Death Call (22 page)

Chapter 23

Wheeler and Thompson struck lucky on the second call they had made. Harry’s Hackney Services on City Road proved fruitless, but Gem Hackney Cabs on Essex Road was everything that they had been looking for.

The gaffer, a Mr. Grimes, had welcomed the two detectives into his office and sat them down with a cup of coffee. A more cordial man you couldn’t have met. It hadn’t taken too long to establish that they had the right place.

‘So the vehicle hasn’t been involved in any accidents recently – no broken bumpers or dented wings?’ Thompson questioned.

‘No, nothing at all. What exactly happened with this accident you’re taking about – did someone die?’ Grimes asked.

‘Yes, someone was seriously injured and it could still prove fatal,’ Wheeler interrupted. Thompson looked over at his partner and then to the floor, before speaking.

‘We need the name and description of the man who usually drives the car, Mr. Grimes. It’s just standard procedure, you know....’ Thompson said with a forced smile.

‘Yeah, of course – it’s just normal procedure,’ Grimes repeated. ‘Colin Nash is the driver’s name. He’s been with me now for the last month or so. A quiet sort – hardly says a word. But he’s always early on the job and never gives me any grief – unlike the other ones....’

‘Could you give us a general description of Mr. Nash?’ Wheeler asked in the vain hope that the description would match that of the suspect.

‘Colin’s around 34 or 35, and about 175cm,’ Grimes said, searching his brain for anything that distinguished him from the other drivers.

‘What colour hair does he have?’ Thompson asked.

‘Well, what’s left of it is red, I suppose. Blondish-red.’

‘Any tattoos or suchlike?’ Thompson continued.

‘No – I haven’t seen any,’ Grimes replied. ‘All my drivers have to wear long-sleeved shirts when they work – some people are intimidated by tattoos, like, you know....’

‘Is Nash working today?’ Wheeler asked.

‘No, he’s been off for a few days,’ Grimes said.

‘Any idea where he’s gone or when he’s due back?’ Thompson asked.

‘He should be back at work on Thursday morning,’ Grimes replied

‘If you have his home address, maybe we could call on him if we need to clear anything up – but it looks like he’s not our man.’

‘If you hang on a second I’ll get it for you,’ Grimes said, rummaging through a box file on his desk.

‘Ah, here it is,’ he said, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

The whole office looked as disorganised as his filing system. It was a wonder he could find anything.

‘Colin Nash, ah, yes. Here it is, on Holloway Road. I think it’s just around the corner from the pub – you know The Flying Ragamuffin, don’t you?’ Grimes inquired, as he scribbled down Nash’s address on a scrap of paper.

‘Yes,’ Wheeler replied. ‘We know it.’

‘Well, it’s a flat in the house around the corner. That’s the only address I have for him.’ Grimes said, passing the piece of paper to Detective Wheeler.

‘Thank you for your time, Mr. Grimes – there’s no need to mention this to Mr. Nash. If there’s any reason to contact him, and I don’t think there will be, then we can always contact him at home. Thanks for your help,’ Wheeler said, shaking Grimes’ hand firmly.

‘No problem at all, detective. No problem at all. If there’s anything else we can do for you just you give me a call. I’ve got a nephew in the Met – did I tell you?’

‘No, Mr. Grimes, you didn’t. Anyway, thanks for your help,’ Thompson said, heading for the door.

By the time the two detectives reached the car, they were grinning from ear to ear and couldn’t wait to get back to the station, where they could check out what they had found. It would only take a matter of minutes to see if there was a Colin Nash on the Criminal Records Bureau Computer. And if there was, then they would have a photo, an address and a list of convictions. There was no point arresting the guy just because he fitted a description. A bit more work had to be done before they could claim a positive ID on the killer.

DCI Jones was ecstatic, to say the least. It was the first real lead they had, and they weren’t going to waste it.

By the time Carroll and Grant had made their way into the office it was nearly eleven thirty. Shift changes and extra nights worked had given them a few hours longer in bed – a fact that Detective Grant was very pleased with. Vicky had kept him awake half of the night, so a lie-in was exactly what he had needed. And Carroll, as usual, had stayed in the pub until closing time. He was looking quite normal now though, having slept through his hangover.

DCI Jones summoned the two detectives into his office as soon as they arrived. It was as if he couldn’t wait to tell them that Wheeler and Thompson had located the suspect. Whatever childish instinct had driven Jones into his little game of ‘you didn’t pin the tail on the donkey’ it was obviously irritating to Carroll and Grant. After all, it had been Carroll and Grant who had led Wheeler and Thompson to the hackney cab company’s door. Wasn’t it they who had talked to the Irish hooker in King’s Cross? And wasn’t it they who had done all of the leg-work up until now? Sure it was. But DCI Jones still couldn’t resist it. Carroll almost understood. Grant didn’t really seem too bothered either way, but he was excited at the prospect of a positive ID.

‘Thompson is writing up his report and Wheeler is checking out the Criminal Records Bureau files on the computer. We should have something in the next half hour at the latest,’ Jones said with a self-satisfied grin.

He didn’t seem to be as itchy around the beard when he was happy. Instead, he removed his glasses, rubbed them with his handkerchief and returned them to the bridge of his nose.

‘So, which cab company was it?’ Carroll asked.

‘The Gem Hackney Cab Company on Essex Road,’ Jones replied. ‘Do you know it?’

‘Yeah, it’s above that Chinese chipper....’ Carroll said.

‘Well, do you want to go and see how Wheeler is getting on? Oh, and tell him to get his backside in here as soon as he has anything. And I want you two in here as well, understood?’ Jones said, returning his gaze to a pile of reports on his desk.

‘Sir,’ Grant said, following Carroll out of the DCI’s office and into the squad room.

Wheeler sat hunched over the computer terminal sucking on a ball-point pen. He hadn’t noticed that it was leaking, and the ink had stained his lips blue.

‘We can’t leave you for a minute, can we?’ Carroll said, pulling the pen from Wheeler’s mouth with a grin. Wheeler looked at the pen, then rubbed his mouth and looked at his hand. It was blue. Very blue. His face went a deep shade of red as Carroll leaned over and looked at the computer screen. Grant did likewise.

‘Colin Nash,’ Carroll said to himself, looking down through the file. ‘One conviction for murder and one prison sentence of five years. He was only released a couple of months ago, it seems,’ Carroll said, turning to Grant.

‘And that’s not all. Look – we were right, a military record. Dishonourable discharge in 1991. Doesn’t say why, though,’ Grant said, returning his eyes to the screen.

‘Well, I know how we can find out a little more about this guy. The guy at the MOD gave me a contact name for the SAS. With this information I should be able to get some more details. See if you can dig out the full file on him, and print me out a couple of colour pictures of that mugshot. We may need it,’ Carroll said to Wheeler, who was still rubbing his lips with the back of his hand in an effort to remove the ink stain.

Grant turned to his partner and spoke slowly, deliberately.

‘What’s the point in contacting the SAS now? I mean, we have his name, address, and we’ll soon have all the details of his conviction. What more do you need to know?’

‘I’ll put it this way, Sam, if I’m gonna be chasing after some sick psycho-killer who’s ex-SAS, then I want to know what he’s capable of. Do you understand?’ Carroll said, patronisingly.

‘Yeah, of course. I’ll have a word with Jones and see if we can arrange to have some back-up when we decide to go in,’ Grant said.

‘Good thinking, Tonto!’

Wheeler, still rubbing his lips, turned and called Carroll, who was by now sitting on his desk flicking through his notebook.

‘I think you should read this, Dan.’

‘What’ve you turned up?’

‘Colin Nash killed his pregnant wife after he came back from the Gulf War. According to the file his defence in court was that he was suffering from Gulf War Syndrome and was depressed. His wife had apparently been on the game when he was away in Kuwait and had gotten pregnant. He said he just flipped when he came back and found out. Looks like he did the same to his wife as he’s been doing to these call girls. She was opened up like an envelope, and the foetus was missing. It was never found,’ Wheeler said.

‘Well, that explains the motive. It’s our guy all right. We’re gonna need the Special Operations guys and their water pistols....’ Carroll said, rubbing his chin.

A quick call to the SAS contact that Major Whalley had given Carroll would give them all the relevant information they would need. That is if they could get any information out of the army. They were notorious for their secretive ways and hated giving out information on their operations and servicemen – especially if it could bring a regiment into disrepute.

The contact was a man called Major Peter Lewis, and he wasn’t too keen on talking with a nosy detective.

‘Look, we think that Nash is responsible for the deaths of three women over the last month – we need your help to catch him. We know where he’s living, but I want to know how dangerous the guy could be. What was he trained for?’ Carroll demanded to know.

‘Nash was drummed out of the regiment after he was convicted of killing his wife. He claimed he had Gulf War Syndrome and was suffering from bouts of depression. That’s all I can tell you, detective,’ Major Lewis replied.

‘What was he trained as? What was his speciality? I know you guys train for specific roles, so he must’ve been trained for some bloody thing or another....’ Carroll said, sounding more than a little frustrated with Lewis’ answers.

Finally, Lewis began to crumble a little and gave Carroll a morsel of information.

‘He was trained in hand-to-hand combat and he was one of the best marksmen that we’ve ever had in the regiment. He went through a tough time in Iraq, he lost practically all of his comrades in the one sortie. He was never quite the same afterwards. He’s quite well trained....’

‘Don’t you mean dangerous?’ Carroll replied.

‘He’s no longer a member of the regiment, and we’re no longer responsible for his actions. Now, if that’s all, I’ll bid you good day, detective. I’m a very busy man.’

‘Thanks for your help,’ Carroll said, hanging up.

Grant entered the squad room ashen-faced and made straight for his partner.

‘Uniforms have just found another dead hooker. Looks like it’s our guy again. We’d best get the ball rolling on this quickly, otherwise we’ll be standing over a few more dead bodies....’

‘Where was she found?’

‘Noel Road. The occupant found her when he came home from work. She was all over his carpet, poor girl. We should have another word with the DCI, see if we can’t get rolling this evening,’ Grant said.