Blacklight Page 22

  “Following on from the initial search, I’ve spoken to the locals in Police Scotland.”

  “What have they said?”

  “He has no priors. A law-abiding citizen by all accounts,” Hunter stated. “They even went to his care home to ensure our information was correct.”

  “Is it?”

  “Absolutely,” Hunter confirmed. “Shiach has advanced dementia and has been bedridden for the last four years. We’ll get nothing from him as he’s rarely lucid, according to the staff. He’s definitely not our man. The residential address that the imposter used to rent the unit does however, check out as Shiach’s former home.”

  “Our guy could be a relative or associate of his?”

  “Or obtained the information off of the web. It’s not difficult to find this stuff.”

  “Nevertheless,” Caslin went on, “run a background on his relatives, children, nephews, whomever you can find. We might catch a break.”

  “Will do, Sir,” Hunter said. “Are you coming back in?”

  “On my way,” Caslin replied and hung up. The distance between York and Inverness could easily be crossed with the internet but he had a sense that there was something more to this, something obvious that he hadn’t considered. So far, this killer had been calculating, never making a mistake, as far as they could tell. Sooner or later, Caslin suspected he would, for they always did. He had to be switched on enough to notice.

  Chapter 22

  “Second floor, room 216,” the receptionist stated. “Please make yourself known to the Ward Sister and she will take you through.”

  The atmosphere was convivial and lifted his mood, if only slightly. The stark contrast between here and the NHS hospital were undeniable. Caslin thanked her and looked for the lifts. He was directed to his right. Pressing the call button, he looked around while he waited. A young woman passed him, surgical tape crisscrossed her face and she was supported by a nurse who failed to stop smiling as they went by. Whether anyone liked it or not, much of the private healthcare seemed to be aimed at cosmetic surgeries these days, both lucrative and apparently, very much in demand.

  The doors opened. Caslin allowed the occupants to leave and stepped in, shaking his head. The question of why he was here, played over and over in his mind, much as it had done since learning of Sebastian’s desire to see him. The notification chime sounded and the doors parted. He located the reception desk and from there, was escorted to Sebastian’s room. The armed police officer, standing guard outside, highlighted his destination. Having identified himself, brandishing his warrant card, he was bidden entry.

  Sebastian Bermond glanced in his direction, as Caslin entered, turning his gaze away from the outside view. He was seated by the window, a cane resting between his knees. Dressed in flannel pyjamas and a woollen dressing gown, the MP appeared slightly crestfallen as his visitor approached.

  “Good morning, Detective Inspector,” he said warmly, any sign of a beaten man, clear only in the bruising to his face. “Thank you for coming to visit me.”

  “Good morning, Sir,” Caslin replied politely, resisting the urge to correct him on the motivation for his presence. He didn’t know it was optional.

  “Please, take a seat,” Sebastian said, indicating the chair in front of him. Caslin did so, clearing his throat as he got comfortable.

  “Forgive me for being blunt, Mr Bermond but why did you want to see me in particular?”

  “To thank you, in the first instance,” the MP said, his expression taking on a faraway look. “This is very difficult for me…for all of us, I should imagine. I have never known Timothy react in such a way before. It was an eye-opener. I wasn’t aware that he had it in him,” he said with a dry chuckle but Caslin sensed it was one with very little, genuine humour.

  “Indeed, Sir,” Caslin said, silently contemplating how fortunate the man he was speaking to had been. Hypothetically inserting himself into the situation, Caslin wondered how he would’ve reacted. “It is certainly difficult to air one’s linen in such a public manner, anyway.”

  Sebastian inclined his head slightly, “It is my fear for my son, your friend, that has drawn you to me here. You see, we have many…private matters that we would rather remain, within the family.”

  “Unfortunately, that would appear to no longer be the case,” Caslin stated without any intent to offend.

  “Perhaps,” Sebastian said, absently lifting an index finger to gently probe his swollen eye, “however, none of the tawdrier allegations shall ever see the light of day.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Quite so, Nathaniel,” Sebastian said with a half-smile. “Do you mind, if I call you, Nathaniel?”

  Caslin shrugged, assessing the attempted familiarity to be contrived. “If you wish. You seem confident.”

  Bermond’s expression broke into a grin, “Oh, I am. You see, such pernicious allegations aimed at me could be rather damaging-”

  “I would’ve thought shagging your son’s wife, would fit that description, yes.”

  Bermond faltered at the interruption but the break was only temporary, “My team are seeking assurances as we speak, that such spurious claims are not aired in the public domain.”

  “Through the courts?” Caslin asked.

  Sebastian nodded, “Should that prove fruitless, I fear the worst for my son.”

  “Not for yourself?”

  “Of course not,” Sebastian stated, sitting back in his chair. “It is Catherine who will come out of it with her reputation in tatters. Some of it may come my way, for a time but it will pass. I always told Timothy that she wasn’t good enough for him. I found there to be something…below stairs, about her. If you understand what I mean?”

  “Not really, Sir, no.”

  “Her history, her activities, they will all impact on public perception. These things are always about credibility. How many cases have you had, Inspector, where a rapist walked free because the victim had…how should we say…a promiscuous nature, or the mugger, who never faced trial because the key witness was a homeless alcoholic? Credibility. That is where the narrative is won or lost.” Caslin knew that he had a point but he was damned if he would voice it.

  “What of Timothy?”

  “My son would fare little better, what with his past. As I said before, I fear for him. The pressure that he is under may well bring on one of his episodes.”

  “Episodes?”

  “Another of those private matters, Nathaniel,” Bermond stated, with a knowing look. “Timothy has struggled over the years, with the stresses of life. This has left him prone to seeking solace in a different world, one of fantasy, one where he feels secure. Bringing all of this into the public domain, no doubt unavoidable under the circumstances, would be catastrophic for Timothy’s mental health. Not least, it may encourage some to point a finger in his direction, regarding Natalie’s disappearance.”

  Caslin felt a shot of anger pulse through him, “Your reputation would be tarnished also. Mud sticks-”

  “With a lifetime of unblemished, public service behind me? The embarrassment would dissipate soon enough. I should imagine that I would be cast as the victim in all of this, managing to drag my son through life, with all the trials that came along with him.”

  “Natalie is the victim in all of this,” Caslin said coldly.

  Sebastian nodded his agreement, “Unarguably. However, Nathaniel, you should be aware that I am not a man to suffer fools. Nor do I allow myself to be a spectator regarding events that swirl about me. With any given situation, there is always someone who has failed and it is that person who will often pay the highest price.”

  Caslin felt there to be an implied threat, somewhere within that statement, “What does that mean, Sir?”

  Bermond fixed him with a stare, “You do not reach my position in government, without learning to sidestep one or two…inconveniences. Put it this way, if the music stops playing, you’ll not find me left standing, without a chair.”

&nb
sp; “What is it you’re looking for, from me?”

  “You’re an old friend of Timothy’s. He trusts you, for some reason,” Bermond said, his tone becoming more congenial. “Perhaps you could speak with him? Help him to understand what is at stake in all of this?”

  “What exactly, is at stake, Sir?”

  “The family’s reputation, his marriage…the future,” Bermond said, evenly. “Take your pick. You’re a smart man, Nathaniel. I will be making no further comment on my son’s actions today. There will be no formal complaint.”

  “It may not be as simple as that. You didn’t make the call to us.”

  “No charges will be brought, Inspector. You and I are well aware of that fact. It just hasn’t been made public.”

  “And, provided Timothy keeps his silence-”

  “Which he will. Once you’ve spoken with him, in any light. Then we can all focus on what is the most important task at hand. That being, finding my granddaughter, Natalie.”

  “You have faith in my influence, clearly.”

  “As I said, you are an intelligent man. I’m certain you will be able to see what is for the best, for all parties.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, I believe that covers everything,” Bermond said. Caslin stood, making to leave. The MP called after his retreating form, pulling him up, before he reached the threshold of the doorway, “I love my son, Inspector. Irrespective of what you may think, never doubt that. When all else is said and done, it’s your blood ties that carry you through life. Regardless of what crosses between you, those bonds are unbreakable.”

  “Good day, Mr Bermond,” Caslin said over his shoulder.

  “Good day, Inspector,” Sebastian said quietly.

  Caslin contemplated the situation as he made his way out of the hospital. There were far too many people who knew what had happened to keep it quiet, not without a court injunction anyway. He was left to consider what he would say to Timothy, currently resident in the cells at Fulford Road.

  “No, I’m sorry. I can’t be sure.”

  “Take as much time as you need,” Caslin said calmly.

  Terry Bartlett shook his head, “I just don’t know. It could be but I remember him being younger than this bloke. I’m really sorry.”

  “Okay, thanks, Mr Bartlett,” Caslin said, trying to hide his disappointment. Having found a potential eye witness, Caslin had been hopeful of more. He buzzed the intercom, drawing the attention of the uniform on the other side of the mirror. “You can send them out, thanks.” He watched in silence as Martin Soriza strode purposefully from the room, alongside the assortment of others participating in the line-up. Thanking their witness once more, Caslin excused himself. Stepping out into the corridor he was confronted by Jarvis, Soriza’s solicitor.

  “I trust that this will put paid to your little witch hunt, against my client?”

  “Our investigations are ongoing. There is still the matter of the dried blood, found on the sleeping bag in your client’s garage that he’s offered no explanation for.”

  “Having a blood stain on an old sleeping bag is not a chargeable offence, is it?”

  “Your client is free to leave, provided he complies with the agreed bail arrangements. For now, at least,” Caslin replied over his shoulder, moving past and beginning to walk away.

  “You’re wasting your time,” the solicitor called after him. “How do you think the court of public opinion, let alone your hierarchy, would judge you wasting time and effort on a slum landlord, while a girl’s life hangs in the balance?” Caslin stopped, his interest piqued. Turning, he walked back to stand before Jarvis.

  “Go on, then. You’ve got my attention.”

  “Martin knows you have nothing on him because, for once, he’s not guilty of what you’re levelling at him. Check his assets. I’m sure you will. He owns several properties in Pontefract and another in Castleford. He lets out rooms or more accurately, beds.”

  “Relevance?” Caslin pressed.

  Jarvis glanced around, ensuring no-one else would overhear, “Not everyone in these places are registered tenants. Several are probably not registered in this country-”

  “Illegals?”

  “Probably,” Jarvis said, “but I’m not party to that. The point is, the straw you’re grasping has Martin renting out a mattress in his garage, to a migrant worker. That’s it.”

  “Then why won’t he tell us this?”

  “Because he’s not daft, Inspector. You have him on counterfeiting. He’s hardly going to throw himself under a bus, voluntarily. Ask him in the interview room and he’ll most likely deny it but let’s face it, you’ll still be wasting time and resources better spent finding the victim and not sparring with scum like Soriza.”

  “High opinion of your client, Mr Jarvis?”

  “I have bills to pay, the same as everyone else.”

  “And he pays well, doesn’t he?” Caslin said dryly.

  The solicitor pulled himself upright, “You’re wasting your time, Inspector.”

  “For large parts of everyday,” Caslin replied under his breath, walking away. Hunter appeared before him and fell into step.

  “No joy with Soriza?” she asked. Caslin shook his head. “That’s nought for two, then with Stuart Nicol also being a bust. Where do we go from here?”

  Caslin stopped, exhaling heavily as he turned to face her. “What do we have on Duncan Shiach’s relatives and associates?”

  “A couple of promising candidates,” Hunter began. “He had two children, a boy and a girl. Now, the girl died in a car accident, some fifteen years ago but her son provides a lead that piques my interest. He’s done time in Glasgow.”

  “What for?”

  “Two cases of Actual Bodily Harm and affray, served six months,” Hunter said. “He was far from the model prisoner, by all accounts. This was a few years ago, mind you. Add that to a stalking investigation and he makes for interesting reading.”

  “That he does. Where is he now?”

  “Working on it, Sir,” Hunter replied. “Police Scotland are trying to track him down. They believe it’s possible that he moved south when local work dried up, during the financial crisis. When he was working, it was on construction sites, mostly labouring. It’d be fair to imagine that he’s in the same ball-park, physically, as who we’re looking for.”

  “Labouring though,” Caslin thought aloud, “often that’s infrequent and cash-in-hand. I wouldn’t expect to find him on any lists, particularly if he doesn’t want to be found. How about in England or Wales? Any priors?”

  “He was arrested on Tee-side previously, for common assault,” Hunter said, reading from her pocketbook. “That ended in a caution, about three years ago.”

  “Get his name and picture circulated and check the database for any intelligence. Contact the NCA if you have the urge. It’s a little low-brow for them but you never know, they might be useful for a change.”

  “Will do, Sir. What are you going to do next?”

  Caslin thought on it, “I’m considering getting Caitlyn Jackson in.”

  “The woman from Studley Park?”

  Caslin nodded, “Yes, her encounter might be unrelated but somehow I doubt it.”

  “Do you think she’ll be able to pick one of them out? It was some time ago.”

  “To be honest, I don’t but it could be worth a shot. Having anything to try and put the squeeze on Nicol or Soriza would be good right about now.”

  “Any word from the lab on that blood stain we found at Soriza’s?”

  Caslin shook his head, “Nothing positive. They’ve confirmed the blood type is a match to Natalie but are struggling with obtaining a workable DNA profile. It’s some problem with exposure to chemicals causing degradation to the pattern. They’re trying.”

  “Have you considered putting Timothy Bermond, in a line up?” Hunter asked, her tone such that she appeared fearful to utter the words.

  Caslin shot her a dark look, “There is
n’t a great deal of enthusiasm for that line of inquiry. Without more to go on, the fall-out would be immense. Plus, we already have two suspects that we’re parading around. To add a third would look like we’re clueless.”

  “Wouldn’t be far off.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Caslin smiled as he spoke. “See if you can find any crossover between Tim’s movements and any of our crime scenes, or victims, for that matter. If anything turns up, then we can go further. At the moment, you just have an instinctive notion. Am I right?” Hunter nodded but appeared reticent to leave it there. “If you’ve something to add, Sarah, spit it out.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sir,” she began.

  “But you’re about to say something offensive.”

  Hunter shook her head, “Is your friendship with Timothy getting in the way?”

  “Clouding my judgement, you mean?”

  “Not clouding, as such but-”

  “We were friends in a different age,” Caslin said. “If there’s something to look at, I’ll look. In the meantime, take any concerns to Inglis or Broadfoot, by all means. If you feel the need?” The last was said pointedly.

  “Yes, Sir. That’s not necessary. I’m sorry that I mentioned it.”

  Hunter left Caslin with his thoughts. Caitlyn was a very long shot and hinted at desperation on his part. Another failed line up would do little else than give weight to the respective solicitors to have the investigation into their clients dropped. He decided against bringing her in, unless there was a substantial change in their position. Caslin’s phone began to ring. Taking it out he didn’t recognise the number but it was local.

  “Caslin,” he answered.

  “Hello. Is that Nathaniel?” a tentative male voice said.

  “Yes, it is. Who is this?”

  “Vincent Meechan. I’m a neighbour of your father’s.”