Buried in the Past (6 page)

They retraced their steps, following the same route across the lounge as on their way in. When they reached the outer door of the flat Mironova wanted to leave it open. ‘Better not,’ Nash advised. ‘I’d rather not take the chance of anything contaminating the crime scene. All we need is for a cat to wander in, attracted by the smell, and we’d be in real trouble. Whilst you’re getting the suits and other
gear, I’ll ring Mexican Pete and SOCO. Better let the lady downstairs know the bad news. Ask her if there’s anyone she can go and stay with for a day or so. In fact, suggest it!’

When Mironova returned to Nash, he was pacing up and down, his expression one of frustration. Clara was glad to be outside breathing in the clean air. Nobody would want to rush back into that house of horrors. Following her brief conversation with the old lady, who’d taken the news very badly, Clara was surprised Nash wasn’t still on the phone.

‘SOCO are on their way,’ he announced. Something in his tone told her he wasn’t happy. Had what they’d just seen upset him so much? She could hardly blame him if that was the case, but she knew he’d attended many terrible crime scenes, some far worse than this. Or, was it something else?

‘What about Mexican Pete?’

Nash shrugged his shoulders. ‘He isn’t answering his phone. I got through to a snooty secretary. She told me Professor Ramirez was too busy to take any phone calls. She didn’t know when he would be available. She did ask if she could help.’

Mironova repressed a smile. ‘And what did you say?’

‘I told her she could, if she’d a degree in pathology and didn’t mind the stench of a corpse that’s been dead over four days in a warm room, having been bludgeoned to death. And if that was the case I’d be pleased to take her up on her kind offer. Failing that I expect Professor Ramirez here ASAP.’

Clara shook her head. ‘And some people say you’re sarcastic. I just don’t understand it.’

‘I agree the timescale was a guess, but it would tally with what was said about the noise.’ As they were talking, Nash’s mobile chirped to signal an incoming call. He glanced at the screen. ‘Netherdale General,’ he told her.

‘Thank you so much for your help,’ he told the caller. His tone was sweet, but Clara knew he was still angry. ‘That was our helpful secretary again.’ He placed the phone in his pocket. ‘Apparently Professor Ramirez will join us in an hour’s time. I suppose we should be eternally grateful for that.’

‘What do we do in the meantime? Sit here, or go back in?’

Nash didn’t hesitate. ‘We’ll wait here until somebody arrives. Either SOCO or Mexican Pete. No point in trampling all over the place. In any case, I don’t fancy spending any longer in that flat than absolutely necessary, do you?’

That question was purely rhetorical, Clara knew. ‘Shall I ring the station? Ask them to send a couple of uniforms to stand outside looking useful.’

Nash nodded approval.

The wait was tedious, their boredom broken only by the arrival of the uniformed men, who taped off the outside area and escorted the distraught neighbour to a waiting taxi. She had refused to set foot in the patrol car. Eventually, after Nash had received a message from SOCO to say they’d been delayed, he suggested they went back inside. ‘I really want to get another look at the crime scene before the forensics guys start messing it up. You can stay out here if you prefer.’

‘What about protocol? I’d far rather stay out here,’ Clara admitted, ‘but that’s not what I’m paid for. If you can put up with it, so can I.’

Their second inspection of the scene was no less of an ordeal, more so if anything, because now they’d time to take in more. Eventually, Nash gave the signal to retreat, much to Mironova’s relief. Once outside, they stripped off the overshoes and nylon suits.

Nash stood by the car making notes on an A4 pad. He was using the bonnet of the vehicle as an improvised desk. He glanced up. ‘Now, tell me what you saw in there, and what conclusions you drew from it. Let’s see how it tallies with what I’ve got written down. Start in the lounge.’

‘The place had been ransacked. Whether that was pure vandalism or the killer was searching for something, I can’t be sure, but I’d go for the latter.’

Nash nodded agreement. ‘Anything else, before you move on?’

She thought hard, but failed to come up with anything. ‘Think, Clara,’ he urged, ‘it’s important.’

She visualized the lounge, the contents of drawers and cupboards strewn about, the ripped cushions, the spilled fillings. About the only things left untouched were the TV set and … ‘The
lamp!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. ‘The lamp was switched on.’

‘That tells us the killer was in the flat during the hours of darkness. Which, going by what you were told, probably means Thursday night. Hopefully, Mexican Pete will be able to confirm that, if he ever turns up. Now, given the state of the kitchen, anything strike you about that?’

‘There were footprints on the floor. They came from the kitchen, but they didn’t go towards the bedroom. They led towards the exit. From that I’d guess the killer searched the kitchen last, after he’d been through the other rooms.’

‘Good point, and from that I think we can assume that the killer didn’t begin searching until Nattrass was dead. In other words, the motive wasn’t anything to do with the tenant disturbing a burglar. Now, the bedroom?’

Clara repressed a shudder. ‘The body was on the bed. The victim was naked, lying face up. The dead man was a young white male, and from the description I assume him to be the tenant, Graham Nattrass. He’d been tied with duct tape round his wrists and ankles. His injuries suggest he was bludgeoned to death. The bedroom had also been searched. He’d obviously been dead for some time,’ she swallowed as she recalled the worst part, ‘not only because of the smell, but the maggots and the flies as well.’

‘Is that all?’

‘What have I missed?’

‘Not much. The duct tape might yield a fingerprint, although I’m not holding my breath for that. You forgot to mention the gag.’

‘I assumed that was to stop him screaming whilst the killer was hitting him.’

‘I think you’re right. Did you spot the ashtray?’

‘Oh, yes, there was an ashtray on the top of the dresser. It looked as if it had been wiped clean, although there were one or two fragments of ash still clinging to it. We ought to have checked to find out if Nattrass was a smoker.’

‘You can do that later, when you take the old lady’s statement. But there is another possibility, although it’s one I don’t like to dwell on. Mexican Pete will confirm one way or another, but it could be that the killer used cigarettes to torture his victim, which was the
real reason for the gag.’

‘I didn’t notice any burn marks on the body. But they’d be covered up by his other injuries, wouldn’t they? Mind you, I didn’t look any more than I had to.’

‘I don’t blame you for missing the burn marks. I don’t suppose you spend a lot of time staring at men’s testicles, do you? Especially those of dead men.’

‘You’re joking? That’s gruesome.’

‘Tell me what isn’t gruesome inside that place. If I’d to sit and think up the most horrific way to kill a man, I doubt if I could come up with anything nearly as sick as that.’

They were interrupted by the sound of brakes and looked up in time to see the pathologist’s car come to a halt only inches from the back bumper of Nash’s Range Rover.

‘Nash, I was in the middle of conducting a post-mortem in front of a group of anatomy students when you rang,’ Ramirez told him. ‘What’s happened here?’

‘That’s what you’re here to tell us,’ Nash said sarcastically, ‘now that you’ve managed to tear yourself away.’

‘Well, let’s get on with it. I haven’t got all day to waste.’

‘Neither have we,’ Nash retorted. ‘We’ve wasted enough of it, waiting for you.’

Clara winced, but fortunately Ramirez didn’t respond.

She followed Nash and the pathologist back to the flat. The detectives waited as Ramirez began his examination.

‘Very unpleasant,’ he said after a minute. His voice conveyed no emotion. He walked carefully across to the bed, warning them to avoid the teeth on the carpet if they intended to enter. Neither of them seemed tempted by the offer.

‘Have you seen the torture marks on the genitals?’

Nash nodded. ‘Yes, Clara spotted them, she likes looking at men’s privates. We thought the killer might have used cigarettes.’ He pointed to the ashtray.

‘You’re probably right. I should be able to confirm it later.’

‘Anything else I should be aware of at this stage?’

Ramirez was examining the dead man’s eyes. ‘I’ll be interested in the toxicology results,’ he said after a moment. ‘I wouldn’t be
surprised if he was sedated. Probably to stop him resisting. I’ll do all the usual checks, but my first guess is that he’s probably been dead around four to five days. The maggots will confirm the time of death as accurately as possible. When I’ve finished up here I’ll supervise removal of the body. In this heat the sooner the better. Post-mortem tomorrow morning?’

‘That’ll be fine; we’ll leave you to it.’

Ramirez looked at them. ‘Can’t say I blame you.’

SOCO arrived as they emerged from the building. ‘Ramirez is waiting upstairs,’ he told the team leader. ‘Let me know the results of your search as soon as possible.’

When they returned to the CID suite, Viv told them that the file on Ray Perry would be delivered by courier the following morning.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Clara asked.

‘Get Viv to help you find out everything you can about our murder victim.’

It wasn’t long before Clara reported back. ‘Here’s what we know about Graham Nattrass, although to be honest, it isn’t much. I phoned around the motor dealers and found out he worked for the BMW dealers in Netherdale. I should have tried them first, given the car Nattrass owned. I’m due to see their MD later. Viv went and took an official statement from the neighbour. So far, he hasn’t been able to contact the other tenants. Apparently, one of them works away and is only home at weekends; some sort of salesman. The other flat’s occupied by a married couple. Our old lady said she saw them loading their car with suitcases last Saturday, so if they’re on holiday, we’ll have to wait for them to return, which is a nuisance because they’ll probably have forgotten anything they might have seen or heard. She’s a bit of a nosey neighbour, if you hadn’t already guessed.’

‘Without them, our job would be a lot harder. Anything else?’

‘I remembered seeing a cheque book amongst the debris at the flat, so I got Viv to ring the local branch of the bank. He got hold of the manager who was a bit reluctant to talk at first, but Viv managed to persuade him by keeping the questions fairly general. In the end he confirmed that Nattrass had a healthy balance in his current account, and what he called a “substantial amount” on deposit.’

‘That was good work. What made you think of it?’

‘I was trying to work out possible motives, and wondered if the murder was a punishment beating gone wrong. From a bookmaker, a casino or a moneylender, perhaps, but the bank scotched that idea.’

‘Nevertheless it was smart thinking. And you may still be right. About the punishment, I mean. It could be for some other reason we haven’t got to grips with yet. On the whole, though, I’m more inclined to believe the killer was looking for something he thought Nattrass had. Either that, or he could tell him where it was. Remember the torture marks on the body? Mexican Pete has confirmed that they were made by a cigarette, by the way.’

At the station next morning, Jack Binns handed Nash a large packet. ‘Delivered by courier twenty minutes ago,’ he explained.

Clara was already in the office and proffered a freshly typed report. ‘Any news?’ he asked.

‘A bit, from yesterday, for what it’s worth. Nattrass’s boss told me he was a good technician. That’s what they’re known as these days, apparently. The man nearly fainted when I used the word mechanic. Having established that there were no complaints about him on the work front, I check Nattrass’s details. Strangely enough, there was no next of kin listed on his employment form. I asked if he knew much about Nattrass’s personal life. He laughed and said, “What personal life?” When I asked what he meant, he told me Nattrass was a computer nerd, who spent all his spare time glued to his laptop.’

Nash frowned. ‘There was no sign of a laptop or a PC at the flat.’

‘That’s what I thought. I asked him if he knew what Nattrass was interested in. He seemed to think that recently, he’d been trying to find out something about his family history, but he couldn’t be sure. He let me have a look in Nattrass’s locker. I thought I might get some clue from what was inside, but I drew a blank. Only a spare change of work clothes and a pair of reasonably new trainers.’

Nash was still thinking about the missing computer. ‘Did he know if Nattrass had a printer? Because I’ve just remembered, in amongst all the debris at the flat there was a load of blank copier paper.’

‘He must have had one, because the MD said he occasionally
brought stuff he’d downloaded and printed into work: photos, puzzles, that sort of thing.’

‘So the killer took both the laptop and printer. I wonder why?’

‘Perhaps he thought that if Nattrass had them linked, it was the easiest way to download anything Nattrass might have on his computer that the killer was interested in.’

The file on Raymond Perry gave Nash and his team a much clearer understanding of the man lying comatose in Netherdale ICU. Unfortunately it failed to yield the slightest clue as to what he was doing in Helmsdale, or why he’d been attacked with such violence.

‘OK, let’s sum up what we do know,’ Nash said when they’d been through all the paperwork. ‘I’ll read out anything salient and, Clara, you make notes. Bullet points will do.’

Mironova pulled an A4 pad towards her and settled in her chair. This was part of their work she always enjoyed. Watching Nash pulling information together or dissecting it was an object lesson in detection.

‘We’ll start with Raymond Perry’s background. He was born in November 1965, in the East End of London, where his father had a scrap business. When the boy was twelve, his father was killed in an accident in the scrapyard. After his death, Raymond’s mother rapidly descended into alcoholism, which meant that the boy was taken under the wing of his uncle, Max Perry, his father’s younger brother and partner, who now owned the business.’

Nash paused and sat back. ‘There’s nothing in the file to denote whether Raymond’s mother is still alive or not. Possibly not, given her disease, but worth making a note to check that out. The other point that strikes me about Perry’s background is that whoever compiled this report seems to have known the family well. That’s unusual, especially for the Met. Whether it’s significant or not is another matter.

‘The report states in quite unequivocal terms that his uncle, Max Perry, was head of a criminal gang operating from a chain of nightclubs, amusement arcades and, later, casinos in the area. The operation was highly lucrative. Moving into that operation brought its own dangers. Several turf wars erupted, and the violence that
followed was a long-running series of battles, against first one, then another rival gang.’

Nash looked at his mug and seemed surprised to find that it was empty. ‘During my time at the Met I learned quite a lot about the history of London gangs. There was a time when they occupied most of Scotland Yard’s time and attention. After the Richardson and Kray organisations were broken up, a succession of those turf wars broke out with different factions struggling for control of vacant territories.

‘By all accounts Max Perry, nicknamed Mad Max, was one of the most successful of these gang leaders. He was kept safe by his bodyguard and constant companion, his nephew Raymond, who acted as Max’s strong-arm man. This continued until twenty-six years ago, when Max was killed in what’s described in this report as a gangland killing, rumoured to have been ordered and paid for by Tony “Dirty Harry” Callaghan, Max’s bitterest rival. The report also points out that the killer or killers were able to get to Mad Max, because Raymond was on remand for an alleged assault against a customer in one of Max’s clubs.

‘This part of the file,’ – Nash tapped a plastic folder – ‘describes the events leading up to Ray’s arrest. Police responded to an
anonymous
phone call and attended a used-car dealership owned by Tony Callaghan. The business was known as Five Elms Car Sales.’

Nash stopped speaking and when Clara looked up, she saw he was smiling. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘I know that address. There isn’t an elm or any other type of tree for miles. Anyway, when the officers got there they found the body of Callaghan on the floor of the workshop, and that of his
bodyguard
in the adjoining office. Both men had multiple stab wounds. They also found Raymond Perry, standing over the body with the murder weapon in his hand. During the struggle to subdue and arrest him two officers received knife injuries, fortunately neither of them serious.’ Nash stood up. ‘I’ll make another coffee, then we’ll summarize what we’ve learned so far.’

When they resumed, Nash said, ‘You know what intrigues me? That phone call. I’ll get to it in a minute. First, some facts. Raymond had been heard by several witnesses saying that “Callaghan’s got it
coming to him”. Presumably he was talking about revenge for his Uncle Max’s murder. Police never thought to look beyond Raymond for the killer. He had motive, means and opportunity and was quite literally caught red-handed. Everything very snug and watertight. But listen, this is the transcript of that phone call. “Go to Five Elms Car Sales. You’ll find Tony Callaghan’s body in the workshop. He’s been stabbed. If you get there sharp, you’ll find Ray Perry at the scene.” Now, what strikes you about that tip-off?’

‘The caller knew exactly how Callaghan had been killed,’ Viv replied.

‘That’s part of it. He also knew Perry would be at the scene. How did he know? And, he doesn’t at any point suggest Perry killed Callaghan. Only that he would be there. That phone call suggests an altogether different scenario. Which in turn poses two further
questions
: if Perry didn’t kill Callaghan, who did, and why? Was their motive to frame Perry, or was his being at the scene of the crime just a massive slice of good luck for the killer? And if he was innocent, why did Perry not defend himself? Why not do something to prove his innocence? Although, to be fair, with the evidence stacked against him that would have been almost impossible.

‘Anyway, that’s all speculation. The rest of the report deals with Perry’s time in jail. All the time he’s been in there, he’s reported to have been a model prisoner. Not involved in fights, no trouble at all. That hardly tallies with his reputation, which is intriguing, but doesn’t shed much light on why he was almost killed in a
hit-and-run
. One thing for certain’ – Nash closed the folder and rested his hand on it – ‘there’s absolutely nothing in here that gives any connection between Perry, his family and North Yorkshire, nothing to suggest a reason for him ending up here. We need more
background
information.’

‘How do we find that out?’

‘I don’t know,’ Nash admitted. ‘I’m open to any suggestions.’

They sat in silence for several moments, sipping coffee as they considered their course of action. Eventually, Clara stirred. ‘I’ve had an idea. Why not get in touch with the Met? See if the file on Max Perry gives any more clues, or if there are any officers who might know more.’ She pointed to the folder. ‘The officer who compiled
that, for instance, must have known Perry quite well. It might be useful to know how Max was killed, or if anyone was ever charged with the crime. All we know at the moment is that rumour that Callaghan was involved.’

‘Good thinking, Clara. The more we can learn of Raymond Perry’s past, the likelier we are to get some clue as to the motive for the attack, and possibly who was responsible.’

‘That sounds quite a task,’ Clara commented.

‘If you think that’s hard, wait till you hear what I’ve got in store for you. Your job is to trace Raymond Perry’s mother, if she’s still alive. If not, find out when and where she died, even where she’s buried. In the meantime I’ll get on to the Met and order that other file and see what I can find out about the officers who worked the cases. Viv, you continue with Graham Nattrass’s background.’

Nash picked up the phone and rang the Met. Having requested the Max Perry file and elicited a promise that it would be sent by courier that afternoon, Nash asked to be transferred to CID and his former colleague, Brian Shaw.

After some moments, he was connected. ‘Mike, long time since I spoke to you. How are things in the frozen north? Plenty of farmers’ daughters to keep you warm at night?’

‘Not any more, Brian. I’m respectable these days.’

‘Wonders will never cease. Don’t tell me you’re married. Settled down, slippers and pipe, that sort of thing. Mug of cocoa and in bed by 9.30?’

‘I said respectable, not ancient. Anyway, you’re the expert on married life, as I remember.’

‘You are out of touch. That went belly up three years ago after she buggered off with an Eyetie.’

‘Sorry to hear that, Brian.’

‘Yeah, well I wasn’t. Glad to see the back of her. The bloke she took up with owns a string of restaurants and by what I hear he’s been servicing several of the waitresses who work for him. Serves her right. If I meet him, I’ll shake his hand and thank him.’

‘So now you’re leading a lonely, celibate life?’

‘Hardly, I met up with a little smasher, name of Candy. Now I’ve
developed a real sweet tooth.’

‘Your jokes haven’t got any better. Has this girl any other faults apart from defective eyesight and poor judgement?’

‘Did you ring just to insult me, or was there another reason?’

‘I’m trying to get hold of someone to talk to about an old case.’

‘How old are you talking?’

‘Twenty-six years, so I suppose they’ll all be retired by now?’

‘Pushing up daisies, more like. What’s the case?’

‘I’m not sure if you know of it. It’s two linked cases, actually.’ Nash explained the details.

‘Perry; that name rings a bell. East End gangster, murdered by one of the opposition. Son took revenge on the boss of the other outfit and got life for it. That the one?’

‘Near enough. Nephew, actually, but apart from that you’ve got it dead right. There’s not much wrong with your memory.’

‘Pride myself on it. Now, give me the name, rank and division of the men you’re after and I’ll get back to you. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour, providing I can get someone in HR to talk to me. Do you want me to phone you back or shall I email you?’

‘You and technology? I’d love to see that. Makes me wish I hadn’t left.’

‘I’ll tell you something, there’s plenty here wish you hadn’t. I’ll get back to you ASAP.’

True to his word, Shaw was soon back on the phone. ‘I’ve good news and bad. Three of the men have gone to the police station in the sky. One’s living in Spain, drinking weak lager and eating paella. Unless your boss is very generous with expenses, that rules him out.’

‘So, what’s the good news?’

‘The last name you gave me, DS Wellings, he’s still hale and hearty. What’s more, he’s not a million miles away from you. Wellings went back to his wife’s neck of the woods when he’d got his time in; retired as a DCI. The note on his file says he and his wife are running a boarding house. Don’t forget your bucket and spade, because it’s in Scarborough. Got a pen?’