by Ellis, Tim
‘Give me your email address. I’ll send you what I find tomorrow morning when I get a chance, and you can pick up the files next time you’re passing through.’
‘That’ll be great. Thanks for your help, Doc.’
‘Ditto for the food. I don’t have to go home and cook a meal for one now.’
He made his way out, along the corridor and up in the lift to Beech Ward – a quick hello to DI Blake wouldn’t break the bank.
Her room was empty, but he found a whiteboard instead.
A toilet chain flushed and Blake came out of the bathroom.
‘I don’t want you thinking that’s mine, Sir. They were short of rooms, so they stuffed me in this whiteboard storeroom.’
‘It’s strange that it has familiar names written all over it.’
‘A coincidence – nothing more. I wouldn’t give that murdering bastard Gilbert the dirt from under my nails.’
‘It never crossed my mind. Anyone trying to prove Gilbert is innocent would be up on Foxglove Ward in the bed next to my wife.’
‘Exactly. How is she, Sir?’
‘Who knows, Blake. She’ll either make it through the labyrinth, or she won’t.’
‘I hope it’s the former.’
‘Yes, so do I. More to the point, how are you?’
‘I’ll be back at work before you even realise I’ve been gone.’
‘Good, because I’m two detectives down now, with no sign of any replacements.’
‘If it was up to me . . .’
‘I know. Look after yourself, Blake.’
‘I will, Sir.’
‘And don’t go near the Gilbert case.’
‘Not a snowball’s chance in hell of that, Chief.’
He headed up to Foxglove Ward on the fourth floor.
So, Blake was fighting Gilbert’s corner. He was glad – that’s what partners were for. From what he’d heard, Gilbert needed a miracle to get out of the mess he was in.
He pressed the entry buzzer onto the psychiatric ward. As he passed the doctors and nurses there were no smiles, no eyes wide-open and no excited greetings, which meant there was no change to Jerry. He had learnt to read the signs within a few days of her being admitted.
Her mum and dad had already gone. He was slightly late, but there was no one here to notice. Leaning over, he kissed Jerry on the cheek.
‘Hello, my love,’ he said, and pulled up a chair. ‘Today’s been eventful.’ He told her about his journey through the day. ‘I have some good people around me. Not least your mum and dad. Who’d have thought Matilda and Bert would be a godsend? I’ll never say a bad word against them ever again . . . Wake up, my love. Wake up, and tell me you don’t believe a damn word I say . . .’ He cried silently as he rested his cheek on the back of her hand. ‘Well, it’s time to go. I’ve got to get home and say goodnight to those hoodlums you gave me.’ He kissed her again. ‘See you tomorrow night, my love.’
***
Once she arrived at Epping she walked into a branch of her usual bank, withdrew five thousand pounds in cash, asked for a banker’s cheque made out to Alice Kellogg for the remaining funds – eight hundred and nineteen thousand pounds – give or take the odd pound or to, and closed the account.
She then found an estate agents where she rented a fully-furnished two-bedroom bungalow in the name of Alice Kellogg, paid a cash deposit of two thousand five-hundred pounds and took possession of the keys.
‘Would you like me to show you round the property?’ the woman asked her.
‘I think I have a vague idea what a bungalow looks like.’
‘Well, if you do change your mind . . .’ she passed Alice a business card. ‘Just ask for Saffy Ainsworth. My number is there on the front.’
Next, she walked into a bank on the opposite side of the road, opened an account in the name of Alice Kellogg and deposited the banker’s cheque.
‘Our premier visa card, Madam?’
‘Of course.’
‘Credit card?’
‘Why not?’
‘It will take between a week and ten days for everything to fall into place.’
‘Okay.’
She caught a taxi to 2 Baffin Road, made herself at home by hacking into a neighbour’s BTHomeHubInfinity-874S and began work on answering Charlie Baxter’s four questions:.
Who really killed the four Shrub End police officers?
Who planted the evidence in DS Gilbert’s house?
What happened to DC Isolde Koll?
Was DI Banister at Southend is clean or dirty?
A walk in the park.
***
Richards came stomping into the living room in her red onesie, which had a zip up the front and was adorned with lambs jumping over fences.
‘What’s happened to the broadband?’
Jack was in his cot snoring like a warthog with a deviated septum, Digby was curled up on the sofa next to him dreaming of whatever dogs dream of and Angie was on nights again. He was beginning to wonder whether he should initiate a conversation about her hours of work. At the moment, they were like ships passing on a foggy night.
The Champion’s League game between Borussia Dortmund and Arsenal was playing out on mute – it was about as exciting as watching a toothless tortoise eating shrivelled-up lettuce, and he was reading a paper on recent developments in crime detection and prevention.
‘Oh dear, isn’t it working?’ he said.
‘No, it’s not. Have you got onto them?’
‘They’re probably downloading an update and re-setting the box. It’ll be back on in a minute. Why? Are you doing something important?’
‘I have work to do.’
‘Really? What work might that be?’
‘Work work.’
‘As in evidence folder work?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Why do you need the internet for that?’
‘I just do.’
‘I can’t think why. If I recall, all you need to do now is make sure you have three pieces of evidence in support of each competence.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you want me to double-check it for you?’
‘I can do it.’
‘So, you don’t really need the internet to do that, do you?’
‘I wanted to check something.’
‘Oh? What would that be? Ask me, I should know.’
‘You won’t know.’
‘How will we know whether I know or not unless you tell me what it is you want to know.’
‘Never mind. I’ll just wait for the internet to come back on.’
‘It wouldn’t be something to do with the Red Spider murders, would it?’
‘I said I wouldn’t.’
‘Yes, but you didn’t mean what you said, did you?’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘Did you cross your fingers when you said it?’
‘Only children do that.’
‘Did you?’
‘I didn’t realise that they were crossed until afterwards.’
‘I can read you like an open book.’
‘No you cannot.’
‘The Chief wants to solve the case on his own.’
‘He didn’t really mean that.’
‘Unlike you, people usually say what they mean.’
‘I say what I mean.’
‘Yes, but you don’t mean what you say.’
‘I do too.’
‘Anyway, there’s no broadband.’
‘I thought you said it would be back on in a minute.’
‘Maybe it will, maybe it won’t.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I was only surmising that it might be back on in a minute – is it?’
She looked at the broadband box. ‘There’s no lights on it.’
‘Then it must still be off.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve switched it off at the socket, haven’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t be so petty.’
&n
bsp; ‘That’s exactly what you’d be. You concocted a plan with your criminal co-conspirator Kowalski to prevent me from carrying out research on the Red Spider murders.’
‘So, you were going to do something you said you wouldn’t do?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Anyway, there’ll be no broadband service tonight.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘I think you’ll find I can.’
‘I could just go to the socket and switch it back on again.’
‘Yes, you could do that, but you’re forgetting about me saying that I wanted you to bring me your evidence folder tomorrow morning first thing.’
‘You never said that.’
‘I’m sure I did. Well anyway, I’m saying it now.’
‘I know exactly what you’re doing.’
‘I’ll have the contents of the folder checked by someone who knows what to look for, and if it’s not ninety-five percent complete I’ll take you off active duty to work on it.’
‘You wouldn’t?’
‘I think you’ll find that I say what I mean. We can’t have you tripping over at the last hurdle, can we now?’
‘All right, I won’t do any research on the Red Spider.’
‘Yes you will – you can’t help yourself.’
‘No, I won’t. I promise.’
‘You’ve got your fingers crossed, haven’t you?’
‘I forgot they were crossed – a simple mistake.’
‘Uncross them and make the promise again.’
She stamped her foot and stomped out. ‘Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this.’
Chapter Eight
Wednesday, May 25
‘What the fuck!’ Xena said, when her eyes snapped open and she saw the apparition standing over her bed. ‘GUARDS? SEC . . . ?’
A hand clamped over her mouth.
‘Will you shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch?’
She ripped the hand off her mouth. It smelled of doner kebab and chilli. ‘Me crazy? You’re the one standing over a sick woman’s bed in the middle of the night like a fucking hospital poltergeist.’
‘I’m . . .’
‘I know who you are. Do I look stupid?’
‘You don’t want me to answer that, do you?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Twenty past two.’
‘In the morning? And you call me fucking crazy.’
‘I came to see Jerry Kowalski, but she’s not much fun, so I thought I’d come down here to see you on my way out.’
‘Why?’
Cookie shoved her across the bed and lay down next to her. ‘I was curious.’
‘About what?’
‘Why you had to have your uterus removed.’
‘You’re a nosy bitch.’
‘I know. It gets me into a lot of trouble.’
‘Being a traitor is a bit more than trouble.’
‘Those bastards. Do you know that they killed nearly all my friends, and then tried to kill me?’
‘That’s what happens to traitors.’
‘And they raped me.’
Xena didn’t respond. Rape was unforgiveable under any circumstances.
‘I helped Kowalski to find his wife, and he helped me to get justice for my friends.’
‘I’m very pleased for you.’
‘And for your information, I’ve changed my name to Scylla – S-C-Y-L-L-A – the beautiful sea monster.’
‘After what you did I’m not surprised.’
‘They were old secrets anyway.’
‘That may be so, but they were our secrets.’
‘So, who’s this Rowley Gilbert?’
‘My partner.’
‘And he’s in prison?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he worth saving, because I really don’t like coppers?’
‘Yes, he’s worth saving, and considering your dislikes I’d say you were lying in the wrong.’
‘I found something.’
‘While you were rummaging in the waste bins at the back of the hospital kitchens?’
‘On the security CCTV recordings at Heathrow Airport.’
‘Carry on.’
‘There was a woman watching Gilbert being arrested and making a phone call.’
‘That’ll be Jennifer D’Arcy his girlfriend – dark hair, short and plump.’
‘This woman had dark hair, but she wasn’t short and plump, she was skinny and quite tall.’
‘I’ll need to see her.’
‘She definitely wasn’t with Gilbert. I panned the film round the room and saw her watching the arrest from beside a concrete pillar. Also, she had no luggage.’
‘A rubbernecker?’
‘I don’t think so, but I have more work to do on the file yet. I want to look at before and after to see if I can identify where she came from and where she went to. I might also be able to isolate the phone call she was making.’
‘You can do that?’
‘I’m a fucking genius.’
‘You’re a fucking traitor. Send the file to my email address – I’ll take a look.’ She told Scylla what the address was. ‘Aren’t you going to write it down?’
‘I remember everything.’
‘You’d better.’
‘Now that I’ve stopped, I’m really tired.’
‘Well, you can’t . . .’ But it was too late. The rhythm of Scylla’s breathing had changed.
She was tired as well, and closed her own eyes. A woman watching Stick being arrested and communicating it to someone else. That would fit in with the idea that he was being set up, but who was the woman? And who was she talking to on the phone?
***
Brent Poelman was sitting at the far side of the table in the interview room with his solicitor – Alister Yong from Lansbury, Mitchell & Worthington. Unlike Yong – a shrewd Asian-looking young solicitor who was clean-shaven, dressed in a dark blue suit and red tie, and appeared calm and collected – Poelman was a squat, podgy nervous man who had on a dirty t-shirt and jeans. Although he was bald on the top of his head, the sides sprouted a mixture of grey and brown wiry hair. With the right make-up, he could easily have passed for a clown.
As Angie had arrived home earlier, they both kissed her on the way out.
‘Well, it was nice seeing you,’ she said. ‘Have a good day.’
Parish shrugged. ‘It’s not ideal, is it? Maybe we need to have a conversation.’
Angie smiled, and even though she was tired after a twelve-hour shift, she still looked as beautiful as when he’d first met her. ‘You mean the one where you offer to give up being a Detective Inspector and stay at home to look after Jack and Digby?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
In the car Richards said, ‘ You’re not really going to give up work, are you?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think that “your wife” thinks that you might be about to.’
‘She knows I’m not. Maybe the answer is to sell Jack on eBay.’
‘You’d probably get a lot more for him if you waited a few years.’
Parish had an idea. ‘Or . . . you could change direction and become a nanny.’
‘As you can imagine, I’m very keen on that idea, but it wouldn’t solve the problem of you not seeing “your wife”.’
‘That’s true.’
They arrived at the station at seven-thirty.
Richards made the coffee. They took them into the incident room and sat down. ‘It’s quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes, Toadstone.’
Toadstone smiled as he joined them. ‘Sherlock Holmes, The Red-Headed League by Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, page 184.’
Richards put her chin in her hands and stared at Parish. ‘He even knows the page number.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish, Richards. He just plucked that number out of the air to look good in your eyes. He knows we�
��ll never check that it’s the correct page. Right, surprise us, Toadstone.’
‘There was no evidence in the house, and none in the car, but after three months I’m hardly surprised.’
‘I hope you haven’t trekked all this way from the wastelands of forensics to impart bad news?’
Toadstone carried on as if Parish hadn’t spoken. ‘His computer though, is a different matter. We found over a thousand pornographic images of girls and women between the ages of ten and eighteen in various states of undress.’
‘The filthy . . .’
‘Thank you, Richards.’
‘I hate . . .’
‘We’re well aware what you hate. Carry on, Toadstone.’
‘PopTalk wasn’t the only chat site he was a member of, and Squiggle wasn’t the only name he used. So far, we’ve found evidence that he arranged to meet another twelve girls . . .’
‘Twelve!’ Richards said. ‘I knew there’d be more bodies, but twelve!’
‘Stop jumping to conclusions,’ Parish said. ‘One, we don’t know that he killed anybody yet. Two, even if he did kill Jade Williams we don’t know that he’s killed anyone else.’
‘I just know that there are more bodies.’
‘Gut feelings don’t mean anything in a court of law.’
‘If I may,’ Toadstone interrupted. ‘In view of the seriousness of what we’d found, I took the liberty of contacting the duty officer to find out if the twelve females were still alive.’
‘And?’
‘They are.’
‘See, Richards.’
‘Huh!’
‘Good work, Toadstone.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s the catch?’
‘No catch. This is the first time in the eighteen months that I’ve known you that you’ve done good work, so I thought I’d mark the occasion by saying as much.’
His lip curled up. ‘Very generous.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Paul. He thinks you’re wonderful.’
‘Your people are still collecting evidence?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
