by Tim Ellis
‘A woman. We have no idea who she is.’
‘They obviously got rid of all their skeletons in one go. What about your two toy boys?’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call them that. They’re outside sunning themselves.’
Nils came in and slapped him on the back. ‘More whisky, Raymond?’
He clutched his head with both hands to stop it falling off, bouncing on the floor and rolling out of the door. ‘You have to turn round and go back to Tilbury, Nils.’
‘I drop you off in Albania. Ships always going from there to England. I speak to people and get you all back home.’
He didn’t have the wherewithal to force the issue. It looked as though Nils wasn’t going to change his mind.
Inspector Steve West appeared. ‘Morning, Sir.’
‘Hello, West. Everything okay?’
‘We’re all fine, but the men were wondering what’s happening about getting home. Some of them have wives and children, and there’s no satellite signal out here.’
‘I understand.’ He took out his own phone. The battery was nearly drained, and it informed him that there was no signal available. ‘I need to make a call, Nils.’
‘I can do that for my good friend, Raymond. Then we start on another bottle of whisky.’
‘He will not,’ Jerry said to him.
Nils laughed and slapped Jerry on the back. ‘She is just like my Borghild.’
Nils led Kowalski down to the radio room and after about fifteen minutes the radio operator had the Chief Constable on the line.
‘What the hell’s going on, Ray?’
He told Chief Constable William Orde QPM what had happened both to him and to Jerry.
‘Jesus, Ray!’
‘I know, I’ll be lucky to still have a job after this.’
‘I think we can knock that idea on the head straight away, Mr Kowalski. I’ll start writing a reference. I can’t believe you boarded a ship in international waters . . .’
‘Yes, but I don’t think the Captain will make an issue of it.’
‘And you’ve lost a helicopter plus all the surveillance equipment worth upwards of three million pounds . . .’
‘I think we can put that down to a combination of pilot error, weather conditions and . . .’
‘He was under your orders, Ray.’
‘I know, but what about the dead body and the organ trafficking business?’
‘You may have a dead body, but the clinic will deny all knowledge of it. Also, apart from the say-so of your wife and a few deadbeats, you don’t have a shred of evidence linking the clinic to any dead body or organ trafficking business. As far as anyone is concerned, you’re a rogue copper using police men and equipment for your own insane agenda.’
‘You know that’s not true, Sir.’
‘What I know is that I’m not sure of anything anymore, Ray. I thought you were one of the good ones, but this . . . Jesus!’
He knew he was in a deep hole, but if he could just argue his case in person . . . ‘You haven’t got a spare helicopter to bring us back, have you?’
‘Where are you?’
‘Just about to enter the Straits of Gibraltar.’
‘Jesus, Ray! Even if I had access to another chopper it wouldn’t be able to reach Gibraltar. A thousand miles – give or take – is way beyond the range of a chopper.’
‘It looks like we’re on our way to Albania then. And if I’ve no job to come back to, I might just stay there. I believe the weather’s lovely in Albania at this time of year.’
‘Staying in Albania is probably the best idea you’ve had during this whole fiasco. I don’t think we have an extradition treaty with the Albanians.’
‘Your support is greatly appreciated, Sir.’
‘What did you expect, Ray? Leave it with me. I might have an idea for getting you home.’
He left the radio operator to provide the Chief Constable with the details of how to contact the ship, but before he’d gone too far he turned back. He realised that no action would taken against the Beautiful You Cosmetic Surgery Clinic until he returned to the UK – whenever that might be.
‘Can I make another call?’ he said when the radio operator had finished talking to the Chief Constable.
‘Of course.’
He gave the man Honey Lister’s number in Professional Standards at the Met.
‘This is bordering on harassment, Ray.’
‘If I was going to harass anyone Honey, it would definitely be you.’
‘I’m flattered. What do you want this time?’
‘It’s a long story, but I’m on a container ship heading towards Albania.’
He heard her laughing. ‘Yes, that sounds like it could be a long story.’
‘I have five people here. One of them is a dead body.’
‘Go on?’
‘I’m sure Inspector Cornwall reported back to you about my altercation at the clinic?’
‘Yes, he did mention something about a bull in a china shop.’
‘Well, I guessed that they’d stonewall him, so I decided I couldn’t sit on my hands and wait, so I went myself. As it turned out, they stonewalled me instead. At the time, I had no leverage, but now I have verbal witness statements and a dead body.’
‘And you’re ringing me because?’
He told Honey about Bronwyn booking into the clinic for plastic surgery – although he called her Olive; he told her about Olive being a hacker and the encrypted email referring to an organ costing half a million pounds that was to be transferred to an offshore account; about Ibrahim Drago, the Kosovo War and the persistent rumours of human organ trafficking; about Olive being drugged and locked in a room beneath the clinic; about three unidentified witnesses stumbling into the cellar of the clinic and finding the maggot-infested body of a woman; and about a satellite recording of five bodies being removed from the clinic and transported by truck to a container ship in Tilbury docks . . .
‘Which is why you’re on you’re on your way to Albania now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I assume Jerry is fine?’
‘Thankfully.’
‘Who’s the dead woman?’
‘No idea, but there’s something not quite right about her murder. I know that seems strange under the circumstances, but I took a look at the body. She appears to have been a patient in the clinic. Now, I suppose I could have understood it if there’d been a mistake in the operating theatre, but that’s not how she died. She was raped, tortured and murdered. And when I say she was tortured, I mean the bones in her face were smashed in, her teeth were mostly broken, there was heavy bruising everywhere, and knife cuts and cigarette burns on her abdomen and genitals, and her left breast appeared to have been physically torn from her chest. I’ve seen some things Honey, but this ranks as one of the worst.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘I don’t know, but here’s what I think. By the time anybody carries out an investigation into what’s happening in that clinic there’ll be no evidence left to find.’
‘Ah! I see where this is going. You want me to do your dirty work for you?’
‘Police work.’
‘Which would be based on a hacker – whose real name you’ve withheld – illegally accessing an encrypted email? Also, weren’t the people who broke into the cellar of the clinic and found the body your wife and her two student friends?’
‘Who can’t be identified for obvious reasons. But there’s something I haven’t told you.’
‘Oh?’
‘In the email, an organ transplant operation was scheduled for Saturday, February 6 at 2330 hours.’
‘In the clinic?’
‘That’s my understanding. The recipient has been told to arrive at least two hours prior to the operation.’
It went quiet at the other end and he thought he’d lost the connection.
‘I’m thinking . . .’ she said.
‘Okay.’
He waited some more.
>
‘If it wasn’t you, Ray . . .’
‘I know.’
‘I’ll speak to people, but I’m making no promises.’
‘I leave it in your capable hands, Honey.’
‘Yes, you’d know about my capable hands all right. What about the body?’
‘I’ll send it to Doctor Megan Riley at King George Hospital for post mortem.’
‘I want written statements of the four witnesses, and if your hacker can still access the email – I want a copy.’
‘Understood.’
‘This is way outside my Professional Standards remit.’
‘You were always good at multitasking.’
‘You’ll owe me?’
‘And I always pay my debts.’
He went back up to the bridge.
‘It looks like we’re going on holiday to sunny Albania,’ he said to Jerry.
Nils smacked him on the back. ‘Excellent. I have whisky for special occasions.’
Chapter Twenty
‘Where’s Hefferbitch?’ Xena said to the red-haired, long-nosed, flappy-eared receptionist – Madeleine Hensby – in forensics.
‘I take it you’re referring to Miss Heffernan, Ma’am?’
‘You take it right.’
‘Not in this morning, I’m afraid.’
‘She’s on a course? Seeing her psychotherapist? Having all her teeth pulled?’
‘Doctor’s appointment.’
‘Because?’
‘I’m sorry, but I have no idea.’
‘No idea? You must think we’re rookies. I hope you’ve got a good lawyer.’ She turned to stick. ‘Arrest her for obstructing a police officer . . .’
Stick put his elbows on the counter and smiled. ‘Is Dr Toadstone available, Madeleine?’
‘Of course, Sergeant Gilbert.’ She picked up the phone and pressed a button. ‘DI Blake and DS Gilbert to see you, Sir.’ She replaced the phone. ‘He’s on his way.’
‘Good job as well,’ Xena said to her. ‘You saved yourself hours of torture and interrogation.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
She turned to stare at Stick. ‘You’re getting into the habit of disobeying orders lately.’
‘Orders! When did you give me an order?’
‘I ordered you to arrest her.’
‘I knew you were joking.’
Xena pursed her lips. ‘Am I renowned for my sense of humour, my jocularity, my effervescence, my . . . ?’
‘DI Blake,’ Toadstone said as he came into reception. ‘And DS Gilbert. What a pleasant surprise. How can I help you?’
‘Don’t think I’ve finished with you yet, numpty.’
‘I never would.’
A shadow of a smile crossed her face. ‘You can help us, Mr Toad by telling us what’s going on. We’re in the middle of a very complex investigation and that useless bitch Heffernan has decided to go on holiday . . .’
‘Doctor’s appointment.’
‘More like a fucking duvet day. She can’t bear to face me with her Mickey-Mouse analysis of my crime scene.’
‘Doctor’s appointment.’
‘Is there an echo in here?’
‘I can tell you everything she’s discovered to date.’
‘Book the rickshaw now, Stick.’
Toadstone led them along the corridor to a laboratory. ‘Diane has been working exceptionally hard to provide you with something useful for your investigation, and I think she’s found what you’re looking for.’
‘Working hard! If I’m not mistaken, turned on its head, that means “hard work”, so I know you’re lying because the algae up here have no idea what hard work looks like.’
‘Yes, Diane suggested that you were one of our more challenging customers, DI Blake.’
‘You’re mistaking me for someone who walked in off the street, Mr Toad. I’m one of the most pleasant, likeable and easy-going people I know . . . Tell him, Stick.’
‘You said Di had found something, Dr Toadstone?’ Stick said.
‘Yes. Here, take a seat while I get the lights.’
They sat down in front of an interactive whiteboard.
‘I won’t forget that you failed to back me up when the opportunity arose, numpty.’
‘I know. They say that elephants and women never forget.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting that there’s a similarity between elephants and women?’
‘Absolutely not.’
Dr Toadstone switched the lights off and the computer on. Pretty soon a picture of their crime scene popped onto the screen. The four bodies were where they’d left them, but the room was slightly different because there were two heavy-duty spotlights lighting up the space, small yellow numbered triangles had been positioned around the floor, a forensic officer was standing at the side with a digital camera in her hand, and there was an open metal case with a potpourri of containers and instruments inside lying next to the wall.
‘We remember that, don’t we, Stick? It’s like watching holiday snaps with the family. Got any popcorn, ice cream or more importantly – beers?’
Toadstone ignored her. ‘As you can see, this is your crime scene. This is when we first arrived. Did you notice the graffiti on the walls?’
‘It was really dark in there,’ Stick said. ‘And we didn’t have much in the way of light.’
Xena grunted. ‘Not only that, we were more concerned with the dead bodies, the smell . . . And anyway, graffiti is graffiti, isn’t it?
‘Yes it is,’ Toadstone said. ‘Unless there’s a message hidden inside the graffiti that has a direct bearing on your case.’
‘Okay, Mr Toad. You’ve got my attention.’
‘They look like a jumble of disconnected words,’ Stick said.
Toadstone nodded. ‘Which is what they are . . . until we feed them into our code-breaking software called StoneGhost.’ He moved to the next slide to reveal the deciphered text:
His kisses on my lips,
my breast, my hair . . .
Come! Come! Come! And kiss me when I die,
For life, compelling life, is in thy breath;
And at that kiss, though in the tomb I lie,
I will arise and break free from the grip of death.
Stick screwed up his face. ‘What is it – a poem?’
‘Yes and no,’ Toadstone said.
‘I love it when you’re cryptic, Mr Toad.’
Toadstone smiled. ‘It’s an ancient Egyptian poem from a papyrus excavated at Set Maat, which translated means: The Place of Truth. It was home to the artisans who worked on the tombs in the Valley of the Kings between 1550-1080 BC.’
Stick pulled a face. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘What the hell is it doing on the walls of our crime scene?’ Xena said.
‘Have you heard of Slinky?’
Stick and Xena looked at each other.
‘What makes you ask?’
‘Slinky is a singer-songwriter from the Channel Islands. On each of her albums, she devotes one track to an ancient love poem or song and gives it a new lease of life by adding music. This is part of one such poem called “The Kiss” from her 2012 “Kisses of Love” album.’
‘I see. So, this is what Hefferbitch discovered?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think it’s news to us?’
‘I would hope so.’
‘Hope in vain, Mr Toad. Tell him who we’ve got arriving by chopper at ten o’clock, Stickamundo.’
‘Slinky.’
Toadstone’s eyes bulged as if he’d suddenly developed Proptosis. ‘Slinky! Coming here?’
‘The very same.’
‘How? Why?’
‘If I’m not mistaken, Mr Toad. Those are questions we should be asking and you should be answering. All the victims have altered their appearance to look like Slinky. And we have another two girls out there who need our help to stay alive.’
‘All right,’ Toadstone said. ‘We examined the jewellery .
. .’
‘And they’re copies of jewellery Slinky has worn in the past: The gold and diamond butterfly ankle chain; the nipple ring in the shape of a salamander; the gold necklace and heart-shaped pendant with PAUL engraved on it – Paul being Paul Calvert, a previous boyfriend of Slinky’s – and the gold serpent bangle watch with rubies on the face.’
‘You never told me about any of this,’ Stick said.
‘The results of my thinking,’ Xena said. ‘Something you wouldn’t know anything about.’ She turned back to Toadstone. ‘So, is that all you’ve got for us, Mr Toad?’
‘I contacted Doctor Paine and asked her to take swabs from the victim’s lips and run a DNA analysis.’
‘I should hope so.’
‘The poem,’ Stick said. ‘Of course, he kisses them.’
‘And don’t forget the bite marks,’ Xena said. ‘That’s why I’m trying to force Doc Paine to get her arse in gear. I’m hoping we’re going to obtain a DNA match from the National Database, which will make our lives a lot easier.’
‘Do you think we will?’
‘Will the world end tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So, anything else, Mr Toad?’
‘No.’
‘Just as I thought. It was a waste of time and energy walking up here to find out what we already knew. I’ve written to the Chief Constable suggesting that he could save the police force millions of pounds by replacing you circus clowns with an empty space.’
‘Very kind of you, DI Blake.’
‘Don’t mention it. You have a chance to redeem yourself and the reputation of your pathetic department though.’
‘Oh?’
‘Get your technocraps onto Slinky’s fan and chat sites. The killer was in contact with these girls before he killed them and he’ll be in contact with the remaining two. I want to know the details, and I need it by five o’clock this afternoon. Can you do that, Mr Toad?’
‘We’ll certainly give it our best shot.’
‘That’s right, don’t commit yourself to anything. Well, thanks for nothing. And tell Hefferbitch that I was thinking of her and hoping that her reason for visiting the doctor’s wasn’t anything too trivial. Right, are you ready, Stick?’
‘Most definitely.’
As they made their way downstairs Stick said, ‘I thought you were a bit mean to Dr Toadstone . . . and to Di for that matter.’
