Blacklight Page 16

  “How so?”

  “You saved me a phone call.”

  “What do you have for me?”

  “We have a DNA match on one of our bodies, the torso with the unusual tattoo. It comes back as an Irena Toskaya, a teenager reported missing last year.”

  “Good news, Alison, thanks. No joy with the other?”

  “Sadly not, she’s not known to us. Has the search turned up anything else for me?”

  “No and it doesn’t look promising, if I’m honest. Any word on the organic material found underneath Melissa Brooke’s fingernails?”

  “I’m expecting to get the results back tomorrow, at the latest, but I’ll chase it up and see if I can get something for you by this evening. Still on for dinner?” Dr Taylor asked.

  “Absolutely,” Caslin stated. “Sounds-”

  “-great?” she finished for him, stifling a laugh. Caslin flushed but took it in good humour.

  “Indeed. Seven-thirty, do you want me to pick you up?” he asked before remembering that he didn’t have a car.

  “No, I’ll meet you there, if that’s okay?”

  “Of course,” he replied. They said their goodbyes and Caslin moved to the threshold of his office and shouted for Terry Holt. “Irena Toskaya, Terry. I want everything that you can get.”

  Chapter 17

  “Well that puts yet another slant on things, doesn’t it?”

  “By all accounts it looks like she was raking it in,” Hunter said absently.

  “Quantify that for me, would you?” Caslin asked. The review of Natalie’s hard drive, from the laptop secreted in her dorm room, had come back with startling information. Not only could they confirm Stuart Nicol’s involvement in the blackmailing of Catherine Bermond, the previous year, but another income stream had come to light. The couple had been recording and uploading sex tapes of themselves, earning money for each view generated via the host website.

  “There are dozens of videos, with over a hundred-thousand-subscribers to her account. Millions of views, in total.”

  “English, please?”

  “I’ve not got a figure yet, still waiting on the site’s admin team. They promised to get back to me early this afternoon but we’re talking tens of thousands of pounds worth of earnings, probably more.”

  “Over what period of time?”

  “The past year and a bit. That was when she registered as a user on the site.”

  “Strewth,” Caslin said before a sharp intake of breath. “So, they don’t necessarily need the money but then again, need is a relative term.”

  “What if,” Hunter said thoughtfully, “Natalie was looking to break it off with Nicol? He would be losing out. Let’s face it, he’s the replaceable partner in that little enterprise.”

  “Good point,” Caslin agreed. “I can throw another one into the mix. How identifiable is she? I don’t mean visually on screen but have they been intelligent in the way they’ve gone about it?”

  “Could someone have found out who, and where, she is and come looking?”

  “Exactly, taken a keen interest in more than just her online presence?”

  “Her profile is under a pseudonym, as is her blog but people can be pretty persistent when they want to get to you, via the internet. A loose comment here or there in a video, could’ve put her at risk. I’ll have to go through each recording, plus all the comment threads to see what she put out there.”

  “Okay, do it,” Caslin told her, “and light a fire under the site’s owners while you’re at it. Find out everything that they have. You may also need some help tracking the viewers. Look for anyone placing regular comments against the recordings. They may have looked to take it further.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Hunter made to leave the office, pausing at the door. “Do you want to break it to Catherine and Tim?”

  Caslin considered that for a moment. In a perverse way, that was a conversation that he was looking forward to. Should Tim or Catherine be holding out on him, this would bring about a reaction difficult to fake. Alternatively, thinking as a parent, he knew that this was unfolding into a nightmare scenario. “Leave it with me.”

  “Sir, have you got a sec?”

  Caslin looked up to see DC Holt brush past the retreating form of Hunter. He appeared slightly edgy. “What is it, Terry?”

  “After we saw that footage this morning, I had a thought. I know I’m supposed to be working on the Melissa Brooke case but...”

  “It’s okay, Terry. What’s on your mind?”

  “Well, there was a report a while back about an encounter in Studley Park. I remember reading about it.”

  “What type of encounter?”

  “A woman walking her dogs reported a weird exchange with a motorist, about six months ago. It spooked her to the point that she reported him to us.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing, that’s it. It’s not our patch so I don’t know what came of it.”

  “This interests us, why?”

  “The driver was a male, in a white SUV.”

  Caslin sat back in his chair, pursing his lips. It might be nothing but then again, he figured they had nothing to lose. “Get on to the local boys and find out who she was. We’ll go and have a chat. Well done, Terry.”

  Bishopton was situated on the south-western edge of Ripon, barely a mile from the entrance to Studley Park, where the ruins of Fountains Abbey could be found. Caslin was met at the front door by a lady in her forties, slight of build with an expressive, welcoming face. She beckoned him in as he introduced himself, showing him through to the kitchen.

  “I’m making tea, if you’re interested.”

  “Yes, thank you very much, Mrs Jackson,” Caslin said, taking a seat at the breakfast bar, as indicated by his host.

  “Caitlyn, please,” she replied as the kettle boiled.

  “As I said on the phone, Caitlyn, we’re investigating a case and your report from last year came to light. It may be significant, or it may not.”

  “Not to do with that young girl going missing, is it?” she asked.

  “What makes you ask?”

  “Well,” she began, pouring the water into two mugs, “no reason, really. It’s just that the man I came across was creepy and it’s in the same area. That’s all.”

  “I read your statement, from the time but could you go over it again for me?”

  “Of course, if it will help. I got home from work around the usual time, half-past five, and set off to walk the dogs.” Caslin glanced around. As if in response to that she added, “They are at my daughter’s, we’ve just returned from a break and I’ve not picked them up. Anyway, I like to take them further afield and often drive over to Studley Park. I can let them off there and it won’t bother anyone.”

  “Being the winter, it must have been dark, even at that time of the day.”

  “Oh yes, tipping it down as well, that evening,” Caitlyn continued, “but that’s what you do. The dogs have beacons on their collars and they don’t go far, not these days, they’re getting on. I hadn’t even parked up when it happened. I knew a car was behind me, which in itself was unusual, on Studley Drive, at that time. Are you familiar with it?”

  Caslin cast his mind back. Studley Drive was a direct route into the heart of the park, a tree-lined road with no infrastructure nearby for as far as the eye could see. He nodded, “Yes, I am.”

  “At that time, in the winter you barely see anyone but this car was right up close and as I went along, he was flashing his lights at me. Accelerating up close and then dropping off. It was very odd. I slowed down and moved over, just enough to allow him to overtake, if that was his intention.”

  “And did he?”

  Caitlyn shook her head, “No, he slowed even more and remained where he was. Then he flashed his lights again. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with my car. I wasn’t sure what to do.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I figured that he had decided to leave me to
it after that because he sped up and overtook. A little way along was the car park I like to use and there he was, stopped in the middle of the road, still with his headlights on, just before the entrance. He was standing next to the car with his arm up, flagging me down.”

  “You didn’t stop, did you?”

  “Hell no,” Caitlyn was emphatic. “By that point I was frightened. I didn’t care what he wanted. My wheels could’ve been falling off and I wouldn’t have stopped. I slowed down but passed by him, using the verge, and made my way home by the shortest route I could.”

  Caslin considered her story, thinking that she may have had a very lucky escape. “Did he follow?”

  She shook her head, “No, I kept an eye out but never saw him again. I phoned my husband on the way, he was already home and met me on the driveway. I was shaking when I pulled up. It was all very strange.”

  “Can you describe the man to me? Any details that come to mind might prove significant.”

  “I’m not sure. Like I said to the policeman at the time, it was dark and the weather was terrible,” she appeared thoughtful, choosing her words carefully. Caslin liked that. Too often witnesses talked and talked, almost for the sake of it. Many were attempting to be truly helpful, others to make the most of their moment in the spotlight. Caslin wanted detail and not conjecture. “He wore one of those all-weather walking coats but I know he was big. Tall and muscular, I mean, not fat.”

  “How can you be sure? The coat must have been all-encompassing?”

  “It wasn’t fully zipped up, and the wind was billowing out the body as well as the hood. He had on a white tee-shirt underneath. I remember clearly because he was lit up in my headlights but was looking down, away from the beam, so I couldn’t make out his face. His figure seemed to be well-set, that’s what I mean, full-framed. He was definitely white, though, and angular of face. Not old either.”

  “And the car?” Caslin pressed, taking notes as he spoke. “Any idea of the make, model?”

  “I’m sorry, Inspector,” she said softly. “Cars really aren’t my thing but it was white and large. More like a four-by-four than a van. I remember a lot of windows, as well as lights. We have a great deal of farm traffic, off-road vehicles and the like, around these parts and you recognise the difference between domestic and working. His was certainly the former. I’m sorry if I’m not being useful.”

  “Not at all, Caitlyn,” Caslin reassured her. “Tell me, what was it that made you so wary? He could have been a good Samaritan, after all.”

  She paused before responding, “I can’t really answer that. It all felt wrong, I know it’ll sound clichéd but…the hairs on my neck were standing up and the longer it went on, the more I thought that I had to get home. I never saw his face clearly but everything about him seemed cold,” she paused, as if remembering the sensation. “Like I said, I know it probably seems odd-”

  “No,” Caslin replied genuinely. “I think you made the right call that night.”

  “Is it connected, do you think, to that case with the girl?” she asked fearfully.

  Caslin felt that there were similarities, too many to ignore. However, he knew better than to speak his mind at this point, “Probably not, Caitlyn but I’ll put the details into the system. You never know.”

  With that he stood up, thanked her for her time and she showed him to the door. Just as he was leaving, an afterthought came to mind and she called him back.

  “It’s probably nothing, Inspector but I remember a sticker in his rear window. I’m not sure if I mentioned it before.”

  “What was on it?” he asked, retrieving his pocketbook. “A car dealership?”

  She shook her head, “I can’t remember the words, sorry. But it was white lettering on a green background. I’m certain about that.”

  “That’s okay,” Caslin replied, passing her one of his contact cards. “If you think of anything else, no matter how trivial you believe it to be, please call me.”

  She said that she would and returned inside. The front door was closed before Caslin got into the pool car, borrowed to make the visit. Taking out his mobile, he called Hunter. She answered within three rings.

  “Sarah,” Caslin said, “I know you’re busy but we talked earlier about following up on missing persons. Have a look from December, no make it November, of last year. Start off with Yorkshire and then widen it. Specifically, any women who went missing after being last seen out and about.”

  “That’ll be most, Sir,” Hunter said honestly. “Why, have you found something?”

  “Possibly the luckiest woman in North Yorkshire,” Caslin said, staring back at the unassuming, suburban house he had just left. “I’m not sure if, or how, it will tie in but there’s commonality to look into. How are you getting on with hunting down that car?”

  “Slow progress. We have CCTV from three twenty-four-hour petrol stations and the footage from traffic cameras has just arrived, so we’re on it.”

  “I’m heading back now. I should be there between six and half-past.”

  Caslin turned the key in the ignition and fired the engine into life. Setting off to Fulford Road, he couldn’t help but feel that they were tantalisingly close to catching a break. His mind drifted as he drove and his brother slipped into his thoughts, primarily regarding their last conversation. Feeling guilty for the way he had spoken, Caslin decided he had to clear the air. Otherwise there was the distinct possibility that a few more years would pass before they spoke again. Now wasn’t really the right time but he figured that he should spare an hour or so. If the team turned up anything, they knew where to reach him. In the meantime, he would call in at his father’s.

  The journey should have taken over an hour but Caslin shaved fifteen minutes off that. The rush-hour traffic was steadily building and he was pleased to reach his father’s, before the usual gridlock took hold. Approaching the front door, he knocked. After a few moments without reply he headed to the rear. Rapping his knuckles on the glass of the door to the kitchen, out of courtesy rather than with expectation of an answer, he pushed it open and entered.

  Calling out also brought no response and Caslin cast an eye about him. The oven was on and the door open, the internal fan going hell-for-leather. The intense heat emanating from within felt oppressive as he stepped over and turned the dial to off. Resting on the open door were four ready made, frozen pies, still in their foil trays and each blackened at the edges. The odour of burnt pastry filled the room. Moving into the living room, Caslin was disappointed with the scene that confronted him. His father and brother were both spark out, the former in his favourite chair and Stefan slumped across the sofa. Neither stirred as he addressed them. The cluster of crushed beer cans and a half-empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table, indicated why. Both men were snoring and Caslin, having located the television remote, muted the commentary of the basketball match they were apparently watching.

  Tossing the controller to the table, it bounced to the floor, taking several cans with it. Again, there was no movement from either of them. Cursing under his breath, Caslin thought about leaving but curiosity got the better of him. Crossing the room, he headed upstairs, the treads squeaking under his weight. He found where Stefan was sleeping. The room smelt like it was occupied by a teenager, stale sweat and a lack of fresh air. A canvas army bag was thrown off to the side of the bed alongside some scattered, dirty clothes. Casually, he flicked through them with the toe-end of his shoe but there was little of interest. Glancing around, he concluded that Stefan appeared to travel light.

  Opening the drawers to the bedside table, he scanned the contents. The first held some underwear and he initially passed over the contents of the second, without sifting through them. However, as he pushed the drawer closed, his eye caught sight of a plastic bag tucked at the rear. Turning out the contents revealed several blister strips of tablets. The foil on the rear of the first was branded Zyprexa. The second was familiar to him, Tramadol, an opioid-based prescription pain-ki
ller. The temptation to pocket the latter went through his mind, in a fleeting moment. Putting them back in the bag, he returned it to where he’d found it. Moving to open the next, he was startled by a voice from behind.

  “Can I help you with something, little brother?”

  Stefan’s tone was edged with outright hostility. Caslin turned, red-faced. He saw no point in a weak denial. “Sorry, Stefan. I…well…what can I say?”

  “Dad’s right. Always the copper, aren’t you?”

  “Always questioning, if that’s what you mean, yes,” he countered.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “The other day,” Caslin said, without skipping a beat, “I got the impression that you had something on your mind.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “How about we talk about your problem first,” Stefan challenged him. Caslin could smell the alcohol, seemingly oozing from every pore of his brother’s skin.

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time,” Caslin offered. “We could talk when-”

  “When I’ve not caught you rifling through my stuff?” Stefan’s tone was aggressive and the anger was visibly building. “I ought to punch you out.”

  “We’re not kids anymore, Stef,” Caslin said quietly, moving towards the door. The body language of his brother indicated he was unlikely to make way and Caslin had to turn sideways in order to slip out, onto the landing. Without looking back, he walked downstairs. The sense of embarrassment left him feeling profoundly awkward. His father was still sound asleep and so Caslin left via the front door. Stefan didn’t materialise before his departure and as the latch clicked into place, Caslin exhaled deeply. His efforts at reconciliation had been dealt another substantial blow. On this occasion, it was undeniably his fault.

  Chapter 18

  “Irena Toskaya, Sir,” Terry Holt began. “Reported missing eight months ago, in Leeds. She was twenty-one and a known tom…erm…sorry, sex worker. Originally from Latvia but relocated to the UK three years ago, along with her elder sister. It was the sister who reported her missing.”