by Ellis, Tim
‘If you two have quite finished?’
‘When you’re ready, Chief,’ Parish said.
Kowalski took a swallow of his coffee. ‘The FBI at Quantico have heard about all the work you two have been doing with serial killers...’
‘You make it sound as if we’re running an outreach programme. Helping serial killers to come to terms with their affliction, and to re-integrate them back into society.’
‘There’s just one problem with that scenario...’
‘I know, but... It’s hardly our fault most of them have ended up dead.’
‘Anyway, they’d like you two to go over there. They’re having a symposium on how different cultures approach the serial killer phenomenon. They want you to give a forty-five minute presentation.’
‘Just you, not me?’ Richards said. ‘I’ll sit in the audience and cheer you on.’
‘Heckle me, more like. Anyway, the Chief did not say that I had to give the presentation on my own. You can wear one of those sequinned itzy-bitzy bikinis, and point at the slides as they appear. You’ll be my able assistant. It’ll distract them long enough for me to waffle my way to the end, and when they leave they’ll only remember you prancing about the stage in a swimsuit. They’ll love it, and cheer and clap at the end.’
‘As if. What about mum and Jack?’
‘No, your mother holding Jack won’t add anything to the presentation.’
‘Listen,’ Kowalski said. ‘Here’s the deal. The Chief Constable has spoken to the Police Commissioner, who has had a conversation with the Home Secretary, who brought it up at a Cabinet Meeting, and they want you two to go. The Prime Minister thinks it’ll be excellent for British-American relations, which as you know are at a low ebb after the MI6 leak fiasco. I explained to the Chief Constable about your recent problems, and he understands. He said he’s willing to dip into his meagre entertainment budget and fund the trip, which will include Angie, Jack, and that hot nanny you’ve acquired.’
‘Chief Kowalski!’ Richards reprimanded him. ‘As a DCI, you’re not meant to say things like that.’
He smiled. ‘I know, which makes it all the more exciting.’
Parish helped himself to another coffee. ‘So, when is this symposium meant to be taking place?’
‘Friday.’
‘But it’s Monday now,’ Richards said aghast.
‘I know. You fly out from Stanstead at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. See Carrie on the way out, she has your tickets. You fly back next Tuesday.’
Parish nearly choked on his coffee. ‘You’re joking.’
‘There’s also a thousand pounds spending money, which will of course be deducted from your wages in twelve equal parts.’
‘And once we’ve done this presentation?’ Parish said.
‘Well, the symposium lasts two days, but then you’re free to do what you want... just so long as you bring me back some of those gourmet jelly beans, and Jerry would like some expensive perfume... So, why are you still sitting here like blocks of concrete, don’t you have to pack or something?’
Parish jumped up, and started dancing towards the door as if he’d just invented the hokey-cokey. ‘All together now:
You put your right hand in,
You put your right hand out,
In out, in out,
Shake it all about...’
Carrie deposited a brown envelope into his hand as he danced past her.
Richards tagged on the back of him and said, ‘Are you sure you’ve got the words right?’
‘Do I look like a man who cares, Richards?’ he said, and then started singing something completely different.
‘Whoo, we’re going to America
Whoo, flying away on coconut airways
Whoo, far away from Hoddesdon and the rain
Whoo, fly me high, American sky...’
‘And those are definitely not the right words,’ she said laughing.
***
Xena’s eyes opened wide. ‘Parish and Richards have gone on an all-expenses paid trip to America, and Gilbert and I are left here with two murders? That’s hardly fair, Chief.’
She’d not long seen Parish and Richards doing the hokey-cokey along the corridor like drunken partygoers.
‘You’re not up to it then, DS Blake?’
‘I didn’t say that, Sir. I said it wasn’t fair.’
‘Oh, you’re one of those who thinks life is fair?’
‘I didn’t say that either...’
‘I know a multitude of Inspectors who would kill to have two murders to get their teeth into...’
She’d like to sink her fucking teeth into the Chief’s neck. ‘I can see you’re unsympathetic to the situation, Sir. Just tell me what we’ve got, and I’ll get out of your office.’
‘A young female jogger was seen being bundled into a van early this morning by a keen-eyed postman. He jotted down the vehicle registration, and contacted the police. We sent a squad car to the address of the vehicle’s registered keeper, and an eighteen year-old woman was discovered bound and gagged in the van parked on the drive. When they arrested John Smith, the officers noticed an odd smell emanating from the house. Well... I’ll leave Di Heffernan to explain what they’ve found, but you and DC Gilbert did such a good job piecing together Joshua Heywood’s crimes that I thought this one would be right up your street.’
‘Where’s Smith now?’
‘Downstairs waiting to be interviewed.’
This wasn’t the way she liked to start Monday mornings off. A coffee, some banter, wake up slowly to an easy knitting needle murder by a wife who had grown tired of her husband farting as if she didn’t matter anymore – that would be her ideal Monday morning. What she had here wasn’t going to fucking plan at all.
‘Is Smith his real name?’
‘Is it likely I’m going to do your work for you, Blake?’
She sighed. ‘And the other murder, Chief?’
‘A man’s body has been found.’
‘A normal murder then?’
‘Unfortunately not, but Toady will fill you in.’
‘Can I get any help?’
‘I could probably scrape together a Detective Inspector, but you know what that would mean?’
‘I wouldn’t be in charge of the investigation any longer?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Is there any chance of me getting promoted anytime soon?’
‘I’ll look into it, Blake, but I’m not promising anything. There’s a glut of DIs at the moment. They seem to get promoted to DI, and then sit there rubbing their hands with glee waiting for retirement. What we need is a culling.’
‘Thanks anyway, Sir.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said, waving her out absently as he focussed on a pile of papers on his desk. ‘Briefings at five o’clock.’
‘Okay, Sir.’
Fuck’s sake!
She walked into the squad room to find Stick sitting at his desk reading.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’
‘Accident on the...’
‘Leave fucking earlier when you know there’s going to be an accident.’
‘Yes, Sarge. What did the Chief have to say?’
‘What did the Chief not have to fucking say, you mean?’
‘Okay...’
‘We’ve got two murders...’
‘Two?’
‘You’re not going to be one of those partners who repeats everything I fucking say, are you?’
‘No, Sarge. Where are Parish and Richards?’
‘America.’
‘America?’
‘Why do I smell cheap noxious perfume, Stick? Are you wearing perfume?’
‘No, Sarge.’
‘So, how are your teeth now?’
He smiled like a caricature.
‘Fuck’s sake! Are you trying to give me nightmares?’
‘I’ve had the full works.’
She tentatively leaned closer as he opened his mouth and sniffed. ‘I smell toothpa
ste, mouthwash, and... a perfume cocktail of bleach, condoms, and crappy sex. You’ve not been with a prostitute, have you?’
‘I wouldn’t know how.’
Xena’s eyes creased to slits. ‘There’s something not right about you, Stick.’
‘Why have Parish and Richards gone to America?’
‘Don’t even ask.’
‘We’ve got two murders then?’
‘Right, get off your bony arse, and let’s get moving before we start having the same conversation over and over again.’
‘Did you have a good weekend, Sarge?’
‘What the fuck’s it got to do with you? Are you writing my biography or something? Remember what I said about keeping on your side of the fence.’
‘Just being friendly.’
‘Poking you nose into my fucking knickers drawer, more like.’
‘Are you going to tell me about the two murders, or...?’
As they made their way out to the car park, Xena informed Stick of what the Chief had told her.
‘We’re going to see the murdered man first, are we?’ Stick asked when they were sitting in the car.
‘Do you think we’d be walking to the car to interview John Smith when he’s actually sitting in the fucking station cells?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Definitely not, you fucking dork. Sometimes I despair of you. While I was in with the Chief I should have asked for a fucking refund. In fact, they should pay me compensation for having to work with a defective partner.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘And while we’re on the subject of partners, there’s still two things I don’t know about you.’
‘Only two things?’
She twisted in the passenger seat to stare at him. ‘What, you mean there’s more secrets you’re keeping from me?’
He smiled.
‘Will you stop smiling like that, you’re giving me the fucking creeps?’
‘Where are we going, Sarge?’
‘The quaint village of Hunsdon, apparently. Follow Rye Road until you reach the B181, and then get onto the B180 to Hunsdon. Once you’re there, turn right off the High Street down Drury Lane. Toadstone and his team are at the end.’
He headed towards the Dinant Link Road. ‘I’ve been looking forward to another juicy murder, and instead we get two.’
‘You’re a fucking crazy person, Stick. Just drive, will you? And remember, you don’t do anything without my say-so, are we clear about that?’
‘Clear, Sarge.’
‘The last thing I need right now is you getting into trouble again, and more fucking paperwork.’
‘Understood. Loud and clear. A-ok.’
‘What’s wrong with you this morning? Shut the fuck up.’
She couldn’t hear herself think with Stick prattling on about something and nothing. Two fucking murders! No rest for the wicked. And after meeting Buxton – as she called DI Jeannette Carter all the time now – she’d certainly been wicked over the weekend. She’d driven up to Daventry on Friday night, and they’d booked into a cheap anonymous hotel. After some shopping on the Saturday it didn’t take them long to find a man in a club who wanted sex with two women.
They’d had to interview him, of course. What they didn’t want was someone who wasn’t up to the job. Someone who ran out of ink after a few strokes of the pen. As it turned out he had amazing staying power, and they’d kept him handcuffed to the bed until Sunday morning.
‘My wife’s going to kill me,’ he said, when they released him.
‘Tell her you were held prisoner by two insatiable women,’ Buxton offered.
‘Yeah,’ Xena agreed. ‘In my experience wives never believe husbands when they’re telling the truth.’
‘Very helpful. I wasn’t even meant to be in that club.’
‘I have no interest in your domestic situation,’ Xena said, as she watched him get dressed. ‘We’ll be back here in two weeks, do you want to come out and play again?’
‘I’m getting a hard-on just thinking about it. And next time, I’ll be able to craft an excuse for why I’ve gone missing.’
And they all went their separate ways.
Now, here she was, stuck in a car with Stick again. Two murders! Fuck’s sake. She’d have to get her mind out of the gutter, and start doing some thinking. So, a man called John Smith – which obviously wasn’t his real name, because no one was ever seriously called John Smith and lived to tell the tale – was arrested for kidnapping an eighteen year-old jogger. Okay, but what was in his house? The jogger was still alive, so there must be a dead body in his house. Di Heffernan! The fucking bitch. She couldn’t believe she and Stick had been conned out of four boxes of chocolates. Over five hundred pounds for fuck’s sake!
‘I can’t believe you fell for the fucking boxes of chocolate trick, Stick.’
‘As I recall, you fell for it too.’
‘I was in York trying to solve a murder.’
‘I was here solving the murder.’
‘And getting yourself nearly killed in the fucking process. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d be worm meat by now.’
‘Have I said how grateful I am?’
‘Numerous times, but don’t think you can stop yet.’
Yeah, she needed to get even with the bitch. No one messed with Xena Blake and her partner without dire consequences. She had to section off a portion of her brain to devote to that little problem.
She hadn’t worked with Toadstone before, so she’d have to see whether he was any good. He’d better not try any tricks, otherwise she’d castrate the bastard.
A dead man, and not a normal murder according to the Chief. What did that mean?
She phoned Di Heffernan.
‘DS Blake. What a lovely surprise.’
‘I doubt that, and don’t think you’re getting any more fucking chocolates – that well has run dry.’
‘How can I be of assistance on this miserable February morning, Sergeant Blake?’
‘I’m on the way to another murder, and then I’m coming to you...’
‘We shall be honoured to have you...’
‘Never mind all that crap. We both know the score by now. What have you got for me?’
‘You’re just the cheeriest person, Sergeant Blake. Well, what we have here is the stuff nightmares are made of.’
‘That helps a lot.’
‘Our Mr Smith...’
The call ended and she was plunged into darkness. ‘What the fuck?’
‘Sorry,’ Stick said. ‘Tunnel.’
‘If you had a brain, it would be fucking lonely.’
***
‘I’ll never pack in time,’ Angie said, and burst into tears.
They were sitting at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of tea. He wasn’t really a tea drinker, but he didn’t mind it now and again – for a change.
Jed took her hands in his. ‘I’m tempted to leave you here.’
‘That’s not very nice.’
‘So that I don’t cause you all this stress.’
‘You think I’m not up to it?’
‘You know that’s not what I meant.’
‘And there’s Digby, and my appointment at the clinic, and I don’t know if I’ve got enough tablets, and...’
‘Stop!’
‘What?’
‘I’ll sort it all out. You go to the bedroom and pack enough for one week... not a month – one week. I’ll send Mary in to help you. Don’t worry about Jack, Alicia Mae will pack for him. I’ll ring the clinic to re-arrange your appointment, speak to the doctor about additional tablets, sort Digby out with kennels and drive him round there, and...’
‘Passports!’
‘What about them?’
‘Where are they? Are they still in date? Don’t we need a visa to get into America? Jack’s not on my passport... Has Alicia Mae got...?’
‘Weren’t you meant to be in your bedroom packing?’
‘Sorry.’
He touched her face. ‘The Americans have provided clearance. Everything will be fine. Go up to the bedroom and start packing your glad rags.’
‘Do I need a bikini?’
‘We’ll be nowhere near the sea, but I’m sure I wouldn’t object if you wanted to wear it in the hotel room.’
‘You’re a letch.’
‘In fact, thinking about you in that bikini has given me the urge to lie down...’
She hit him playfully on the arm. ‘And then I’d never get anything packed.’
Richards came in flustered. ‘I’m never going to be ready in time.’
‘Don’t you start,’ Parish said. ‘You only need your sequined bikini, and that’ll fit in your wash bag.’
‘As if.’
‘Help your mother pack.’
‘But...’
He gave her a look. How quickly we forget, he thought.
‘Oh, of course. Come on, mum, let’s go and pack your case.’
After they’d left to go upstairs he went through into the living room to speak to Alicia Mae, who was sitting on the sofa reading.
‘Are you okay with the trip to America?’ he said.
She smiled. ‘Of course. It’s only for a week. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘You’ll have your own hotel room.’
‘And Jack will be in the room with me?’
‘Yes, but we’ll arrange for time off.’
‘That will be good. I’d like to do some shopping.’
‘What about packing, passport...?’
‘All done.’
‘Oh, okay.’
He left her reading, and returned to the kitchen to make the necessary phone calls. Angie’s appointment at the clinic was simply cancelled. A week’s holiday in America would be far more therapeutic than lying on the psychiatrist’s couch for an hour. He arranged to pick up an extra box of Angie’s medication later, and booked Digby into the local kennels.
‘Sorry, Digby old boy, but I can’t take you with me. You know I would if I could, but I can’t. And anyway, you wouldn’t like it over there. They have bears, alligators, and cats... lots of cats. And we’re not talking about small cats either. Yeah, you’re better off staying here. Polly Reeves at the kennels will look after you, and I’ll pay for you to go first class. You never know, you might meet someone... and when I say “someone” I mean a young lady...’
