Fear the Past Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Fear the Past

  First published by Hamilton Press in 2019

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  “It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.”

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

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  Also in the Dark Yorkshire series;

  FEAR the PAST

  Fear the Past

  Dark Yorkshire – Book 5

  J M DALGLIESH

  First published by Hamilton Press in 2019

  Copyright © J M Dalgliesh, 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  “It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.”

  Aristotle

  Chapter One

  The others looked like they were settling in for the night so he stood, turned and lifted his coat from the back of the chair. Slipping his right arm into the sleeve amid howls of protest alongside the laughter accompanying the anecdote being loudly recounted, he shook his head.

  “It’s getting late and you guys aren’t going anywhere.”

  “It’s not late,” came the joint response from several around the table.

  “I’m driving and I’ve had too much already,” he countered.

  “Aww… Jody, just get a cab. The evening’s only just getting started.”

  “I’ve got a lot on tomorrow.”

  “That’s the joy of being the boss. You get to make your own hours.”

  “And I still need to pay the bills,” Jody replied, shaking his head and zipping up his jacket. Glancing through the window to the car park beyond, he tried to assess whether or not the rain had stopped. The darkness enveloped almost everything in view and what little he could see was masked by the condensation on the panes. “I’ll see you guys in the morning,” he said, heading off. Glancing back at the small group revelling in their impromptu gathering, he blew out his cheeks and muttered under his breath, “Those of you who make it in any way.”

  The pub was popular, even midweek, and he had to pick his way through the bar avoiding elbows, chairs and stools as he went before reaching the side door leading to the car park. The toilets were adjacent to the exit and he hesitated. Did he need to go? No. He’d be home in less than ten minutes and he could wait. The sooner he was out of here the better. Pushing open the door, it swung away from him. The wooden door had seen better days. A length of gaffer tape secured a large crack in the pane alongside chipped paint and multiple dents and scrapes - most likely down to the enthusiasm of the patrons coming and going over the years. The nights here were often rowdy. He had to admit to being involved upon occasion.

  Stepping outside the stark contrast to the interior struck him and he shuddered against the cold. Descending the steps to the car park on unsteady feet, he walked towards where he’d parked the car. Calling a cab to get home would be sensible but he dismissed the thought. It wasn’t far. Light rain was falling and he looked up at the nearby streetlight to better judge the intensity. It was much the same as when he’d arrived two hours earlier. Had he known the plan, if indeed it was the plan to have a session at the pub, he would’ve declined the offer. However, it was sold to him as a catch-up meeting. To be fair that wasn’t unusual and often took place in a pub. More often than not it was also this establishment. It had been a while since he had been into the office and his absence was leading to friction, he could feel it even if nothing was being said. He couldn’t afford to allow that to continue and feared it was already too late but, in any event, he’d made the effort.

  Jody looked back over his shoulder towards the pub as he approached his car. He could make out the team - his business partner along with their small entourage of administrators - still inside, their movements showing the party was in full swing. Turning back, he eyed his BMW and crossed towards it fishing out the fob. He smiled to himself but it was tinged with elements of relief and regret. The relief came from the knowledge he’d managed the evening without having to be too vocal. Expecting a grilling for not pulling his weight in recent weeks, he found the absence of business talk to be refreshing. The regret was born out of keeping secrets. Necessary secrets. After all, that was the nature of the beast but somehow, on this occasion at least, it felt disloyal. Who was he to talk about loyalty? Loyalty, a virtue which was by all accounts diminishing in importance within the circle he moved in. Once it had been one of the primary requirements but apparently not anymore. The sense someone had his back was a distant memory and paranoia was now, his closest friend.

  Perhaps it had always been this way and what he hankered for was a vision of a nostalgic past that never truly existed. His father always told him people lived in the memories of days gone by and, as a result, missed what was unfolding before their very eyes. Having never understood what that statement meant, it was easy to dismiss but now, many years too late, his father’s words made perfect sense to him.

  Shrugging off the melancholy that threatened to take root, he opened the door. Not wishing to get rainwater running onto the driver’s seat, he took off his coat and threw it into the rear. A sound nearby made him look in the direction he thought it came from. There were two recycling points at the edge of the pub’s boundary, large metal deposit bins for clothes by the look of them. Taking two steps forward, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the surroundings. Illuminated only by the streetlights, the surrounding trees and bushes were shrouded in darkness and their gentle sway in the breeze was barely visible. Jody stood still, the hairs on his neck raised as he stared into the gloom. What had he heard? The rain was forgotten and he ignored the fact his hair was now soaked through. Water began to run down his face and yet still, he peered into the shadows.

  “Is anyone there?” he called, narrowing his gaze. No reply. A car passed by on the road, the familiar sound of displace
d water breaking his train of thought. Realising he had been holding his breath, Jody retreated towards the car. Noting the rain driving in through the open door and onto the leather interior, he cursed himself. Irritated at allowing his imagination to run riot, he reached the car and took hold of the frame of the door. With one last look back towards the trees he shook his head, smiling and feeling foolish. “Get a grip, man,” he said, under his breath.

  Jody didn’t hear the movement behind him nor did he see the reflection of the amber streetlights glinting off the hammer head as it came down on the back of his skull. He fell, unconscious before striking the ground. Several more blows followed with the only accompaniment being the sound of his assailant’s exertions whilst wielding the weapon. There was no resistance.

  Soon, all that could be heard was the sound of the intensifying rain coming down in sheets and striking the tarmac all around him.

  Chapter Two

  The locals were gathering. The persistent rainfall that carried throughout the night was easing and the curiosity along the length of the police cordon was clear despite the hour. DI Caslin sipped at his coffee. It was still hot and he needed it. The sounds of normality came on the wind from the adjoining streets as the residents of York awoke and set about their day with the school run and daily commutes going on as normal. By now this street would usually be bustling with like-minded people heading out to work or arriving to open their businesses for the day but, for now at least, the immediate scene was more reminiscent of an apocalyptic war film than central York. A figure appeared and Caslin recognised the brigade’s station officer stepping out from the building, roughly sixty yards away and look in his direction. He beckoned them forward with a wave of the hand. The structural surveyor had given the all clear and the investigation could begin.

  “That’s us, sir,” DS Hunter said. Caslin nodded, putting his coffee cup down onto the bonnet of the car alongside Hunter’s and they set off. The building was a charred wreck, a ruin set in the middle of a terrace of shop fronts. The adjacent properties were undamaged by the ravages of the fire but unsure of their structural integrity, Caslin and his team were held back until the scene was assessed and deemed safe for them to enter.

  “Let forensics know they have access, would you?” Caslin said. Hunter bobbed her head in acknowledgement.

  “Any statement, Inspector?” someone called from a distance. Caslin looked over his shoulder and beyond the cordon, spying an approaching journalist. The cameraman walking alongside her was desperately trying to get the footage up and running, giving away her profession. Caslin wasn’t surprised. In the current age such events were massive news with the media anticipating headline grabbing acts of terrorism until proven otherwise.

  “I’m sure there will be something issued later on this morning but we have nothing to add from the earlier release,” Caslin said, continuing his walk towards the building.

  Approaching the entrance, the scale of the devastation became clearer. At least it used to be the entrance but now the entire frontage was blown out with rubble, timber and glass strewn across the road. The windows of the surrounding properties in every direction were smashed, their residents evacuated to a safe area at a local community hall. The local supermarket had initially been set up as a makeshift triage centre. The staff working the night shift stepped up to assist the emergency services until the required resources could be marshalled. Caslin eyed the scene, grateful the explosion happened when it did and not during the forthcoming rush hour when a far higher number of people would have been present or passing by. The carnage would have been significantly magnified had the explosion occurred even a short time later.

  “DI Caslin?” a voice came to him from inside the building, drawing his attention. From within the blackened interior, Caslin saw the approaching figure of the brigade’s fire investigator.

  “This is Mark Francis. He’s our senior investigator on the scene,” Station Officer Wardell said, introducing them.

  “Good morning,” Francis said, offering his hand to Caslin. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “DI Caslin and DS Hunter. Is it okay for us to explore?” Caslin asked, taking the offered hand.

  “Of course. Just watch your footing, would you? There’s a lot of water and the building is precarious in places.”

  Caslin turned his collar up and indicated for Hunter to join him. The volume of water put down by the three appliances in dealing with the flames, stopping the spread of fire to the adjoining buildings, was such that it now ran from the interior walls and what was left of the ceilings. Many upper floor joists survived the initial force of the explosion only to collapse subsequently due to the intensity of the fire along with the water used to douse it.

  “What are we looking at?” Caslin asked. The investigator glanced about them.

  “The explosion centred just behind me,” he said, gesturing towards the rear of the room they were standing in, roughly at the centre of the building. “Which rules out a gas leak.”

  “You’re certain?” Hunter asked, taking notes.

  “Absolutely. The supply comes into the building at the rear due to the proximity of the gas main running along the street parallel to this one,” he confirmed. “This row of buildings is somewhat unusual in that respect. The seat of the fire is such that I’m quite happy to rule out a gas leak as the source.”

  “In that case, do you have any idea as to what was the source?” Hunter asked.

  “Well, this is only an initial assessment but I’m happy to give you a rundown of where the evidence is taking me.”

  “Please do,” Caslin said, looking the immediate area up and down. He considered it a miracle that anyone survived the blast let alone the accompanying fire.

  “Basic fire science indicates there has to be fuel, oxygen and an ignition source to spark the fire that led to the explosion,” Francis explained. “Ruling out the most common, that being the gas supply, I’m looking for electrical faults either in the building’s wiring or appliances. The seat of the fire, here behind me, doesn’t appear to be caused by any dodgy cabling. If anything, I’d say the place was rewired fairly recently. Within the last decade based on the condition of the consumer unit and the installation sticker. It is housed in the kitchen to the rear so was shielded from the blast by an interior load-bearing wall.”

  “Appliances?” Hunter asked.

  “None present in the vicinity of the fire,” Francis replied, with a brief shake of the head.

  “That pushes us towards arson?” Caslin suggested.

  “We still have a lot of work to do but that’ll be my working hypothesis, yes,” Francis concurred. “Two casualties were found over there,” he said, pointing to the edge of the room they were currently standing in. “I believe they were pronounced dead at the scene,” he said, looking to Wardell for confirmation.

  “Yes, they were pulled from the building by the first responders and pronounced once clear.”

  “They were in the same room as the explosion?” Caslin asked. The station officer nodded.

  “And the other victims?” Hunter asked, looking around.

  “I believe they were in the outer reception, closest to the street,” Wardell confirmed.

  “And they’d be separated from the other two by what…?” Hunter asked, trying to visualise the interior before the force of the blast had ripped it apart.

  “A false wall, basic timber studwork faced with plasterboard,” Francis said. “Pretty common in a minicab booking office such as this, I’d imagine.”

  Caslin pictured the building as it had once been. An outer reception or waiting area for customers and drivers to hang around in with a hatch to the interior where the booking clerk would sit, taking calls and dispatching the cars.

  “Any sign of an accelerant?” Caslin asked.

  “Not that we can see. We will often find a concentration of flame in an area where petrol has been poured, such as when your average pyro empties a can of petrol through a lett
er box.”

  “Or when someone is trying to conceal the evidence of a crime by burning the building down,” Caslin said, looking around.

  “That’s right. Those are the two main reasons leading to arson on this scale. We have none of the corresponding evidence here,” Francis explained. “Your explosion is what set light to the building.”

  “What are we looking at?” Caslin asked, sensing this wasn’t the result of a tragic accident as he had secretly hoped it would be. This was far more sinister.

  “I don’t think we’re looking at anything particularly sophisticated,” Francis stated. “It’s an improvised device, fairly small, judging from the lack of structural damage but certainly packing enough of a punch to knock out the frontage as well as all the glass in the general vicinity and set the building ablaze.”

  “Are you confident this must have been placed here?” Hunter queried. Francis looked at her.

  “Rather than anything in situ that may have gone off accidentally?”

  Hunter nodded, “Exactly.”

  Francis thought on it for a moment, “I can’t see any scenario where this could be accidental. Unless they wanted to place a firebomb somewhere else and it went off here by mistake. I’m afraid you will have to wait for a more detailed conclusion but I’ll liaise with your forensics team once they get on site.”

  “Let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being, if you don’t mind?” Caslin said. “I don’t want to create a panic. Otherwise people will jump to conclusions and assume it’s an act of terrorism and we can do without unjustified reprisals.” They all agreed. The initial statement offered to the press implied that a gas leak may have led to the explosion and Caslin saw no reason to change that yet. “Thanks, Mark. May we go further?” he asked.

  “Certainly. But don’t head upstairs. The floors above aren’t likely to come down but they’re far from safe to walk on. The cellar is intact and the fire spread upwards so the ground floor and basement are structurally sound although the cellar is flooded for obvious reasons.”