Authors: Bill Kitson
‘SOCO found a mobile phone in the room. We’re assuming it belongs to Jennings. I’d like to check that out as soon as they’ve finished with it. Who knows, it might provide us with a clue as to who killed him. What do you suggest we do in the meantime?’
‘I think we should have a word with West Yorkshire and get them to send some officers to Jennings’ house. He might have a wife and family. We also need to know why he’s staying in Netherdale. It seems a little curious, when he only lives fifty miles or so away. Did he enter any car details when he registered?’
‘Yes, he did,’ Lisa answered. ‘I looked in the car park at the back of the hotel, and it’s there. I told SOCO about it.’
‘Run up to the room and ask if they’ve found any car keys.’ Fleming waited until Andrews was out of earshot. ‘Will she be OK, Mike? She was involved in that double murder here a while ago, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, leave it to me,’ Nash said. ‘I’ll sort it.’
Lisa came back across the foyer. ‘They have the keys. They were in the dressing table drawer along with his wallet. I
suppose that rules out robbery?’
‘You never know,’ Nash replied. ‘That’s another job for forensics. His car will need to be checked over, but in the meantime we need to run Jennings through the PNC and see if he has form. Until we know more about him, we can’t hope to make any headway.’
‘I’m going back to HQ,’ Fleming told them. ‘I can ask Tom Pratt to do the PNC check. I’ll also arrange for uniform to remain on-site. They’ll be needed later.’
‘That’ll be a help.’
‘Someone from CID also needs to interview members of staff and liaise with SOCO re fingerprints,’ Fleming told them before leaving.
‘I’ll stay if Mike’s going,’ Lisa said.
‘Are you sure you’re all right being here? In view of what happened before?’ Nash asked.
‘It isn’t easy,’ she admitted, ‘but I’ll have to put up with it; there’s nobody else available.’
Nash thought for a moment. ‘No, you won’t. I’ll get Viv to come here and you can help out with the other job. I’m not leaving you here if it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll ring Clara and get it organized. I need to know the state of play there anyway.’
Within minutes of arriving at the vehicle, the paramedic reported back via the mountain rescuer’s radio that the man was alive and urgent medical attention was needed. The mountain rescue team lowered a portable generator and cutting equipment needed by the fire crew. Others began assisting the firemen and the second paramedic in their descent. In the midst of this, reports came back that all the child seats were empty, much to the relief of all those present.
Clara’s mobile rang. She glanced at the screen. ‘Hi, Mike, how are things in Netherdale?’ She listened for a moment, then in response to his question told him, ‘Miracle of miracles, the driver survived. From what we can see of the car, though, I didn’t give much for his chances. However, he’s unconscious and the
paramedic isn’t able to tell how badly injured he is. Added to that, he’s trapped by his legs and the steering wheel. The only way to free him is by cutting him out of the car, which is going to take an age. That in itself won’t improve his chances. It was first thought there could be children with him but thankfully, there weren’t. Now we’re waiting for the Sea King helicopter from RAF Leconfield. They were already on standby and have a doctor on-board. But it’s going to be a very slow, laborious business, I’m afraid.’
‘Any news as to who he is?’
Clara sighed, her frustration apparent. ‘No, the front number plate is missing; probably ripped off. The rear number plate may be still attached, but it’s jammed up against several tons of rock, so that’s no help. I can’t ask anyone to look for the plate either; they’re all far too busy trying to save the driver.’
She listened for a moment. ‘Anything else?’
She listened again. ‘OK, I understand. I’ll tell Viv.’ She ended the call and turned to Pearce. ‘Mike wants you to go to the Golden Bear and take over from Lisa. Take my car back to Helmsdale and pick yours up. Lisa’s already on her way here.’
It was over fifteen minutes later that Clara phoned Nash back. ‘Just wanted to let you know that the helicopter’s arrived, and so has Lisa. We could be here for ages yet.’
‘OK, thanks, Clara. As soon as Viv gets here, I’m going to the mortuary.’
It was nearly lunchtime before the firemen succeeded in freeing the driver. The doctor attending the scene told Mironova, ‘It’s surprising he’s survived this long given his injuries. If we hadn’t got him out now I doubt whether he would have made it to hospital. As it is’ – he shrugged – ‘we won’t know what his chances are until we’ve completed a scan. All I can say for definite is that both his legs and one of his arms are broken, as well as several ribs on both sides. He’s also got head injuries, but how severe, I can’t say. And those are just his external injuries. As to what’s happened internally, I dread to think. The golden
hour is well past,’ he said as he shook his head, sadly.
Clara replied, raising her voice above the whine of the Sea King hovering over the crash site, waiting to winch the injured man on board. ‘You had to cut his clothing off when you were treating his injuries. I suppose it’s too much to hope that there was a wallet or some form of identification in them?’
‘No, I believe not. I did give them to one of the officers to check, but I understand the pockets were empty. The hospital will need his name as well. Without recourse to his medical records we’re limited as to the drugs we can give him. We don’t want an adverse reaction with any current medication he’s on.’ The medic gave a weary smile. ‘That’s apart from the bottle of whisky he’s ingested, which may well have saved his life.’
Clara looked puzzled.
‘There’s a smashed bottle in the car and the driver reeked of it. Chances are, he was not as tense as he may have been if completely sober when he went over the cliff – and therefore saved himself from death. Now I must go. I’m needed on board that helicopter.’
With the driver safely en route to hospital, the other emergency services began packing their kit and departing. Even the mountain rescue team seemed anxious to be away, although their leader did agree to leave one unit, along with a Land Rover and their equipment, to assist with retrieval of the wreck.
The senior traffic officer had now assumed command of police operations. As they waited for the recovery vehicle to arrive, he liaised with the men in charge of the hoist. ‘They will need to assess the vehicle to see how we can recover it. I’d appreciate your help with securing the chains, if that’s OK?’ As they continued their discussion as to the best course of action, Mironova approached him. ‘We still have to search the vehicle for some clue as to who the driver is. We could wait until the car’s been hauled up the hill, of course, and see if the number plate’s intact. But if it isn’t, my boss won’t want to wait until forensics retrieve the VIN number. And we’re a bit short on time; there’s a murder investigation back in town I need to help with,’
she said, offering her most endearing smile. ‘Any ideas?’
He stared at Clara for a moment as she waited for his reply, admiring her blonde hair and impish grin. ‘OK, I’ll go down,’ he said, reluctantly. ‘I’ll borrow a helmet and harness from the Land Rover. I knew I’d find a use for my paratrooper training one day.’
He was kitted out from the equipment in the mountain rescue vehicle and headed for the cliff edge. ‘Won’t be long,’ he called as he seemed to leap into the air and disappeared from view.
‘Clara, why didn’t you just flutter your eyelashes at him and have done with it?’ Lisa asked.
‘That would have been too obvious.’
When he’d been winched back up the cliff, the officer handed Clara an evidence bag containing a slip of paper. ‘I found this wedged in what remains of the glove compartment. There may be other stuff in there, but I couldn’t tell. The whole thing is so badly buckled the door won’t open. I spotted one corner of this and managed to prise it out. Even then, as you can see, the paper caught on a jagged edge of metal and ripped as I was pulling it.’
She thanked him, donned gloves and opened up the folded sheet to examine it with Lisa peering over her shoulder. ‘It’s a rental agreement for Ivy Cottage, a holiday home in Gorton, let by an agency in Helmsdale. The person hiring the cottage is called Nigel Kirby with an address in Leeds.’ She paused and frowned. ‘That’s interesting. Mike said the man found dead at the Golden Bear this morning was also from Leeds. It may be pure coincidence, of course.’
‘Do you think we should go to that holiday cottage and see what we can find out?’ Lisa asked.
‘We might as well. There’s nothing more we can do here. Let’s leave it to traffic to sort out. If we don’t have any luck at the cottage, it might be worth trying the letting agents.’ She looked at her watch, conscious that the day was passing them by. ‘That’s if they’re still open by then,’ she added.
Before Nash could enter the mortuary, his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen. ‘Yes, Clara?’
‘We’ve got an address for our car driver. It’s Ivy Cottage in Gorton. The details were on a rental agreement in the car. Lisa and I are going round there. I’ll let you know if we find anything.’
‘OK. I’m at the mortuary so I’ll ring you when I’m free again. Do you want me to pass on your regards to Mexican Pete?’ He laughed as he ended the call, but his phone rang again immediately. This time it was the SOCO team leader from Netherdale. ‘We’ve finished with that mobile from the hotel. The only prints on it belong to the dead man. It’s all yours now. I think you’ll find some of the recent text messages extremely interesting. Do you want me to read them out?’
‘No, it’s all right. I’m due at the post-mortem. If you leave it with reception at HQ I’ll collect it from there.’ He was about to open the door when his phone rang yet again. Nash muttered something vaguely impolite before answering. ‘Viv, what news?’
‘I’ve done all I can at the hotel, Mike. We’ve fingerprinted all the staff and taken their statements; there aren’t very many. Uniform are checking all the guests and I’ve got the details of those that checked out this morning. I’ve searched the room thoroughly, just in case SOCO missed anything. I even looked inside the Gideon Bible, but I couldn’t find anything. SOCO left me the victim’s car keys after they’d finished, but it’s the same story there. Whatever Paul Jennings was doing in Netherdale is a complete mystery. There are very few personal items in the
room, only a couple of clean shirts, socks and underwear in the wardrobe and the usual toiletries in the bathroom. I certainly don’t think he was here on business. There were no suits, either in the wardrobe or the car, and no papers, no briefcase or laptop; nothing. That doesn’t mean the killer didn’t take them, of course.’
‘Thanks, Viv. Make sure the room is sealed before you turn it over to uniform to guard, then you can leave. I’m due to attend the PM so will you nip round to HQ and find out if anything came from the PNC check on the victim? Whilst you’re there, ask Superintendent Fleming if West Yorkshire had any success with Jennings’ home address. And would she mind getting them to check out the address for a Nigel Kirby too; we think he’s the man who tried to take the short cut off Stark Ghyll. Here’s the address.’ Nash repeated the details Clara had given him, before adding, ‘SOCO have finished with the mobile from the hotel room and are leaving it at the front desk with the duty officer. Would you collect that for me whilst you’re in the station? When you’re done there, meet me round at Netherdale General, outside the mortuary.’
The post-mortem on Paul Jennings was routine, the only pertinent facts to emerge being confirmation of the cause of death, which had never been in doubt. The time that the victim had died, which Ramirez told Nash was exactly as he had forecast, was between 6 p.m. and midnight the previous night.
When Nash emerged, Pearce was waiting in the car park. He had his car window down and was devouring a sandwich. ‘I didn’t think you’d want anything to eat after you’d been in there’ – he indicated the mortuary building as Nash slid into the front passenger seat beside him.
‘Correct,’ Nash replied. ‘It doesn’t matter how many times I enter that place, I’ll never get used to it. So, got anything useful?’
‘Tom couldn’t find anything more sinister about Jennings on the PNC than a couple of expired speeding tickets,’ he said, as he screwed the baker’s bag into a ball and placed it in the car door.
‘And when I left, Jackie hadn’t heard back from West Yorkshire either, but she said she’ll chase them up.’
‘OK, let’s have a look at this mobile. SOCO seemed to think we’d find the texts interesting. I think you’ll be able to navigate round it far quicker than me.’
Pearce took the phone from the evidence bag and switched it on. He waited until the service provider’s irritating jingle finished, and then began tapping the screen. He peered at the call log for several seconds. ‘There appear to be a lot of calls to and from the same number. I’ll try the messaging.’
He tapped the screen again. ‘There’s a lot of messages from the same number in here as well. I’ll scroll back a bit.’
Nash waited.
‘Well, I think Paul Jennings was having a fling with someone whose initials are K.M.’
‘Oh, you do?’
Viv grinned. ‘There are older messages here that imply that; times and places, that sort of thing. I don’t think you’d sign a business arrangement with kisses on the end. And why would you send someone a two-word text saying only “Golden Bear”?’
‘Go on, mastermind, tell me.’
Viv looked up, his face animated. ‘Because, listen to this. “He’s gone to York races. Back late. Mum got kids. Must CU 2nite.” That’s from the number Paul Jennings called most often. The message is signed K.M. and with a kiss. There’s a reply. “Room 21. Can’t wait. Luv U x, P”.’
‘When were those messages sent, can you tell?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. The incoming one was at 2 p.m. The reply a few minutes later. Why do you ask?’
‘Because I’d say that message was sent to trap Jennings. There was no racing at York yesterday, or this week at all.’
There was no sign of life at the holiday cottage. The detectives peered at the house. With no windows open, no car on the drive, the house looked as if the tenants had departed. ‘I’ll go and see if there’s anyone in. You turn the car round. This might be a
wild-goose chase,’ Clara told Andrews.
There was no response when Mironova knocked at the door, even when she repeated the process. However, when Andrews joined her and tried the handle, the door opened easily. ‘Hello, is there anyone in? Anybody at home?’ Mironova’s voice echoed down the hallway, but without eliciting a reply.
They inched their way cautiously into the house. Mironova pointed to a door to their left. Lisa nodded, and stood to one side before trying the handle. The dining room was empty, but there were unmistakeable signs of recent occupation. Clara pointed to the five place-settings. There were cereals, milk and butter on the table. Bowls and plates jostled for room on the small tabletop with glasses of juice. Two of the plates had crusts from toast on them. ‘It looks as if everyone went out for the day and couldn’t be bothered to clear up the breakfast things beforehand.’
‘Without even locking the door? They must have left in quite a hurry,’ Lisa added.
‘Let’s try the other rooms.’
The door opposite led to a lounge. Here, there was further evidence of the presence of children. A variety of toys were scattered over the carpet, the sofa and one chair. Mironova picked up a particularly handsome soft toy in the shape of a rabbit. ‘I think one of the children is at the teething stage,’ she remarked.
‘How do you work that out?’
Clara pointed to the rabbit’s ears. They bore the unmistakeable sign of having been sucked at great length. Lisa was about to congratulate Mironova on her powers of deduction when they were distracted by the sound of music. They looked at one another in surprise as a hit song from Take That filled the room.
Mironova spotted the source. ‘There it is.’ She picked up the mobile, which had been wedged between the cushions on the sofa, and stared at the screen.
‘Are you going to answer it?’ Lisa asked.
‘I suppose I could. Then we’ll know who it belongs to.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Clara tapped the screen. ‘Hello,’ she greeted the caller cautiously.
She listened for a moment and Lisa saw her expression change to one of shock. ‘Mike, is that you? What are you doing ringing this phone?’
‘Clara? Where are you? And whose phone is that?’
Mironova explained before asking, ‘How did you get this number?’
‘It’s on Jennings’ mobile; the man who was murdered at the Golden Bear. This number is the one he called most. Whoever it belongs to sent him text messages signed with the initials K.M. We think one of them was a trap to ensure Jennings would be in his room when the killer called. And that the person signing themselves K.M. is the killer.’
‘K.M.,’ Clara said. ‘It could be K as in Kirby, I suppose.’
‘No it isn’t,’ Andrews interrupted. ‘Not exactly.’ Lisa had been prowling around the lounge and found a woman’s handbag. She held up a driving licence taken from the purse inside. ‘K.M. stands for Kelly-Marie. Kelly-Marie Kirby, to give her full name.’
Clara relayed the information to Nash. ‘We still have no idea where she is, or where the children are for that matter.’
‘Children?’ Nash’s voice sharpened.
She explained about the toys.
‘Better keep looking. I must go, I’m back at the station and my office phone’s ringing.’
The caller was Superintendent Fleming, who had news from West Yorkshire. ‘Leeds sent a couple of men to Paul Jennings’ house. There was nobody at home, which isn’t surprising. A neighbour they talked to told them Jennings lives alone; although they did say he had a woman visitor from time to time. Quite young and attractive, apparently. The neighbour thinks Jennings works for a printing firm somewhere in Leeds, but again he couldn’t be sure.
‘They also sent a man to the address Viv gave me that you think belongs to the man who went off the mountain. The officer interviewed one of the neighbours, who confirmed that Kirby lives there with his wife and three children. While they were talking, the bailiffs arrived with a van and began removing all
the furniture prior to securing the property, which has been repossessed by the building society. According to what they told the constable, Kirby has been made bankrupt and they want to know where he is because the hire-purchase company intend to repossess his car.’
‘I wish them joy with that,’ Nash commented. ‘It was only worth scrap value after the fall, and that was before the fire service began cutting lumps off it. But, I think that explains the suicide attempt.’ Nash then told Fleming about the text messages he had read on Jennings’ phone. ‘It sounds to me as if Nigel Kirby was in danger of losing everything. I mean if, on top of losing the house, the furniture and the car, his wife was having an affair with Jennings, it would also provide him with a motive for Jennings’ murder. Especially if she’d threatened to walk out on him and take the kids with her. We’ll have to wait for the forensic reports and see if they came up with anything from the hotel room.’
‘You may be right, but what about the kids? Where are they?’ Fleming asked.
‘We don’t know,’ Nash told her. ‘We don’t know where Mrs Kirby or the children are. Clara and Lisa are at the cottage now, but they tell me it’s deserted. So we’ve no idea where they’ve got to. It all sounds wrong, though.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Clara said they’ve found Mrs Kirby’s handbag, complete with purse, at the house. Her mobile was there too. We know where the family car is. We just don’t know about the family.’
‘You check out the kitchen whilst I take a look upstairs,’ Clara said.
Lisa walked back through the dining room. As she passed the table, she noticed the cereal in the small bowls was only partially eaten; the remaining milk had congealed. She prodded a piece of toast, which had dried out, in spite of the generous amount of butter smeared on it. Folded alongside was a morning paper, open at the sports page. She noted the date: yesterday. She called
out to Mironova, ‘The only thing I’ve spotted is yesterday’s morning paper. I can’t see one for today. Maybe they’ve walked to the village shop to buy one. I’ll go and look around outside.’
All the rooms on the first floor showed similar signs of disruption or hasty departure to those downstairs. Beds were unmade; clothing was strewn around on chairs and on the carpets. The bathroom, which was the last room to be checked, had a heap of towels flung in a corner. Clara frowned; that wasn’t the act of a wife and mother. She felt the towels. They were dry, as was the soap on the hand basin. Mironova was about to leave when she glanced at the bath. Her gaze focused on the area close to the plughole. Was it a trick of the light, or was there a pinkish stain around the chrome inset. She shook her head, dismissing her imagination looking for possibilities that may not exist.
She was halfway down the stairs when the front door swung open, thrust back with such violence that the handle struck the wall. DC Andrews stood in the doorway, her face devoid of colour, her expression one of absolute horror. She pointed to her left, towards the garage, her mouth working in an attempt to speak, but no words came forth.
‘What is it, Lisa? What’s wrong?’
Andrews swallowed once; then a second time, before managing to utter a few words, few in number, chilling in content. ‘Garage …’ she croaked. ‘They’re in the garage. All of them.’ With that she burst into tears.
Nash had barely time to end his call with Fleming when his mobile began to ring. Although he knew it was Mironova from the name displayed on the screen, he was unable to make out what she was saying. ‘Clara, slow down, take a long, deep breath and start again. And this time, speak slowly and clearly,’ he said.
Pearce entered the room and could tell from Nash’s expression that the call was not good news. He heard Nash say, ‘OK, Clara, here’s what I want you to do. Take Lisa and go sit in your car. Whatever you do, don’t go back in there again. Stay in the car until we arrive. We’ll attend to everything and be with you as
fast as we possibly can. Got that?’
Even as Nash was speaking, he stood up and walked round his desk, removed his car keys from his pocket and handed them to Pearce, indicating the office door. They were already in the stairwell before he ended the call. ‘Right, Viv, you’re driving. We need to get to Gorton – fast! I’m going to be on the phone most of the way,’ he told him as they almost ran past reception, to the bemusement of Jack Binns, and hurried across the car park to Nash’s Range Rover. Pearce was turning the ignition key before he asked what had happened.
‘Lisa and Clara have found four bodies in the garage of that holiday cottage where Kirby was staying. I have to assume they are those of Kirby’s wife and children. You can imagine what sort of state Clara and Lisa are in, finding a family like that.’