Dead and Gone Page 7

  ‘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.

  chapter seven

  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?’

  ‘Cl
ara? 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.’

  As he drove, with scant regard for the speed limit, the removable blue light plugged into the dashboard and flashing, Pearce listened to Nash, who began by calling the pathologist. For once, it seemed that Mexican Pete had foregone the chance to comment on Nash’s cadaver-finding instinct. Nash’s comment that three of the victims were young children presumably scotched any ideas Ramirez might have had on that score. When he had finished with the pathologist, Nash called Superintendent Fleming, then spoke to the head of the forensic section, who promised to have a SOCO team out there as fast as possible. His final official call was back to Helmsdale, where he spoke to Sergeant Binns to explain their hasty exit.

  Pearce thought that might have been it, but once he’d got the official calls out of the way, Nash rang Mironova’s home and spoke to David Sutton, her fiancé. He explained the situation briefly. ‘Clara’s going to need some moral support and a lot of TLC, David. Can you make it out to Gorton and take her home?’

  ‘I’ll be there as quick as I can. This sounds awful, Mike.’

  Nash’s last call met with no success. He had tried Lisa Andrews’ home number, hoping to repeat the process with her partner, Alan Marshall, but there was no answer, the call going almost immediately to voicemail.

  chapter eight

  On their arrival at Gorton, Nash made no effort to inspect the crime scene. Instead, he and Pearce waited outside, talking to Lisa and Mironova. They elicited all the information they needed from the women, before Nash told them what
he wanted. ‘You’re going home, both of you. I want you away from this place as soon as possible. I’ve already spoken to David,’ he told Clara, ‘and he’s on his way.’

  ‘There’s no need, Mike. I’ll be all right, it was just the shock,’ she responded.

  ‘I’m not listening to any arguments.’ He turned to Andrews. ‘I tried to get hold of Alan, but there was no reply.’

  Lisa glanced at her watch. ‘He went to a board meeting in Leeds. He’s either sitting gossiping with Harry Rourke or on his way back.’

  ‘Give me his mobile number and I’ll call him. He can collect you from Clara’s place, if that’s OK with her.’ He glanced at Clara, who nodded agreement.

  Nash spoke with Marshall, who demanded to know if Lisa was all right before explaining his meeting had lasted longer than anticipated and he was about to set off for home.

  Nash reassured him and explained the circumstances, before arranging for him to divert to Clara’s house to collect Lisa. After ending the call, Nash reinforced his earlier message that they were to go home and have a quiet night with their partners. He wasn’t sure if their calm acquiescence meant that they had come to terms with what they had seen, or whether they were still in shock. Although every one of them had witnessed their fair share of the horrific after-effects of violent crime, some things were too terrible, even for the strongest stomachs. The murder of innocent children ranked high on that list.

  Even when the pathologist and forensic team arrived, Nash refused to allow any of his colleagues to enter the crime scene. ‘I’ll go in with Mexican Pete,’ he told Pearce. ‘I want you to remain here with the girls until Sutton arrives. After they’ve gone, wait outside for Jackie.’

  Having donned protective clothing for the second time that day, Nash joined the pathologist. Together, they viewed the distressing scene. The body of a woman, whom Nash assumed to be Kelly-Marie Kirby, was spreadeagled across a workbench in the centre of the room. In a far corner beneath a duvet were three further bodies; two young boys, the other, even younger, that of a tiny girl, barely a toddler. The children looked peaceful, almost as if they were asleep cuddled together.