‘What an exciting life you lead,' Monique commented. ‘Do you enjoy your job?'

‘Yes, I do. That might seem strange, considering what I've just told you, and some of the things we have to do, and the sights we have to see, but on the whole, yes, I do enjoy it. How about you? You made it fairly clear you enjoy yours. And that you're a super-efficient manager.'

Monique laughed. ‘That was self-advertising at its worst. I enjoy it now, more than I used to before I was made manager. And I nearly didn't get the chance.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Apparently, long before my time, the company was going to the wall. The lady who was manager before me told me the story. It was a much smaller firm, only three branches, and the owners drained all the profits, so that they were always fighting off bankruptcy. Then Mr Charleston bought them out and started to make things happen. He put a load of capital in, apparently, got the firm on a solid footing then started to expand. There are Charleston Branches covering most of the North. You'll no doubt be aware of the advertising slogan? “Charleston One Stop Home Sales”. That
was Peter's idea. He said when people move, it's stressful enough, without having to arrange everything themselves. So why don't we offer to do everything for them. From the survey, to the conveyancing, to arranging the mortgage, the lot. We even have a removals company in the group now, plus our own sign erector, who goes around putting up the FOR SALE signs where ever they're needed. He's constantly on the move. Because Helmsdale's technically the head office, I get to handle his expenses. The petrol bill alone is massive. He can be anywhere up to two-hundred miles away. Mind you, he adds to it by living out at Bishopton, which is another twenty miles on to every journey. But he's so efficient we let him use the firm's van, so he takes it home every night. When he's not staying away, that is.'

‘I'm surprised his wife doesn't object. To all the travelling I mean.'

‘Oh, he's not married.'

‘I've met him. Isn't his name Franklin? He was with Mr Charleston when I dropped that stuff in. Either he or Charleston had an odd smell about them, I remember.'

Monique laughed. ‘That'd be Les, I bet. Well, not Les, but the chemical he sprays the signs with. It helps protect them against the weather. Les is ideal for the job, really. A bit of a loner, but he does a good job. And it adds to the rounded service we can provide. The one stop idea's not exactly original, I know, but apart from us, it's only the big firms that have the backing to offer that sort of service.'

‘Bright idea though, and it obviously works.'

Monique nodded. ‘I get to see the accounts, and I can vouch for that.'

‘Where did Charleston's money come from?'