Dominion of Darkness: (Parish & Richards #19)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘So, soon?’

  ‘The person who called us – Miss Misha Brite – said the woman’s name is Hayley Kingdom and that she house-shares with her.’

  ‘And why hadn’t she reported her missing?’

  ‘Apparently, she didn’t know Hayley was missing, Sir. As far as Miss Brite knew, Hayley had left Friday night after work and was staying with family for a week.’

  ‘Okay – address?’ He signalled for Richards to get her notebook and pencil out.

  ‘Number 55 Glebe Road in Chipping Ongar,’ he repeated, so that Richards could write it down.

  ‘Thanks, Sergeant Moore. I’d also like Forensics to attend as well.’

  ‘I’ll organise it, Sir.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘Come on, Richards. We have a lead at last.’ He looked at Doc Riley. ‘We’ll see you at lunch, Doc.’

  The Doc nodded.

  ‘As for you, Toadstone. I want you to bear in mind that positive anything is better than negative nothing.’

  Crow’s feet appeared in the corners of his eyes. ‘I’ll try and remember that, Sir. Oh, and the American writer and philosopher Elbert Hubbard said that.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Hello, Shakin’,’ she whispered into her mobile phone.

  She was on the tube travelling from Chigwell to Mile End on the Central Line, which generally took her in the region of forty-five minutes. From there, she had to switch to the District Line and catch the train to Temple, a journey of twenty minutes. She usually subscribed to the unwritten rule that talking on a mobile phone when she was in a train carriage full to bursting with rush-hour passengers was unsociable.

  People glared at her.

  She wished she’d remembered to switch her phone off.

  ‘You’re on your own this morning, Mrs K.’

  ‘On my own! Where’s Joe?’

  ‘He’s here with me.’

  ‘And where are you?’

  ‘At University College Hospital on Euston Road.’

  She took an intake of breath. ‘Have you been in an accident, or something?’

  ‘Something would probably cover it.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘As we agreed, I knocked on number 27 Lyme Street after I left you and Joe. I was invited in by a very attractive blonde-haired woman who wasn’t even aware that there’d been a murder across the road. She did, however, want my opinion on her cello playing. I explained to her that I knew nothing about music, but she seemed adamant that I was the man for the job. I soon realised why. She liked to play the cello while she was having sex. As I said, I know nothing about music, but I have to say that she wasn’t very good . . . at playing the cello, I mean. The sex was fine, but the screeching cello kept putting me off my rhythm. Anyway, apart from realising that I don’t like a musical accompaniment to sex, I didn’t find out anything about Poppy . . . Rebecca and Andrew’s relationship.’

  ‘Okay. Well, you went above and beyond, Shakin’.’

  ‘I certainly did, Mrs K. So, then I went to number 29, which was opened by a woman in her early forties. She wasn’t particularly attractive, so I expected to ask her a few questions and get out of there with my modesty intact. Well, she offered me jammy dodgers and coffee, so I stayed a while. During that time she told me that Andrew liked the ladies – a lot. She didn’t know him all that well, or so she said, but she was surprised when she learned that he had physically abused Rebecca Hardacre. She said he didn’t seem the type, but she also pointed out that there probably was no type.’

  ‘So, you ate your jammy dodgers and got out of there?’

  Shakin’ laughed and then gave a grunt of pain. ‘That was certainly my intention and would have been the sensible thing to do.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I asked to use the toilet before I left.’

  ‘I don’t see a problem with that.’

  ‘There shouldn’t have been, but there was no lock on the door. So, I’m trying to improve my aim in preparation for the Olympics when she simply walked right on in as if she owned the place, filled the sink with water and started washing her hands. I was so astounded I couldn’t speak, or pee for that matter. My bladder shrivelled up like a prune. Anyway, one thing led to another . . .’

  ‘One thing! What one thing?’

  ‘She insisted on washing me.’

  ‘That’s certainly one thing.’

  ‘So, against my better judgement we ended up in the bedroom.’

  ‘So why are you at the hospital?’

  ‘Ah! Well, I fell asleep. And the next thing I knew was that I’m being dragged naked out of bed by a builder who was as tall as he was wide. He threw me down the stairs, followed me down and gave me a good kicking before tossing me outside in the pouring rain like a piece of litter. Thankfully, the woman threw my clothes out of the bedroom window, so I ended up getting dressed on the street.’

  ‘And you went to the hospital?’

  ‘I had no choice, Mrs K. I’m a bit of a mess, to say the least. They kept me in overnight to take x-rays and carry out hourly observations because the man kicked me in the face . . .’

  ‘Oh, Shakin’!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs K. I’m happy to report that there are no broken nose or teeth. I’m still as good-looking as I ever was. The bruising and swelling will disappear in time.’

  ‘Okay. So you’re on your way back to the halls of residence?’

  ‘That was certainly my plan. I had in mind a rest day, maybe order in a pizza with all the trimmings and see if Dixie Chivers had any free periods and wanted to come over and examine me. I mean, overnight I’d become a medical curiosity.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Joe happened. I was making my way out of the hospital as Joe was hobbling in.’

  ‘Hobbling in!’

  ‘He’s in a worse condition than me, Mrs K. That Victoria Darling tortured him.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Shakin’.’

  ‘I’m being serious, Mrs K.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why would she do that?’

  ‘Apparently, she’s a sadist. Joe said that when he arrived there everything was hunky dory. He took flowers as you’d suggested and wore his best boxers. She looked a million dollars. They ate a fabulous meal she’d prepared and they both drank copious amounts of wine . . . Joe’s never been any good with wine though – it goes to his head and makes him more stupid than he usually is. Anyway, she wanted to know if he was ready to be punished . . .’

  ‘He didn’t say yes, did he?’

  ‘Yeah, but what he had in mind, and what she had in mind were worlds apart. She left him drinking his wine and when she came back she’d changed into those dominatrix-type clothes . . . You know, a black PVC bodice, suspender belt, skimpy black knickers, fishnet stockings and knee-length boots.’

  ‘Who’d have thought Miss Darling would be like that?’

  ‘Exactly! Anyway, Joe should have run for the hills there and then, but he didn’t. He let her take all his clothes off and then followed her into the punishment room.’

  ‘Dear me.’

  ‘She secured his wrists with manacles hanging from the ceiling and his ankles to ones protruding from the floor. Then she got her whip and other instruments of torture out.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. I’ll come to the hospital and see for myself how she’s damaged my Joe.’

  ‘No, you can’t do that, Mrs K.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the damage is in places that other beers can’t reach.’

  ‘You mean . . . ?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Poor Joe.’

  ‘He’ll recover in a day or so, and the nurse said there’ll be no lasting scars. I must admit though, I envisaged that the electricity burns might leave some marks, but the nurse massaged the affected area with cooling cream and Joe seemed to perk up no problem at all.’

  ‘I don’t suppose with all that happened to Joe last n
ight that he was able to obtain the information we needed?’

  ‘Well, he couldn’t could he? If you recall, he was being disciplined in the punishment room?’

  ‘Oh well, we’ll have to discuss how we can obtain that information another way.’

  ‘There is one good thing though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We’re here at the hospital. And if I’m not mistaken we needed to find a nurse who could provide us with some information.’

  ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘Nurse Arwen Tanner seems to have taken a liking to Joe . . . I don’t know if I’m losing my touch Mrs K, but Joe seems to be the flavour of the day at the moment. Anyway, we’ll work on her and see if we can’t get her to break a few rules.’

  ‘Don’t get her into trouble, Shakin’.’

  ‘I think Joe’s more likely to do that than me. Don’t worry, we’ll look after her.’

  ‘Do you want me to come to the halls of residence and tuck you both in?’

  ‘No offence Mrs K, but I don’t think you’re the right person for the job. I’ll give Dixie Chivers a call. She’ll come over and minister to our needs.’

  ‘I don’t think I need to know the gory details, Shakin’.’

  ‘No, probably not. So, as I said, you’re on your own today, Mrs K. Sorry to let you down, but that’s what happens when you live on the edge.’

  ‘Okay, Shakin’. Call me if you get any news.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And give my best to Joe.’

  ‘Will do.’

  The train pulled into Mile End and she made her way to the District Line platform.

  Poor boys, she thought.

  ***

  ‘Abacus Investigations.’

  ‘You have a lousy telephone voice.’

  ‘Is there anything you like about me?’

  ‘Mmmm! Let me think . . . No.’

  ‘What do you want, Bronwyn?’

  ‘I was wondering what you were doing?’

  ‘Manning the fort.’

  ‘Do we own a fort now?’

  ‘If you recall, you turned it into a fort.’

  ‘So I did. Have you had any more clients walk across the drawbridge?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Remember, you said I should contact you when I had something more substantial you could investigate?’

  ‘I vaguely recall saying something like that.’

  ‘What about the murder of a prostitute around West India Docks at Canary Wharf on March 23, 2011?’

  ‘Was the MO the same?’

  ‘Do you think I’d just pluck a dead prostitute out of thin air and say she was murdered by our serial killer?’

  ‘That’s what you seemed to be doing yesterday in the cafe.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. It’s just that you’ve become so institutionalised that you couldn’t see the possibilities.’

  ‘Anyway, tell me about this prostitute you’ve dug up?’

  ‘I’ve sent you two files attached to an email – the police report and the post-mortem report.’

  ‘You do know it’s illegal to hack into police computers, don’t you?’

  ‘Freedom of information. If it really was illegal they wouldn’t make it so easy to access everything. Her real name was Jodie Wilkins, although she called herself Opal. She was raped and sodomised just like the others in an alley behind the King Charles pub on Fisherman’s Walk, and then she was strangled with a skinny black silk scarf, which was tied around her neck and a flower was left in her hair.’

  ‘Sounds familiar.’

  ‘It’s exactly familiar. And it means that Perry was right.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything of the sort. I’ll grant you that there’s a strong possibility HMS Westminster might be harbouring a killer, but it could be anyone – including Perry.’

  ‘Why would Perry tell me about the murders if he was the one doing them?’

  ‘That’s what serial killers do – they inveigle themselves into an investigation.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m being practical. So, you’ve checked that HMS Westminster was actually in West India Docks on March 23, 2011?’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘I’m still here.’

  ‘And the answer to my question is?’

  ‘The answer is that I’m in the process . . .’

  ‘Call me again when . . .’

  ‘Don’t put the fucking . . .’

  He replaced the phone in its cradle.

  The door opened.

  He looked up and saw a woman with sad dark brown eyes, full lips and a long slender neck. ‘Hello, Detective Sergeant Bolton. What brings you to my neck of the woods?’

  ‘Dan Wozniak is dead, Sir.’

  ‘WHAT! You’re making it up. You know I was only talking to him yesterday.’

  She burst into tears.

  He stood up, went round the desk and held her. ‘What happened, Bolton?’

  ‘There was a pile-up on the M25 involving a dozen cars. His car was crushed by a Romanian articulated lorry and burst into flames – they didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Dan and his wife?’

  ‘What about the children?’

  ‘Thankfully, they were with his wife’s parents.’

  ‘That’s one thing at least, but now they’re orphans.’

  She started crying again. ‘I know.’

  He guided her to a chair. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I’m not much good at making coffee, but I’ll give it my best shot.’

  She wiped her eyes and stood up. ‘Here, let me.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘It’s no good offering coffee if you don’t know how to make it.’

  ‘You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me about Dan, you know – a phone call would have sufficed.’

  She began making two coffees. ‘That’s not the reason I’m here.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Here.’ She passed him a slip of paper with a telephone number on it. ‘Call that number.’

  The number seemed familiar somehow. He keyed in the digits.

  ‘Orde.’

  ‘Hello, Sir.’

  ‘Kowalski – is that you?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Have you got DS Bolton there?’

  ‘You make it sound as if I abducted her. Yes, she’s here, but she came of her own free will.’

  ‘You know what it’s about then?’

  ‘Not a clue, Sir.’

  ‘You were following Baguely because his wife thought he was having an affair?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘DI Wozniak discovered something among Baguely’s cases.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What about Bolton?’

  ‘She doesn’t know either. Dan called me and said he needed to talk to me . . .’

  ‘To you, Sir? Why not his own DCI?’

  ‘I asked the same question. He said I’d understand why when he spoke to me.’

  ‘So he was on his way to see you?’

  ‘We’d arranged an appointment for first thing this morning. My understanding is that he was planning to wine and dine his wife overnight in Chelmsford, and then while he and I were meeting, Jenny – his wife – would do some shopping.’

  ‘Jesus! You’re not suggesting that Dan and his wife were murdered, are you, Sir?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, Ray. But it seems like a weird coincidence that he should die in a road traffic accident when he was on his way here to tell me something.’

  ‘And where murder is concerned there’s no such thing as a coincidence?’

  ‘That’s it exactly, Ray.’

  ‘But surely you found what he wanted to talk to you about in his car?’

  ‘Nothing. We s
earched the wreckage from top to bottom.’

  ‘What about Baguely’s partner – Humphrey Browne? He must have given Dan the details of the cases Baguely was working on?’

  ‘My understanding is that he did, but nobody seems to know where Browne is.’

  ‘Another coincidence.’

  Bolton put a mug of coffee down in front of him. She then sat down in the chair on the other side of his desk nursing her own coffee mug.

  He took a swallow of the hot liquid. ‘Well, I’m grateful for the catch-up, Sir, and that you were kind enough to let me know what had happened to Dan . . .’

  ‘You’re the best detective I know, Ray. So I’ve authorised your re-instatement for one month.’

  Bolton slid his Warrant Card across the desk.

  ‘I’m a civilian now, Sir. I have my own business, a new car and a partner a guy could only dream of.’

  ‘You have absolutely no authority to requisition any helicopters, planes, boats, sports cars or anything else that exceeds the value of a weekly shopping trip for one to the supermarket.’

  ‘You’re not listening to me, Sir. I’m happy doing . . .’

  ‘And I want DS Bolton back in one piece – is that understood?’

  ‘You might want to consider having your hearing checked, Sir?’

  ‘You report directly to me, and I’ve cleared it for you to work out of Romford police station.’

  ‘Isn’t it possible that Dan’s boss is somehow implicated if he didn’t go directly to him?’

  ‘Her – DCI Madison Hunter.’

  His stomach sank to the floor, and a series of events from fifteen years ago, culminating in Madison losing her twenty-three week-old baby, ticker-taped through his mind.

  ‘I find that hard to believe, but that’s why I’ve put you in the Romford office. Hunter knows what’s happening and that you’re reporting directly to me. If I think she needs to know something – I’ll inform her. Any questions, Ray?’

  ‘Pay?’

  ‘Aren’t you already being paid a very generous final salary police pension that I allowed you to keep in the face of fierce opposition and calls for you to be publicly hung, drawn and quartered?’

  ‘Ah! I’d forgotten about that, Sir.’

  ‘So, call me at four o’clock, Ray. I’ll set an hour aside for you to brief me. Also, be careful. If Dan’s accident was murder, then you and/or Bolton could be next.’