“She was one lucky young lady! I believe it was our man and from all accounts, the whistle, mask and gloves are a definite part of the attack. I’ve allocated resources to trace where these masks can be found but they are, as you all know, readily available from DIY stores, surgical suppliers and the inevitable plethora of internet outlets. We’ve also spoken with the Health and Safety Executive and reviewed the documents related to COSHH, (Control of Substances Hazardous to Health). Our man would need a number of specialised pieces of clothing and DC Park is looking into possible sources, but common sense tells us our man may well be in the trade. The simple fact that he has handled the stuff on four occasions and isn’t a victim, tells us he’s competent. We’re searching local industry dealing with any chemicals from fertilisers to cleaning and dry cleaning businesses, there’s a list.” Liz pointed to it on the third white board. “Remember too, if he uses this stuff then he has to dispose of it. Nothing has turned up from previous searches so it can be assumed it’s either stored or disposed of. He’s not fly-tipping it! My gut feeling says he’ll not go after Paula again, but...”
Cyril had been listening whilst leaning on the back wall and he added his five penn’orth worth.
“Has anyone checked for those in the NHS who’ve been dismissed recently for neglect, un-professional conduct? No? You also need to look into Paula’s career. All the other victims, if I’ve read it correctly, have a poor professional record but Paula, as far as we know, is the odd one out. Let’s get a list of any health care worker on probation, recently sacked or working with a suspect establishment. From my knowledge, there will be many. Check with CQC initially but look back over the press reports. Get our modern technology wheels spinning. Answers are needed sooner rather than later. What news on the condition of the other victims?”
“Two blinded, one still poorly but stable, one now at home and being treated regularly but they have no real concerns with him.”
“Owen, what news on the Ripon enquiry?”
Owen came to the front and went through the latest intelligence received from France. Cyril was familiar with it all and his mind drifted to pictures of Janet swimming in the clear blue Mediterranean. It was the name Mary Stuart, that made Cyril’s ever-open eye look up directly at Owen.
“She’s in Cannes? Since when?” spluttered Cyril.
“Only just, Sir. Europol have tracked her for the last two days. She came in from Turkey two days ago and booked into Hotel America for a seven days’ stay.”
“Can we get any images from the hotel CCTV sent over? Fingerprints and possible DNA would be a great test of the Entente Cordiale.” Cyril moved to the front eagerly.
“I down loaded them already, Sir.”
He pressed a remote and a screen at the back received projected video images of the elusive Mary in the hotel foyer. He then showed some stills.
“Print some of these and check them with facial recognition and aging with the photograph kindly donated by Flint. Owen, how far is our good Doctor Flint’s place from Cannes and this hotel?”
Owen lifted his eyebrows and put up his finger as he comprehended his senior’s thought process. “I’ll check on Google Earth, Sir.”
He concluded his progress briefing and left. The chatter within the room grew louder as the salient points of both briefs were discussed.
Cyril now found two more reasons to head south, one to meet with Phillip and secondly he certainly needed to rub shoulders with Ms Stuart, just to see her might help.
***
Peter arrived back and he parked the car on the drive as usual. Jean would clean it and put it away. He waited a moment, his hands still on the wheel, and enjoyed the cool air, a benefit of the shade the trees provided. He listened to the irregular ticking of the cooling, overworked engine. He realised that he had driven too quickly, Like a fool. Phillip often told him and probably unnecessarily dangerously. On reflection, he remembered few details of the snaking road that led from the coast, he didn’t care. He looked in the rear view mirror and straightened his hair. He needed a drink and a swim. He would decide in which order when he got to the pool.
Even before he had passed through the lounge, he could see Janet was sitting on the terrace. With her waving arms supporting her conversation, he presumed she was in animated discourse with someone who was already in the pool. Peter didn’t need to guess, if Janet was animated it could only mean one person, her mother. He poured a large glass of white wine and went outside.
“Hi Peter, home earlier than we expected!” She tapped the chair next to her and Peter was upsettingly reminded of a hand slowly squeezing his testicles after a similar, friendly gesture. It made him feel nauseous. “Are you OK?”
Peter gave a small wave and directed a warm smile at Mary who lay motionless, eyes closed, on a white inflatable; she had failed to see his approach.
“Is she sulking or just being ignorant? I’ve truly had my fill this afternoon. When will their insatiable appetite for new young bodies stop or at least slow down?”
Peter turned to see Janet’s mother who now stirred herself into being hospitable. She waved before beginning to paddle to the edge of the pool.
“Been here long, Mary? I believe you have an imminent nursing job, caring for twins this time, extremely lucrative twins at that. I am pleased to report that they seem fit and healthy, a little too young in my opinion, but since when has what I think had any bearing on what we do? I’ve been instructed by some Janus figure that I have to believe that I’m merely a farmer driven by market forces.” He downed the wine in one and stood. “Should have the blood tests shortly... Did I say? You’re looking well.”
Mary could never tell whether he was being sarcastic, or not, “Life’s good.”
Peter went inside and refilled his glass.
“Are you staying with Charles in MacArthur Park? It’s a good job the weather’s fine or we’d have to change the lyrics to all the sweet pink icing flowing down.” Peter laughed at his own joke between clenched teeth. “Monstrous building and the interior! How’s Turkey?”
“Turkey? It’s heaven on earth. Thanks for asking. It’s like being back at Ripon College with those boys only now, my dear Peter, I’m wiser, wealthier and a tad more selective. The Turkish boys are so willing to help this mature lady enjoy her autumnal years. Charles’ villa is a roof over our heads and a pretty dammed secure one. The girls will be ready in five days at the most.”
She climbed out of the pool and Peter was impressed by her physique. She felt his eyes move up and down.
“You’re keeping in good shape, old girl,” Peter complimented.
“As I said, Peter, lots of horizontal exercise and some not quite horizontal.”
“Mother! That’s enough, please. You two have been together minutes and already you’re marking a line in the sand. Stop it!”
“I believe the British Police are investigating the discovery of the bodies in Ripon. We were amateurs then, Peter, bloody amateurs.” She could see from the expression on Peter’s face that he was concerned. “Don’t worry, I’ve taken precautions; no doubt they’ll be investigating my return to France as we chat. Did you collect your trinkets?”
“Even they’re losing their appeal. I really don’t have the stomach for it any longer.” He looked at Mary and then at Janet. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
“You never had the stomach for it, Peter!” Her voice rose.
“Mother!”
Mary ignored her daughter’s plea. “That’s why we ended up with four corpses. What you may face now is a direct result of your inability to see the long fucking term. You were weak then and you seem weak now. You didn’t listen then and, my weak Doctor Flint, might I suggest that if you know what’s good for us all, you should listen now. We’ve worked successfully, in the... let’s call it, the ‘people’ market for a long time. We’re cautious, not too greedy, patient, but above all, we are a professional team; you’re vital to that team, not because of what you do, neces
sarily, but for what you know, but remember, Peter, they won’t let you go. Your skills are not unique and can be replaced quickly but if so, what becomes of you? We know, don’t we? Believe me, you don’t want to allow your imagination to roam. Let’s put it in perspective. The Police are sniffing around some bones and they’ve linked you to college and to me. That wasn’t difficult considering we were an item, but that is all the information they have.”
Peter stood. “What if they’ve connected Phillip? What if Detective Chief Inspector Cyril ‘Bloody’ Bennett has started to investigate him and his official work in Sierra Leone? What if he’s linked that with my charitable work, then what? He knows I have a house here, he knows Phillip lives just up the coast and now you’re here...it doesn’t take a genius!”
He downed the second glass, turned and went into the house, stopping to pour the dregs from the bottle. Janet flashed a look of anger at her mother.
“What?” Mary looked directly at her daughter. “For Christ’s sake it’s true. If he’d listened when we started in Ripon we could have moved the girls, there was no need for the births. He’d never abort, he wanted to find them homes and so not only did we run a very efficient brothel, we had a nursery too! Then Anne Shepherd, the silly little bitch, didn’t want to play anymore, threatened to run home or spill the beans. She said she just wanted to take her kid and go. I ask you! That’s what she said. Finish College, then just pack up and go. She obviously sowed a seed in the minds of the other silly girl but she was brighter. Phillip was furious but he was also supportive of the Doctor’s idea. Phillip was good. He had recruited a couple from College but it was Leeds where he recruited most. The city was an orchard of lost fruit and Phillip could charm them, the homeless, the pregnant, the drug users; he fucked them when he found them and always came back for more whenever he liked. He was fucking Peter then too! He’s still the best recruiter we have, he’s plausible to those who are desperate for help.”
“The deaths weren’t his fault; you’ve said that in the past, they took their own lives.”
“They gassed themselves in Peter’s car, well his father’s; both girls and their kids. They even left a note for Phillip suggesting that he was the father but I can’t see that, Jesus they were serviced by dozens and dozens of squaddies, farm boys and others. Peter and Phillip got rid of the bodies, not too successfully seeing that two have appeared. They then got rid of the car. We shut up shop after that and I went to Bingley.”
***
Even when engulfed in a dark and desperate mood, Peter couldn’t blank the pink villa from his mind, it hung there like a rancid smell. He shook his head and then noticed the contrast as his eyes flashed round the room. He suddenly appreciated the degree of sophistication in its simple, modern and clean design. Not only were their tastes in total contrast, their enthusiasm for the future was poles apart. He had walked through this room so many times, but today, for some strange, psychological reason, he took the time to appreciate it, or was it, he thought, that suddenly he had a real fear of losing it. He called for Jean who entered from the kitchen area.
“Feeling better, Sir?” Jean enquired with genuine concern in his voice.
Peter said nothing. He simply tipped the jewels out on the table and watched Jean’s eyes expertly scan the collection. They sparkled in the light. Both men looked at each other but only one smiled as he retrieved the jewellers’ loop from the desk drawer and put it to his eye.
“Fantastic quality and very good sizes. You chose well. Am I correct in thinking these are the... shall we say... dowry from the twins’ father?”
The irony grated. “Indeed, the parents were promised that their beautiful girls would have the best of everything in their new life in Europe so they gave everything they had. For a while I am sure the girls will enjoy themselves. It was also promised that when they settled, they would send for their parents and be re-united!”
Jean smiled and shook his head.
“Best gems so far, best so far, for weight, size and clarity. There’s well over a million dollars once cut and polished. You want them away soon?”
Peter nodded. “As soon as possible.”
“I’ll arrange for Mandul to travel to Surat to see her sister next week. I’ll make the arrangements and we’ll travel together because of the changes in her tribal area. As you know, India’s now one of the world’s largest centres for cutting and polishing. Slowly, all the small industries are being bought up and with that the freedom to do what we do is being curtailed. However, at the moment there’s still room for people like my sister-in-law. She tells me more and more women are being trained and as you know, she’s one of the best but we still need to take great care. She’ll cut and polish these beautifully. It’s only a pity we’ll see cash and not the final result. They’ll be staggeringly beautiful.”
He put the loop to his eye again and inspected each gem.
Peter just nodded, counted the stones and photographed each one as Jean placed them down and then put them back into the silk bag.
“Into your safe keeping my trusted friend. As usual, 20% for you, 30% for Madhul’s sister and boss and the rest to return here in dollars.”
“I’ll speak with them tonight and will check all is well.” Jean smiled, bowed, put his palms together on his chest and left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Owen and Cyril boarded the cheap flight to Nice. Each carried a small travel case containing nothing to do with a Mediterranean holiday visit other than an overnight change of clothes, and everything to do with the investigation. They would return the following evening unless something requiring their urgent attention cropped up.
The French, plain clothes officers awaited them as they entered Nice, Terminal 1. After a brief introduction, they were driven to the main Headquarters of the Police Nationale on Avenue du Maréchal Foch. A beige, stone, austere looking building, its facade would never be classed as impressive, but whatever architectural merit it might have once had, age and the occasional air-conditioning unit, unsympathetically mounted, destroyed that; they were warts on an old face.
Cyril’s French had proved useful on the drive from the airport, but Owen paid little attention. Understanding nothing, he preferred the view from the window. He was amazed by a large boulder and steel giant, positioned on one of the round-a-bouts near the airport, and tried to point it out to Cyril who was wrestling mentally with his French vocabulary. It is true to say that Owen was even more enthralled by the sheer number of girls, either roller skating, cycling or running along the beautiful, arching promenade. He was even fascinated by the inviting colour of the sea when he allowed his eyes to stray from the carnal to the aesthetic.
Once at the station, the conversation continued in English and Cyril was pleased that the necessary information had been efficiently forwarded. The French Police had in fact followed the suspect. They had taken a DNA sample from the hotel room by removing her toothbrush. A new, replacement toothbrush and a note of apology explaining how the chamber maid had knocked Mary’s from the wash basin into the toilet, were left on the bathroom shelf. Once processed, the DNA would be checked against that found at the grave site.
So far Cyril had been impressed and within an hour they were travelling to the Hotel America where two rooms had been reserved. The traffic was quiet and Cyril noticed Owen’s head fall forward. A carefully moved elbow solved the problem. He woke with a start. “Sorry, Sir, must be suffering a little jet lag.”
Cyril smiled but didn’t look at Owen, thinking that the average orange had travelled further than his young sergeant. “Travel a lot on aircraft, Owen?”
“When I was a nipper with me Mum and Dad. We went to Spain a couple of times and once to the Isle of Man. We travelled in a Shorts 360, can you believe, looked like a caravan with wings. It was the least aerodynamic aircraft at the airport. I remember it was Green, with ‘Manx Airlines’ written down the side. I was green too; sick twice. I remember it was as noisy as hell and dead rough
. I’ve not flown lately. If I don’t throw up I find it quite exciting. Do you think it’s her, Mary Nixon?”
“Who knows, but being here and seeing her is going to be worth more than sitting home and guessing. You found out on Google Earth that our Doctor Flint lives just around the corner from Cannes, didn’t you?”
“Not too far. Will you be paying him a visit?”
“Tell me Owen, did you look into how many cars are registered to Flint within your investigation?”
“I did, I was curious after you told me about the small stash of exotica he had in the barn, or is it the garage?”
“So what does he have?”
“A GT6, a Morgan, a Dino, that’s a Ferr...”
Cyril’s look said it all.
“Sorry, Ferrari, a Mini Cooper S and an Audi, the everyday car. Why do you ask?”
“When I helped him cover a couple of the cars, I noticed another vehicle stuck at the rear of the garage, covered with a few tarpaulins, not fancy covers like the other ones he had. The flattened tyres were all that were visible so I assume that it wasn’t the... Audi did you say? It was low but quite long. To be honest I didn’t take as much notice of it as I maybe should have, but then we’re all wise after the event.”
Owen nodded. “Shall I call in for another check? It’ll only take a minute.”
“Get a list of all the cars registered to that address from, let’s say the mid sixties and see if facial recognition has anything on Mary Stuart. Let’s put some more faith in your digital world, Owen.”
“Right.” Owen called his office and made the request. “Yes, six five, nineteen sixty-five and get the info to me as soon as possible.”
Cyril smiled as he looked out of the window.
***
The hotel was quite simple and not what Cyril had been expecting, it was more 1960’s and not 1860’s Grand but their rooms were fine; Cyril’s looked over the sea whilst Owen had a view of the rear and what could only be described as the kitchen roof, sprouting the various chimneys and extractor fans.
Only The Dead: an explosive new detective series Page 15
