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  “Do you know what this bastard has done to me?” Timothy Bermond spat the words, as he spoke. “Do you?”

  Caslin knew. He had done ever since Catherine told him. Now she had made her husband aware and it would appear to have not gone down well. “This isn’t going to help-”

  “Help?” Tim questioned, “Not going to help whom?”

  “Well for a start, it’s not going to help Natalie,” Caslin said softly. Momentarily he was concerned about adding emotional fuel to the fire but figured it to be a calculated risk.

  Timothy appeared to flinch at the mention of his daughter before looking down at his father, “Let’s see what he has to say about Natalie, then yeah? What else are you hiding from me?”

  “No…nothing, Timothy,” Sebastian mumbled, his speech twisted by a rapidly swelling face and the need to spit blood at regular intervals. Caslin figured Bermond senior had taken somewhat of a hammering before the first responders arrived. “I swear…I love that girl.”

  “What about my wife?” Timothy snapped. “Do you love her as well? Or was she just an extra, in lieu of payment?”

  “Tim!” Caslin barked, drawing the focus back to him. “You called me in. You wanted my help.” Timothy Bermond glanced away from his father, whose breathing was becoming more laboured and skin was turning pale. “You trusted me…you have to trust me again. Put down the blade, please. Whatever has happened, we can work through it, together but not if you don’t listen to me. Natalie is going to need her father when I bring her back.”

  “You’ll bring her back,” Tim said, tears falling unbidden down his face.

  “You know I will,” Caslin stated confidently.

  “You don’t understand what he’s done to me.”

  “I do, Tim. Honestly, I do,” Caslin said softly. “Please, give me the knife.”

  “They’re all I have,” Tim said, to no-one in particular. “He couldn’t even let me have Catherine to myself…that only leaves Natalie.” Caslin realised that despite Catherine’s admission, he was still in the dark regarding the full story.

  “She needs you to be strong, Tim,” Caslin said, ducking his head to ensure they made eye contact. “She needs you.” At the last, Timothy dropped the letter opener and released the grip on his father. Sebastian slumped to the floor, while the uniformed officers took their opportunity and sprung to close the gap between them and subdue him. Hunter pushed past Caslin, kneeling at the side of the MP, shouting for the paramedics who entered immediately upon hearing the call. Caslin stepped back and looked on, whilst his school friend was led away, breathing a sigh of relief at the positive outcome. Hunter came to stand alongside.

  “Well done, Sir.”

  “What for?” he asked. “Diffusing the moment or for lying to him.”

  “Sir?” Hunter inquired.

  “Oh…forget it,” Caslin grumbled.

  “Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes,” Hunter said. Caslin was thrown back to his earlier conversation with Durakovic.

  “What’s that you said?” he asked.

  Hunter shrugged, “Just that we do what we have to, to get by. Sometimes it isn’t what we want but you still do it. Right?”

  Caslin fixed her with a stare, “Yes, you’re right.”

  Hunter cast her eye around the office. It looked like it had been ransacked. “To think, this is the last thing the Bermond’s need at the moment. What do you reckon will happen to Tim?”

  Caslin thought on it for a moment, “I think he gave the old man a bit of a pasting but that’s about it. Knowing how their type close ranks when this stuff happens, I’ll bet Sebastian won’t want to press charges.”

  “One could argue that he deserved it,” Hunter added solemnly.

  Caslin shook his head, “Not for us to judge, Sarah. However, this incident might blow away some of the cobwebs in their family dynamic. I’m going to give Catherine a call and let her know what’s going on.” With that, he left the office and headed outside. Tim’s wife had been frantic when leaving Caslin the voicemail. Having come clean to her husband about her chequered past, the blackmail and, seemingly, the extra demands that Timothy’s father had made of her, sent him right off the deep end. Perhaps this altercation hadn’t ended in the worst-case scenario but had the police not intervened, the outcome could certainly have been different. Politicians seldom surprised Caslin with their antics but on this occasion, Sebastian had. He couldn’t help but wonder what else Sebastian held in his closet of secrets.

  A second patrol car was now parked outside, alongside the ambulance and Timothy was already in the process of being transported to the station. A small crowd had gathered to watch and Caslin was surprised not to see local media amongst them but figured it to be only a matter of time. Dialling Catherine’s number, he moved out of earshot of those nearby. Waiting for the call to connect, he considered her actions in all this, both then and now. What a skeleton to keep hidden from those closest to you. Had unburdening herself been euphoric and would it be a short-lived feeling?

  “Catherine, it’s Nathaniel Caslin-”

  “Is Tim okay?” she interrupted him, clearly concerned.

  “He’s safe and well,” Caslin assured her, “although we have had to take him into custody.”

  “My God! What has he done?”

  “He’ll be fine but Sebastian will need a short stint in hospital.”

  “He attacked him, didn’t he? How serious is it?”

  “Cuts and bruises,” Caslin replied, trying to take the edge off of it. “He’s not a young man so it may take him some time to heal but like I said, he’ll be fine.”

  “What about my husband?” Catherine asked fearfully.

  Caslin drew a deep breath, unsure of what he should say. He opted to be as open as possible, “That will depend on Sebastian, his recovery and what the CPS believe to be in the public interest.”

  Caslin could hear her choking back tears as she spoke, “This is all my fault…”

  “Catherine, beating yourself up isn’t going to make a whole lot of difference-”

  “But if I hadn’t told Tim-”

  “He may well have found out another way,” Caslin said as Hunter came to stand with him. “Look, you can always make a case for what you could, or should, have done in the past but that’s what it is, the past. Focus on the present, focus on your family. Natalie is most important, right now. The rest can be ironed out in the coming days and weeks.”

  “Okay,” Catherine said meekly, “thank you, Nathaniel.”

  “Call me if you need me,” Caslin offered, “any time.”

  He hung up and turned to Hunter.

  “That’s us done here, Sir,” Hunter stated. “There was only one witness, Sebastian’s secretary. It was her who called us when Tim burst in. I’ve taken her preliminary statement but she was keen to get over to the hospital. Uniform are tying everything off.”

  “Okay. Tell me, how is Iain Robertson and his team getting on with Martin Soriza’s place?”

  “Not good, from our point of view regarding Natalie, at least. We’ve got nothing to prove that she was in the house or his van but Iain reckons the latter has been scrubbed clean recently. For an old transit, it’s just too clean.”

  “How recently?” Caslin pressed.

  “Within the last week, Iain thinks.”

  “What about the DNA on the sleeping bag?”

  “Fast-tracking it but nothing yet,” Hunter said apologetically. “Another thing, Sir?”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re almost at the limit with Stuart Nicol.”

  “Bugger,” Caslin muttered under his breath.

  “We could always apply for an extension-”

  “Except we have nothing substantive on him to do so,” Caslin stated. It went against his instincts to release Nicol. “He was the last person, on our radar, to have been seen with her. Plus, I don’t like him.”

  “Do you think he’s a better bet than Soriza?” Hunter asked, her
tone indicating that she was unsure.

  Caslin shrugged, “Right now it’s coming down to probabilities, rather than evidence and I’d probably stick it on Nicol, if my hand was forced. You tossed his digs, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Hunter confirmed. “There was nothing there to tie him down. We can’t hold him, can we?”

  “No, we can’t,” Caslin said, regretting the inevitable outcome of their conversation. “Call the nick, get them to bail him but make sure he understands not to stray too far. If he pulls a disappearing act, I will find him and I’ll drag him back to York, in chains.”

  “Will do, Sir,” Hunter said, meeting Caslin’s eye with an inquisitive look. “If we’re not going back to Fulford Road, where are we going?”

  “Soriza’s car, the one he claims not to own.”

  “Yes, we haven’t found it yet.”

  “No, but I’m interested in what he was doing here, in York. He denies making the trip but that car was certainly here. Let’s take a ride out to where the parking ticket was issued. Rawcliffe wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, Shipton Road,” Hunter confirmed. “What do you expect to find?”

  “No idea but it was parked there for a reason. We’ll just have to figure out what that was.”

  The journey to the north-west of York took twenty minutes. A predominantly middle-class residential area, with an array of large retail premises to be found on its northern edge, Rawcliffe seemed an odd place for their suspect to be spending his time. Shipton Road ran to the west, navigating the traffic away from the housing estates and separating them from an expanse of allotments and a sewage works. They parked the car alongside a small run of independent businesses and lock-up units, the only non-domestic buildings on the entire street. It was here that the white SUV had been ticketed on the evening in question.

  The road was well travelled and Hunter had to raise her voice to be heard above the passing vehicles.

  “Not a lot here, Sir.”

  Caslin had to agree. “Aye, let’s ask around, see if the locals have come across anything odd in the past week or so.” Hunter nodded and Caslin indicated for her to head off to one end of the run of buildings, whilst he went to the opposite. The first he entered was a kitchen showroom but found those inside to be of little use. The next was a secure lock-up but no-one answered his knocking. The roll shutters were down and the place appeared to be deserted. Intrigued by that, he entered the adjoining premises, an independent tile merchant. Little more than an open warehouse, packed with displays, the business was a father and son enterprise. The younger of the two men came across as more observant than his elderly father.

  “Next door? Oh…that place must’ve been empty for nigh on two year,” he said in response to Caslin’s question.

  “What’s it used for these days?”

  The man, identified as Terry Bartlett, thought on it for a moment, “It used to be a greengrocer. You know, supplying to the trade, restaurants and the like but they moved to a bigger site. Then it sat empty for ages.”

  “Thought it might be getting a new lease of life though,” Donald, Terry’s father chipped in.

  “How so?” Caslin asked.

  “Saw a bloke coming and going a little while back, figured he was moving in like.”

  “When was this?” Caslin asked, sensing a little excitement building.

  “Few months since,” Donald replied, glancing at his son, who nodded.

  “Aye, that’s about right,” Terry said, “we spend a lot of time out the back, taking in deliveries of our customer orders and there was a guy coming and going. Just a handful of times though, never came too much. The place has never opened.”

  “Did you ever speak to him?” Caslin asked. Both Terry and his father shook their heads.

  “It was a couple of evenings when I saw him,” Terry added. “Usually I’m locking up around then and just want to get home.”

  “Can you describe him to me?”

  “Erm…white, mid-to-late thirties, I would say. Big guy, too.”

  “Tall?”

  “Yeah,” Terry nodded, “but muscular, also. I could tell he worked out or was well used to a physical job.” The description piqued Caslin’s interest, vague as it was. This man sounded remarkably similar to the one recollected by Caitlyn Jackson, following her encounter in Studley Park a few months back.

  “Anything else come to mind, from either of you?”

  Terry glanced at his father, who shrugged, “I’ve never seen him, only heard him.”

  “What did you hear him doing?” Caslin asked.

  “Not him,” Donald said, “just heard that car of his.”

  “What car?”

  “That big white jeep-thing that he was driving,” Donald said scornfully, Caslin was now paying full attention. “He’d bring it right up to the rear and practically reverse it into the building. It makes a hell of a racket in an enclosed space.”

  “When was this?” Caslin asked quietly, almost frightened to ask the question.

  “Well, as I say, I only hear him and it was maybe…a few days ago.”

  Caslin looked to Terry for confirmation, “A few days?”

  Terry looked unsure but Donald spoke before his son could, “You were off on that delivery for the Johnsons, you weren’t here.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Caslin said as he turned and practically ran from the unit, almost colliding with Hunter at the door.

  “Sorry, Sir. I’ve got noth-”

  “Next door!” Caslin shouted over his shoulder as he passed her, heading for the adjacent building. Hunter caught up as Caslin once again, tried the front door. He grasped the handle but found no movement.

  “What do we have?” Hunter asked as she pulled at the roller shutter, finding it secured in place.

  “Lone man, matching our description and vehicle, has been visiting periodically. Keeps to himself, comes and goes with no apparent pattern and this place was always locked down. We’ve got to get inside.”

  Hunter stepped back and took out her mobile. She put a call into CID whilst scanning the unit for another entry point. There wasn’t one. Her call was answered, “We need bodies out at Shipton Road, Rawcliffe. A building adjoining “Bartlett’s Tile Emporium”, we suspect that Natalie Bermond may be inside.”

  “I’m going around back,” Caslin said, breaking into a run down the side access to the building. There was one window but it was obscured and covered with a metal grate, probably too small for Caslin to get through anyway. The wall at the rear was barely five feet in height and Caslin managed to climb over with relative ease. At the rear he found another door and roller shutter. Both were locked but there was a larger window to the side, presumably to the office. This window was also grated and despite his best efforts, Caslin couldn’t see through the grime to observe anything inside. There was a significant amount of decay in the fixings around the grate. Calling out, he caught the Bartlett’s attention and they soon appeared from next door. “Do you have any bolt cutters?” he shouted to them.

  “Yeah, in my van,” Terry replied, running to the vehicle behind him. He returned minutes later, passing them to Caslin who now had Hunter alongside him.

  “I’ve called it in. Support is on the way.”

  Caslin ran back to the office and set about trying to gain entry via the window. Despite the level of rust, no matter how much he wrestled with it or tried to gain purchase, the grate refused to give.

  “Damn it!” he cursed as frustration gave way to anger. Turning his attention to the access door, he found it was made of hardwood and sturdy, not one that he could put his foot through with any likelihood of success.

  “Shall we get the fire brigade out?” Hunter asked.

  Caslin shook his head, “No, I’ve got a better idea.” Taking a step back, he told Hunter to do likewise before taking a swing and sending the bolt cutters through the pane of glass to the door. Following that with his boot, Caslin cleared away enough of the shattered safety-glass
to enable him to reach through, taking great care not to cut himself on the remnants. Lifting the latch, he opened the door and entered. Indicating for Hunter to explore the office, he edged forward. Peering into the gloom, he saw the unit was predominantly empty. Bringing his pocket Maglite to bear, he shone the beam around the interior. There were several plastic drums, stacked in the far corner, at one end. Other than that, there was little for him to see. An overwhelming smell of bleach or drain cleaner, accompanied by something far worse, carried in the air. The smell made him gag.

  “Anything in there?” Hunter called out. Caslin covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve as he moved forward to inspect the drums. They had warning signs denoting hazardous waste was contained within and each had a metal seal to lock the contents inside. One seal was unclasped and Caslin guessed, judging that there was no other possibility that the smell was emanating from inside. With his elbow, he nudged the clasp out of place and with his free hand, lifted the lid, directing the torch downwards to reveal the contents.

  Caslin’s heart sank. The recognition was instant, despite the discolouration of the skin and the bloating. Not only had he found Natalie Bermond but she was staring up at him with the very same, haunted expression on her face, depicted in her proof-of-life photograph. Glancing at the wall behind the drum, Caslin concluded that the picture had most likely been taken here. The block-work to the background was identical. The intense smell of decomposing flesh was becoming ever more apparent. Caslin knew that he would soon have to back out, not only to preserve the crime scene but also to avoid the stench. Before doing so, he leaned in closer. There was something about Natalie that struck him as odd, far odder than her being stuffed into a waste drum, the size of which was almost half his body mass. There was a reason that her expression remained unchanged. Her eyelids had been stitched open with thread.

  “Sir!” Hunter called from behind him. “You really need to see this.” Turning his light in the direction of her voice, he illuminated the office beyond. Crossing the unit, he walked in to see what she had found. Hunter was facing him, her torchlight illuminating the wall to his right.

  “What is it?” he asked. She merely nodded in that direction. Caslin turned. Nothing could have surprised him more. Multiple images, all seemingly taken without the subject’s knowledge, were pinned to a cork board, on the wall. The stand out difference in this case was the subject in question.