A Time to Kill (P&R14)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Raped? For fuck’s sake, Gilbert.’ The Chief was quiet for a handful of minutes. ‘I suppose we could put it down to a relapse of her earlier condition, suggest that she came back to work too early, soldiered on against the odds and so forth . . .’

  ‘That would be the way to go, Sir.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve, Sergeant.’

  ‘Sorry, Sir.’

  ‘But DI Blake and I will be having words in private you can be certain of that.’

  ‘Of course, Sir.’

  ‘What about the men who raped her?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sir.’

  ‘Do we know who they are?’

  ‘No, but I asked the nurses in A&E to do a rape kit, and Doc Paine is going to run the DNA through the database.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I’ve not thought that far ahead, Sir.’

  ‘We’ll leave it up to Blake, but as far as I can see there are two options open to her: She ignores it – in which case the rapists will get away with what they’ve done. Or, she brings them to justice, and everything will come out in court.’

  ‘Isn’t there a third option?’

  ‘You’d like to kill them?’

  ‘I was thinking more of a good beating, so that the punishment fits the crime.’

  ‘We’re police officers, Gilbert.’

  ‘Sorry, Sir. A lapse of judgement on my part.’

  ‘Yes it was. If Doctor Paine finds a match on the DNA database you’re to give the details to me, and no one else – is that understood, Sergeant?’

  ‘What about DI Blake, Sir?’

  ‘What would she do with the names of the men who raped her, Gilbert?’

  ‘Ah! No, I definitely won’t give her the names.’

  ‘We’re in agreement then?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Good. So, tell me about this second murder.’

  Stick described what had happened, about the two witnesses, the possible limp, the missing woman and the motorcycle.

  ‘They’ve still not found the woman?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘You need help now that Blake is incapacitated.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Let me re-phrase that, Sergeant. You need help now that Blake is incapacitated, don’t you?’

  ‘That would be appreciated, Sir.’

  ‘What about PC D’Arcy?’

  ‘I’d rather not work with my fiancé.’

  ‘Fiancé?’

  ‘It happened earlier this morning.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘I’ll find you someone.’

  ‘Will it be someone . . . ?’

  ‘It’s the holiday season, Gilbert. You don’t get to pick and choose.’

  ‘Of course, Sir. Sorry, Sir.’

  The Chief left shaking his head.

  He sat down next to the bed, took Xena’s hand in his, closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the back of her hand. He was really tired, which was hardly surprising seeing as he’d had no sleep since Wednesday night. What was he going to do? Tears seeped out of his eyes, and he wiped them away with the bed sheet.

  ‘You’re a numpty,’ Xena said.

  ‘Me? I’m not the one who’s lying in bed looking like they’ve been trampled by a herd of elephants.’ Her right eye was black and nearly closed; her lip was swollen and cut; and she’d had a deep gash on her scalp sutured up in A&E.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s good that you don’t remember.’

  ‘I haven’t developed dementia yet.’

  ‘You’re trying to trick me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have to try too hard. I remember falling off my stool in the Ming Inn. Frankie was meant to ring you to come and take me home, but he was busy. I picked myself up, and thought I could make it home on my own, but I must have taken a wrong turn along the way.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I thought I just did.’

  ‘Someone must have followed you out of the pub.’

  ‘There were three of them.’

  ‘Didn’t they know you were a copper.’

  ‘Who knows. They beat the shit out of me and then robbed me.’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘And nothing.’

  ‘I asked the nurse in A&E to do a rape kit.’

  She turned her head away. ‘Well, you’d better fucking well un-ask that nurse, numpty.’

  ‘And Doc Paine is running any DNA she finds on the swabs through the database.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve had the fucking nerve . . .’

  ‘And the Chief knows.’

  ‘I’m surprised you haven’t taken out a double-page spread in the Hoddesdon Gazette. What were you thinking of, you fucking moron?’

  ‘Well, I thought . . .’

  ‘No you didn’t. I was never raped. The best anyone can say is that I was attacked by three men and robbed of a couple of quid when I was falling-down drunk. If someone tells it differently, they’re a fucking liar.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘But nothing. You want me to be a victim?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘I’m a Detective Inspector, not a victim. So you’d better destroy the evidence from that rape kit, destroy the report that Doc Paine has produced and un-tell the Chief.’

  ‘The Chief’s not happy.’

  ‘Life’s not a banana fucking sundae for me either.’

  ‘He wanted to know why you were drinking on a Wednesday night in the middle of a murder investigation.’ He stared at her. ‘It’s Tom Dougall, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who? I don’t know anybody with a name even vaguely similar to that one.’

  ‘After what you’ve been through the Chief said that he’d call it a relapse, but he’ll be speaking to you privately. If I now tell him that you weren’t raped, then you’ll probably be facing an investigation by Professional Standards.’

  ‘All right, you can probably forget about un-telling the Chief, but you’d better correct your other dumb mistakes.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Good. So, how’s the murder going?’

  He stood up. Anger bubbled to the surface again. ‘What do you care? If you’d cared, you wouldn’t have gone off on your own and put your life in danger.’

  ‘It’s up to me what I do on my time off . . .’

  ‘No it’s not. There are people who care about you, but you’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t care about them.’

  ‘I’m still a DI and your superior officer . . .’

  ‘You think that means anything to me?’ He put his balled fists on the bed and leaned his face in close to hers. ‘I thought we were friends. I thought I meant something to you. I thought you trusted me. I thought . . .’ He stood up again, straightened his tie and wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Yeah well, I know exactly where I stand now. So, you just lie there and enjoy your time off, and don’t worry about what I’m doing.’

  He headed for the door.

  ‘Stick?’ she called after him.

  ***

  Richards lifted her hand to knock on the Chief’s door.

  ‘He’s not in,’ Lydia O’Brien said.

  Parish’s brow furrowed. ‘Not in? He’s always in.’

  ‘Gone to the hospital, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Is there . . . ?’

  ‘Don’t know. He just called and said he was going to the hospital.’

  ‘Oh, okay. We’ll just have to brief him some other time. Come on Richards, don’t stand there with your mouth open like a wind tunnel.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Sometimes you have to go with the flow, roll with the punches, follow the pack. At least now we’ll have time to grab a coffee.’

  ‘That’s you all over – thinking of yourself. Aren’t you worried that the Chief might have had another heart attack?’

  ‘No. Do you think he’d have phoned Lydia if he was clutching
his chest in agony?’

  ‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you?’

  ‘Far too smart to make my own coffee.’

  ‘You . . .’

  ‘. . . Inspector wonderful?’

  ‘You took the words right out of my mouth.’

  After Richards had made the coffee, they headed for the incident room.

  ‘Life is too important to be taken seriously, Toadstone,’ Parish said as he shuffled into the incident room carrying his nearly-full mug of steaming coffee and sat down.

  Toadstone smiled. ‘Oscar Wilde.’ He turned to indicate a younger man who was wearing a blue t-shirt with – I’m a Computer Technician Let Me Double Click Your Mouse – on the front. ‘This is Josh Marmite. He’s our tech guy at the moment.’

  Josh leaned across the table and offered his hand. ‘Hi, Sir. People either love me or hate me.’

  Richards stifled a laugh. ‘Marmite – the advert! I love it.’

  Parish shook the proffered hand. ‘I’ll reserve judgement.’ He glanced at Richards. ‘Stop mumbling, Richards, and get the board.’

  ‘What would you like me to do with it?’

  ‘I’d like you to stop being a smartarse just because you’ve got an audience, and write any useful details on it. Okay, what have you got for me, Toadstone?’

  ‘I’ll let Josh go first, and then he can get back to work.’

  Josh smiled awkwardly, and touched his spiked hair to make sure the spikes were in place. ‘Hi. Oh, I’ve said that already, haven’t I? Well, Dr Toadstone asked me to check what Catrina Golding had been doing online, which I did.’ He opened up a small, slim laptop and plugged a tiny projector into a USB port that he aimed at the far wall. ‘Here . . . let me show you.’ A giant photograph of a semi-nude Catrina Golding stared down at them. She was wearing matching lace bra and panties, thigh-high stockings and an alluring smile. They were shown a series of twenty pictures, some of which – by the nature of her poses – bordered on pornography. ‘Those are only a tiny sample. I have over five hundred. Over a hundred of them are pure filth. Do you want to see them?’

  Parish shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary. And she put these on Twitter, Facebook and the other social networking sites?’

  He laughed. ‘No, they wouldn’t allow her to do that. She did post a lot of selfies on a number of the social media sites, but they were tame in comparison to what she uploaded to another site.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Here, take a look . . .’ He moved his fingers over the keyboard and a website appeared on the wall called: SEX GODDESS. ‘This is a site which allows men and women – but mostly women – to upload photographs of themselves into their own personal area, and they then authorise other people to look at them.’

  ‘How many people did she give access to?’

  ‘A hundred and thirty-four. A hundred and twenty-three were men, and the remaining eleven were women.’

  ‘I hope you’ve narrowed them down to a manageable number, Marmite?’

  ‘That’s what you pay me for.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Now that’s what I call narrowing down. You could learn some lessons from Mr Marmite, Toadstone.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Not that I don’t trust you, but how did you narrow them down?’

  ‘A hundred and three don’t live in this country. Of course, I’ve made the assumption that they haven’t travelled over here to commit an act of murder. I’ve discounted the women, because the victim was probably sexually assaulted, which leaves twenty. Seven were underage – the youngest being a nine year-old boy from Sandown on the Isle of Wight – which leaves thirteen. Ten were over seventy years old, and I’m guessing they didn’t do it. That leaves three, who all live in and around Essex. Also, she was in contact with all three over the previous month.’

  ‘Within the website?’

  ‘Yes. Members pay to join. It’s a variation on a dating/social networking site for like-minded individuals.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The three men also have pictures in their areas as well.’

  ‘That can’t have been much fun for you?’ Richards suggested.

  ‘Not really, but that’s not all.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Live webcam feeds.’

  Parish’s brow furrowed. ‘So, they were looking at her, and she was looking at them?’

  ‘Yes. I think they were watching each other touch themselves and masturbate.’

  Richards pulled a face. ‘But what about the seven underage members?’

  ‘They lied to gain access.’

  ‘So the three men who you’ve identified could also have lied?’

  ‘No. I checked everyone out personally through bank accounts, criminal records, school records and so forth. I made sure that what details they provided were accurate. The seven who were underage have been reported to the site management, and the owners have changed their procedures accordingly.’

  Parish pursed his lips. ‘Good job, Marmite.’

  ‘Thanks, Sir.’ He passed a piece of paper to Richards. ‘The names and addresses of the three men.’

  Richards looked at the paper and smiled.

  ‘What’s so funny, Richards?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She wrote the three names up on the board, and slipped the piece of paper into the pocket of her jeans.

  ‘Also, I checked the victim’s phone records. There doesn’t appear to be anything relevant on the landline, but her mobile is a different matter. Not only was she in contact with all three men by webcam and mobile, but she met with them as well.’

  Parish’s lip curled up. ‘You’re being very thorough, Marmite.’

  ‘I love my job, Sir.’

  ‘I can imagine – looking at naked females all day long.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it. Here, take a look at these. They’re not the best quality, but I think you’ll get the idea.’

  They watched three short clips of Catrina Golding having fully-clothed sex with three different men in different places.

  ‘All three clips are from the security cameras at Palace Gardens Shopping Centre on London Road in Enfield. That’s where she agreed by phone to meet each man on different days in the previous month.’

  Richards’ screwed up her face. ‘I’m confused.’

  ‘That wouldn’t take much,’ Parish suggested.

  ‘Ha, ha. Why are they having sex in full view of the security cameras? In one of those clips, I’m sure I saw Catrina looking at the camera.’

  ‘In a way, it’s an extension of everything else,’ Toadstone said. ‘She was an exhibitionist. It’s also known as Lady Godiva syndrome and Apodysophilia. Public masturbation and sex in public are at the far end of the continuum.’

  ‘That’s why she didn’t want Jimmy to move in with her, isn’t it?’ Richards said.

  Parish nodded. ‘Living with a man would certainly have curtailed her activities.’

  ‘I have another question for Josh,’ she said. ‘I understand that the selfies are taken by the person themselves – not that I’ve ever taken a selfie myself, you understand. But who took the other pictures?’

  Marmite flipped back to the original photographs he’d shown them. ‘Mmmm, that’s a very good question. I’ll examine all the photographs again and see if I can’t identify the photographer. Well spotted, DC Richards. ’

  ‘Call me Mary.’

  ‘Mary. That’s a lovely name. It means star of the sea.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Or wished-for child,’ Toadstone offered.

  ‘When we’ve all quite finished waffling on about onomastics,’ Parish said, leaning back in his chair. ‘It also means sea of bitterness. Now, can we move on?’

  Richards gave him a look, which suggested that as soon as she found the time she’d add another page to her Court of Human Rights report.

  ‘Do yo
u have anything else for us, Marmite?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Thanks for your hard work, and I’ll expect something on the photographer by the end of the day.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ He took Richards’ hand and kissed the back of it. ‘Nice to meet you, Mary Richards.’

  Her face reddened. ‘And you, Josh love me or hate me.’

  He left.

  ‘I feel sick,’ Parish said. ‘Well, what have you got for us, Toadstone?’

  ‘I have a mountain of fingerprints, fibres, hairs and DNA that there are no database matches for. Also, even if I do get a match, all it will tell me is that the person was in the victim’s flat, but not when, or what they did.’

  ‘Do you practise these excuses in the mirror at night?’

  Toadstone ignored him. ‘I can tell you that one earring was missing.’

  Richards clapped her hands together. ‘I knew it.’

  Parish narrowed his eyes. ‘Can you tell me how that earring came to be missing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you tell me that the killer took it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you tell me that it was there before the murder, but not there after the murder?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, what you’re telling me is of no practical use whatsoever?’

  ‘I suppose you could interpret my finding in that way.’

  ‘See, Richards – all the excitement was for nothing.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Paul, I’m reporting him to the Court of Human Rights.’

  ‘Any more useless information for us?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Thanks for coming down anyway, Toadstone. Always a pleasure to see you. And you can tell Mr Marmite I was mildly impressed with his work. At least he produced something I can use.’

  Toadstone slunk out.

  ‘You’re the worst boss in the world.’

  ‘The world is a big place, Richards. Is it your considered opinion that I should tell him what a great job he’s been doing, that he’s been really unlucky so far, but that I’m sure things will no doubt get better if he keeps his nose to the grindstone?’

  ‘Yes. Something like that.’

  ‘We’re trying to solve the murder of a young woman who was sixteen weeks pregnant. As such, it could be seen as a double murder depending on your view of when human life begins. So, when you’re thinking about whether I should go soft on Toadstone, I want you to picture the faces of Mr and Mrs Golding and consider their feelings. We haven’t got the right to give Toadstone an easy time. I want evidence, not excuses. Are we clear, Detective?’