The Wages of Sin (P&R2)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘No answer.’

  ‘We could…’

  The Chief interrupted him. ‘No, Parish. We’re not going to break the doors down.’

  ‘Crap! We need more information. I’d much rather be out there looking these people in the eyes, Chief.’

  ‘Advisory capacity only you said.’

  Parish stood up straight. ‘Richards had the list of what we were going to do today in her notebook, but I remember what was on that list. We planned to investigate how the killer was getting his chloroform, but I think that would take too long and there’d be no guarantees we’d find anything. Then, I wanted to double-check that Tanya Mathews didn’t have any more cases that weren’t listed. She was the first victim, and I wanted to try and pin down why she was chosen. It might very well have been random, but I wanted to be sure. Then, we were going to find out what religion the three victims were, and which church they belonged to. Lastly…’

  Loud banging came from the door. A Constable opened it, and a man in a trench coat with a Nikon camera hanging round his neck stood there.

  ‘Joel Metcalfe from the Epping Guardian, Inspector. You said half an hour, it’s now been forty-five minutes.’

  Yes, he’d forgotten about the promised press briefing. The heroin must have created holes in his brain that his memories were falling through. ‘I’m on my way Mr Metcalfe.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell them about Richards, Parish.’

  ‘What have we got to lose, Sir? It’s the quickest way to ask the public for help.’

  ‘You’ll make Richards look like a victim…’ The Chief held up his hand to stop Parish’s objections. ‘I know she’s a victim, but if she is still alive she may not want to be seen as one. Don’t tell the press about Richards, simply tell them that we’re looking for a man who lives in the local area with his father, and owns a small blue car.’

  ‘Okay, you may be right, Chief,’ Parish said.

  ‘Sir?’ It was Sergeant Jackson. ‘The CrimInt printouts.’

  ‘Thanks Kristina, I’ll have to look at them once I’ve done the press briefing.’ He put the sheets of paper down on top of the map and headed for the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gabriel stood in the corridor outside his secret room with his head bowed, and tears dripping onto the concrete floor.

  ‘You understand you’ve done wrong don’t you, Gabriel?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘They’re coming for you. It will only be a matter of time before they find their way here.’

  ‘But I love her, Father.’

  ‘God loved you, yet you have turned your face away from Him.’

  ‘No, Father, I never would.’

  ‘You should not have taken her, Gabriel. She is one of their own, and because of that she will bring a terrible vengeance down upon you.’

  ‘We are safe here, Father. No one knows where she is but you and I.’

  ‘They will find her, Gabriel.

  ‘No, I’ll kill her first, Father.’

  ‘I must now find another instrument of His will.’

  ‘But you said I would sit at His left hand.’

  ‘That was before you yourself committed the sin of lust, Gabriel. Now you have become a sinner, and you know what His punishment for sin is?’

  Gabriel sank to his knees. ‘Please, Father? Please don’t let Him desert me.’

  ‘I will plead with Him on your behalf, but I cannot do that while she is still alive – you must kill her.’

  ‘But… What about the baby, Father? My baby… A son?’

  ‘You will remain childless, Gabriel, just like His own son. You have veered from the path, but now you know what you must do if you wish to return to His good graces and sit at His left hand.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘I will not see you again, Gabriel. This is where you and I must part company. I still have God’s work to do.’

  ‘If I do as you ask, then there’s still a chance?’

  ‘Yes, Gabriel, but do not defy Him a second time. God loved His only son, but He sacrificed that son for you and I. Now, you must make a similar sacrifice. She is a sinner like all the others – a temptress, a harlot. You will die unloved and childless, that is His decree.’

  ‘Goodbye, Father.’ He felt the warmth of a hand touch his head, and knew what he had to do.

  ‘Goodbye, my son.’

  Gabriel curled up on the cold concrete floor and wept.

  ***

  She could hear voices – not in the room, but somewhere close by. Oh God, there were two of them. They had never considered there might be more than one killer. Unless… If he was a schizophrenic he might be talking to himself. She had seen how paranoid schizophrenics believed they we talking to someone else, and people with multiple personalities could adopt the mannerisms and voices of the personalities they believed themselves to be.

  The cold made her involuntarily shiver and pull the blanket tighter about her shoulders. She couldn’t remember the last time she had ever been so cold. Her watch showed it was ten to six. She hadn’t slept since waking up after the chloroform had worn off. It had been the longest night she could ever remember, and the battery in her watch had nearly expired because she had checked the time and used the light so often. Why didn’t the bastard come for her? She didn’t normally swear, not even in her own mind. Her mother and father had never sworn, and Parish didn’t swear either. That had been the best day of her life meeting Jed Parish, although… if she hadn’t met him she wouldn’t be sat here naked as the next victim on a serial killer’s list. What was he doing? She wasn’t going to let him do things to her. She’d fight until she had nothing left to fight with. There were no tears left, she had cried herself empty. God, she was thirsty, but even without anything to drink the bucket was half full – and it reeked. How embarrassing! She’d been in public toilets that stank of urine, and made her feel faint. Compared to what she had to smell now those toilets were a stroll through the park on a summer’s day.

  Where was she? She thought she might be underground. Apart from the voices, she had heard nothing – no aeroplanes, no traffic, and no sound of people in the street. In fact, the silence made her ears pop. Lots of the serial killers she’d learned about on the Crime Channel had kept their victims underground. Out of sight, out of mind. No one would find her down here. God, was this really happening to her?

  She wanted to call out for some water. The more she thought about ice-cold refreshing water, the more she wanted to drink, and the drier her mouth became. But she didn’t want to bring him in here. Her heart began to race at the thought of what he would do to her. She knew he would get to her soon enough, why bring him in here prematurely. But another part of her thought, Why prolong the inevitable? Get it over with.

  It had gone quiet. She hadn’t heard the voices for a while now. Had they gone? Was it one person, or two? Maybe there were more – three, four?

  ‘Hello? I’d like some water please?’ came out of her mouth before she even knew she was speaking.

  ***

  ‘Shit! Parish said jumping up shaking a CrimInt printout.

  He’d gone out and given the press a profile of the man they were looking for, made a point of describing a small blue car, and ignored questions about Richards. When someone had asked about Kowalski he’d simply said that he had been taken ill, but he didn’t know what with – maybe a virus he suggested. He also ignored questions from Catherine Cox from the Chigwell Herald about where he’d been and why the Chief was here.

  ‘What have you found, Parish?’ the Chief asked bleary-eyed.

  ‘This is the killer,’ he said. ‘Ruben Millhaven.’ He strode over to the map, found the address and pointed to it. ‘And we’ve been sat here just across the road from his house.’

  The Chief looked at where Parish was pointing. ‘Seven Lodge Close – it’s got a green outer circle.’

  ‘It’s him, I know it.’

  ‘How?’r />
  ‘The CrimInt report. He got a parking ticket two years ago, so he’s in the database. It says he works as the Archivist in the Planning Department at Redbridge Council. He knows where all the abandoned buildings are because he keeps the bloody website up to date. He was on our list to check out today, Chief. If only…’

  ‘Don’t start on the ‘if onlys’, Parish. Now, before we all rush over there like knights-errant to save Richards, let’s think this through. Sergeant Gorman…?’ Ed Gorman looked up. ‘…Ring CO19 please and forensics, I want an Armed Response Unit and a forensics team here ten minutes ago.’

  Gorman nodded and picked up the phone.

  The Chief continued, now in control. ‘There’s a green outer circle around the address, which means either that he’s not there, or he’s not answering the door.’

  ‘We have to get in there to find out,’ Parish said. ‘Kristina?’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘Get hold of a man called Roland Pettigrew, he’s Head of Planning at Redbridge Council. I want him here so that he can tell me everything there is to know about Ruben Millhaven.’

  ‘Remember, he abducted Richards in a van, Parish,’ the Chief pointed out. ‘Where’s the van? What I’m saying is that he could have taken Richards to another abandoned building.’

  Parish didn’t want to stand here talking, or being reasonable and devising a plan. He wanted to run over to 7 Lodge Close and break down the door, find Ruben Millhaven and torture him until he told him where he’d put Richards. Was she already dead? Was she hanging upside down somewhere with a meat hook through her ankle, mutilated and exposed?’ A wave of anger threatened to drown him. He threw down the CrimInt report. ‘I’m going over there, Chief.’

  ‘You’ll wait until CO19 get here, Parish, that’s an order.’

  ‘Kowalski said he gave you the gun he’d signed out, give it to me, Sir?’

  ‘We wait, Parish.’

  ‘Richards was there for you, Chief. Are you going to let her down now?’

  The Chief said nothing as he passed Parish the gun.

  ‘I’ll be careful, Chief.’ He put a round in the chamber and slid the safety back as he turned to go. ‘Come on, Ed you’ve got a new partner.’

  Ed Gorman grabbed his coat. ‘About time, I’m fed up with sitting around collating information.’

  ***

  Parish banged on the front door of 7 Lodge Close at twenty past six and waited outside the two-bedroom detached bungalow. His hand was wrapped around the handgrip of the Glock 17 in his pocket.

  Ed Gorman stood slightly behind him with two uniformed Constables – one of whom had a hand-held battering ram dangling from his shoulder by a strap.

  About twenty reporters had followed them like sheep down Chapel Lane in the rain, crossed over Lambourne Road, and sauntered into Lodge Close. Now, they crowded on the pavement in front of the bungalow waiting for the action to begin and the dead bodies to be brought out.

  He banged on the door again, but saw no light and heard no movement. As if on cue, the neighbours were stood or sat at windows waiting for the show to begin – some with binoculars. Some, unable to see the performance from bungalows on the same side of the road, had appeared outside with heavy coats, gloves, scarves, and umbrellas – one woman – holding a steaming drink in a Snoopy mug – had brought her Cocker Spaniel with her.

  Parish nodded at the uniformed copper with the battering ram to move forward and break down the wooden door.

  The thickset man had obviously used the battering ram before, because it only took one batter for the door to burst open. The Constable stood to one side, so that Parish could enter first.

  Parish stepped into the dark hallway, but hadn’t thought to bring a torch with him, so he switched on the lights as he moved forward.

  ‘Can you smell that?’ Ed Gorman said.

  ‘It’d be hard not to, Ed,’ he said trying not to breathe too deeply through his nose. The stench of dead bodies was as familiar to him now as a good fragrance was to a perfumer. He knew it couldn’t be Richards, she’d only been missing twelve hours.

  The first room he came to on his left was the kitchen. It was spotless. Across the hall was a bedroom, the double bed giving the appearance of recently being slept in by one person. He opened the door of the cupboard, but only clothes hung there.

  Next, there was a small storage cupboard on the right containing the usual household clutter such as a vacuum cleaner and an ironing board. To the left of the hallway was a perfectly clean toilet and bathroom.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose as the smell became overpowering. At the end of the hall facing him was another door. He opened it and flicked the light switch on. The curtains were closed. There was a double bed with a predominantly red patterned eiderdown covering it, two bedside tables with small globe lights, a walk-in wardrobe with mirrored doors, and a chair on the far side of the room with a decomposing corpse of an old man facing him.

  ‘Now we know where the smell was coming from,’ he said over his shoulder. He realised then that the corpse must be Ruben Millhaven’s father. The death had never been registered, and as far as anybody knew, the elder Mr Millhaven was still alive. As such, 7 Lodge Close had not been listed on the Electoral Roll as a: ‘Single household’.

  ‘Must have been here for some time,’ Ed Gorman said.

  ‘Probably about two weeks. This old man’s death was the trigger for his son to start killing again.’

  Parish flung open the doors of the wardrobe. Inside there were only men’s clothes, shoes, and other male articles.

  The final room in the right-hand corner of the hallway was a living room with a three-piece suite, a dining table and four chairs, coffee table, television, and bookcase. Patio doors led out onto a twenty-five foot rear garden with eight-foot high overlap fencing on both sides, and a flagstone path leading to a rotting wooden shed at the bottom of the garden overlooking wooded land.

  ‘See if you can find the key to the garage, Ed,’ Parish said. ‘Let’s see if there’s a small blue car in there. If you can’t find a key, you know what to do?’

  ‘We’ve got probable cause right?’

  ‘Of course. If we had nothing else the dead body in the bedroom gives us probable cause, but it would be simpler if you could find the key.’

  ‘I’ll look.’

  It wasn’t long before Parish heard Ed shout, ‘Found it – hanging on a hook in the kitchen – very organised.’

  Other than the dead body, there didn’t seem to be anything else of interest in the bungalow. He’d noticed the absence of a computer or laptop, the telephone connection didn’t have a broadband filter on it, and he hadn’t spotted a Bible or scraps of ancient languages. He suspected Ruben had another place where he kept all those things, together with his souvenirs – the victim’s eyes.

  He followed Gorman outside to see what was in the garage. If there was a small blue car there, then what? Where was Ruben? Where was the van? It seemed logical that if there was a car in the garage, then the van should be somewhere about, and so should Ruben. If the garage were empty that would indicate he’d taken Richards to an abandoned building. The blue car had been spotted at the Valentine Lido, so he obviously took it to the place where he dumped the bodies so that he could get home.

  ‘Parish…’ Ed Gorman called.

  He stepped out of the front door and turned left. The garage door was open and inside was a new blue Toyota Aygo.

  ‘Why is the car here, Ed?’

  ‘I don’t…’

  ‘If Ruben isn’t here, why is the car here?’

  ‘He’ll be in the van.’

  ‘How will he get home?’

  Ed shrugged. ‘The tube, the bus, bike?’

  ‘No, he takes his car to the place he dumps the bodies, so that he can get home.’

  ‘Well, he’s not in the bungalow, and the van isn’t parked outside. My guess is that he’s still in the van.’

  P
arish walked around the blue car. The garage was otherwise empty. He couldn’t think of anything else. ‘I suppose you’re right, Ed, but where?’

  ‘The million dollar question.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the church,’ Parish said ‘Hopefully, Ruben’s boss will be there, and he’ll be able to give us more insight into who he is. I want you to get over to Redbridge Council with a computer technician and access Ruben’s computer, look at the Internet history. I want to know which abandoned buildings he’s been looking at recently, which might tell us where he’s taken Richards. Also, while you’re there, go to Social Services and see Miss Jennifer Linden – the Director. I want to know if Ruben Millhaven, or his father, were clients and more importantly whether either of them featured on Tanya Mathew’s official or unofficial caseload.’

  The unmarked forensics’ van pulled up outside the bungalow. The passenger door opened, and the press parted to let Toadstone through.

  ‘Hello Sir, glad to see you’re all right.’

  ‘Thanks Toadstone, nice of you to say so.’

  ‘By the way, if you ever find CI Naylor, I have fingerprint evidence to support a charge of attempted murder.’

  ‘That’s typical, Toadstone, the one time you find some evidence is the one time it’s of no use.’

  ‘We aim to serve.’

  ‘I want you to go through this place with your usual meticulousness, Toadstone.’

  ‘Of course. Have you any idea where Mary is yet?’

  ‘If I knew don’t…’ He clenched his fists. ‘Get in there and do your work, Toadstone.’ Turning to the two Constables he said, ‘You two, house-to-house. I want to know what his neighbours know about Ruben Millhaven.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  The press began barraging him with questions, but there was no time for a cosy press conference and he ignored them as he strode back to the church.

  ***