Minds That Hate (15 page)

Nash eyed her approvingly. ‘Good thinking. We need to go ten houses up.’

The lane was little wider than an alley, certainly not broad enough to allow cars to pass. Becky pulled up opposite the rear of number thirty-two. ‘What now?’

‘Wait here until my sergeant arrives. Her name’s Mironova, Clara Mironova. Get her to follow me in with the uniforms. Whatever happens, you stay here. Clear?’

Becky watched Nash walk into the back yard but couldn’t see what he was doing for the boundary wall. There was a sudden blaze of reflected light. The door had been opened.
By Nash?

The car felt too confined. She got out and leaned against the door. Where was this sergeant? What was her name?
Mironova, that was it. Clara would be easier to remember. Why hadn’t she arrived? Helmsdale wasn’t that big. What was keeping her? Nash was up against two dangerous men, without backup.

She paced to and fro. Her journalist’s instinct took over. She walked slowly towards the gate. If she opened the back door, she might be able to hear what was happening.

Nash tiptoed across the kitchen, careful not to ground his heels. There was no sound. The dining room door was ajar. Nash eased it wider. The room was empty. Nash gambled everyone was in the lounge.

Pistol in hand, he gently opened the hall door. Prayed it wouldn’t squeak. No guard in sight. He heard a noise, the low sound of a voice from the lounge. He crossed the hall and had almost reached the lounge door when he heard the squeak of a trainer on the polished floor. He turned as a shape flung itself at him. Nash was never sure if he fired the gun, or it simply went off. His assailant crashed into him and Nash felt a sharp pain in his left arm. He was thrust violently back. He hit the doorknob; painfully. The door burst open under their combined weight. Nash squirmed to disentangle himself from his attacker. He had a fleeting vision of Pearce and Vickers on the sofa, linked by Pearce’s handcuffs. As Nash fell, the side of his head struck the door knob. Then everything went dark.

The first thing Nash felt was pain.
Pain in his head, his arm, his back. He struggled to remember. Memory brought anxiety. Grove Road. What had happened? He opened his eyes. Wished he hadn’t and closed them. He tried again, marginally better. He waited for focus. He was staring at a white ceiling and saw why his eyes hurt. He was looking straight into a bank of lights and turned his head away. ‘Hello.’ A whisper. ‘Where am I?’

Clara looked relieved. ‘
Netherdale General, A & E department, Cubicle 3.’

‘What happened? How’s
Viv?’

‘He’s alright. Pride’s
hurt, that’s all. He’s still at Grove Road with Vickers.’

‘I was attacked. Then something hit my head. That’s all I remember.’

‘You were in the hall. The man who was with Fletcher went for you with a knife, nicked your arm. We think you must have turned aside otherwise he might have done more damage. Apparently it’s only a flesh wound, couple of stitches, that’s all. Your gun went off.’ Clara grinned. ‘You’ll have some forms to fill in.’

Nash winced at the prospect.

‘You must have hit him. There’s a trail of blood. He got away, cannoned into Miss Pollard on the way out. Viv saw the rest. He said you were flat out. Ronnie Fletcher was about to hit you with a crowbar when Miss Pollard intervened.’

‘I told her to wait in the car.’

‘As well she didn’t. You’d be dead if she had. Viv said Fletcher had lost it completely. He’d swung his arm right back. Then Miss Pollard felled him.’

‘She did what?’

‘She followed you inside and was in the dining room when she heard the gunshot, then this guy came rushing past. She saw a poker in the companion set. Picked it up and got to the lounge in time to clobber Fletcher. Not once but twice. He’s in the next cubicle with head injuries.’ Clara jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

Nash closed his eyes again. ‘What do the medics say about him?’

‘They’re waiting to do a brain scan on Fletcher. I told them that’d be a waste of time.’ Nash opened his eyes. Clara was grinning again. ‘Then they said you might have concussion. I asked them how we’d know.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ Nash frowned. ‘What kept you? I mean, where were you when all this went down?’

Clara’s smile vanished. ‘Still en route. Tom was off duty. All Netherdale CID calls were being re-routed to King. He wasted ten minutes asking bloody stupid questions before he’d let me have a two-man ARU team. Started out making a lot of snide comments about our inability to deal with things. I reckon I’d still be arguing the toss with him if I hadn’t threatened to go over his head and phone the chief.’

‘You’ll be off his Christmas card list.’

‘That’s not going to keep me awake. They’ll want to examine you, now you’re conscious. And you’ve a visitor. I’ll go deal with the paperwork. From what I hear and the look of you, you’ve had quite a night of it. May be better if they keep you in.’

‘Not ruddy likely.
Who’s my visitor?’ Nash’s voice was almost non-existent by now. But Clara had gone. She was replaced by a couple of stern-faced medics. Despite their reluctance, they could find no reason to detain Nash. Their efforts to dissuade him took over fifteen minutes. Eventually they departed and Nash closed his eyes in relief. When he reopened them, a familiar face hovered over him, watching anxiously. He smiled. ‘Hello, Becky.’

She smiled back, a little weakly. Nash held out a hand. ‘Do you know that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile? I understand I owe you a vote of thanks. They tell me you’re a dab hand with a poker.’

‘I didn’t know what else to do. It was awful. I just hit him.’

‘Don’t feel sorry for him. He was about to crush my skull. Anyway, thank you.’

‘I hope you don’t mind. I used your car to get here.’

‘Good. Then you can drive me home.’

‘You’re not leaving? Surely they’ll want to keep you in?’

‘No way.
I hate these places. Just give me chance to get dressed.’

The cubicle curtain was thrust back. DCC King marched in. ‘What the hell’s going on, Nash? There’s going to be trouble over tonight’s fiasco. You’ve shot one man and beaten another to pulp. A block of flats has been razed to the ground and you’ve called on reserves I said you weren’t allowed. You’d better start talking fast. I’ll see you carpeted for this.’

Nash squeezed Becky’s hand. ‘Clear off.’

He said it so quietly, his tone so matter of fact, that it failed to register with either of his listeners for a few seconds. King went red, then apoplectic purple. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said, clear off! Is that plain enough? You’ve been nothing but a nuisance ever since you came here. Tonight you endangered the lives of three men, two of them your own officers. All because of your dilatory actions.’

‘You’ll face a disciplinary hearing for this, Nash. I’ll call this doctor as witness to your insubordination. Kindly remember every word, miss.’

Nash squeezed Becky’s hand again. ‘Did you hear me say anything?’

She shook her head. King’s colour darkened further, if that was possible. ‘I see.’ His tone was icy. ‘This isn’t a doctor. Just another of the cheap tarts you keep round you. Well, don’t imagine the fact that you’re screwing this floozy will prevent me calling her as a witness.’ He turned and barked at Becky, ‘I’ll need your name.’

Nash leaned back. This could be entertaining.

‘You’d better tell me yours first.’ Becky’s tone was also ice-cold.

‘I am Deputy Chief Constable King.’ It was less of an introduction, more of an announcement.

Becky removed a small notebook and pen from her pocket and scribbled the name down.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I just want to get my facts straight. My name’s Pollard, by the way. Rebecca Pollard.’

The name obviously meant nothing to King, who managed to get a sneer of contempt into his voice. ‘Well, Miss Pollard, I should warn you that despite your association with Nash, any attempt to pervert the course of justice and commit perjury will land you facing criminal charges.’

‘Really?
Is this part of standard procedures or a new direction in local policing policy?’

‘What do you mean?’ King’s confidence had ebbed slightly.

‘You know very well a disciplinary hearing has no legal status. So you can’t threaten anyone with perjury. Not only that, but there won’t be a disciplinary hearing. Not over Detective Inspector Nash anyway. Not after what he’s done tonight.’

‘Oh yes there will. I intend to see him removed from the force. He’s not fit to represent the police under my command.’

‘Can I quote you on that?’

There was a long silence, painful for King as realization of Becky’s short sentence struck home.
Hugely enjoyable for Nash. Becky waited impassively.

‘Quote?
What do you mean, quote? Who did you say you are?’ King blustered.

‘Rebecca Pollard,
Netherdale Gazette.’

King decided attack was the best form of
defence. ‘You trapped me.’ His tone was accusatory. He jabbed a finger in her direction. ‘If you print a word of this private conversation, I shall complain to your employers.’

Go on, Nash thought. Keep digging.

Becky smiled sweetly. ‘You’re new round here, aren’t you?’

‘What of it?’

‘If you knew the area better, you’d be aware the Pollard family have owned The Gazette for three generations.’

‘Irrelevant! I still intend to see Nash before a tribunal over this.’

Becky’s smile broadened. ‘Don’t count on it. My godmother won’t like it.’

Even Nash did a double take at that.

‘Your godmother!’ King spluttered.

‘Aunt Gloria has been Mother’s best friend since they were at school. You’ll know her better as Chief Constable O’Donnell. I spoke to her a few minutes ago. I told her Detective Inspector Nash saved my life tonight. She’s more likely to recommend him for a medal than discipline him.’

They watched King blunder from the cubicle. Nash realized Becky was still holding his hand. ‘So Gloria’s your godmother, is she?’

‘You bet.’

Nash’s eyes appeared to be closed, but he watched her under the lids. ‘Did she say anything else about me?’

‘Oh, lots and lots.’ He saw her grin widen. ‘Tell me something. If your name’s Michael, why does she call you Dick?’ Her expression was guileless, innocent.
Far too innocent.

Chapter seventeen

Nash woke late. He remembered little, beyond Becky driving him home. He sat up; painfully. His back felt tender, he’d a pounding headache, a sore throat and his arm itched. The bedroom door opened. Becky Pollard smiled. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Bloody awful,’ Nash croaked. ‘What time is it?’

‘Just gone eleven o’clock. I’ve brought you a drink. The tea bags are out of date, so I presume you’re a coffee drinker.’

‘Thank you, but how did you get in?’

She smiled. ‘I never left. I’d to help you; you were out on your feet. It was three o’clock by then. I didn’t fancy walking through town, so I curled up on your sofa. I hope you don’t mind?’

‘Why should I?’ The conversation was stilted. Nash couldn’t work out why.

‘Drink your coffee. Then I suggest you take a hot bath. It might ease the aches.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll shower when I get home. I’ve got the day off. I phoned the Gazette. Told them about JT and what happened at the flat, and at Grove Road.’ She looked suddenly anxious. ‘I hope that was alright?’

Nash shrugged, painfully. ‘It’s going to be public knowledge soon.’

‘I had to use your phone. I think I lost my mobile.’

‘Feel free.
Anybody rung?’

‘You’ve had three calls. One from your sergeant – she didn’t seem surprised to find me here. One from some guy called Ramirez. He called me “The Bride of Dracula”, whatever that means.’

‘That’s his idea of a joke. He thinks I’ve a morbid attraction for corpses. You said there were three?’

‘The other was from Aunt Gloria.’

‘Oh no,’ Nash groaned. ‘What did she say?’

Becky smiled. ‘She demanded to know what I was doing here. Said she’d be having words with you. I told her it was okay, that you were in bed. She said that’s where you’re most dangerous. I told her you were asleep. She said maybe, but who knows what you were dreaming about.’

‘I’m really looking forward to talking to her.’ Nash’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Becky. ‘I wonder what Mexican Pete wanted?’

‘Is that what you call
Mr Ramirez?’ Nash nodded. ‘Why do you call him... Oh, Eskimo Nell, I see.’

‘I’ll stick some clothes on. I’ll bathe later. I don’t remember getting undressed.’

‘That’s because you were unconscious. I had to undress you.’

Nash stared at the closing door. He shook his head; a bad mistake.

As they drank another coffee, Becky asked Nash to explain the significance of what had happened at Grove Road. ‘Sergeant
Mironova told me one or two bits,’ she prompted him, ‘but I think she was being careful. She knows where I work.’

‘As long as you understand this is completely off the record?’

‘I wouldn’t upset Aunt Gloria,’ Becky laughed.

Nash told her a little of Vickers’ history, and the relationship with Fletcher. There must have been something in his tone that conveyed his doubt. ‘You don’t think Vickers was guilty?’ Becky suggested.

‘On the surface, the evidence looks cast iron. When you look deeper, things don’t add up.’

‘What about JT’s murder? Do you think that’s connected?’

‘I don’t believe in coincidence.’ Nash stared into his mug. ‘Tucker was killed close to where Stacey Fletcher’s body was found, and in a similar fashion. And Vickers’ movements are unaccounted for.’ Nash fell silent, his eyes reflective, his thoughts far away.

‘I’ve some photos Tucker shot,’ Becky volunteered.

Nash looked at her, all attention now.

‘He brought some films for me to develop. I sent him the prints, but I kept the negatives.’

‘Can you remember what was on them?’

‘Some of
Rathmell meeting Councillor Appleyard. Others were of Rathmell and a woman. They were...well, you know.’

Nash grinned.
‘Really? Did you recognize her?’

‘No. I think Tucker knew, but he didn’t say.’

‘I want to see them.’

‘I can let you have them tomorrow.’

‘I’d better go to work. I dread to think what’s waiting,’ Nash sighed.

‘I’m going home. I’ve to write an obit on JT. First, though, I must take a shower.’ She glanced down. ‘I stink.’

Nash stood up, slowly. ‘Thanks for everything, Becky. For saving my life, and for taking care of me.’

Becky grinned. ‘We’re quits now; you saved me from the fire.’

After she left, Nash walked stiffly to the bathroom. As he filled the bath he thought about Becky. She didn’t lack resourcefulness, or courage. She was intelligent and
certainly good-looking. Nash thought about her godmother. He winced at what she’d have to say.

He reached the CID suite shortly before 1 p.m. Clara looked harassed. ‘Glad you could tear yourself away from your girlfriend,’ she greeted him tartly. ‘There’s a string of phone calls waiting. The list’s on your desk. I’ve enough to do, without acting as your secretary.’

‘Sorry to have deserted you,’ Nash replied, so quietly Clara hardly managed to catch what he said.

She looked at him closely. ‘Are you alright? The hospital said your injuries were nothing to worry about, but you don’t look well. And what’s happened to your voice?’

‘Smoke damage. I’ve a stinking headache, my back aches and my arm’s sore.’

‘I know about the fire, but nobody gave me details. What happened?’

Nash explained. ‘The firemen reckoned another five minutes and we’d not have got out.’

‘I’m sorry, Mike, I didn’t realize it was that bad. Sounds like you had two lucky escapes.’

‘I’ve Becky to thank for one.’

‘How long have you been seeing her?’

‘I’m not seeing her. I only met her last night.’

‘But she stayed at your place, so I thought you and she were
...’

Nash shook his head. ‘She drove me home. She didn’t want to walk through town in the early hours, so she
dossed down on my sofa. I didn’t know she was there until this morning.’

Clara smiled. ‘Bit of a new experience.’

‘Better not make any snide remarks about her. She’s the chief’s goddaughter.’

‘Blimey! You know how to pick them. No wonder God’s been on the phone three times. If she thinks you’re sniffing around her goddaughter, you could be in big trouble.’

‘Not half as much as King.’ Nash related the encounter at the hospital. ‘That reminds me. When you get a free moment, I want you to give Jack Binns a call. I need some information from him about the fire at the Hassan flat.’ Nash explained what he needed. ‘I’d better start dealing with the phone calls – if anyone can hear me.’

‘Oh, I forgot. There’s a parcel on your desk, from forensics. It’s the camera retrieved from near Tucker’s body. They’ve found two sets of prints on it – Tucker’s and an unidentified set.’

‘Probably Becky’s. She lent Tucker the camera. I’ll call her later; I want to see what photos he took.’

Nash sat down wearily at his desk and looked at the list. The chief constable, Superintendent Pratt, Professor Ramirez and the doctor in charge of A & E at
Netherdale General. Alongside the last name Clara had scribbled ‘re Ronnie Fletcher’. Nash decided to get the worst over with.

Contrary to his fears, the chief constable was concerned with his health. She barely referred to his overnight visitor until she informed him, ‘I had a long talk with Becky this morning. I understand you’ve been having some problems with DCC King. I’ve spoken to him on the matter. Let me know if there’s any more trouble. Now tell me what went on last night.’

Nash described the chain of events. The chief listened without comment, right to the end. ‘Have you the personnel to cope?’

‘At the moment, yes, but if another major incident blows up we’ll have problems.’

‘I’ll talk to Pratt and Crawley. If you holler, they’ve to come running. With every man they can spare. And I want you to stop playing the hero. Don’t you put yourself in danger again. Understood?’

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Nash croaked.

‘I’m not going to insult you by warning you off Becky. She’s old enough to take care of herself. Just be careful not to hurt her. Understood?’

‘Loud and clear, Ma’am.’

Pratt’s call was a repeat of the chief’s in many ways. Nash finished with him and rang the pathologist.

‘I understand you nearly finished up in one of my drawers?’ Ramirez began. ‘Well, don’t say I haven’t warned you.’

‘What did you want me for? Not just to enquire about my wellbeing?’

‘I found some bruising around Tucker’s mouth and nose. I ran a toxicology test. He was put to sleep before he was
garrotted.’

‘Chloroform?’

‘Yes. That means the killer need not be someone of great strength.’

‘Could it have been a woman?’

‘I see no reason why not.’

‘Thanks, Professor. I’m not sure whether that makes things better or worse.’

Nash was about to ring Netherdale General when Clara came in. ‘Jake and Gemma Fletcher are downstairs kicking up a fuss. They want Ronnie released from hospital, and they’re getting very aggressive. Do you want me to deal with it?’

‘No, I’ll talk to them. Do me a
favour. Ring that doctor at the hospital and ask what the state of play is. Find out when Ronnie will be fit to be brought here.’

Nash had seen photos of
Gemma Fletcher in the Vickers case file. The woman standing by the reception desk was fifteen years older, but it didn’t show. Although she’d be over fifty she looked a good deal younger. She was slim, which helped, with fine features and high cheekbones. ‘I understand you’re asking about Ronnie Fletcher?’

Gemma
and Jake swung round. ‘Who are you?’ Gemma demanded.

‘Detective Inspector Nash.
Your brother’s in Netherdale Hospital under police guard. When he’s fit to leave, he’ll be brought here. He’s facing charges of assault and attempted murder.’

‘Attempted murder!
Killing that bastard shouldn’t be a crime. He should get a medal,’ Jake spluttered.

‘Possibly,’ Nash replied calmly. ‘However, I’m not referring to Vickers. Your brother will be charged with assaulting a detective constable and attempting to murder me.’

‘You’re making this up.’

‘He tried to hit me with an iron bar. If he hadn’t been stopped, the charge would have been murder. If you want to see him, I’ll allow one of you to visit, once he’s in custody. But I warn you, the visit will be recorded. Now, unless you’ve any questions, I’d like you to leave peacefully, and in future please refrain from intimidating my receptionist.’

Clara reported that Fletcher would be fit for release next morning.

‘Make arrangements to have him brought here. I’ll complete my report then I’m going home. My head’s pounding.’

He reached the flat, having called at the chemists. He’d barely got inside when the doorbell rang. He found Becky Pollard outside, clutching a carrier bag. ‘I came to see how you are. I thought if you weren’t feeling up to it, I’d cook you a meal.’ She proffered the bag.

‘I’ve a rotten head,’ Nash admitted, ‘and my voice has gone. Throat feels as if it’s on fire. How about you? You must be feeling rough, not that it shows.’

‘I’m much better. I got some sleep when I got home. Bit of a sore throat, that’s all. But I didn’t get knocked out. Are you brave enough to risk my cooking?’

‘Anything’s better than having to cook for myself.’

Becky handed Nash an envelope. ‘These are the photos JT took. I had the negatives brought from the office and developed them at home.’ They spread the photos on the kitchen worktop. ‘I wonder who she
is?’

Nash didn’t respond. Becky glanced at him. He was staring at the photos. His mouth worked a couple of times before he spoke. ‘I was talking to her an hour ago.’

‘Who is she?’

‘
Gemma Fletcher.’

‘
Gemma Fletcher? Is she related to the man who attacked you?’

‘His sister.
Gary Vickers’ ex-lover. The woman whose daughter Vickers allegedly raped and murdered. And here she is, enjoying a passionate encounter with a prominent politician.’ Nash bent to examine the photos. ‘In what looks very much like the place where her daughter’s and Tucker’s bodies were found. There may be more photos; I’ve got the camera back from forensics. The report says there were two sets of fingerprints on it – Tucker’s and another, probably yours. They didn’t think to develop the film. Could I ask a favour? Would you do it?’

‘Sure. When are you thinking of?’

‘Tomorrow morning?’

‘I’m not working.
There’s no sporting fixtures to cover, so I’m all yours.’

‘That sounds promising. Before you handle the camera, I’ll need a set of your prints. I’ll bring the kit with me. I’m not sure what time it’ll be.’

‘No problem. Now, sit down and I’ll start cooking.’