A Time to Kill (P&R14)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘You don’t have to take it out on me.’

  ‘I’m not taking anything out on you, I’m simply explaining what you’ll need to do when you’re the boss. If you’re going to be a namby-pamby, a jellyfish or a yellow belly then you’d better get a job at the local supermarket stacking shelves.’

  ‘Again! I’ll probably need to go and speak to the manager and ask him to keep a permanent position open for me.’

  ‘That would probably be a good idea. So, what did Mister love him or hate him write on the piece of paper?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The piece of paper you put in your pocket.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You would if you took the said piece of paper out of your pocket.’

  She put her hands in her pockets. ‘Nope, nothing in there.’

  ‘It wouldn’t happen to be a telephone number, would it?’

  ‘You’ve made it quite clear that I’m not supposed to accept proposals from men without your written authorisation.’

  ‘And yet, you’re hiding a note from me which may contain one such proposal.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘I’m going to come over there and rummage around in your pocket until I find that piece of paper.’

  ‘You will not.’

  He jumped up.

  The chair clattered to the floor.

  Richards squealed and darted to the end of the table. ‘I’ll call the police.’

  ‘The paper?’

  She pulled the scrap of paper out of her pocket and threw it at him. ‘I thought you wanted me to find someone.’

  He left the paper on the table. ‘I do. You can go out with him if you want to.’

  ‘That’s another page for the report.’

  ‘But I want you to consider the consequences if you do go out with him.’

  ‘There are consequences already?’

  ‘If you married him, you’d be Mary Marmite.’

  She burst out laughing. ‘Oh God!’

  ‘And no sex.’

  ‘You can’t say that.’

  ‘I just did.’

  Chapter Ten

  Seeing as he was already in the hospital he decided to walk down the stairs to the mortuary.

  He knew why Xena had drunk herself senseless on a Wednesday night, but he wasn’t happy about it. If only she’d phoned him. He would have covered her back. Instead, not only did the Chief know about her pathetic attempt to blot out Tom Dougall’s memory, but she’d been raped and sodomised as well. No, he wasn’t happy at all. It was his fault. She didn’t trust him enough to talk to him about her problems, or simply to say: “I’m going to get plastered. You don’t need to know why, just watch my back.” He would have done that for her, no questions asked. But she didn’t ask, and now the whole thing was a mess.

  Sally Paine lifted her head out of a cadaver’s abdomen and glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Didn’t I say two o’clock for the PM?’

  ‘Yes. I’m here about the other matter.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Xena wants the rape kit destroyed.’

  ‘After extracting any DNA, of course?’

  ‘Before.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to know?’

  ‘Apparently not. I’m not keen on destroying evidence – it goes against everything I signed up for. Is it possible that you can simply put it on a shelf somewhere and forget about it?’

  ‘Yes, I can do that, but it would be a lot better if I extracted any DNA and carried out a database search first. If I find any matches I could tell you, but you don’t have to do anything with them . . . unless Xena changes her mind, of course.’

  ‘Okay, do that then. No official report though.’

  ‘Just between you, me and the gatepost.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc. I’ll see you about two.’

  He made his way out to the car park, and found a parking ticket in a plastic bag under his windscreen wiper. He’d forgotten to buy a ticket when he arrived. But wasn’t it always the way? Problems – like buses – always came along in threes.

  He’d just reached Banbury Reservoir on the A406 when he received a phone call from Central Despatch.

  ‘It’s Constable Edna Piper, Sergeant.’

  ‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this.’

  ‘Mmmm! That was original.’

  ‘What can I do for you, Constable?’

  ‘The woman who killed Brandon Yagin has been found.’

  ‘That’s good news. Where is she now?’

  ‘They’ve taken her to the hospital.’

  ‘I’ve just come from there.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s your fault.’

  ‘No, it’s not my fault. I was merely being sympathetic.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Alice Wheatley.’

  ‘Thanks, Constable.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  He came off at the Angel Road train station slip road and headed back towards the hospital. This time, when he parked up, he bought a parking ticket for an hour.

  The ambulance had not long brought her into the A&E. A doctor had already assessed her and administered a sedative, but it had yet to take effect.

  ‘I’d like to speak to her,’ he said to Staff Nurse Angela Fitzpatrick.

  ‘How many police officers does it take to change a light bulb?’

  ‘I’m not very good with jokes.’

  ‘It wasn’t a joke. Another police officer came in and spoke to the patient about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Another police officer! Did he show you a warrant card?’

  ‘Of course. I may look green, but I’m not an avocado. He said his name was Tubman, or something like that.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to her anyway.’

  ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘Seven and a half – my final offer.’

  ‘You drive a hard bargain.’

  Fitzpatrick showed him into the cubicle where a dark-haired young woman was lying in a bed. She wasn’t particularly pretty, but she wasn’t ugly either. Her hair was brushed straight back revealing a wide expanse of forehead, deep-set eyes that seemed to be a washed-out grey, ears that protruded forty-five degrees and an unusually pointed chin.

  She turned to look at him.

  He spoke softly. ‘Hello, Alice. I’m Detective Sergeant Gilbert. Is it all right if I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘Another policeman has already been in to see me.’

  ‘So I believe. I don’t know who he was, but I’m in charge of the investigation.’ He looked around for a chair, but there wasn’t one. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘I killed Brandon to save my own life – that’s what happened.’

  ‘You were forced to do it.’

  ‘I could have said no.’

  ‘Very few people would have said no.’

  ‘Would you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nobody knows what they’d do until they’re put in that situation. Just tell me what happened.’

  ‘We were on the back seat having sex . . .’

  ‘Actually having sex?’

  ‘Yes – he was inside me. It wasn’t the first time.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The door behind Brandon opened. The courtesy light came on. A hooded man reached in, grabbed Brandon’s hair and dragged him out. I started screaming, but the man told me to stop otherwise he’d cut Brandon’s throat, so I stopped. He forced Brandon to kneel on the ground and told me to get out of the car. When I was standing beside the car, the man passed me a loop of plastic, told me to put it round Brandon’s wrists and pull it tight.’

  ‘What was the hooded man doing?’

  ‘Holding a knife against Brandon’s throat. I kept looking for a way out, but I couldn’t find one.’ She began sobbing. ‘If I’d known what was coming I would never have . . . but I didn’t know, did I?’

 
‘Then what?’

  ‘He wanted to know where my panties were. I mean, he had a knife in his hand, and he wanted to know where my panties were. I couldn’t believe he was asking me that. I told him that I still had them on. I was wearing shorts you see, because I knew what Brandon wanted to do last night. Anyway, he made me unbutton my shorts and push my panties down. I stepped out of them, picked them up and gave them to him. I thought he was going to rape me, but instead he took something that was hanging round his own neck and put it around Brandon’s. Then he told me to cross my arms and grip each end.’

  ‘You’re doing very good, Alice,’ Stick reassured her.

  ‘He said: “You have a choice. You can either kill Brandon and I let you live, or I kill both of you.” Brandon started crying. He begged me not to kill him, but what other choice did I have? I mean, it was better that Brandon died and I lived, wasn’t it? The man told me to pull, so I pulled. I felt him touching my backside, and I thought he was going to do it to me while I killed Brandon, but he didn’t – he was doing it to himself. I mean, I’m not that ugly, am I?’

  ‘No, you’re not that ugly.’ As soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. He was just glad that she didn’t notice. ‘And you killed Brandon?’

  ‘Yes. I cried. I told him I was sorry, but I killed him all the same. They’ll send me to prison now, won’t they?’

  ‘I don’t know. Are you sure the killer used Brandon’s name?’

  ‘Yes. He knew both our names.’

  ‘Is that because you and Brandon had used each other’s names while the man had been there?’

  ‘I don’t know. We might have done.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Brandon was dead, so I let go of the two handles and he fell forward. I heard the man grunting and breathing heavy behind me. Then he said: “Run, rabbit run.” I bent to pull my shorts up, but he told me not to. I ran into the darkness, and I think I heard him laughing behind me.’

  ‘Where did you run to?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t even know where I was. Brandon decided we should go there. So I just ran, hid in a ditch and covered myself over with leaves. I must have cried myself to sleep, because the next thing I knew it was light.’

  ‘And you got out of the ditch?’

  ‘Yes, but I was a bit short on clothes, if you remember. I took my t-shirt off, ripped it up the seams and tied it round me like a skirt. I was just glad I had on my best underwear. I must have wandered back the way I’d come, because I found the police and everyone at the place.’

  ‘Is there anything you can tell me about the hooded man?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘The door is open, the courtesy light has come on, someone is reaching into the car . . .’

  ‘He’s wearing a blue and yellow checked shirt that’s buttoned up to the neck, and he has black gloves on . . . sorry, that’s all I can remember.’

  ‘Did you smell anything?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Was there anything strange about him?’

  ‘Strange?’

  ‘Really tall or small? A hunched back? Ten foot arms?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Staff Nurse Fitzpatrick came in through a gap in the curtains. ‘Time’s up, detective.’

  Stick closed his notebook. ‘I think we’re finished. Thank you, Alice. And don’t worry, I don’t think anybody is going to send you to prison.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? I mean, I’m already in prison, aren’t I? Every time I close my eyes I see Brandon falling forward dead, and I have the murder weapon in my hands. I should have died with him.’ She began to sob again.

  Stick squeezed her hand. There was nothing he could do. What she needed was psychiatric help. He made his way out into the reception.

  Today wasn’t really going to plan. He’d had no sleep, he’d lost a partner, he’d got Jen involved in his work, he hadn’t had any breakfast and his stomach was making volcanic noises. He knew he should really go back to the station and see if Di Heffernan had anything for him, but he felt light-headed and it was nearly twelve-thirty. He had to get something to eat before he came to a standstill. Also, it seemed illogical to drive all the way to Hoddesdon Police Station, only to turn round and come straight back for the post mortem at two o’clock. He decided to eat in the hospital cafeteria and work at the same time – wasn’t that why mobile phones were invented?

  ***

  ‘What if we’re in the moment?’ Richards said.

  ‘You call me.’

  ‘Call you? Like a helpline, you mean?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  They’d just parked the car and were walking into the hospital through the automatic double doors.

  ‘You want me to stop what I’m doing and call you?’

  ‘Put me on speed dial just in case.’

  ‘And you’ll talk me out of it?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Do you want me to give you an idea of what I’ll say?’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘The act of sex is a messy business, Richards. First, there’s all those fluids and juices that slosh about . . .’

  She laughed. ‘You’ve convinced me. I’m never going to have sex with a man again.’

  ‘And I haven’t even mentioned the baby Marmites.’ Parish screwed up his face. ‘I wonder how he got a name like that?’

  ‘I’ll ask him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t wait up.’

  ‘We’ll test the speed dial before you leave.’

  ‘The joke’s wearing thin.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You think it’s a joke?’

  ‘Isn’t that DS Gilbert?’ Richards said as they walked into the cafeteria.

  ‘So it is.’ Parish waved, but Gilbert obviously didn’t see him, because he didn’t wave back.

  Doc Riley smiled as they reached the table by the window she was sitting at.

  ‘Hi, Doc,’ they said in unison.

  ‘You two sound like Tweedledum and Tweedledee,’ she said. ‘They used to talk at the same time and finish each other’s sentences as well.’

  ‘She’s dumb, and I’m dee.’

  Richards laughed. ‘You’re a pig.’

  ‘Mmmm! Maybe they’ve got pork on the menu. Should we take a look?’

  As usual, Richards had a salad with a bottle of water; Doc Riley chose a goat’s cheese and balsamic onion panini with curly fries and homemade coleslaw – whose home it was made in wasn’t revealed; and Parish helped himself to the lasagne with garlic bread, a triple chocolate brownie and ice cream, and a mug of coffee.

  As agreed, Doc Riley paid.

  ‘I hope you’ve got some good news for us, Doc,’ Parish said as they sat down and began eating.

  ‘Do you want the short or the long version?’

  ‘Need you ask?’

  ‘All right. You can read the long version yourself.’ She took a bite of her panini and forked in a helping of coleslaw with it. ‘There’s no doubt that Catrina Golding was sexually assaulted, and at first I thought it had all the hallmarks of erotic asphyxiation gone too far – the dislocated right hip, the strangulation, the bruising . . .’

  Parish cut himself a slice of lasagne. ‘But?’

  ‘But the sexual assault occurred after death. You have yourselves a necrophiliac.’

  ‘How disgusting,’ Richards said. ‘Why would someone do something like that?’

  ‘Never ask why, Richards. Asking why people do what they do is the rollercoaster to hell, and you know what you’re like on the rollercoaster.’

  Richards turned to Doc Riley. ‘They make me sick. I only went on one once – never again.’

  Parish laughed. ‘You should have seen it, Doc – vomit everywhere. I was sitting next
to her, and extremely grateful that somebody had invented the theory of relativity. Those with their mouths open in the cabooses behind us weren’t so lucky. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Needless to say, when the rollercoaster arrived at the terminal, we had to run like the clappers.’

  Richard’s face reddened. ‘I was so embarrassed.’

  ‘A wonderful holiday story. Anyway,’ the Doc continued. ‘The killer had sex with her after she was dead, and he ejaculated inside her.’

  Parish stopped eating and his eyes opened wide. ‘You found sperm?’

  ‘Yes. And that’s not all.’

  ‘It’s not my birthday is it, Richards?’

  ‘It’s not even my birthday.

  ‘I found a DNA match.’

  ‘No, don’t say that, Doc. If we wrap it up by five o’clock, what will we do for the rest of the week?’

  ‘Well, you could write a glowing report about a certain forensic pathologist who is brilliant at her job.’

  ‘We can do that, can’t we Richards?’

  Richards pulled a face. ‘What’s the catch?’

  Parish stared at her. ‘When did you get so cynical?’

  ‘It was during the time I’ve been working with you.’

  ‘Don’t listen to her, Doc.’

  ‘As far as I’m aware, there is no catch,’ Doc Reilly said. ‘The sperm belongs to a thirty seven year-old man called Edgar Beasley, and it’s not the first time he’s left it behind. As well as three convictions for indecently exposing himself to primary-aged schoolboys, he also has a conviction for the gang-rape of a man . . .’

  ‘He raped a man?’ Richards said.

  ‘Yes – with three other men.’

  ‘And now he’s had sex with a dead woman – that’s a bit unusual.’

  ‘I suppose it is, but DNA doesn’t lie.’

  ‘Mmmm!’

  ‘Stop humming, Richards. We don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth. Doc Riley has been kind enough to find us indisputable forensic evidence of necrophilia and murder by a known sex offender. We can now lock Mr Beasley up and take a long weekend with the smug satisfaction of a job well done.’