Read Online Minds That Hate by Bill Kitson - Free Book Online
Authors: Bill Kitson
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body for identification, will you? We’ll be over by the road when you’ve finished.’
The SOCO team were stringing their incident tape in a wide circle round the area when Ramirez reported back. ‘There’s nothing to identify the victim. A couple of the coat pockets were inside out. There are several stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. Any of them would have caused death. The deceased has been deceased for between ten and fifteen hours. That’s as much as I can tell you until the post-mortem.’ Ramirez nodded to Andrews and walked briskly to his car.
‘What’s the significance of the pockets?’
Nash looked at Lisa. ‘Removal of identification, I guess. Whether that was to make our job harder, or whether there’s a deeper significance, I’m not sure. We need to ask Turner if he was at the allotment late yesterday and whether he saw anything then. Let’s give him chance to digest his cremated toast. Then we can take him with us to Helmsdale station and get his statement. I’ll have a word with the SOCO leader, then we’ll get something to eat.’
‘There were nobody about yesterday afternoon.’
‘Have you noticed anyone hanging about there recently, Jonas?’
‘I don’t know if it’s worth owt, but I noticed a car there a couple of days ago.’
‘You don’t happen to know the make or model?’
Nash was surprised when Turner said, ‘Aye, I do.’
Nash looked up.
‘It were a Superdo.’
‘A what?’
‘A Superdo. One of them sporty things. A Superdo Impressor, I think they call ’em.’
The fog in Nash’s brain cleared. ‘You mean a Subaru Impreza?’
‘Aye, that’s reet.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Next-door neighbour’s son; spoiled rotten. Soon as he got a licence they bought him one of them Superdos. He super-did it up.’ Jonas chuckled at his own joke. ‘It made a hell of a racket. All hours of t’ day and night. He had it a year; then wrote t’ bugger off. We all slept better after that – until t’ little sod bought a motorbike.’
‘I can see how that might stick in your memory,’ Nash agreed. ‘Can you tell us anything more about the Subaru near the allotments? Colour, for example?’
‘It were a sort of mucky green,’ Turner told him. ‘And it were ought four red chester.’
Nash glanced at Lisa, who looked completely nonplussed.
‘Sorry, I don’t follow you,’ Nash was forced to admit.
‘ Superdo near t’ allotments. It were an ought four red chester.’
This time Nash caught on. ‘You mean a nought four registration?’ Turner nodded. ‘2004. You can’t remember the number, can you?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘If you remember anything else, let me know. Or DC Andrews,’ he added. He saw the sparkle in Turner’s eyes and threw in a further incentive. ‘If it’s after the weekend you can tell Sergeant Mironova.’
‘I’ll do what I can for ’ er, Mr Nash,’ Turner promised with a salacious leer.
Chapter eight
The murder kept Nash busy throughout Saturday. When he returned home, he found a note on the breakfast bar. ‘Got to go to Milan tonight. See you soon, x.’
Nash smiled. She was teasing him, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He settled down for the evening. He’d reports to read, but decided they could wait. He flicked the television on to watch Match of the Day. The theme music hadn’t finished before he was sound asleep. He slept through two hours of TV before dragging himself to bed.
Next morning he felt refreshed and was up and about before 7 a.m. He brewed coffee and sat at the table. He pulled the folders out of his briefcase and began studying them. The report on the caravan fire confirmed Curran’s suspicions. Nash’s face was grim as he read the cold facts.
He turned his attention to the Vickers file. There were only a few days before the prisoner would be released. He picked up his phone. Fifteen minutes later, he set off for Felling Prison.
‘I want you to reconsider your decision.
The SOCO team were stringing their incident tape in a wide circle round the area when Ramirez reported back. ‘There’s nothing to identify the victim. A couple of the coat pockets were inside out. There are several stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. Any of them would have caused death. The deceased has been deceased for between ten and fifteen hours. That’s as much as I can tell you until the post-mortem.’ Ramirez nodded to Andrews and walked briskly to his car.
‘What’s the significance of the pockets?’
Nash looked at Lisa. ‘Removal of identification, I guess. Whether that was to make our job harder, or whether there’s a deeper significance, I’m not sure. We need to ask Turner if he was at the allotment late yesterday and whether he saw anything then. Let’s give him chance to digest his cremated toast. Then we can take him with us to Helmsdale station and get his statement. I’ll have a word with the SOCO leader, then we’ll get something to eat.’
‘There were nobody about yesterday afternoon.’
‘Have you noticed anyone hanging about there recently, Jonas?’
‘I don’t know if it’s worth owt, but I noticed a car there a couple of days ago.’
‘You don’t happen to know the make or model?’
Nash was surprised when Turner said, ‘Aye, I do.’
Nash looked up.
‘It were a Superdo.’
‘A what?’
‘A Superdo. One of them sporty things. A Superdo Impressor, I think they call ’em.’
The fog in Nash’s brain cleared. ‘You mean a Subaru Impreza?’
‘Aye, that’s reet.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Next-door neighbour’s son; spoiled rotten. Soon as he got a licence they bought him one of them Superdos. He super-did it up.’ Jonas chuckled at his own joke. ‘It made a hell of a racket. All hours of t’ day and night. He had it a year; then wrote t’ bugger off. We all slept better after that – until t’ little sod bought a motorbike.’
‘I can see how that might stick in your memory,’ Nash agreed. ‘Can you tell us anything more about the Subaru near the allotments? Colour, for example?’
‘It were a sort of mucky green,’ Turner told him. ‘And it were ought four red chester.’
Nash glanced at Lisa, who looked completely nonplussed.
‘Sorry, I don’t follow you,’ Nash was forced to admit.
‘ Superdo near t’ allotments. It were an ought four red chester.’
This time Nash caught on. ‘You mean a nought four registration?’ Turner nodded. ‘2004. You can’t remember the number, can you?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘If you remember anything else, let me know. Or DC Andrews,’ he added. He saw the sparkle in Turner’s eyes and threw in a further incentive. ‘If it’s after the weekend you can tell Sergeant Mironova.’
‘I’ll do what I can for ’ er, Mr Nash,’ Turner promised with a salacious leer.
Chapter eight
The murder kept Nash busy throughout Saturday. When he returned home, he found a note on the breakfast bar. ‘Got to go to Milan tonight. See you soon, x.’
Nash smiled. She was teasing him, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He settled down for the evening. He’d reports to read, but decided they could wait. He flicked the television on to watch Match of the Day. The theme music hadn’t finished before he was sound asleep. He slept through two hours of TV before dragging himself to bed.
Next morning he felt refreshed and was up and about before 7 a.m. He brewed coffee and sat at the table. He pulled the folders out of his briefcase and began studying them. The report on the caravan fire confirmed Curran’s suspicions. Nash’s face was grim as he read the cold facts.
He turned his attention to the Vickers file. There were only a few days before the prisoner would be released. He picked up his phone. Fifteen minutes later, he set off for Felling Prison.
‘I want you to reconsider your decision.
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