Dominion of Darkness: (Parish & Richards #19)

by Tim Ellis

  She ended the call. The last thing she was going to tell Veronica was that she was using suspect – bordering on criminal – means to access bank accounts and medical records.

  Talking of which . . .

  While she was sitting down she called Shakin’.

  ‘Hello, Mrs K . . .’

  She could hardly hear him his voice was so low.

  ‘. . . Can I call you back soon?’

  Before she could respond the call ended.

  It sounded as though he was somewhere he wasn’t meant to be doing something he wasn’t meant to be doing. She hoped he was all right. Was Joe with him? And what had happened to the nurse? Now she was worried and hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he called.

  Her phone vibrated.

  ‘Shakin’?’

  ‘No – not even close,’ Bronwyn said.

  ‘Sorry. I was expecting . . .’

  ‘. . . That pervert to ring?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I guessed as much.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  Bronwyn blew a raspberry down the phone. ‘You’re asking me what I want?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re the one who wanted something from me if I’m not mistaken, the one who bribed me with a Sunday lunch knowing that I hadn’t eaten for months, the one who wanted me to hack into private bank records, the one who . . .’

  ‘Guilty as charged.’

  ‘Just so we’re clear about who wanted what from whom?’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Did you know your waster of a husband has gone and re-joined the police force?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘He told me that the Chief Constable had taken him back on for a month to investigate the case he was already investigating.’

  ‘He hasn’t told me any of this?’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. And it better not mean you’re going to cancel Sunday lunch just because you two aren’t talking – I’m quite happy eating food in an atmosphere that can be cut with a carving knife.’

  ‘Sunday lunch won’t be cancelled.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. He’s got a new partner as well . . .’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He says she’s old, pathetically useless and ugly. Not even I believe that. I’d say she was young, brilliant and hot as chilli peppers.’

  ‘That doesn’t worry me – I’ve always trusted Ray.’

  ‘More fool you. Men are the least trusting of all the insect species.’

  ‘So, did you call to tell me about Ray?’

  ‘No, that information was a bonus. You wanted to know about the bank accounts belonging to Crowthorne and Hardacre.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘A year ago they had separate bank accounts, then a joint bank account was set up in the names of Andrew P Crowthorne and Rebecca L Hardacre.’

  ‘Okay. What about . . . ?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve done what you asked me to do.’

  ‘I said I needed to know about the transactions that took place in those three bank accounts over the eighteen months between . . .’

  ‘I’m not going through eighteen months’ of bank transactions when I have no idea what I’m looking for. And not only that, you’re not paying me enough to do that . . . Oh wait! You’re not paying me anything at all. I’ve emailed you a zip file. You can look through the transactions at your leisure.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  ‘No thanks necessary.’

  ‘Thank you, Bronwyn.’

  ‘This Sunday lunch better be worth it.’

  ‘It will be.’

  ‘Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding?’

  ‘Carrots, sprouts, crispy roast potatoes, parsnips and gravy.’

  ‘You can keep the parsnips, but I want English mustard . . . lots of it.’

  ‘I’ve written your order down, Madam.’

  ‘Don’t lose it. Got beer?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What’s for pudding?’

  ‘Apple pie and custard.’

  ‘Properly cooked apples, no cinnamon and no lumpy custard.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Twelve o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘And your significant other?’

  ‘Perry – he’s a sailor, and I don’t want any flippant remarks about all the girls loving a sailor, or that he might have a girl in every port.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll all try to respect your wishes.’

  ‘Then our business is concluded, isn’t it?’

  ‘To the client’s satisfaction.’

  ‘Good. See you Sunday.’

  The call ended, but immediately her phone vibrated again.

  ‘Shakin’?’

  ‘No, it’s Joe.’

  ‘Hello, Joe. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Oh, you know?’

  ‘No, I don’t know.’

  ‘Sore.’

  ‘But not permanently damaged?’

  ‘Nurse Arwen Tanner says as long as the cream is massaged into the affected part three times a day I should pull through okay.’

  ‘And who’s doing this massaging in of the cream?’

  ‘Well, she is at the moment.’

  ‘And what about when they let you out?’

  ‘They’re letting me go home later today, but Nurse Arwen said she’ll make home visits.’

  ‘That’s very kind of her.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh well, just as long as you’re on the mend. What about Shakin’?’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘We explained to Nurse Arwen what we were doing, and that she’d be helping us massively if she could provide us with a few snippets of information and guess what . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her username and password onto the hospital computer system just happened to fall out of her uniform pocket while she was treating my affected part.’

  ‘That was convenient.’

  ‘It certainly was. Now Shakin’ is wandering round the hospital looking for an unattended computer, so that he can access the information.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t get caught.’

  ‘If he does, they’ll lock him up and throw away the key.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘He happened to find a white doctor’s coat, name badge and stethoscope lying around, so he helped himself to them.’

  ‘And you’re worried that people might think he’s a doctor?’

  ‘He thinks he’s a doctor, Mrs K.’

  ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t treat anybody.’

  ‘You know Shakin’, Mrs K. He’s probably doing a ward round on the gynaecological ward as we speak. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows more than those real gynaecologists.’

  ‘You’ll call me when you know anything?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And keep your pecker up.’

  ‘Nurse Arwen is doing a good job in that respect, Mrs K.’

  The call ended.

  She carried on to St. John’s Wood tube station wondering where to go next. She didn’t really want to visit the people on the two lists that Veronica Darling had given her on her own, she’d wait until tomorrow when Shakin’ and Joe were back in the saddle. In the end, she decided to go to the university library and take a look at the zip file Bronwyn had sent her. At least she now knew that a joint account had been created and that Andrew’s name was the first one on that account.

  ***

  ‘So, that’s the partner a man could only dream of?’ Bolton said.

  ‘We’re negotiating the rules of engagement. She’s just a little confused about who the boss is at the moment.’

  ‘I didn’t detect any confusion on her part – she seemed quite clear who the bos
s was.’

  ‘It’s early days. She’ll come round to my way of thinking.’

  ‘I have my doubts.’

  ‘Maybe I should call you Thomas?’

  ‘Maybe you should.’

  ‘What is your first name, anyway?’

  ‘I knew we’d get round to that sooner or later.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t . . .’

  ‘Esmeralda.’

  ‘We’ll just call you Bolton, shall we?’

  ‘A wise decision if you choose not to become a eunuch.’

  They travelled from the smouldering offices of Browne-Baguely in Lambourne End to see Mrs Avril Baguely at 32 Hill Crest Road in Toot Hill. What should have taken twenty minutes took them just over forty-five, because they stopped off at a cafe in Stapleford Tawney to take on nutrients.

  Police had already been to notify Mrs Baguely of her husband’s demise, and a short, dumpy, pleasant-faced Victim Support Officer was in attendance who opened the door to Bolton’s knock.

  ‘Hi, Jackie,’ Bolton said. ‘This is DCI Kowalski. He’s in charge of the murder after . . .’

  Kowalski brandished his Warrant Card. Not because he had to, but simply because he had one to brandish.

  ‘You look as though you could do with a VSO yourself, Esme,’ Jackie said.

  ‘I’ll be all right.’ She turned to Kowalski. ‘This is Jackie Escher the VSO.’

  Kowalski nodded. ‘How’s Mrs Baguely?’

  ‘A few tears at first, but she seems to have come to terms with what’s happened. There’s two young children, so she didn’t really have much choice. Her mother’s here as well – she’s helping.’

  Jackie stood back and let them in. ‘I’ll tell them you’re here.’ She disappeared down the hallway.

  They wiped their feet on the mat and followed Jackie into a large open-plan kitchen/dining room where Mrs Baguely was sitting on one of the two threadbare sofas and an older woman with grey hair was making a hot drink in the kitchen.

  ‘Mr Kowalski!’ Fiona Baguely said. Her brow furrowed. ‘I’m confused. Why are you here?’

  He and Bolton swivelled two chairs round from under the old oak dining table, so that they were sitting opposite the woman.

  ‘As of this morning – it’s DCI Kowalski. The Chief Constable dragged me out of retirement to investigate your husband’s death.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s complicated, but your husband isn’t the only one who’s been killed.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What was he involved in?’

  ‘We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on that?’

  ‘Me! I don’t know anything. I thought he was having an affair. That’s why I asked you to follow him.’

  ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I found no evidence that he was seeing another woman.’ He didn’t bother telling Fiona Baguely about Browne’s suggestion that her husband might have been questioning his sexuality. It may well prove to be relevant to the investigation at a future date and come out, but at the moment it wasn’t relevant and his wife didn’t need to know.

  Mrs Baguely’s mother – who wore three gold necklaces, gold earrings, a gold watch, a dozen gold rings and a gold charm bracelet – arrived with a tray of hot drinks and cookies and put it down on the long coffee table. ‘Help yourself,’ she said, and sat down.

  Fiona began spreading cups and saucers out, and pouring from the teapot. ‘Tea okay for everyone?’

  They nodded.

  He would have preferred coffee, but in the scheme of things it wasn’t important – tea would do just fine.

  ‘This is what we know happened yesterday,’ Kowalski said. ‘I happened to wander across the road to your husband’s office mid-morning and discovered that he’d slipped out through the back door. I made my way round to the back of the building through a series of alleyways and found your husband already dead. I called the police and reported what I’d found.’

  ‘But you weren’t in the police at that time?’ Mrs Baguely’s mother said.

  ‘No. I was still retired.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Fiona said. ‘This is my mother Penny. She’s helping with the children and commenting on matters she knows nothing about.’

  Bolton looked around. ‘Where are the children?’

  Fiona took a sip of tea. ‘Benji is at primary school, and Lucy is upstairs having her afternoon nap.’

  Kowalski continued. ‘A Detective Inspector and DS Bolton . . .’ He indicated Bolton. ‘. . . turned up and began their enquiries. I gave them all the information I had and left. It wasn’t my place to inform you of your husband’s death. I planned to come round here today and tell you what I knew. However, overnight matters have taken a turn for the worse. Your husband’s partner provided a list of cases that your husband was working on to the Detective Inspector, he obviously noticed something unusual and called the Chief Constable to arrange a meeting for this morning . . . Unfortunately, he didn’t inform his partner – DS Bolton – what he noticed . . .’

  ‘Well, can’t you simply . . .’

  He held up his hand. ‘Let me finish, Mrs Baguely. The DI picked up his wife and planned to stay in Chelmsford overnight, and then while he was meeting with the Chief Constable this morning his wife could do a spot of shopping. Unfortunately, they were both killed in a pile-up involving a dozen cars on the M25 . . .’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Which is a rather bizarre coincidence, and murder detectives don’t like coincidences one little bit. Anyway, that’s why the Chief Constable asked me to take over the case, as well as the fact that I was familiar with what was going on. This morning we decided to go back to your husband’s offices in Lambourne End only to discover that a fire had started in the early hours. When we arrived the Fire Brigade were already there and had nearly put out the flames, but they couldn’t access the building until it was deemed safe to do so. Unfortunately, Humphrey Browne is missing . . .’

  Fiona’s eyes opened wide. ‘Humphrey’s missing?’

  ‘Yes. He was seen in his office last night . . .’

  ‘And you think that . . . ?’

  ‘I do. We’re waiting for a call from the firefighter in charge to confirm or not that Humphrey was in the building.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Humphrey was godfather to Lucy.’

  ‘So, that’s where we’re up to now. Have you any idea what Tom was working on?’

  ‘None. You already know that I thought he was working on a younger model who hadn’t had two children – I feel terrible.’

  ‘I shouldn’t, Mrs Baguely. As the saying goes: Oh! What a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive. Your husband was not only deceiving you, but everyone he worked with. And once you start down that road it usually only ends in disaster. The problem in this case, however, is that the disaster didn’t stop at your husband – it involved others as well.’

  ‘What can we do to help?’

  ‘Did your husband have a home office or workspace?’

  ‘Yes – a home office.’ She stood up and led them back along the hall, and up a set of wooden stairs to a small alcove at a junction of the landing. ‘He often works here.’

  The alcove had been professionally fitted out with cupboards, bookshelves and drawers similar to bedroom furniture. There was a worktop that navigated round a corner boasting a hidden light above a laptop and a printer/scanner. The carpet was a predominantly red deep-pile with a matching easy chair facing the laptop. On the back wall was Tom Baguely’s framed qualifications and a photograph of him with Humphrey Browne outside the offices in Lambourne End. It was much more than a home office – it was a sanctuary in an increasingly stressful world.

  ‘Very nice,’ Kowalski said. ‘Is it all right if we take a look?’

  ‘Of course. You can take it all away if you want. I don’t have any use for it. Before the children were born I was an airline pilot.’

  They both stared at her.

  B
olton said, ‘No offence, but that would have been the very last job on my list if I’d had to guess what you did before you had children.’

  ‘I know – everyone says the same. Worldwide there are four thousand female commercial pilots, but it’s still only three percent of the total. It’s still seen as a man’s job. Have you ever seen a female pilot in films or on television?’

  They both shook their heads.

  ‘Girls today don’t even realise they can be pilots. Most think they can only be cabin crew. Anyway, I’ll let you get on. If you need anything – just shout.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs . . .’

  ‘Fiona.’

  After she’d left them Kowalski said, ‘Okay, let’s get to it, Bolton.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  They didn’t have to drive far. The Moorhen was half a mile up the road on Burnt Mill Lane.

  ‘You call this exotic?’ Xena said as Stick pulled into the car park and switched off the engine.

  ‘It’s the best I could do at such short notice.’

  ‘Is this the type of place you take Jenifer to?’

  ‘What are you going to have to eat?’

  ‘I don’t think it is. I have the feeling that you save these working-class dens of iniquity for me, and you take Jenifer to the posh places . . . I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘Do you want to sit outside and watch the winter animals frolicking in the frost?’

  ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘I expect they’ll have a log fire burning. I can see smoke coming from the chimney.’

  Xena grunted. ‘They’d better make room for me, I’m freezing.’

  The Moorhen was perched on the bank of the River Stort, and they could see the black moorhens with red beaks darting back and forth in the water with chicks in tow. It was a sprawling building that was a favourite with locals and boat people alike.

  ‘What can I get you?’ the thin barman with streaked blond hair asked.

  ‘Before we get to the ordering part,’ Xena said. ‘What’s the food like?’

  ‘We have over two hundred and fifty reviews on Tripadvisor, Madam.’

  ‘That’s all well and good, but what do they say?’

  ‘Very nice food, service good – especially from the thin blond barman serving you now, lovely view along the river.’

  ‘So it has five stars.’