Identity Crisis (11 page)

‘Sorry, Mike, I haven’t, but one thing I can tell you. Wherever he is, he is not playing golf in Spain. In fact, according to the airports and ferry terminals he’s not in Spain at all.’

‘Oh great! Just what I needed. Another mysterious disappearance.’

Pratt blinked. ‘You don’t think he’s been abducted as well?’

‘No, but it’s fairly suspicious that he’s unaccountably absent at the time his wife disappears. The only thing that stops me believing he might be responsible is that he knew Jo was coming to visit, and that Vanda would be missed immediately. Nash turned to Clara. ‘In answer to your question, I’ll go and see Dr Grey. I think I ought to talk to her anyway. One thing still bugs me, and that’s the whereabouts of Dawson. I’d like to find out more about the state of the marriage, and about the man himself.’

‘What about tomorrow?’

‘I’m going out to Mill Cottage to be there in time for the postman arriving. Will you join me there? Better take two cars because the way things are happening at the moment we don’t know where we’ll be from one minute to the next.’

Brian Dawson turned off the lane into the long, winding driveway leading to Mill Cottage. He could see by the lack of light from the front windows that the house was in darkness. He took the left fork, the narrow path leading to the old mill. The double doors were closed. He hoped they were also locked. That was what he expected as per his instructions. He got out of the car, unlocked and opened the doors and drove inside. He parked alongside Vanda’s car. After getting out, he closed and locked the mill doors from the inside. Nobody was allowed to see into the old mill. Those were the orders he had given. It was mildly comforting to know they had been obeyed in his absence.

He turned and stared briefly at his wife’s car. Wherever she’d gone, she hadn’t needed to take it. Possibly her fancy man had collected her. He felt sure that would prove to be the explanation. He dismissed her from his mind. His interest in her and what she was up to was minimal at best; except when it involved his comfort.

Further up the drive, a figure crouched in the bushes, watching through night vision binoculars that were trained, first on the mill doors; then on Dawson, and finally on the cottage.

Half an hour after Dawson entered the house the watcher reached into his pocket and took out his mobile. ‘Tony, it’s me,’ he announced. ‘Dawson drove straight home. He put his car in the garage then stayed in there a while. I’ve no idea what he was up to, I couldn’t get near without risking discovery. Then he went across to his house. He’s been inside ever since; looks as if he’s there for the night because he shut and locked the garage doors behind him. What do you want me to do now?’

‘Stay where you are. I’ll send one of the others to relieve you. I reckon they’ll be glad of some fresh air.’

‘They’ll get that all right. Better warn them to put thermals on, bring a flask of coffee and something to sit on. Maybe a rug to wrap round them as well, it’s bloody parky out here.’

After he rang off, Tony selected a number from his own mobile and pressed it. ‘Jerry?’

‘Yes, boss. Everything all right?’

‘I need one of our shopkeepers for the night. It’ll mean a cold, lonely, boring job. Very cold, very boring,’ he stressed. ‘Who do you suggest?’

‘Any of them would probably welcome the change. Harry’s probably the best bet. He won’t worry about the boredom; so long as he can stick his iPod on and listen to some of that stuff he imagines is music.’

‘All right, send him along to me. I’ll give him instructions and directions. How’s the work going?’

‘A couple of days and we should be ready.’

‘Excellent.’

The phone was ringing when Nash opened his front door. Without waiting to close it, he hurried over to the table and snatched up the receiver. ‘Papa,’ Daniel’s voice sounded excited. ‘Papa, I have a bicycle.’

‘What?’

‘Tante Mirabelle has bought me a bicycle to ride whenever we come here. She says it will save having to carry one back and forward every time. Isn’t that kind of her?’

‘Very kind. I hope you said thank you?’

‘Of course, Papa. She also bought me a helmet to wear. Like the ones the riders in the Tour de France have. Also knee pads, in case I fall off.’

‘You will be careful, won’t you? Don’t go riding it on busy roads, please.’

‘Yes, Papa. The bike has stabilizers. Do you know what stabilizers are, Papa? I have to use them until I have practiced riding it, tante Mirabelle says.’

Nash breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad about that. Please be careful, son. Remember, cars and trucks are very dangerous. Keep on the pavement when you can. Promise me that.’

‘Yes, Papa.’

‘It sounds as if you’re enjoying your holiday.’

‘Yes, Papa, but I wish you were here. Are you all right, Papa?’

‘I’m OK. Missing you of course, and busy at work. I love you, Daniel.’

‘I love you too, Papa. Here is tante Mirabelle.’

Nash reassured Mirabelle that he was happy with her buying the bike, and that it was a kind thought.

‘Daniel needs something to occupy himself with. I get too tired too easily for a young boy.’

Nash smiled as he rang off. He understood what Mirabelle meant. Until Daniel came on the scene, he’d found it difficult to comprehend parents’ complaints about how tiring their kids were. Now, he found it easy to empathize with them. It wasn’t only looking after an energetic six-year-old that was tiring either. After the long drive to France and back over the weekend, followed by a stressful day at work, Nash felt exhausted, barely able to contemplate cooking an evening meal. He still had to interview Dr Grey, and decided he would get something to eat while he was out.

Nash reached the hotel and asked at reception for Dr Grey. The receptionist called her room, and told Nash she would be down immediately. When she arrived, Nash indicated the small lounge area to one side of reception. It was deserted, such guests as were in the hotel probably still dining.

‘Have you made any progress?’ she asked when they were seated.

Nash shook his head. ‘Nothing positive, I’m afraid,’ he told her. ‘It might help if we could find your brother-in-law, and see what he has to say on the matter.’

Jo frowned. ‘Do you think he might be responsible? Surely not? I admit Brian isn’t my favourite person, he’s made Vanda’s life a misery over the past few years, but I don’t think he’s capable of….’

‘How do you know? You told us you rarely see him. Do you
know exactly how bad things are between them? Given what little you told us, it sounds as if the marriage was all but over, and were it not for the fact that he must have been aware you were coming to visit your sister, he’d be right at the top of our suspects list.’

‘But he did know. Vanda had to ask him before she could confirm the arrangement. I agree that says a lot for their marriage, but surely it rules him out as a suspect.’

‘What is he like as a person? You’ve made no attempt to disguise the fact that you detest him. Is that purely because of the way he treats your sister, or is there something else?’

There was a long silence before she answered. ‘It was a long time ago. Just before they got married. I was alone in the house. Vanda had gone to the shops and my parents were away. He called unexpectedly, or so I thought. Later, I found out that he knew Vanda was out. He tried to force himself on me.’

‘He tried to rape you?’

She nodded, her eyes reliving the horror. I was lucky. I managed to get away and locked myself in the toilet. Short of smashing the door down, he couldn’t get at me. I stayed there until Vanda got home. By that time he’d gone, but I was too scared to come out.’

‘Did you tell her?’

Dr Grey’s expression was sombre. ‘I did, but she refused to believe me. Wouldn’t have me at the wedding, wouldn’t speak to me for a long time afterwards. Even my parents thought I’d got it all wrong and was exaggerating things.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘It’s only as their relationship has got worse that Vanda and I have patched things up.’

‘That reminds me, your names, Johana and Vanda, where do they originate from?’

‘Our mother,’ she told him. ‘She was Czech. She came here with her family after the Prague Spring. Do you know about that?’

‘I’ve read about it. An uprising against the Communists wasn’t it?’

‘That pretty much covers it. Anyway, my mother’s family weren’t exactly flavour of the month once it was over, so they
managed to get out and came to Britain as political refugees. They were granted asylum and stayed on.’

‘Going back to your sister’s disappearance, do you believe Dawson would be capable of harming her?’

‘I don’t honestly know. I’ve asked myself that lots of times since it happened. Tried to come up with reasons he wouldn’t harm her, but can’t find any. I take it from what you’ve said that you don’t believe he’s in Spain on a golfing holiday?’

Her perception was acute, uncomfortably so. ‘We can find no evidence of him going there, by air or sea,’ he admitted.

‘But you still haven’t found him. That’s why you’re asking all these questions about him, isn’t it? Because if Brian hasn’t anything to do with Vanda’s disappearance, who has? Are there any names on your suspect list apart from Brian’s?’

Nash hesitated, and even as he answered, realized that hesitation had given the game away. ‘Almost none,’ he admitted.

‘Almost none?’ Her tone changed again, the pent-up stress returning undiluted. ‘Apart from one name perhaps? Or is it a nickname? And is that nickname one I would recognize immediately?’ She saw Nash’s face change, saw the frown and the hard set of his jaw. ‘The Cremator; that’s what you think, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a possibility, but no more than that,’ Nash agreed reluctantly.

‘And if that’s true, it means I’ve to prepare myself for the worst. Because if Vanda’s one of his victims there’s no chance for her. You’ve no idea who he is, no idea where he’s going to strike. All you can do is sit and wait for a body to turn up. That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it? I hoped you’d come here to offer me some comfort, some hope that Vanda might be all right. Fat chance of that. You’re useless, simply useless, and what’s really appalling is that you’ve more or less admitted it.’

She rose from the sofa and walked across to the reception area without a backward glance. Nash watched her go, prey to mixed emotions. If circumstances had been different, she would have been just the sort of woman whose company he’d have enjoyed. As she’d said, fat chance of that. Not least because it seemed the rules had changed, without him even noticing. Once, he’d treated
a woman’s companionship as a sort of game. Having Daniel was a permanent reminder that the only way to play was for keeps. Nash remained seated long after she left. She had a point, he thought ruefully. He’d read the Cremator’s case files, and had felt a degree of sympathy for the investigating officers. If the circumstantial evidence proved reliable, Nash was beginning to feel the same helplessness and frustration his colleagues in other forces had experienced.

Vanda Dawson was tired. Not physically so. Not as she had been for the last few days. She was tired of feeling afraid. Tired of being submissive. Tired of fearing to upset other people’s feelings, which, when she thought about it, summed up the whole of her miserable life. A life of total non-achievement. Trapped in a loveless marriage to a husband who regarded her as nothing more than a cook and housekeeper. Except that he had other uses for her. Uses, such as someone to vent his cold anger and meanness on, someone to boss about and belittle because she was nothing. Less than nothing, someone who didn’t do anything for fear she’d get it wrong.

The realization of all this came suddenly. Along with it came the knowledge that whatever the outcome she could never go back. She knew it, and on the first possible occasion, she’d tell him it. The marriage was over. That would be the message. He could find someone else to cook and clean, to wash and iron. Tasks she’d have undertaken cheerfully if he’d only repaid her with a little kindness, tenderness or physical love.

That thought came as a second shock. That all those years of repressed emotion added up to the frustrations of a highly sexed woman going without the joys of physical intimacy. Brian hadn’t touched her that way for years. Hadn’t shown the slightest wish − not even an admiring glance at her body. She needed it. From almost out of nowhere she felt this surge, this appetite for a man to make love to her. Like a bitch in season, this unquenchable flame of desire came over her.

All these things were immaterial. She’d never have chance to express her feelings, whether to Brian or any man she met. Because
next time her kidnapper came through that door, it might all be over.

She was lying, tethered to the bed and she was hungry. The winter sunlight was filtering round the edge of the heavy curtain and she guessed it must be near lunchtime. She frowned; there was something odd about her abductor’s routine. He always woke her for breakfast, then he never reappeared until the next meal. Although she couldn’t be sure, she thought he might leave the house after he’d fed her. She’d thought on more than one occasion that she’d heard a door close, after which there was a long period of silence. Silence that lasted for hours, until she was convinced she’d heard a car engine, then the sound of doors again. Why was that? Where did he go every day? Was he going to work? Trying to maintain some form of routine: showing respectability to the outside world? If so, where was he now?

Almost as if she’d given voice to her thoughts, he entered the room. For a second the old Vanda tried to return, and she felt herself quail internally. Then her anger and frustration took over. ‘What are you going to do?’ she demanded.

He stopped, head on one side. Something in her tone of voice was new.

‘I’m fed up with you coming and going, feeding me, fiddling about, pretending to be scary with that ridiculous mask. If you’re going to kill me, why bother? Does it matter if I know who you are, or what you look like if you’re planning to burn me alive? Or is that not it? Could it be you don’t want me to see you because you’re too hideous to show your face?’

He shook his head. Her aggression seemed to have unnerved him.

‘For Christ’s sake do something, say something. Do whatever it is you’ve been planning. Set fire to me. Rape me. I don’t care anymore. Or is it that you can’t? Of course, that’s it, isn’t it? You tried once and failed miserably, now you’re scared to try again. If that’s the case, then I reckon it’ll have to be plan B. So make your mind up. Either fuck me or go for the petrol can. Just don’t drag this pathetic charade out any longer.’ She paused, panting slightly. Was that from the emotion of her delivery, or was she a mite scared
after all. She watched as he slowly digested what she’d said. Then again, the new Vanda Dawson took over. Where once she would have been too timid, now she was aggressive, demanding even. After all, what had she to lose?

‘So what’s next on the agenda? A spot of rough sex or straight to the funeral pyre? Why do you do that? Is it like the papers reckon, part of some weird Satanic ritual? Or simply covering the evidence of your other crimes? Burning off the DNA? And another thing, for fuck’s sake ditch that stupid mask. Take it off and stop wandering around the place like
The Phantom of the Opera
.’