Altered Egos (3 page)

‘I was thinking how difficult it must be for you, on your own,’ Nash said.

Sonya shrugged. ‘As a soldier’s wife, you get used to it.’

‘I didn’t mean that, not exactly,’ Nash smiled. ‘I was thinking more about having to make all the decisions without having anyone to bounce ideas off, that sort of thing.’

She nodded, acknowledging the accuracy of his guess. ‘That’s the hardest part. You look round, or you think of a question to ask; then you remember. Perceptive of you to notice.’

‘What did you mean?’ Hirst spoke for the first time since they’d entered the house.

Nash and Sonya turned in surprise. ‘Sorry?’ Nash asked.

‘When you said you understood. Did you mean something, or were you just saying it? It sounded like you meant it.’

Sonya looked from Hirst to Nash, saw the detective’s face change; saw the mask come over his features. The easygoing, pleasant expression had vanished, replaced by a hard, almost pitiless gaze. ‘I do understand,’ Nash spoke slowly, reluctance obvious. ‘I’ve been there. I know what you’re going through. Not as badly, perhaps, but the feeling’s the same.’

‘How can you know what I’m feeling?’

Nash sighed. He realized there was nothing for it but to explain.

Later, two mugs of coffee later to be exact, Nash stood up. ‘Look, I’m going to get out of your way now. But what I said earlier goes.’ He passed Hirst a card. ‘If you need me, give me a call. Not just official stuff. If you want somebody to sound off at, to listen, or go for a pint, anything. Don’t hesitate. Pick up the phone.’

Hirst nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Nash. I might just take you up on that.’ He glanced at Sonya. ‘We’re in the minority, the three of us. People who truly understand, I mean.’

‘I’ll see you out, Mike.’ Sonya guided Nash from the room. ‘That was kind of you,’ she told him as they paused by the front door. ‘And it took a lot of courage, telling us your story. I could see that. This girl of yours, Stella, she must have been something special.’

She opened the door. ‘Take care, Mike. And that offer you made to Steve, the same goes the other way.’ She smiled, entrancingly, Nash thought. ‘I mean, if you need to talk things over at any time. Or just feel in need of company, you know where I am. I rarely go far. I’ve three reasons for that,’ she laughed. ‘And the kettle only takes a couple of minutes to boil. It’s like Steve said. Those of us who’ve been through it, we need to stick together.’

Nash smiled as they shook hands. ‘Thank you. I might just take you up on that.’

She watched him walk back to his car. When he’d unlocked the door he turned and waved. She returned the gesture and walked back into the lounge, her expression thoughtful. ‘He’s nice, don’t you think, Steve?’

Hirst looked up. ‘I suppose so. I mean, yes, he is; very nice. He did more than necessary. Much more than….’

‘I know,’ she soothed him. ‘But dwelling on that side of things won’t help.’

‘I don’t want help,’ his voice changed, the sadness replaced by a cold, hard anger. ‘I don’t need help and I don’t need sympathy.’

‘What do you need?’

‘I need the one thing nobody else can provide. I need the one thing I can do for myself. I need revenge. And what’s more,’ his expression changed. All the sadness was gone. In its place was a savage kind of elation. ‘I know just where to go to get it.’

Contrary to Nash’s fears, Christmas passed relatively peacefully. Apart from the usual crop of drink related offences, most of them dealt with by uniformed branch, there were only a couple of domestic disputes that developed into assaults. Early in the New Year when Superintendent Edwards paid him a visit, the worst he had to report was a trio of unsolved burglaries. ‘The MO’s the same in all three, so it looks as if we’ve a new kid on the block,’ Nash told her. ‘I reckon we’ve got away lightly.’

Nash had often warned DS Mironova and DC Pearce about saying things were fine. It was, he thought, a sure way to court disaster. Unfortunately, as he spoke to Ruth, he’d forgotten that.

The first part of any operation was always the hardest. In this case though, despite the elaborate and seemingly insurmountable obstacles, it was ludicrously easy. All he’d needed was to create a diversion. Then make his entry and exit before the enemy could react. Their set-up may have looked professional, but in practice, they were mere amateurs. Surveying the area, he soon found a way to divert attention. All he’d need was a saw, his tool kit and a ladder. And, to complete the job, a high-tech gadget he’d seen used a couple of times. To make detection harder and to avoid chance encounters that would make his equipment hard to explain, he’d bought a van; with a roof rack.

He watched the weather forecast each evening. He’d to wait over a week before he heard the news he was waiting for. Next evening once dark had fallen, he drove out of town to the point
he’d seen on his reconnaissance trip. He parked down a farm track and climbed over a fence and crossed the field, past a flock of heavily pregnant ewes who eyed him with mild curiosity. When he reached his objective he set to work with a massive woodman’s saw. He felt fleeting regret for the act of vandalism he was committing, but then thought of the cause. His resolution returned, stiffened.

After a couple of hours’ hard work he judged things were as he wanted them. Now all he had to do was sit and wait for the wind to blow. The cut he’d made would ensure the tree fell in the direction he wanted. After that, there was his main task to complete.

The next morning, Nash walked into Helmsdale station to be greeted by Sergeant Binns, who was standing by reception with two harassed looking civilians. ‘Mike, have you a minute?’

‘Problem, Jack?’

‘It’s about the blackout last night.’

‘Tell me about it. I was halfway through cooking my evening meal when everything went dark. I didn’t fancy lasagne for breakfast.’

Binns introduced the visitors; one from the local electricity company, the other a farmer. ‘The power blackout was caused by a tree falling across the power lines,’ Binns told Nash.

The man from the power company added, ‘Half the county was without electricity. The thing is; it wasn’t accidental.’

‘I thought it was a result of the gales.’

‘They helped, but even with the wind as strong as it was that tree wouldn’t have fallen.’

‘No,’ the farmer said bitterly. ‘That tree was sawn through. And it was done to make sure it fell across the power lines.’

Nash stared from one to the other in astonishment. ‘You mean someone went to the trouble of sabotaging the electric supply? Why would they do that?’

‘Ask me another,’ the engineer said. ‘It wasn’t kids either. It would have taken hours of work to saw through a tree trunk that width.’

‘I still don’t see what we can do about it. We’ll investigate of course, but without some idea of the motive, I don’t think we’ll have much luck.’

‘We’ve got a problem.’

‘What sort of a problem?’

‘I’m at the laboratory. We’ve had a power failure last night, just come back up. But the stand-by generators couldn’t be activated by the security men.’

‘Why not?’

‘They’d been tampered with.’

‘How did that happen?’

‘I don’t know, but there’s worse.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Far, far worse.’

‘Go on.’

‘During the blackout somebody broke into the buildings. Both the laboratory, and the offices.’

‘How did they manage that?’

‘I don’t know how they got past the fence. I’ve had the guards check the perimeter and it hasn’t been cut. Once they were in, all they had to do was open the doors. The electronic locks are deactivated by a power cut for safety reasons.’

‘Was anything stolen? Any damage?’

‘I thought of that. So I went to the laboratory first. My first thought was that it might be animal rights people. But the cages were still intact. However, a load of product had been poured into the giant blenders. All sorts of different stuff. The blender switches had been left in the on position. As soon as the power came back up, they started working. All the contents have been rendered useless. They’ll have to be incinerated. We daren’t even flush them away because we don’t know how toxic they are. With all the chaos, we can’t even tell if anything’s missing.’

‘OK, that’s bad, but not cataclysmic. What else? I take it there is more?’

‘Oh yes, there’s more all right. Our intruder went into the office block. Not only went into it, but went through it. Took a load of personnel files,’ he paused before telling his boss the
worst. ‘And he went into your office. Your safe is electronic like the doors, isn’t it?’

‘Oh no! Don’t say—’

‘I’m not sure exactly what you had in there, but it isn’t there now. The intruder even left the door open.’

‘I’ll tell you what was in there. All the disks. The ones with the programme details on.’ His boss’s voice took on a harsher note. ‘And the details of everything we’ve done: you and I. If they were decoded and fell in to the wrong hands you know what would happen, don’t you?’

‘I do, but what can we do about it?’

‘Let me think for a minute.’

He waited; his impatience mounting.

‘As far as I see it, there’s nothing we can do about the details of the programme. Nor can we abandon it, or put it on hold. We’re so close to success now, and our masters are keen for results. The latest batch seems perfect, but there have to be more field trials. As for the other side of things, there are the two we’ve been using in our experiments. I’m afraid we can’t take the chance that they might be questioned. If they talk, we’re finished. So, much as I regret it, they’ll have to go. And, I’m afraid, so will the third one. The one we haven’t started on yet.’

‘What about—?’

‘No,’ his boss cut in, ‘definitely not. Not yet. He’s too valuable. As for the others, see to it will you. As fast as you can. No, hang on a minute. First, do the two we’ve been using. Get hold of the third, but don’t dispose. Not yet. We might need a bargaining tool.’

Lara was bored. With Richard away at that blasted conference, and Caroline also not available, she was desperate for company. An idea struck her. She went over to the phone, dragging her filofax out of her bag. She found the number and dialled. ‘Guess who?’

‘Lara?’

‘Got it in one. I want you. Tonight.’

‘Can’t do it. No car. Some berk ran into me two nights back.
It’s in for repair.’

‘Get the bus to Helmsdale. I’ll pick you up.’

‘Missing me that much?’ She could hear the desire in his voice.

‘You’ll see. Just get on that bus.’

‘Okay, it’ll have to be when I’ve finished work though.’

‘Don’t work too hard. You’re no use to me if you’re not on top form.’

‘You have to identify your target; then comes the assessment. Take your time. Observe and be patient. That’s the first and one of the most important parts of the whole job. The observation; get that wrong and you’ve no chance. Go in sloppy, under-prepared, and you’re a dead duck. Remember you’ve only to get it wrong once. Bollocks it up and you finish up as the target. In a war there’ll always be casualties. My job’s to teach you how to avoid being one. You understand me?’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘And your job, when you’re fully trained, is to become the perfect killing machine. It’s what you were picked for, soldier. So pay attention. Listen and learn.’

He stirred slightly as if the memory had unsettled him. Even that slight movement could have been a mistake. He muttered a silent curse. ‘
Mind on the job, soldier
.’ He could almost hear the sergeant saying it. He forced his attention back on the target; brightly lit, in the all embracing darkness. Here, no street lights spoilt his night vision. He looked through the window; he’d expected only one occupant, so who was the other? He didn’t recognize them. So, a bit of collateral damage.

‘Pick a method to suit the situation. Always remember the golden rule. In, do the job, and out. Away, before they know you’re there. And, wherever possible, leave no trace. If you can make it look like an accident, so much the better.’

His hand strayed to the kit by his side. Mentally, he ran through his equipment. Tools to effect entry, hypodermics and the equipment to disguise the kill. Had to disguise it, in a war zone it wouldn’t matter as much. But this wasn’t a war zone. This was rural England.

He’d wait until they settled for the night. No risk of being disturbed anyway, the cottage was miles from anywhere. Silent entry, quick kill, then sit and watch: away before dawn. No point in taking unnecessary risks.

Time to move. The locks were easy, easier than anticipated; no bolts. That helped. Inside he moved slowly. He knew the layout perfectly. He’d been inside before; several times. But then the cottage had been empty, and it had been daylight. Up the stairs, one, two, three. Careful, the fifth step creaks.

At the bedroom door. Listening. Nothing at first; then the gentle sound of breathing. Good. They were asleep. The door had creaked but butter from the fridge had cured it last time he was there. Edge it open. No wind tonight; nothing to cause a draught. Ease your way inside. Wait for your night vision to adjust. Hypodermics at the ready. Strike once, twice. Done.

He moved swiftly across the room out of range, but after the first involuntary movements neither of them stirred. Nevertheless, no point in taking chances. His hand hovered over the light switch, but that same sense of caution stopped him from switching it on. Better get on with finishing the job.

He trotted down the stairs, ignored the one that creaked. The occupants of the house weren’t going to hear him: ever. He went to locate the fuse box then flicked the trip switch and went into the kitchen. He unrolled his tool kit, placed his torch where its beam would light his working area. Working methodically without need for haste, he stripped bare a length of wire and left the contacts exposed. He crossed to the sink and opened the cupboard below. His search yielded four promising items. He could hear his sergeant again.
‘All houses contain a selection of highly inflammable substances. All you’ve to do is put them close to a heat source. Whoosh! The lot will go up. Best of all, unless you do it wrong, it’ll look accidental.’

He waited outside until the house was well ablaze then walked unhurriedly towards the main road. He was struck by a horrible thought. Something he’d forgotten. What was it? Then he remembered. Something he’d meant to remove from the house. He glanced back, saw the blaze and relaxed. The
fire would be all-consuming. Every scrap of evidence would be destroyed. The first of his targets had been identified and eliminated. Now he had to start on the next.

Superintendent Edwards was about to leave an early morning meeting with Nash when his phone rang. ‘Hold on a second, Ruth.’ He listened. ‘OK, where?’ She saw him scribble a couple of notes on his pad. ‘Right, give me time to arrange things at this end then we’ll be with you. Have you told Mexican Pete? No, OK, I’ll see to that.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘A house fire. That was CFO Curran. It happened overnight in a remote spot towards the top end of the dale. The nearest village is Gorton, but that’s a couple of miles away. The alarm was raised by a local gamekeeper. He saw the smoke, but by then it was a smouldering ruin. Almost completely gutted, by all accounts.’

‘We’ll have to get out there. Anything to do first?’

‘We need Jack Binns to organize some uniforms to be on site.’

‘I’ll deal with that.’

‘That’ll help. In the meantime, I’ll get hold of Mexican Pete.’

‘Who?’

‘Sorry, I mean Professor Ramirez. Our pathologist.’

‘Fine, and whilst we’re travelling you can explain the nickname.’

Nash introduced Superintendent Edwards to Curran and Mexican Pete. ‘Doug’s based in Helmsdale, but his area covers Netherdale as well. And this is our pathologist, Professor Ramirez, of York University.’

Ramirez inclined his head in a bow of acknowledgment. Pathologists rarely shake hands. And police officers never shake hands with pathologists. ‘What Nash means is, I attend the university occasionally,’ he told Ruth, ‘when Nash is on holiday, or when he’s having an off day and hasn’t found any bodies for me to examine.’

‘What’s the score here?’ Nash directed his question to both men.

Curran spoke first. ‘There are two victims, both badly burned. Professor Ramirez has had a preliminary look; he’ll be able to tell you more.’

‘On the face of it, they appear to be typical fire or smoke inhalation victims,’ Ramirez told them. ‘We should be able to get identifiable material, either by DNA or dental records.’

‘Why do you say, “on the face of it,” have you any reason to suppose otherwise?’ Edwards asked.

The pathologist gave a sour smile. ‘I’d have little doubt, but for him turning up,’ he indicated Nash. ‘He sniffs out dead meat and foul play even better than a bloodhound in a butcher’s shop.’

Nash hid a smile and turned to Curran. ‘Any idea of the cause?’

‘Nothing I’d like to be quoted on, but at the moment I’m inclined to think it was some sort of electrical fault. It looks like the sort of place that hasn’t been re-wired since the first electrics were installed. As to why it blazed so well, that’s down to the fact that it was half timbered. A lot of these Tudor style cottages have far too much inflammable material in them.’

‘Nothing suspicious then?’

‘Not that I can see, although it’s early days yet.’