by Ellis, Tim
‘Stay focused. Anything else?’
‘I don’t know how you can stay so... so calm.’
‘You’re not making it any easier. Anything else?’
‘There’s no footprints in the blood.’
‘Why did the killer take her handbag and mobile phone?’
‘To stop us... No, we have her face, teeth and fingerprints. We can probably identify her fairly easily... To make sure there was nothing connecting him to her.’
‘Seems plausible. So...’
‘...They probably knew each other.’
‘You’re deductive powers are improving.’
‘Do you think I’m evolving into a detective.’
‘I think that’s highly likely.’
‘God, I love this job. Have I ever said...?’
‘Every case we work on. I don’t know about evolving... More like devolving into a ghoul. That’s why you and Toadstone are ideally suited – he gets paid for being a ghoul.’
‘Are my ears burning?’
The head of forensics began trudging up the stairs followed by four white-suited figures.
‘About time you got here, Toadstone. I was just saying that the dead are happier dead. They don’t miss much here, poor devils.’
‘He wasn’t saying that, Paul. He was...’
‘Don’t worry, Mary. It’s a line from the 1949 film, “The Third Man”, and it was spoken by Harry Lime who was played by Orson Welles.’
Richards grinned. ‘I don’t know how you remember all these things, Paul.’
‘He obviously has nothing else better to do with his time. But as soon as he starts taking you out on a regular basis he’ll become a gibbering idiot like the rest of us.’
‘No he won’t.’
‘You just wait and see, Little Miss Cheerleader.’ He took hold of Toadstone’s elbow and led him down the stairs away from the other forensic officers who were busy taking photographs, samples, and measurements. ‘I know you’ll run her DNA through the database...’ He passed Toadstone the two evidence bags. ‘I also want you to investigate whether there’s any match against my DNA...’
‘Your DNA, but...?’
‘And, there’s a lock of hair in that locket... compare the DNA from that against mine as well.’
‘You think...?’
‘What I think and what I can prove may be two completely different things entirely. I needn’t tell you that running matches against my DNA is off the record, and I want you to do the tests personally.’
Toadstone shook his head. ‘How did I ever get involved with you, Sir.’
‘Without me you’d just be another nobody, Toadstone.’
‘Maybe I’m happy being a nobody.’
‘The trouble is... Richards doesn’t want somebody who’s nobody.’
‘You really know how to twist the knife.’
He smiled.
‘Come on, Richards, we have more work than we can shake a dirty stick at.’
Chapter Five
It was two thirty-one when they parked in King George Hospital car park, and another six minutes passed before they reached the mortuary.
Doc Paine wasn’t actually doing a post mortem, and there wasn’t a body on her stainless steel table. ‘You’re late.’
‘It was Stick’s fault. He forgot that you have to switch the engine on to make a car go forward. Maybe after you’ve finished the post mortem, you could have a quick look to see if he actually has a brain. He says he has, but I haven’t seen any evidence of such.’
‘It’s probably come to your attention that I’m not actually doing a post mortem?’
‘Being a detective, it had crossed my mind.’
‘And what’s more, I’m not dressed for a post mortem.’
‘The evidence is mounting up.’
‘And there’s no body on the table.’
‘That’s a bit of a give-away. Well Stick, what do you think?’
‘I think we should probably listen to what Doctor Paine has got to tell us.’
Xena mimicked him. ‘Well, come on then, Doc. Tell us what’s going on.’
‘DC Stick is right...’
Stick shook his head. ‘It’s Gilbert actually.’
‘Sorry. DC Gilbert Stick is right. I have got some news for you. Something more urgent cropped up, so the post mortems have been postponed until tomorrow morning.’
‘You could have rung us.’
‘But all is not lost. I decided to use my initiative...’
‘See Stick, people do possess that magic ingredient.’
‘I asked myself what it was you really wanted to know...’
‘The identity of the bodies would be good...’
‘That was the answer I came up with. I did have a smidgen of spare time, so I collected samples from all the victims, extracted DNA profiles, and put each one through the database.’
‘If you can give me the identity of at least one of those skeletons, I won’t report you to the hospital board for bringing us here under false pretences.’
‘Petra Loyer was eighteen years old when she went missing on 30th May 2002. She was attending the University of Derby as a foreign exchange student from Belarus.’
‘And we had her DNA on the database?’
‘During the subsequent search, a body was found in the Peak District National Park. Forensics obtained a DNA sample from her accommodation at the university to enable them to make a comparison.’
‘Fucking Derby! Is that actually in this country?’
‘You’ve heard of Buxton?’
‘Never.’
‘They bottle water there.’
‘What’s a town full of water bottlers doing with a university?’
‘What about Macclesfield?’
‘Nope.’
‘Manchester?’
‘I’ve heard of that. It’s somewhere near the middle of the UK, isn’t it?’
‘Close. Well, Derby is between Manchester and Sheffield.’
‘Sheffield! What do they do there?’
‘I don’t think they actually do anything there. There’s a lot of trees and green space though.’
‘More to the point,’ Stick said. ‘How did a foreign exchange student studying at the University of Derby end up buried under a patio in Hobbs Cross in Essex?’
‘Your partner has a point, Sergeant.’
‘Don’t tell him that, Doc. He’ll start getting ideas above his station.’
Doc Paine moved to a worktop behind her, picked up a folder, and withdrew a 12 x 8-inch photograph. ‘This,’ she said, passing the picture to Xena, ‘is what they used in all the media coverage after her disappearance.’
‘Pretty,’ Stick said craning his neck over Xena’s shoulder to look at the woman with tied back black wavy hair, bright eyes, and a beautiful smile.
‘You’re breathing on me, Stick.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’
‘Also,’ Doc Paine said. ‘There must have been an alert flag on the database, because as soon as the match came back a DI Jeanette Carter from Buxton CID rang me. She said she’ll be arriving tomorrow morning before ten o’clock. I told her to report to Hoddesdon Police Station and ask for you.’
‘You’re fucking joking?’
‘Is it a problem?’
‘I bet this is the lead detective from the original investigation.’
‘That’s the impression she gave me.’
‘That’s all I need. A bleeding heart detective who wants to solve my fucking case for me.’
‘Maybe she can provide some insights about the suspects they had, what they thought, and...’
‘Did I ask you to look on the bright side?’
‘No, Sarge.’
‘I’m thoroughly pissed off now. Any more good news for me, Doc?’
‘We’re still examining the clothes and jewellery. I’ll start the PMs tomorrow, and complete them over the next few days. I’ll contact...’
‘I’ll take that as a “No” then. Come
on, Stick, I need some fresh air.’
‘Thanks, Doc,’ Stick said. ‘Sorry about the Sarge.’
‘I hope you’re not fucking apologising for me...’ Her phone rang. ‘Yes?’
‘You sound happy.’ It was DI Tom Dougall from Dagenham.
She moved along the corridor in the opposite direction to the way they’d come in, and waved Stick away when he started to follow her. ‘Don’t even go there. I’ve got this case that beggars belief, a partner who has the brains and body of a stick insect, and someone I know I’m going to hate is coming from a planet called Buxton to see me tomorrow.’
‘Sounds like you’re having fun.’
‘So, when are you going to come and make me happy?’
‘Yes, very clever. Listen...’
‘I’m not liking the sound of that, Tom.’
‘You getting transferred down there has forced my hand...’
‘Down there! You make it sound as though I’ve been transferred to the sulphur pits of hell. It’s a couple of miles away... an hour on the tube at worst.’
‘Sorry Xen, it’s time to call it a day.’
‘Fuck’s sake. Well, you can piss off, Tom Dougall. I hope your bollocks shrivel up and blow away in the wind, you fucking bastard.’
She ended the call, and was about to send the mobile skidding down the corridor when she came to her senses. The bastard wasn’t worth it. She stuffed it in her coat pocket and shouted, ‘Fucking bastard.’
‘Are you okay, Sarge?’
No she wasn’t okay. She felt like crying, and she didn’t know why. Tom Dougall was a married man, a diversion, a bit on the side – nothing more. Now, she had no one. Her relationship with Tom was the one thing outside her job that had kept her sane – What was she going to do now?
‘Are you fucking eavesdropping on my private telephone conversations?’
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
‘Then why are you asking me if I’m all right? Well, for your information, no I’m not all right. In fact, I’m so not all right that if someone asks me if I’m all right again, I might just kill them and eat their fucking eyeballs.’
‘Yes...’
She gave him a withering look.
***
‘I wonder if you’re the right person to be investigating this,’ Richards said.
They were on their way to the security office behind reception to examine the CCTV footage.
‘I’m sure that when you explain what you’re talking about I’ll find it terribly fascinating.’
‘She could be your mother, and you know you’re not allowed to investigate anything to do with family members.’
‘Let’s just suppose for a millisecond that this dead woman was my mother. How many times have I met her in the last thirty years?’
‘Well...’
‘Not once is the answer you’re looking for. How many times have we exchanged Christmas and birthday cards?’
‘You’ve spoken to her on the telephone.’
‘Incorrect. She rang me to tell me she’d just been killed. And anyway, until such time as the DNA comparison is carried out, she’s a complete stranger. We have no idea who she is, where she came from, why she’s here in the Redbridge Council building, or anything else about her for that matter. Bottom line is that we treat her as a normal victim and do our jobs. Anything more you’d like to add, Little Miss Rulebook?’
‘I don’t think so, Mr Grumpy.’
The staff in the security office were new, which was hardly surprising based on previous events at the Council.
Parish flashed his warrant card to the short bull of a man who opened the door to them. ‘Thanks for helping my officers deal with the body and prevent a panic.’
On his name badge was the name Barry Kernon. ‘All we did was put up signs indicating the stairs were closed.’
‘Every little bit helps. Now, we need to see what you’ve got on CCTV.’
He stepped aside to let them in. There was a beefy female security officer sitting on a stained sofa reading a Kindle and eating a sandwich.
‘Don’t mind us,’ he said to her.
‘I won’t,’ she responded without even turning round to see who he was.
Richards pulled a face at him.
‘I’d love to have time to read books,’ he said.
‘Uh huh.’
‘What’s worth reading these days?’
She sighed and lowered the Kindle as if it was a gun. ‘There’s a million books out there worth reading. At the moment, I’m trying to read an anthology of shorts called “The Killing Sands” by seven fantastic authors. It’s giving me lots of ideas on how to kill people who keep interrupting me while I’m reading.’
He smiled. ‘Hey, don’t let me be one of them.’
She ignored him and carried on reading.’
‘There you go,’ the first security officer said. ‘Sit here and fill your boots. You do know there’s no CCTV actually in the stairwell?’
‘We’d spotted that,’ Parish said sitting down in the high-backed black leather swivel chair.
‘If you want it to fast forward – press that, if...’
Parish smiled. ‘I think I can work the symbols out, thanks.’
‘Okay. I’m taking a wander now, but if there’s anything you need just ask Rimsky here, she’ll be happy to help – Won’t you, Rimsky?’
‘Piss off, Kernon.’
‘See... Rimsky teaches all our new people the customer service skills they need to succeed in this job.’
He ducked out of the door laughing as a muddy trainer flew through the air and clattered against the wall.
Parish and Richards turned their attention to the computer monitor. After twenty minutes they saw a man exiting the door from the stairwell into reception. He was stuffing something into the front of his jacket.
‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ Richards said.
‘What makes you think that, Detective?’
Her face lit up with a grin. ‘I like the sound of that. The time stamp – Eleven forty-three is shortly after you received the phone call. He looks furtive. He’s putting something into his jacket, which could be the victim’s handbag, and... Well, that’s it really.’
‘It’s enough. Hey Rimsky... Is that your real name?’
‘It’ll do. Why?’
‘Just asking. I need an electronic and paper copy of this, if you’d be so kind.’
They heard her sigh, put her Kindle down on the sofa, and come over. She zoomed in on the man’s face and sent a copy to the printer. ‘It’d be easier if I sent the file as an email attachment – you got somewhere I can send it?’
‘Okay, give me a minute.’
Rimsky sighed again, went back to the sofa, and picked up her Kindle.
Parish rang Erin Donnelly.
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘I’ve got a CCTV security file. There’s a man coming out of a door at eleven forty-three. If he’s in the database, I need to know who he is. Can I have an email address?’
He wrote it down as she spoke.
‘Thanks, Erin. It’ll be with you in a minute.’
‘I’ll give you a ring.’
‘Great.’
The call ended.
‘Here you are, Rimsky,’ he said.
She didn’t sigh this time, but he could see by her face that she wanted to kill him with her bare hands.
Richards smothered a grin.
‘There,’ she said after she’d sent it. ‘Please tell me you’re going now?’
Parish folded the printed copy of the man’s face into four and put it into his coat pocket. ‘We’re going now,’ he said standing up. ‘Thanks for all your help.’
She returned to her reading. ‘Close the door on your way out.’
Outside Richards said, ‘I wish I could read instead of work.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘If I was a security guard I probably would.’
Parish stopped walking. ‘Is there any
thing else we need to do here?’
‘Like what?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you, lead detective.’
‘Ah!’ She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. ‘Forensics are sorting out the body and collecting any evidence. We’ve reviewed the CCTV and possibly identified our killer... We could see if anyone knows the woman? She might have worked here, or she came to visit someone... We might find out who she is and where she lived.’
‘Good. How?’
‘Oh!’
He waited patiently while the cogs shunted into place.
‘If she worked here the Personnel Department would know her, and... I remember the first time we came here. Someone sent an email to all the Council employees asking if they knew anything about the tokens. We could do that with a picture of the woman.’
‘I do believe you’re getting better.’
‘Better than what?’
‘Better than you were before.’
‘On a scale of one to ten what was I before, and what am I now?’
‘We have a problem.’
‘With me?’
‘I’m not even talking about you now. We don’t have a picture of the woman.’
‘Ah! You wait here. As lead detective I’ll go and see if Paul can help us out.’
‘Don’t be long.’
She came back within minutes carrying a Nikon D4 digital camera.
‘He must really love you.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s about £10,000 worth of technology he’s let you run off with.’
‘I’m worth it.’
‘He obviously thinks so. Do you know how to work it?’
‘One of his people showed me. Look...’
She pressed a few buttons and a picture of the dead woman’s face appeared in the small viewer at the back of the camera.
‘Okay, let’s go to Personnel.’
The sign next to the lifts indicated that the Personnel Department was on the third floor.
Just as the lift arrived Erin Donnelly rang him.
‘That was quick.’
‘John Frankl. He has a rap sheet... I always wanted to say that... is there such a thing?’
‘It’s slang for a police record, and it’s used more in America than it is here.’
‘Oh okay. Anyway, his rap sheet is as long as your arm...’ She giggled. ‘Burglary, drugs, GBH, ABH, you name it he’s done it.’
