Minds That Hate Read online

‘I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Nash spoke to the chief fire officer. ‘Where’s Doug?’

  ‘Off duty. He’ll be sorry he missed this one. Not every day we get a DI involved. You take care. Plenty of fluids, and gargle as often as possible. Smoke can do no end of damage.’

  ‘Will do, but let me have a report in the morning.’ Nash took Becky’s arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Vickers and Pearce had discovered a mutual liking for Indian cuisine. They studied a menu from the local takeaway. The restaurant had recently introduced a home delivery service. ‘Cash and Curry,’ Viv explained.

  Vickers groaned. ‘I hope the food’s better than your jokes.’

  There would be a forty-minute wait, Pearce was told. ‘I’ll check the front and back whilst we’re waiting. Don’t do a runner. Nash would have my bollocks on a platter if we lost you again.’

  Vickers smiled. ‘You don’t think I’m going to disappear having ordered that food, do you? You like Nash, don’t you?’ he asked as an afterthought. ‘Is he a decent bloke to work for?’

  ‘The best,’ Viv told him. ‘We had a couple of wasters before him. Mike’s a top man. He’s got his failings, but they don’t intrude on work.’

  ‘What failings?’

  ‘One, to be exact.’ Pearce made a gesture with one hand on the other forearm, his fist clenched.

  ‘Women?’

  Viv nodded. ‘You’ve heard the expression “sexoholic”?’

  ‘Nash is one?’

  ‘Pretty much. He loves women and they adore him. I can think of more than a handful he’s slept with since I’ve known him. All stunners too.’

  ‘Lucky bastard.’

  ‘That’s as maybe. We reckon they’re substitutes for the one he lost.’

  Vickers lifted an enquiring eyebrow. ‘His girlfriend was killed a while back. Mike put the murderer away, but I don’t think he’s ever got over it.’

  ‘Cancel “lucky bastard” then. Seems Nash and I have more in common than I thought.’

  Pearce stared at him.

  ‘Forget what you’ve been told.’ Vickers’ voice took on a harsher note. ‘Stacey and I were lovers. Somebody robbed me twice. They took Stacey from me and they took fifteen years of my life.’

  ‘You didn’t kill her? But all the forensic evidence...’

  ‘Points to the fact I’d had sex with her? Well, of course I had. Every chance we could get. But there’s no evidence that shows I raped her.’ Vickers’ voice lowered. It was almost as if he was speaking to someone else, to the ghost of a long-dead girl perhaps? ‘I didn’t need to rape her, did I? She was there for me whenever I wanted her, as I was there for her when she needed me. Until that last time, the time she needed me most; the time when she was in danger. Then she was alone. And one day I’ll find her killer. I’ll not rest until the bastard who took Stacey’s life pays. With theirs.’

  Viv continued his inspection of the exterior, which took only minutes. ‘All secure,’ he reported as he re-entered the kitchen. ‘I’ve left the front door on the latch for when the delivery arrives.’ He was about to slide the bolt on the back door shut when the doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Vickers was out of the room before Pearce could object. He heard the sound of voices from the hall. One at least sounded angry. He took a few cautious steps into the dining room. The hall door was open. He looked through the slit, between door and frame. His view was obstructed by a man’s shoulder. Not Vickers. Pearce moved slightly, changed the angle of vision. He was only able to see part of another man’s face in the gap; enough to recognize him. It wasn’t a takeaway delivery. Not unless Ronnie Fletcher had a new job.

  Nash and Becky had reached the Market Place when his phone rang. He pulled off the road onto the cobbles. ‘Sorry, won’t take a minute.’

  He glanced at the screen. ‘Yes, Viv?’ he croaked.

  Becky saw his expression change. The tension was back; in full. He gestured to Becky. She didn’t understand at first. He signalled again, a driving motion. It was only when he got out of the car that she got the message. He was still clutching the mobile to his ear as he opened the passenger door. She slid across to the driving seat, adjusted the seat and mirror, fumbling with the unfamiliar controls. Nash began to speak. Not to her but to the caller, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’ll be there as fast as I can. Keep out of sight. Don’t try anything. Don’t provoke them. I’ll come to the back. Five minutes.’

  Becky engaged first gear and waited. Nash pointed ahead. She let the clutch out slowly. The car moved off easily. Nash was still listening. Then he lowered the phone and looked at the screen.

  ‘Where am I going?’

  ‘Grove Road. I’ll direct you.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Potential hostage situation,’ Nash pressed a button on the phone and waited.

  ‘Clara? Get to Vickers’ ASAP. Bring as many uniforms as you can. Better request an ARU from Netherdale too. Ronnie Fletcher’s turned up. He and one of the Floyd brothers have got hold of Vickers. Viv rang me. He was out of the room when they arrived. As I was talking to him the phone went dead. I’m on my way there now.’

  ‘Direct me where to go.’ The tension had got to Becky.

  ‘Turn right in about a hundred yards.’ Nash pointed. ‘Just past where that van’s parked. Keep moving. Drive slowly to the end of the street, then turn right at the junction. There’s a back lane runs parallel – turn into it. I’ll tell you when to stop.’

  Nash kept one eye on his mobile. Willing it to ring again, hoping Viv had cut him off to avoid discovery. Praying he wasn’t a hostage; fearing the worst.

  ‘What are you going to do? I assume Pearce is one of your men, but who are the others?’

  ‘DC Pearce is one of my officers and the home owner is under our protection. I can’t explain why. The others are the ones we’re protecting him from.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Becky was persistent.

  ‘I’ve no idea till I get there.’ Nash was coughing from speaking so much.

  As they turned into Grove Road, Nash shuffled sideways. He leaned as far across her as was safe. He could smell the mixture of her perfume, smoke from the fire and perspiration from their ordeal. He found it mildly erotic and distracting. ‘Slow right down,’ he said. ‘That’s thirty-two, the one with the bay.’

  Becky took her eyes from the road for a second. Subconsciously her foot eased off the accelerator. ‘Not too slow,’ Nash warned. ‘We don’t want to stall it.’

  Becky glimpsed a figure standing inside the bay. They were alongside now. She dare not risk another look. The space between parked cars was too narrow for one thing. Nor did she want to risk discovery. ‘Who’s that?’

  Nash had time for a longer look. Too tall for Vickers, not broad enough for Pearce. ‘That’s Ronnie Fletcher.’ His tone was grim.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Too well.’ Nash was busy with his phone. ‘Clara, go round to the back. Fletcher’s looking out of the front.’ He glanced sideways. ‘Look for my car. There’ll be a young woman waiting, name of Becky Pollard. I’ll explain later. I’m going to try and get in.’

  Becky followed Nash’s directions, still driving slowly. ‘I thought it better not to speed up after we passed the house,’ she explained. ‘That would look suspicious.’

  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 c
onfined. 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?’