A Time to Kill (P&R14)

by Tim Ellis

  ***

  ‘What do you think, Digby?’

  Digby’s thoughts were focussed on cocking his leg up Number 53’s gatepost as he did every night to infuriate the dog that lived there.

  A woman passed on the opposite side of the road with a mongrel that looked like a Tasmanian Devil. He nodded at her as he did to most of the other dog owners he passed while walking Digby.

  Could Richards be right? Was Catrina Golding the victim of a serial killer? He couldn’t see how. Yes, there was the jewellery that had been laid out on the bed. It was a bit strange, but it didn’t have to be a serial killer who had a penchant for items of women’s jewellery. Surely, the more logical explanation was that Catrina had been counting what she had, polishing them, considering whether to keep all of the pieces, or offload them onto a charity shop. Why does it always have to be a serial killer?

  Was Jimmy Landers the father of the baby? Jimmy seemed like a decent sort – normal, if there was such a psychological phenomenon. What about Donald Dewsbury? What would he be like? Was Donald the killer? Did the killer know that Catrina was pregnant? What would Toadstone’s computer people find out about Catrina’s online activity? Cathie Prosser had said that Catrina took selfies regularly – what type of selfies? What would they say about her?

  How had the killer gained access to the apartment? Was it someone Catrina knew? Was it a bogus policeman, meter reader or charity worker? Is that why Catrina had laid out the jewellery on her bed? Had someone been coming to assess it?’

  Was Catrina sexually assaulted? All the bruising and the dislocated hip made it appear extremely likely. He hoped that Doc Riley or Toadstone discovered some forensic evidence that would lead him and Richards directly to the killer. It would certainly make a pleasant change to have a straightforward murder investigation. He’d just have to wait and see what tomorrow turned up.

  ‘I’m back,’ he called as he shut the front door.

  Angie came and kissed him. ‘I forgot to tell you that DI Blake and DS Gilbert came into the hospital today.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘DS Gilbert is really nice, but how that Xena Blake ever got promoted beyond toilet cleaner is one of the mysteries of the universe.’

  ‘You took a shine to her then?’

  ‘I took an instant dislike to her.’

  ‘I’m sure that underneath the gruff exterior she’s a warm-hearted and genuine person. DS Gilbert won’t have a bad word said against her.’

  ‘There must be something wrong with him.’

  ‘I thought you said he was really nice.’

  ‘He is, but . . .’

  ‘Loyalty does strange things to people. He’s her partner, and that’s really all that needs to be said. If you attack Blake, you attack Gilbert. He’d take a bullet for her, like you did for me.’

  Richards was standing in the doorway. ‘Would you take a bullet for me?’

  ‘Yes, even though you’re reporting me to the Court of Human Rights. What about you?’

  ‘It depends.’

  ‘Oh! On what?’

  ‘On where I’m going to get shot.’

  ‘You can’t pick and choose.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘In the stomach.’

  ‘Would I still be able to have babies afterwards?’

  ‘Do you want babies?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘I’m going into the living room to watch Chelsea playing Basel in the Champions League. Come on Digby, I know how much you like football.’

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’

  ***

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Stick?’

  ‘Yes, who’s that?’

  ‘Frankie, the landlord at the Ming Inn on Cock Lane in Hoddesdon.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Xena gave me your number.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She came in about three hours ago with the intention of hanging one on, and she’s been throwing back beer chasers as if she knew the world was going to end tonight.’

  ‘Beer chasers?’

  ‘Whisky chased down with beer, or the other way round – the end result is the same.’

  ‘Why are you ringing me?’

  ‘She fell off her stool.’

  ‘And she’s hurt herself? You should call . . .’

  ‘No. Although she did actually fall off the stool tonight.’

  ‘So, why are you ringing me?’

  ‘We had a plan. When she became unconscious – fell off the stool – I’d ring you, and you’d come and take care of her.’

  ‘Take care of her?’

  ‘You know: Get her home, make sure she didn’t choke on her own puke, wipe her arse when she . . . I’m sure you get the picture.’

  ‘She never told me about the plan.’

  ‘The plan’s gone for a clatter of bits anyway, mate.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Wednesday’s are usually like tending bar on the Marie Celeste in a Force 10 hurricane, but tonight – for some reason only Lucifer knows about – it was standing room only . . .’

  ‘Except for Xena who was sitting on a stool?’

  ‘Exactly, but she fell off that stool about half an hour ago. I was serving at the far end of the bar . . .’

  ‘Half an hour ago?’

  ‘I didn’t notice at first . . . as I said, I was busy at the other end of the bar. I turned round during a lull, and she’s not there, so I guess she’s on the floor – she wasn’t. So, I thought, maybe she’s puking in the toilet, or out the back, but there was nothing I could do about it, because as I said, it was standing room only and everyone had a raging thirst. Now normally, I have a barmaid with tits you’d sell your grandmother to rest your weary head between, but on Wednesdays . . .’

  ‘Where’s Xena now?’ Stick interrupted him.

  ‘That’s it – I have no idea. When the rush subsided, I went to look for her . . .’

  ‘And you couldn’t find her?’

  ‘No hide nor hair, mate.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she have gone home?’

  ‘Here’s hoping. But I thought I’d give you the head’s up, just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t have to draw you a picture, mate. She was drunker than a skunk. She’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere howling at the moon. She polished off a good three-quarters of a bottle of whisky and I think around eight pints of larger, so I’d be surprised if she made it home on two legs.’’

  ‘Okay, thanks for letting me know, Frank.’

  ‘Sure thing. I hope she’s okay.’

  He ended the call.

  Jennifer was already getting dressed.

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I know.’

  He threw some clothes on. ‘Something must have happened to make her get drunk on a Wednesday.’

  ‘It’ll be that Tom Dougall.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Unless she has another man?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then it’ll be him.’

  They drove over to Xena’s flat and banged on the door, but there was no answer.

  ‘I’ll get a screwdriver from the toolkit,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To open the door. She could be lying dead in there.’

  He tried shouldering the door open, but hurt his shoulder instead. ‘Hurry up then.’

  Jennifer came back with a screwdriver.

  He wedged it between the door and the frame, yanked it backwards and the frame splintered as the door flew open.

  Stick switched the hall light on. They checked every room, but there was no sign of Xena.

  ‘She must be lying in a ditch between here and the pub,’ Jennifer suggested.

  Two male uniforms were waiting for them at the door.

  ‘What’s going on here then?’ one of them said.

  Stick pulled out his warrant card. ‘DS Gilbert from
Hoddesdon, and this is PC D’Arcy from Southend.’

  The shorter of the two constables peered at him. ‘Hello, Sergeant. It’s Constable Mike Tulliver.’

  ‘I remember. Hi Mike. Listen, my partner DI Blake is missing.’

  ‘Missing?’ Tulliver said.

  ‘Between here and the Ming Inn.’

  ‘Ah! Missing – believed to be DIA – drunk in action.’

  He wasn’t too keen on discussing Xena’s situation with two uniforms, but they’d probably help with the search, and the sooner they found her the better. ‘Yes, that’s what we think. She’s not made it home, so we were just about to go looking for her.’

  ‘You want us to help?’ Tulliver asked.

  ‘That’d be great. Thanks, Mike.’

  ‘She’s one of ours, after all.’ Tulliver began talking on the radio. ‘Yeah, tell the Sarge it’s a false alarm, Janet.’ He glanced at Stick. ‘Don’t want everybody knowing her business, do we?’

  ‘Can you start from the pub, and we’ll start from here?’ Stick suggested.

  Tulliver nodded. ‘No problem.’

  Stick pulled Xena’s door to as he left and thought: She’s going to kill me for wrecking her door. He’d have to arrange for someone to come round and fix it before she sobered up and noticed it.

  It didn’t take Tulliver and his partner long to find Xena and phone Stick.

  ‘You’d better get here quick, Sarge.’

  ‘On our way.’

  When he and Jennifer arrived, Xena was lying face down between two wheelie bins in an alley off Squires Court, opposite the Anchor Retirement Home. Tulliver had covered her with a blanket from his squad car. There was the pungent stench of fresh urine, and they could hear rats scurrying about at the other end of the alley.

  ‘She’s a fucking mess, Sarge,’ Tulliver said. ‘I think she’s been . . . you know?’

  Jennifer knelt down and looked under the blanket. ‘Oh God! Have you called for an ambulance?’

  ‘No, not yet. I didn’t know whether that’s what you wanted us to do.’

  Jennifer’s face creased up. ‘You think we’re just going to leave her here to bleed to death?’

  Tulliver glanced at his partner. ‘Sorry, but as soon as you take her to the hospital it becomes official.’

  Jennifer took charge. ‘If she dies it’ll be official as well. Lift her into the back of our car,’ she directed at Tulliver and his partner.

  They manhandled Xena onto the back seat and shut the doors.

  Using a torch from his boot, Stick quickly searched round the wheelie bins, but couldn’t find Xena’s bag or any personal items. He hoped she hadn’t lost her warrant card – that’d make it official for sure. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he said to the uniforms.

  ‘You don’t want us to . . .’

  ‘No, we’ll take it from here, Mike.’

  ‘Okay, Sarge. As far as we’re concerned, it never happened – unless you say otherwise.’

  He nodded. ‘Appreciated.’

  They climbed in the car, and Jennifer set off towards King George Hospital.

  Groaning came from the back seat.

  ‘You’d better put your foot down,’ Stick said.

  ‘I will.’

  Stick’s phone rang.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Constable Charlene Chivers from Central Dispatch, Sergeant.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I can’t get any answer from DI Blake’s phone, so I’m ringing you as you’re second on the list.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘There’s been another murder.’

  ‘Where?’

  He used the light from the phone to write the details in his notebook. ‘Are forensics on their way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, let Di Heffernan know that I’ve got a bit of an emergency myself at the moment, but I’ll get there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Okay, Sergeant.’

  Chapter Eight

  Thursday, August 7

  Stick asked the doctor to carry out a rape kit on Xena. He didn’t know whether she’d been raped or not, but Tulliver was right – she was a fucking mess. Afterwards, it would be up to Xena whether she pursued it or not, but if they didn’t do one – once the evidence had been obliterated – it would be too late.

  When they’d reached the hospital, and with the help of two porters lifted Xena onto a trolley, the blanket had fallen onto the floor and he’d seen what a mess she was in. Her clothes were ripped, there was blood around her anus and down the back of her legs, and her face was cut and swollen. If she hadn’t been raped, she’d been mugged – or both.

  During the journey to the hospital, he’d had to open the window to let in some fresh air. Xena reeked of – among other things – alcohol.

  Had she got herself in this mess because of Tom Dougall? He wanted to ring Dougall, and tell him to get here, but if he was the reason for her current situation she wouldn’t thank him for that. He decided to leave well alone until Xena woke up and told him what had happened.

  He paced up and down biting the inside of his bottom lip. He wanted to wait and find out about Xena’s condition, but he couldn’t ignore a crime scene.

  ‘I’ll stay here,’ Jennifer said, touching his arm.

  ‘You have work in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll call, and ask for a couple of days off. The Sarge will understand when I explain what happened.

  ‘If you have any trouble – let me know. I’d better ring the Chief.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you wait until . . . ?’

  ‘For what? There’s no way we can brush this under the carpet. The Chief needs to know.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  He called the Chief.

  ‘This had better be good, Gilbert.’

  ‘DI Blake is in hospital, Sir.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We think she went to the pub, and on her way home she was mugged.’

  ‘I won’t ask what she was doing drinking on a Wednesday in the middle of a murder investigation. How is she?’

  ‘Not good, Sir.’ He didn’t see any point in elaborating. ‘I’m at the King George A&E with my girlfriend PC D’Arcy from Southend. I’ve got to go out to another murder now, but Jennifer will stay here.’

  ‘Is it worth me coming over there?’

  ‘No, Sir. She’s unconscious. The doctor is assessing her injuries, and then they’ll take her up to the ITU. Jennifer will keep me informed of her condition, and if there’s anything serious I’ll call you.’

  ‘That seems like a plan, Gilbert. What about D’Arcy – is she at work in the morning?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. She’s going to call the Duty Sergeant, explain the situation and ask for a couple of days off.’

  ‘If she has any trouble from Southend you’ll let me know?’

  ‘I will, Sir.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know, Gilbert.’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Jen?’

  ‘You go to your murder, Monsieur. I’ll be fine here.’

  ‘And you’ll call me if anything . . . ?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  He kissed her. ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘That’s what girlfriends are for.’

  ‘Maybe a girlfriend could become a fiancé?’

  She squealed and hugged him. ‘That would be acceptable, Monsieur.’

  ***

  It was quarter to three in the morning when he arrived at Belcher’s Lane in Bumbles Green. He made a right turn at the King Harold’s Head, kept Nazeing Golf Course on his right, and took another right before he reached the lake on his left. It was slow going because there were no lights this far off the beaten track.

  Eventually, he came to a triangular-shaped lay-by on the right that allowed cars and tractors to turn and go back the way they’d come, and also a place for people to act out their carnal fa
ntasies uninhibited by squeamish pedestrians or the guardians of society.

  Di Heffernan and her team had set up the usual forensic tents, lights and crime scene paraphernalia. Doc Paine had also arrived and was there waiting for him.

  ‘Where’s everybody’s favourite detective inspector?’ Di Heffernan asked.

  ‘In hospital.’

  ‘Nothing too trivial, I hope?’

  ‘She was mugged on her way home last night, and she’s in a pretty bad way.’ He didn’t see the need to give Di any of the juicy details so that she could gloat over Xena’s misfortune.

  ‘Oh!’

  He looked at the dead body. ‘Same as the other one?’

  Doc Paine nodded. ‘Garrotted, hands secured behind his back, penis and testicles severed post mortem.’

  ‘Identity?’

  ‘Brandon Yagin aged twenty-three. He lived at 53 Peacocks, on the Katherines Estate in Harlow.’

  ‘What about the woman?’ he directed at Di.

  ‘We don’t know who she is, and we haven’t found her yet. There are people out there searching.’

  ‘Dogs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Evidence?’

  ‘Still looking, but not hopeful.’

  ‘You should become a detective.’

  ‘Necessity is the mother of absence.’

  ‘I don’t think it goes like that.’

  ‘It does when the detectives don’t turn up, and you’re left here on your own.’

  ‘Mmmm! Who found the body?’

  Di pointed to two men standing together beyond the crime scene tape holding hands. ‘Those two.’

  He walked over to the two men, ducked under the crime scene tape and showed them his warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Gilbert.’ He took out his notebook. ‘You found the body I believe?’

  They nodded.

  ‘Names?’

  ‘I’m Ronnie Gaskill,’ the one on the left said. He was significantly older than the other man, with a completely bald head and a white short-sleeved shirt that had black, brown and red leaves printed on it.

  ‘And I’m Howard Montgomery,’ the man on the right said. He was slimmer and younger, with short black hair and a mustard-coloured corduroy shirt that hung over baggy jeans.