Minds That Hate Page 9

  ‘Let no one here in this hall underestimate what they have witnessed. In years to come Helmsdale will be known as the birthplace of a radical new force in British politics. It will represent a fresh start, and enable us to put the Great back in Great Britain.’

  Rathmell signalled the end of his speech with outstretched hands, just as Appleyard had. The audience rose again. Becky took one last photo. She lowered her camera, suddenly aware of her position. Up there alone; exposed. Again she felt afraid. Suppose she’d been spotted outside? Suppose they were waiting for her in the car park, or already on their way up? She grabbed her camera bag, put her equipment in and zipped it up. Even the sound of the zip seemed loud.

  When the audience began spilling out of the hall, she tiptoed swiftly downstairs and joined the throng of chattering, excited residents as they jostled their way through the vestibule. She reached the open air in the middle of a group. Before walking quickly towards her car, she glanced about, resisting the temptation to break into a run, resisting the temptation to look back; to glance nervously left and right. To do anything that might draw attention to her. As she walked, she fumbled, first in one coat pocket, then another, then in her jeans pockets, before she found her car keys.

  She got into the car and turned the ignition. For a heart-stopping moment it refused to fire, then again. Becky fought down the rising tide of panic; took a deep breath and tried a third time. The engine spluttered before bursting into life. She heaved a sigh of relief and gunned the accelerator gently, aware of the danger of stalling the engine, of having to wait for it to start; of flattening the battery. She engaged first gear and let the clutch out. The car lurched but didn’t move. ‘Handbrake, you idiot.’ Becky cursed her stupidity.

  A loud bleeping sound brought back the panic until she realized the cause. She slowed to the kerb and put her seatbelt on. Twenty minutes later she was back in her flat, where she double-locked the door and slid the bolt across. In the kitchen she poured a large whisky, her hands trembling. She took a hefty slug. Only then, as she felt the warmth of the scotch, did she begin to relax. Only then did she wonder if she was being irrational. Despite her best efforts, Becky was unable to convince herself that she’d panicked needlessly.

  Chapter twelve

  It had been a quiet Friday night. Nash ate dinner, drank a couple of glasses of red wine and was in bed early. Next morning, he was shaving when the phone rang. ‘Mike? Tom Pratt. Have you heard the local news?’

  ‘No, I haven’t had the radio on. Why?’

  ‘There was a meeting of the Westlea Residents’ Association last night. I suggest you tune in to Helm Radio. They’re running the story non-stop. Councillor Appleyard addressed them. It was about as inflammatory a speech as he could have dreamed up. What the blazes he was thinking of, I can’t imagine. It more or less gives the green light for attacks on migrants. All about “Britain for the British”. Not content with that, Carlton Rathmell joined in. Said Appleyard was the best thing since sliced bread, and they’d be looking to form a new political alliance. God save us from ruddy politicians. It was little short of incitement to racial hatred. I dread to think what might happen on the Westlea after this. And it’s all going to be dumped on you.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch, Tom. They’d love us, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’

  ‘Our little force at Helmsdale, I mean. With Clara originally from Belarus and Viv’s Antiguan ancestry, we must seem like their worst-case scenario. We’re only a little sub-station. Heaven only knows what they’d think of a police force from one of the big cities with all the ethnic mix they’ve got. Any more good news?’

  ‘Not really. I’m just sorry King’s put a block on reinforcements. I reckon you’ll need them.’

  ‘Make sure I get that memo about the meeting. If needs be, I’ll show it to God. I’m tempted to have a word with her anyway. I can’t stand by and let things slide.’

  ‘You stand more chance of persuading her than anyone.’

  ‘I’ll see how things develop. I don’t want to jump in too soon and waste my ammunition.’

  ‘Keep me informed. I’ll let you have that memo on Monday.’

  Becky Pollard was also up early, but it wasn’t because she’d had an early night, or a restful sleep. Her flat was in a Victorian house on the outskirts of Helmsdale. Like most old buildings, it had developed its share of creaks and groans. Each one kept Becky awake. Each one had her wondering. She lost count of the times she told herself her fears were unfounded. She lost count of the times she failed to convince herself. It was with considerable relief she reached Netherdale, and the offices of the Gazette. She opened the door into reception at almost the exact time Nash reached Helmsdale CID office.

  The receptionist greeted her. ‘Becky, you asked me to keep an eye out for a parcel. I’m afraid nothing’s arrived. I thought you’d want to know, in case it’s gone astray.’

  ‘Thanks, I’d better check with the guy who sent it.’ She decided to leave it until mid-morning. First, she wanted to upload the previous night’s photos onto her computer.

  By the time she’d finished, it was nearly lunchtime. Becky dialled Tucker’s mobile. As she waited for the call to connect, she wondered why he hadn’t been at the meeting. Then Becky remembered the photos of Rathmell. Perhaps Tucker’s interest was restricted to the MEP’s misconduct. As she was pondering, she got through to Tucker’s voicemail. Becky muttered something unprintable. ‘JT? It’s Becky again. The package hasn’t landed. Hope you don’t need it over the weekend.’

  Had she been five minutes earlier, Becky would have been able to speak to Tucker in person. He’d checked his mobile before switching it off. He didn’t want his surveillance of Rathmell to be blown by his phone bleeping. By the time he got Becky’s message, it was far too late to call her.

  Mironova and Pearce reached the CID suite in Helmsdale at the same time. Although they weren’t late, it was obvious their boss had been in for some time. The large table in the outer office had half a dozen morning papers on it, each open at an article on the subject of the meeting.

  ‘I take it you know about this?’ Nash gestured to the papers. They nodded. ‘I heard the gist of Appleyard and Rathmell’s speeches on Helm Radio,’ Nash told them. ‘Tom rang to warn me.’

  ‘I heard it as well,’ Mironova confirmed.

  ‘It was on Shire FM too,’ Pearce added.

  ‘It’s like throwing dynamite into a bonfire,’ Nash growled. ‘The problem is we’ll have to deal with the explosion. We’ve already a knife-wielding maniac and an arsonist at large; this sort of rhetoric gives them licence to run riot. Now, let’s get on with some work. We need to get to grips with paperwork today.

  ‘I’ve had the go-ahead for two firearms trained officers to carry. As Clara and I are the only ones who qualify, that leaves you out, Viv. I don’t want you attending any incidents, however trivial, without one or other of us. That applies across the board, but more particularly in the Westlea area. The only exception is when you’re baby-sitting Vickers.’

  ‘Are you still going ahead with that?’ Mironova was surprised.

  ‘I am. Vickers’ house has been targeted twice already. When he’s released, I feel sure that activity will increase. Viv and I will alternate on the nightshift. I’ll take the first one tomorrow night. It means you’ll have to bear the brunt here, Clara. Now, let’s get started.’

  Tucker listened to the message from Becky. Now he knew what the two men had been discussing, the need for surveillance equipment wasn’t as urgent. As he was about to put the phone back in his pocket it bleeped to signal an incoming text. The message read: ‘V. Sun. 9 a.m.’

  Not much for £50, Tucker thought, but it was enough. Vickers would be released at nine o’clock the following morning. Tucker knew there would be little point in watching Rathmell on Sunday. He could go to Felling and meet Vickers. Even give him a lift back to Helmsdale. Tucker was determined to get an interview. He felt sure Vick
ers would want to talk.

  When Nash reached Felling Prison, the visitors’ car park was deserted apart from one other vehicle. Inside it, the driver was sheltering from the squally rain. With the wipers off, the occupant was unidentifiable. Nash hurried towards the side entrance and was admitted immediately.

  After the screening procedure, he waited in the holding area. Fifteen minutes elapsed before Vickers emerged. He was ushered in by an officer, who said, ‘Wait there until I get the release papers and your other gear.’

  Vickers was carrying a small holdall. He smiled ruefully. ‘I was expecting you.’

  ‘You’d better get used to me. I’m going to be with you for a while.’

  ‘I know my windows have been smashed. Has there been more trouble?’ Nash thought he detected a trace of eagerness in Vickers’ voice.

  ‘Not aimed at you exclusively. There’s been a spate of violence in the town. It seems to be mainly targeting migrant workers and immigrants.’

  ‘That lets me out.’

  Was Vickers disappointed? ‘Maybe that’s because you weren’t about. We need to get you installed without attracting attention. Fortunately there doesn’t seem to be any media activity.’

  Vickers stared at Nash. ‘Why would I want to avoid attention?’

  ‘Because it’ll be more dangerous.’

  Vickers shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? The minute I step through that door, I’ll be in danger, whether the media put anything out or not. The people who pose a threat know I’m due out. Probably know it’ll be happening today. Right now even.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  Vickers laughed. ‘You’ve read the file. Don’t you know?’

  ‘Who, specifically?’

  ‘Come on, Nash. Use your brains. They tell me in here –’ Vickers jerked his thumb over his shoulder ‘– that you’re one of the best detectives around. Work it out. Ask yourself who has a vested interest in seeing me dead. Compile a list of the leading candidates. Amongst them you’ll probably find the name of Stacey’s killer.’

  ‘You still insist you’re innocent?’

  Vickers’ reply was slightly oblique. ‘When I walk through that door, the crime will have been paid for, in the eyes of the law. There’s no need for me to pretend to be innocent. The justice system –’ there was no disguising the contempt in Vickers’ voice, ‘– can’t touch me. So what’s the point of me continuing to protest my innocence? Unless I didn’t kill her.’

  Nash was still pondering this when the prison officer reappeared. He was carrying a large cardboard box. Nash looked at Vickers questioningly.

  ‘They allowed me a CD player,’ the prisoner explained. ‘I wasn’t going to leave it.’

  ‘At least we’ll get some peace now,’ the officer chimed in. ‘A blessed release from Beatle-mania. He plays nothing else.’

  ‘I like The Beatles,’ Vickers protested.

  ‘That doesn’t mean we’ve to endure them 24/7.’

  As they stepped into the car park, the driver’s door of the other car opened. Nash tensed; he saw someone emerge. He was carrying something. Gun? The driver held up a hand. ‘Vickers? Gary Vickers? My name’s Tucker. I’m a reporter.’

  Nash relaxed slightly. Not a gun, only a camera. The shutter clicked several times in rapid succession.

  ‘Mr Vickers has nothing to say,’ Nash called out.

  Tucker approached. ‘I’m sure Gary can speak for himself.’

  ‘He’s got nothing to say. If you’ve any questions, address them to me.’

  ‘Who are you? His solicitor?’

  Nash took out his warrant card. Tucker glanced at it before turning his attention to Vickers. ‘Haven’t you had a bellyful of policemen, Gary? Hop into my car, I’ll drive you to Helmsdale. You can tell me your side of the story. The side the courts never got to hear.’

  Vickers hesitated, uncertain. ‘Sorry,’ Nash said. ‘Mr Vickers is under police protection. He goes nowhere without my say-so. Certainly not into a reporter’s car.’

  ‘Come and see me in Helmsdale,’ Vickers told Tucker. ‘Wednesday, say. I’ll talk to you then.’

  Tucker turned to Nash. ‘Better keep him hale and hearty till then.’

  The journey to Helmsdale was conducted mostly in silence. As they neared the outskirts of the town, however, Vickers stirred in his seat. ‘I’ll need some food. It’s Sunday. Will there be somewhere open?’

  Nash laughed. ‘You have been out of circulation a long time. There’s a branch of Good Buys supermarket in the Market Place. They’re open until four o’clock.’

  The shopping took half an hour or so. Some of the time was down to Vickers examining packets of food he’d never seen before. ‘You’re right,’ he told Nash after staring at a shelf displaying Thai cuisine. ‘I’m definitely out of touch.’

  The checkout operator glanced at them before focusing on Vickers. Nash saw her slightly puzzled expression. She looked up, without pausing from passing items over the scanner. ‘Don’t I know you?’

  Vickers smiled. ‘Possibly. I’ve been away for a long time. Fifteen years to be exact.’

  The cashier checked the last item and announced the total. ‘Been working abroad?’

  ‘No. I’ve been in prison,’ Vickers replied as he passed the cash across, then paused for a second before adding, ‘For murder. My name’s Vickers. Gary Vickers.’

  They crossed the cobbles to Nash’s car in silence. After loading the shopping, Nash sat behind the wheel and looked at his passenger. ‘Why did you do that? The news will be all over Helmsdale within the hour.’

  Vickers smiled, his expression one of triumphant satisfaction. And something else: a touch of malice.

  ‘You realize it’s going to make our job doubly difficult? It’ll be virtually impossible to guarantee your safety now.’

  ‘I’m not interested in my own safety.’ Vickers statement was bald, the rider even more uncompromising. ‘Nor am I interested in making life easy for the police. I owe you nothing. I owe this town nothing. I owe society nothing. On the contrary, I’m owed fifteen years, and more.’

  Rain was falling heavily when Nash pulled up at Grove Road. At least that would keep the neighbours indoors. Not that it mattered now. Vickers had seen to that. He was looking for trouble.

  Vickers stared at the front of the house. ‘The outside looks alright,’ he said more to himself than Nash.

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘I paid a lot of money for maintenance and cleaning,’ Vickers told him. ‘From the photos the agents sent, I couldn’t be sure I was getting value for money. But they’ve repainted the outside as I asked. That’s a good start. Let’s see what the inside is like.’

  ‘It might be a bit of a mess. The glaziers have replaced the window panes but I’m not sure how well they’ll have cleaned up.’

  ‘It’d better be pristine, the amount it cost to get the cleaners in yesterday.’

  Nash stared at him. ‘You organized the cleaners already?’

  ‘Of course, as soon as I heard about the damage.’

  ‘You weren’t wasting time, were you?’

  Vickers smiled mirthlessly. ‘I’d nothing else to do.’

  The house appeared clean and tidy. ‘Good for them,’ Vickers muttered. They went through to the kitchen and dumped the shopping on the large table. Nash noticed something different. ‘Is that fridge-freezer new?’

  ‘Yes. I had it delivered yesterday. I instructed them to switch it on so it would be ready to use. You don’t think I bought all that frozen stuff on chance?’ Vickers put the shopping away whilst Nash watched him. His curiosity was heightened by Vickers’ actions. Everything he did seemed part of a preconceived plan.

  ‘You’ve worked all this out, haven’t you?’

  Vickers paused, a carton of milk in his hand. ‘Tea or coffee? Seeing we’re going to be housemates we might as well try to get along.’

  ‘Coffee, please.’

  Vickers filled the
kettle and switched it on. ‘Of course I worked it out. In the last year I’ve thought of little else. I wanted to be sure I left nothing to chance. You make the coffee, will you? White, no sugar for me.’

  Vickers went out of the kitchen and Nash watched him walk down the hall, opening first the dining-room door, then the lounge, pausing in each doorway as if taking mental stock of the contents. After a few moments he heard Vickers climb the stairs. Nash brewed the coffee and walked to the front of the house. ‘Coffee’s ready,’ he called upstairs. There was no reply.

  Nash climbed the staircase, glancing at the many framed photographs lining the walls, to find Vickers standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms. ‘This was Stacey’s room,’ he said softly. He turned and looked at Nash, his expression as bleak as a midwinter day. ‘She was full of life and laughter. Just being near her was a delight.’ It was as if a mask had slipped, allowing Vickers to reveal some of his emotions. In an instant the mask was back. ‘Coffee’s ready, you said?’

  Nash followed him downstairs thoughtfully. As they drank, he tried to get the mask to slip again. ‘Are you happy with the way they’ve looked after the house?’

  Vickers nodded. ‘They’ve done everything I asked.’

  ‘What’s next?’

  ‘They’re coming to reconnect the phone tomorrow. The amount they charge for reconnection is scandalous.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. Tell me something. Why didn’t you sell this house?’

  ‘Why should I? To invest the money maybe? I couldn’t have earned as much in interest as this house has increased in value. Besides, what would I have done with money? Gone on a cruise?’

  It was like a fencing match. Thrust and parry. Nash probing for information, Vickers determined not to give him any. ‘You always intended to return here?’