by Ellis, Tim
‘Babe! Is that how you address all your female customers, you fucking dinosaur?’
There were two men dressed in filthy jeans and sweatshirts. The one who had spoken to her was in his late twenties, unshaven for at least two days, with shoulder-length greasy dark hair, hairy hands, and a big smile. The other one was older with grey hair, a bulbous lumpy nose, and a pot belly.
‘What the fuck?’ the young one said.
She took out her warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Blake. Now, can we start again?’
‘A cop. I should have known.’
She took out her notebook and slid the pencil from its holder. ‘Names?’
‘Is that really necessary, ba...?’
‘If you call me that one more time, I’m going to put my hand inside your mouth, reach right down as far as I can go, grab your arse, and pull you inside out.’
‘I bet you get loads of blokes fancying you,’ the older one said.
‘Right, both of you lie down on the floor and put your arms behind your back. There’s two cells at Hoddesdon Police Station with your names on them... that is, if we ever find out your names before you die from your injuries.’
‘Marcus Cook,’ the younger one said.
The older one gave a nervous laugh ‘I’m Steve Price. You know we was only jesting, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, so was I,’ Xena said. ‘Now, I need to know about 117 Hobbs Road.’
Cook grinned. ‘We guessed you’d get to us, didn’t we Steve?’
‘Yeah, as soon as we heard it on the news...’
‘You’re not going to tell me you two dinosaurs watch the news?’
‘It was an accident, babe,’ Cook said running dirty fingers through his hair. ‘We were just passing, and there it was – on the news.’
‘Who are you two anyway?’
‘Owners of Arvon Paving. Contrary to what you see before you, we’re entrepreneurs just like Richard Branson and Lord Sugar. On the way to making our first million.’
‘Is that right? Okay, tell me how come you didn’t find any bodies when you built the conservatory and laid the patio at 117 Hobbs Road? And after you’ve done that, you can tell me about the inflated invoices you gave Mr Tucker, and then I’ll call in the fraud squad to have a quick look through your tax returns.’
Cook gave a hesitant grin. ‘Ah come on, babe. I’m sure we can work something out. I do a turn at hen parties if you’re interested?’
‘Just tell me what you know about the bodies, and we’ll go from there.’
‘We don’t know nothing,’ Price said.
Xena nodded. ‘Yeah, I think I’ve come to that conclusion myself.’
Cook seemed to be the spokesman. ‘We subcontracted out the conservatory to Gladiator Conservatories, and the patio to Global Paving. At the time, we were already busy doing a dozen other jobs.’
‘You didn’t do any of the work yourself?’
‘No. Does that mean we’re in the clear, babe?’
‘What it means, is that you’re in serious trouble.’
‘Why’s that? We...’
‘You keep calling me babe, and I’m not your babe.’
‘Yeah, but just think of all the good times you’d have if you were.’
‘You’re trying to give me nightmares, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t see how you could be having nightmares when you won’t be sleeping, babe.’
‘Can we get back to the bodies?’
‘Ain’t got nothing else to tell you,’ Price chipped in.
‘I want a list of all your employees during the period 2002 to 2003, and I’d like the addresses of the two companies you used to fulfil the contract.’
‘Ha, you want the lovely Katy in the office. Allow me to escort you,’ Cook offered.
She followed Cook through what appeared to be a labyrinthine pathway between stacks of paving slabs, piles of gravel, block paving and brick towers, bags of cement, sand, and...
‘Here we are.’ They were standing outside a grey one-storey flat-roofed Portakabin. ‘Katy will give you everything you need. Well, when I say everything... I don’t mean everything. She can’t give you what I can give you, babe.’
Unable to stop herself from smiling she said, ‘I should lock you up and throw away the key.’
‘You’re not really going to call in the fraud squad, are you?’
‘I’m giving it serious consideration.’
Cook grinned and rubbed his crotch. ‘Well, if I can influence your decision in any way, just let me know.’
Against her better judgement she was tempted, so she took his number – just in case. She thought that underneath the grease and grime he would scrub up quite nicely. Letting a suspect shag her was more than her job was worth, but he wouldn’t be a suspect forever. ‘You’re a fucking dinosaur, Cook.’
‘I know. That’s what all the women find so attractive about me. Have a good day, Detective Sergeant Blake,’ he said as he walked away, and tossed her a grin over his shoulder. ‘And you know where to find me if you need someone for your hen party who’s willing to go all the way.’
The lovely Katy was actually a fat fiftyish Katherine Coombs who gave Xena the list of employees and the two addresses. On her way back to the car she thought about how this new information fitted into what they already knew. In a word – it didn’t. The more they found out, the more disjointed everything became.
A crowd had gathered back at the car.
‘All right, folks,’ she said to them. ‘He likes a drink, and then he likes to sleep. I’m sure you’ve all been in the same situation, and I’m also sure that you’ve got better things to do than stick your noses into other people’s business.’
A pale man with a nervous tic on the left side of his face stayed and helped her get Stick back into the passenger seat.
‘Thanks,’ she said to him.
He passed her a business card. ‘He can call me any time.’
She looked at the card: Paul Hill – Jehovah’s Witness and Alcoholics Anonymous. ‘I’m sure,’ she said climbing into the car. It must be her. She seemed to attract fucking weirdoes like flowers attracted honey bees.
Chapter Twelve
‘This is not part of the plan, Richards.’
‘It would be good if the killer followed our plan, instead of us following his.’
‘Maybe we should post an open letter in the Times explaining what our plans are, and asking him if he’d be so kind as to not kill anyone else until we’ve caught up with the backlog of interviews, investigation, analysis, and...’
‘We can’t be late home tonight.’
‘I know. Maybe, before we go to bed, we can discuss where we are and plan our next move? It’ll save us time in the morning.’
‘I suppose. If I can stay awake that long. I’m really tired after last night.’
‘A lord of the realm, that’s all we need. You’d better find your thinking cap, because the pressure will be on to solve this case yesterday. Everybody and his grandma will be all over us.’
‘Maybe it would be better if they brought in a task force.’
Parish turned to look at her. ‘I’ll forget you said that.’
‘We have my mum to think about, and the murder of that woman, and...’
‘...And we also have another serial killer who likes to dispose of high-profile people. Now, if you’re not up to the job just say the word, and I’ll swap you for an Aunt Sally.’
‘As if.’
It had been trying to rain all day. As soon as they arrived at the old cottage on Nine Ashes Road the black clouds reached saturation point, and the thunder and lightning began in earnest. It was ten to three.
Parish told Richards to run to the back of the car and get two umbrellas out of the boot, but as soon as they opened them up the wind whipped the contraptions inside out and they became useless junk. Then, in the wasteland between the car and the cottage, they got drenched.
‘Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into,
Toadstone,’ Parish said, shaking himself like a dog.
The cottage was a shell. There were rooms, but no doors. The floors were concrete, and there was only a ground floor. The whole place was a wind trap for leaves and debris. Weeds filled the cracks, graffiti adorned the walls, and Mother Nature had begun to take back what was hers.
With great difficulty, they donned the paper suits, boots, gloves and masks over dripping clothes.
Lord Latham was in the largest room, which had probably been the living room. He was lying in a pool of blood from head to knees that resembled a figure eight. His wrists and ankles had been secured by wire, and the inkpot of his open mouth was full of blood.
‘Oliver Hardy playing himself, in Sons of the Desert, 1933,’ Toadstone replied.
‘I don’t feel like cheerleading,’ Richards said. ‘Is this the same as Nadine Chryst?’
‘With the exception of the missing tongue.’
Parish said, ‘Describe the scene to me, trainee detective Richards.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Seeing as your uniform doesn’t fit you anymore, I would say that yes you probably do have to.’
She sighed. ‘It’s a bit dark in here, Paul.’
‘We’re organising lights and a generator,’ Toadstone assured her.
‘The victim is a man in his late sixties or early seventies. He has thinning grey hair, a wiry body, and... he has no shoes on, just like Nadine Chryst.’
‘Which tells us that...?’
‘...He was probably abducted from his home.’
‘Okay. Carry on.’
Two of Toadstone’s people brought in and positioned two 600 watt tripod lights. They heard the generator grumble into life, and the lights lit up the crime scene.
‘That’s better,’ Richards said. She bent down to look closer. ‘He’s still got his eyelids.’ She prised the right one open. ‘And he still has his eyes. He’s not a collector then.’
‘Well, not of eyes anyway.’
Richards continued. ‘His mouth his open, but full of blood... You don’t want me to...?’
‘No.’ Parish addressed Toadstone. ‘You’ve obviously been in his mouth to know that his tongue is missing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why is his mouth full of blood?’ Richards asked.
‘The tongue bleeds a lot...’
‘Yes, I know that, but why hasn’t the blood gone down his throat?’
‘She has a point, Toadstone.’
‘Wait,’ Toadstone said and disappeared from the room. He returned inside a minute with a pair of long-stemmed angled forceps, and inserted them into the blood-filled mouth. ‘Yes,’ he said, and his eyes lit up as he withdrew a screwed up piece of paper gripped in the jaws of the forceps. There was a gurgling sound as the blood in the mouth disappeared down the oesophagus and into the stomach.
‘You’re getting sloppy in your old age, Toadstone. It was a good job Richards was here to save your arse.’
‘Yes, well spotted, Mary. I would have found it...’
‘You have to be gracious in defeat, Toadstone.’
‘Of course. Thank you, Mary.’
‘You’re welcome, Paul. What is it?’
‘Oh yes.’ Toadstone began to unfurl the ball of paper with his gloved fingers and the forceps. Once he had opened it out, they saw that it had two words in the middle: “Silver-Tongued”.
‘So, now we have “Green-Eyed” and “Silver-Tongued”,’ Richards said, ‘and I have a weird feeling.’
Parish’s eyes creased up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s like Ruben when he left us those messages. Nadine Chryst has been killed for having green eyes, and Lord Latham for being silver-tongued.’
‘Ruben is dead, Mary,’ Toadstone said. ‘I killed him.’
‘I know. It’s just... I don’t know. I just have this feeling.’
‘What have I told you about having feelings, Richards. Feelings will get you into serious trouble.’
‘I’m tired, but you have to admit it’s similar.’
‘I don’t have to admit anything, and you can’t make me. As far as I’m concerned it’s completely different. Certainly, there are a few similarities, but there are many more dissimilarities. For instance, Ruben used to send us messages in ancient languages. He also left a signature at each crime scene, the victims were all women, and he used to try and have sex with them. Let’s face it, some serial killers just have a similar modus operandus. There’s only so many variations on the theme.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Carry on with your description of the crime scene.’
‘He’s wearing a white dress shirt, but no tie or bow tie. There are no buttons at the cuffs, so they are meant to be closed with cuff links, but there are none. His trousers are undone, but pulled up.’ She went to open the trousers up, but stopped. ‘Can you do that, please, Paul?’
Toadstone did as he was asked.
‘He isn’t wearing any underclothes, and it appears as though the femoral arteries have been severed as well. I would say it’s definitely the same killer.’
‘Who found the body?’
‘A woman walking her dog. It disappeared in here and wouldn’t come when she called it, so she came in to get it. She phoned the station on her mobile. Her name’s Carol Walker. She’s in the truck.’
‘You’ve despatched a team to his home?’
‘Of course. Yasmin has gone over there, but she’s not happy.’
‘Yasmin hasn’t been happy since 1951, Toadstone. What she needs is a good...’
‘Sirrr...’
‘...Strong cup of coffee.’
‘You weren’t going to say that.’
‘I was too. Shame on you for thinking otherwise. What’s the address, Toadstone?’
‘He lived at 2 St George’s Close in Hook End.’
‘Not far away. We may as well pop in there on our way to wherever we’re going next.’ He looked at Richards. ‘Where is that?’
‘We were going to Nadine Chryst’s insurers, but...’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be home by six.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ Toadstone said.
‘Are you any good as a nanny?’
‘That’s not really... Well, maybe for a short time.’
‘Thanks for offering, Toadstone, but we’ve got it covered. What Richards and I could do with is more time. We’re spread a bit thin at the moment, but we’ll get through it like we usually do. Right, unless you’ve got the name of the killer in a secret pocket you haven’t told us about Toadstone, I think we’ll make a move.’
‘Unfortunately not. You know what I know.’
‘I doubt that. So, come on, Richards. I know you’re tired, but that’s no excuse for falling asleep standing up.’
‘See you, Paul.’
‘Goodbye, Mary.’
Doc Riley arrived just as they were leaving.
‘You took your time, Doc,’ Parish said.
‘I had things to finish off.’
‘I’ll give you a ring tomorrow.’
‘Okay.’
They spoke to Carol Walker, and her dog Obi One, on the way to the car. Neither of them knew anything, but Mrs Walker did go on to explain that she was a Star Wars groupie, and that her Irish Wolfhound was a Jedi knight ready to defend the Empire at a moment’s notice.
‘Why are there so many crazy people, Sir?’
‘The whole world is an asylum, Richards.’
‘What does that make us?’
‘Inmates.’
***
For as long as Erin Donnelly could remember she’d had a computer’s guts spilled out on a table in front of her figuring out how each component worked singularly and in conjunction with the other electronic parts. And when she knew everything there was to know about computers, she started on other things.
Not only was she technically-minded, but she also had an IQ of 176. It wasn’t the highest IQ in the world – a Kore
an man had been measured at 210, but she was wedged between Stephen Hawking with an IQ of 160, and Leonardo da Vinci who was estimated to have had an IQ of 180. Anyway, she was certainly in privileged company.
Erin Donnelly had also spent three years in a high security psychiatric unit, but that was when she had been called Alison Wade. Now, she was a different person. Now, she was called Erin Donnelly, and she had all the paperwork to prove it.
She swiped the home-made electronic card through the card reader on the door, and let herself into the Wharf Building Deluxe Plus Bedroom at the Hilton London Docklands Riverside Hotel – Number 16.
Detective Chief Inspector Kowalski would soon be booking into his room, and Number 16 was the one that had been allocated to him. His complimentary bottle of champagne on ice – that she had arranged for him – had already arrived. She used the champagne bottle opener to remove the cork, and then poured in the flunitrazepam to provide a two milligram dose per glass of bubbly. Flunitrazepam was better known as Rohypnol, and as soon as he’d taken it she’d be able to get to work. She then pushed the cork back into the neck of the bottle with the lever-operated corker machine she’d brought with her.
Next, she set up the four miniature cameras, so that she had a full three hundred and sixty degree view of the kingsize bed. One camera she positioned between the two pictures on the wall above the headboard, two she put in the bedside lights on either side of the bed, and the fourth one in the ceiling light above the bed.
She made sure everything was as she’d found it, let herself out of Number 16, and slipped back into the room next door that she had temporarily taken out of service while she used it. She checked the views from the cameras on her laptop, and decided that the camera on the wall above the headboard needed to be adjusted downwards slightly. She’d do it later, when she was with him.
A wry smile cracked her face. Soon, Raymond Kowalski would have nothing left. He’d be a shadow of a man – the way he’d left her father.
***
She was slightly late, which was hardly surprising considering all the shit she’d had to put up with.
As soon as she put the handbrake on and switched off the engine, Stick woke up.
