Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2) Page 21

  “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.

  “Looks like you have a fan, Sir.”

  “It does rather,” Caslin replied dryly, his eyes scanning the photos of himself, many of which were staring back at him.

  Chapter 21

  “Why you?” DCI Inglis asked. “There has to be a reason.”

  Caslin shrugged his shoulders, “Agreed. Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe I’ve come across him before.”

  “How do you mean? Do you think you’ve nicked him once already?” Hunter suggested.

  Again, Caslin was forced to admit he didn’t know, “It’s worth considering. I can’t see any other motive.”

  “Any names spring to mind?” Inglis pressed.

  “None that I can think of but,” Caslin thought for a moment, racking his brain, as he had been for the past three hours since they’d discovered Natalie, “I’ve met some sick bastards in my time.”

  “Start formulating a list,” Inglis said. “Then we can start running them down, find out where they are, whether they’re local with the means to do something like this.”

  “What about Timothy Bermond?” Hunter offered, drawing a stern glance from the DCI. She voluntarily elaborated before anyone else had the opportunity to press her. “He asked for Caslin to be in on the case from the beginning, didn’t he?”

  “He did,” Inglis replied.

  “We all assumed it was because they were old school friends but maybe he’s been spinning this in his head for a while. We know he’s volatile and Natalie was into some pretty messed up stuff that-”

  “No father would be happy to find out about,” Caslin finished for her. “He’d have to incredibly calculating, bearing in mind how he reacted to the family secret and attacked his father, I’m not sure it fits. It’s pretty thin as theories go.”

  “You’ll need more than that,” Inglis said flatly in Hunter’s direction. “Check it out but for God’s sake, do it discreetly.” Their conversation was interrupted by DCS Kyle Broadfoot entering the office. Everyone greeted him as he sat down behind his desk. The land line began to ring and he answered, instructing the call to be put through. Once on speaker, Iain Robertson’s booming Glaswegian voice came through clearly.

  “Gentlemen, I have something for you from our initial assessment of the scene,” Robertson began. “Natalie’s body has been placed inside a hessian sack, similar to the other victims that we found at the nature reserve in the Derwent.”

  “Are they the same?” Caslin asked.

  “Not one to speculate, as you know, until we get them back to the lab. It’s one hell of a coincidence, though, and I know how you feel about those, Nathaniel.”

  Caslin sighed, “Do you have a time of death for us, Iain?”

  “The clement weather and the method of storage, an airtight container, make it tricky to determine. However, I would expect last Monday night, perhaps into Tuesday but no later than that.”

  “That places it within twenty-four hours of her abduction,” Caslin said aloud. “The ransom was just an afterthought. He stitched her eyes open for the camera shot, to make us believe she was alive.”

  “He had no intention of letting her go,” Inglis stated. “And you’re right, he didn’t plan the kidnapping for ransom, beforehand. Further to that; how she was found and the ransom demand indicates to me that it is unlikely to be Timothy Bermond-”

  “When did that suggestion surface?” Broadfoot interrupted.

  “Sorry, Sir,” Inglis replied. “It is potentially, a working theory.”

  “If you have the suspicion then you must follow it up but tread carefully. I agree that the ransom appears too staged to have been planned. More likely this had a sexual motive but the pathologist can tell us.”

  “You suspected that from the beginning,” Hunter said to Caslin, the accuracy of his prediction bringing him no satisfaction.

  “Method of death?” Broadfoot queried.

  “Most likely strangulation, Sir, due to the bruising around her throat,” Robertson said. “But I’ll also leave that to the pathologist to confirm.”

  “Anything that stands out to you, at the scene?” Caslin asked.

  “Damndest place I’ve ever investigated, Nathaniel. This is the cleanest crime scene I’ve visited. It’s been scrubbed down so well that you could probably perform an operation here without fear of infection. Blood traces, hair samples, DNA of any note…utterly clean. We haven’t even been able to lift a single print from the interior. We’ll keep going but so far, we have nothing.”

  “Keep us apprised, Iain,” Broadfoot said before hanging up the call. Turning to Caslin, he continued, “Now tell me about these photographs.”

  Caslin cleared his throat, indicating the folder on Broadfoot’s desk. The DCS opened it, removing the contents and spreading them out before him. “They’ve been taken at various times and locations, in the past week, Sir. I have to admit to being completely unaware.”

  “I see,” Broadfoot said quietly as he inspected the pictures. “Who is this?”

  Caslin looked over, “Suzanne Brooke, Sir. Melissa’s mother. We were talking outside, one morning last week.”

  “The missing prostitute, I remember,” Broadfoot said, without looking up. “And this one?” he raised a photo, contained within a see-through evidence bag.

  “That’s a friend of mine, Sir,” Caslin said, recognising the image of Sara and himself.

  “Could she be connected to this individual?”

  Caslin shook his head, “I don’t see how. She’s only in the city on holiday. I wasn’t aware in advance that she was coming up.”

  “Is she still here?”

  In all honesty, Caslin didn’t know but figured he could find out. “I’ll give her a call.”

  “Do that,” Broadfoot said, meeting his eye. “There may be a connection, however unlikely and we need to know. Beyond that, make sure she’s safe.”

  Caslin hadn’t considered Sara’s safety in all this, something he immediately felt guilty about. So far, he had only viewed himself as the focus. “I’ll call her as soon as we are through.”

  “And whose car is this?” Broadfoot asked. Caslin knew it was Durakovic’s Jaguar, picking him up from outside the station but he didn’t voice the fact.

  “Just an acquaintance, offering me a lift,” Caslin replied. “My car was in the garage.”

  Broadfoot sensed his reticence, “I understand that this is interfering in your personal life, Inspector. However, we may need to look at all of these people in some detail, to rule them in or out, depending on what we find. Vague answers only muddy the waters further and could be interpreted as deflection.”

  Caslin took in a deep breath, “That’s not my intention, Sir. It’s only that…I see myself as the constant in these pictures, not those I’m with.”

  “Indeed,” Broadfoot said. “Well, this person is taking a keen interest in you, Nathaniel. I suggest we all figure out why. It might just be the break we need. Tell me,” he looked to Inglis, “any CCTV from the unit where we found Natalie Bermond?”

  Inglis shook his head, “No, the internal cameras were disconnected. All we have is the footage from the warehouse next door but theirs are trained on their own premises and not this one.”

  “Can they give us help with identification?”

  Caslin responded, “They are working with a sketch artist at the moment. We’ll have something this evening. Have the Bermond’s been advised, Sir?”

  “Family liaison are with them as we speak.”

  “And is Timothy to be charged following this morning’s…altercation?”

  “Yet to be determined but as of now, no charges are being levied at the request of the victim,” Broadfoot replied curtly. “Who owns the u
nit in question?”

  “Leased out on a short-term tenancy, Sir,” Hunter offered. “We have the name of a Duncan Shiach to follow up on, he is listed as the tenant. Paid all six months up front, in cash.”

  “And what do we know about Mr Shiach?”

  “British national, resident in Scotland. He served in the army and has a long history of medical issues,” Caslin filled in the details.

  “Excellent,” Broadfoot said enthusiastically. “He sounds promising.”

  “Except that he’s ninety-four years old and resides in a nursing home in Inverness,” DCI Inglis said, almost apologetically.”

  Broadfoot frowned, “Not as promising as I first thought, then. Look in and around him anyway, see what turns up. I think that’s all, gentlemen. You have enough to be getting on with. Shall we have an update meeting at…say, eight o’clock?” There was a murmur of agreement and the office began to empty. “Stay a moment, would you, Nathaniel?”

  The others filtered out and Caslin pushed the door closed after Hunter left, silently wondering if she was bothered by the DCS referring only to the “gentlemen”.

  “Sir?” Caslin inquired.

  “First off,” Broadfoot began, appearing to be searching for the right words, “Sebastian Bermond…”

  “Sir?”

  “He wants to speak with you…and only you…about the events of yesterday. I don’t mind telling you that that makes me nervous.”

  “Why, Sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Broadfoot shook his head, “We are under scrutiny, Nathaniel. I fear that this latest…well, let us say, the complexities of this case are sending ripples out around it.”

  “Sebastian is an influential man-”

  “With a great deal of friends,” Broadfoot said, locking eyes with his junior, “and I am not sure where this particular branch is reaching out to.”

  “I understand, Sir,” Caslin stated but he didn’t really. Whether the DCS was looking after his own reputation, that of his team or hoping to avoid the approach of a career-damaging situation, Caslin didn’t know? There was always the possibility that he was concerned with justice but Caslin dismissed the thought, almost as soon as it came to mind.

  “Tread carefully, Nathaniel. You may find the ground beneath your feet to be porous. Secondly, I’ve had a conversation with the Chief Constable,” Broadfoot said, his tone taking a different tack. Caslin felt his heart rate increase but with no understanding as to why.

  “About what, Sir?” he asked.

  “During the eighties, we uncovered a list of serving officers’ names, from forces across the country. It was suspected to be an IRA hit list, or at least, suggestive of one.”

  “I heard about it, Sir.”

  “The Home Office provided special dispensation to allow any officer, named on that list, to withdraw a firearm from the armoury. The Chief Constable is extending that courtesy to you, Nathaniel. Should you wish to take advantage of it.”

  “I’m not entirely sure that’s necessary, Sir.”

  “It’s your decision but I would strongly advise you to think on it,” Broadfoot said solemnly. “This is a sick mind at work and apparently, for some reason, you are well in his sights.”

  “All the same, Sir. I’m not a fan of guns,” Caslin replied honestly. With his personal experience, he had a deep-seated displeasure of them.

  “Indeed, I understand. Your choice,” Broadfoot said. “The offer will remain open.”

  “Thank you, Sir. For the consideration,” Caslin said before excusing himself and heading back down to CID. Stopping on the stairwell, he glanced around to see if he was alone. Taking out his mobile, he dialled Sara’s number. She answered within a few moments.

  “Is the length of this call going to be longer than the previous one?” Sara asked sarcastically.

  Caslin flinched, “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you, something-”

  “Came up,” she finished. “I got that loud and clear.”

  “I’m sorry, Sara. Listen, can we meet?”

  There was a brief silence while all Caslin could hear was his own breathing. “Of course. When were you thinking?”

  “Now,” Caslin said.

  “Okay, you know where I’m staying…and my room number.”

  “Maybe we could meet in the lobby?”

  “Really?” Sara’s tone changed. “Do you need a chaperone?”

  “No, no, nothing like that.”

  “Then I’ll be in the bar. The least you can do is buy me a drink.”

  “I can do that,” Caslin said with a smile. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  The bar was doing a brisk trade. The mix of tourists and business people enjoying their early drinks before heading out into the city for a meal, lent the lounge a pleasant atmosphere. Caslin located Sara in a booth overlooking the River Ouse, flowing by, reflecting the evening sunshine.

  “So, what was with the creeping out in the dead of night routine?” she asked accusingly, as he took his seat. A waiter approached and Caslin ordered a scotch and another glass of white wine for Sara.

  “I had work to do and didn’t want to wake you,” Caslin said. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

  “And the subsequent radio silence?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Caslin said, irritated. “It’s not like you’ve never met me before, you know what I’m-”

  “Relax, Nate,” Sara said, breaking into laughter. “We’re not married or anything. Perhaps I was just hoping for more this time.”

  “Perhaps I’m not capable of more,” he replied.

  “Definitely capable of self-pity, though,” she said cuttingly. Caslin was taken aback. “I know, bit harsh.”

  “Too bloody right it is,” he agreed.

  Sara smiled, “You deserved it.”

  Caslin returned the smile, “Aye, probably.”

  “So, if you’re not looking for anything…romantic-”

  “Romantic, is it?”

  “Or whatever it is,” Sara went on, “what are we doing here?”

  Caslin cleared his throat, rubbing at his face, “Someone has been following me. Taking snaps here and there, activities of very little interest.”

  “Does this include me?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Pleased to hear that I am an activity of very little interest,” she said playfully.

  “I didn’t mean…anyway, my bosses want to know who you are and whether you could be connected.”

  “To what, the photographer?” she asked, Caslin nodded. “Pretty certain I won’t be but who is he and why’s he following you?”

  “That’s just it,” Caslin paused for breath as he sought the right words. There weren’t any. “He’s a killer, and a particularly ruthless one, by all accounts.”

  Sara sat back in her seat, finishing the glass of wine just as the waiter arrived with the next. She picked up the fresh glass before the dead ones were cleared. “And why is he following you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you fit his MO,” she asked, “middle-aged men in a mid-life crisis, suffering from low self-esteem?”

  “Oh, thank you very much, for that,” Caslin grinned, Sara matched it. “No, I don’t. He appears to go for younger women, often sex workers but apparently not exclusively so. His latest doesn’t quite fit with street walkers or call girls.”

  “But she is involved in the sex trade?” Sara asked, reading between the lines.

  Caslin nodded slightly, “Sort of…amateur internet stuff.”

  “Growing trade.”

  “Is it?” Caslin asked, trying to read her expression. Was she knowledgeable or merely making conversation?

  “Yes, criminal gangs have cottoned on to the internet as a method of exploiting women. It’s big business on the continent so I’m not surprised that it’s making its way over here.”

  “You don’t…you know?” Caslin asked.

  “No, I bloody don’t. You, cheeky sod!” Sara flicked the
back of her hand in his general direction. “I’m good at my job, that’s all.”

  “I had to ask, seeing as you’re in the know,” Caslin laughed. He took a sip of his scotch and a thought came to him. “Speaking of your job,” he leaned in towards her in a conspiratorial way, she mirrored the motion. “How does a gangster from a non-EU country obtain leave to remain in the UK, when we seem to know virtually nothing about him?”

  Sara sat back in her seat, nursing the glass in her hand. She was thoughtful for a moment, “I would expect it revolves around several factors but…”

  Caslin waited expectantly, “But…”

  “Why are we talking hypotheticals, when we could head up to my room and maybe, see the night through this time?” she said with a gleam in her eye. Caslin recognised it as much as he did the growing desire to do just that. He broke her gaze.

  “I have to get back to Fulford,” he said reluctantly, rising from his seat.

  “That’s a shame,” Sara said, sipping her wine and looking around the bar. “I’ll have to find some other way of entertaining myself, won’t I?”

  Caslin felt a pang of jealousy although he knew her to be winding him up. “Whatever you do, take care. This guy is dangerous and until we know what he’s about, anyone around me should-”

  “Well that’s the point, Nate, isn’t it,” Sara cut him off. “I’m not around you, am I?”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Caslin replied, ignoring the barb and draining the remainder of his drink. He moved for his wallet but Sara raised a hand.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll put it on my room.”

  “Thanks,” he said before smiling at her, unsure of what else he should say.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Nathaniel Caslin,” Sara said. He left without another word, pondering what she meant with her choice of phrase and tone. Realising that he would never figure women out, especially this particular one, he pushed the thoughts from his mind.

  The evening was warm with clear skies. On a normal day this would give him pleasure but Caslin found himself analysing anyone that came into view holding a camera or a mobile phone. Why was he so fascinating to this individual? There were multiple detectives working the case but it was him who had garnered the attention. More names from his past cascaded through his head but each time, he found reasons to discard them. Caslin’s frustration was building. Taking out his phone, he called Hunter. “Tell me about Duncan Shiach.”