Dominion of Darkness: (Parish & Richards #19)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Lots of them! But . . . they’re not stars, they’re just dots. Stars are given on . . .’

  ‘What’s the overall rating?’

  ‘Between three and five.’

  ‘Is it closer to three or five?’

  ‘Why not order something and you tell us, Madam.’

  ‘Ten percent discount?’

  ‘One percent is the best I can offer.’

  ‘Let’s cut it down the middle shall we and make it five percent?’

  ‘If your order exceeds twenty pounds?’

  She thrust out a hand. ‘Deal.’

  The barman shook it. ‘What table are you sitting at?’

  ‘We’re not. We’re standing here.’

  ‘I need a table number to place your order.’

  She glanced at Stick. ‘Get me a pint of lager shandy while I go and stake our claim to a table.’

  Stick nodded. ‘I’ll have an orange juice,’ he said to the barman.

  Xena returned without her coat and carrying a menu. ‘Table number fifteen. Have you decided what you’re having yet?’

  ‘I haven’t looked at the menu.’

  She passed him the one she’d brought back with her.

  ‘What are you having?’

  ‘The chilli con carne with basmati rice.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Winter warmers.’

  ‘Oh yes! Mmmm! I’ll have the jacket potato with smoked bacon, mature cheddar cheese and coleslaw.’

  ‘How much is that so far?’ Xena directed at the barman.

  ‘With the drinks – seventeen pounds forty-five, Madam.’

  ‘We’ll have a dessert.’ She took the menu back and examined the dessert list. ‘I’ll have the Chocolate Fudge Cake.’ She glanced at Stick. ‘What are you having?’

  ‘I don’t . . .’

  ‘He’ll have the Strawberry Fool. How much is that?’

  ‘Twenty two pounds seventy.’

  ‘Less the five percent?’

  ‘I’ve already taken it off, Madam.’

  ‘Show me?’

  The barman showed her his workings.

  ‘Okay. Good. Pay the man, Stick. I’ll be over at the table.’

  When Stick reached the table he said, ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

  ‘What was the point in spending over twenty pounds to get a five percent discount? I mean, if we’d have simply ordered what we wanted it would probably have cost me fifteen pounds.’

  ‘Then you wouldn’t have got a bargain.’

  ‘I spent twenty two pounds seventy instead of fifteen pounds – where’s the bargain?’

  ‘You don’t understand women, do you?’

  ‘Does any man?’

  ‘Good point. Bargain-hunting is part of a woman’s psyche.’

  ‘You mean you’re an addict.’

  ‘I suppose you could think of bargain-hunting as a drug.’

  ‘You should get help, go to Bargain Hunters Anonymous, maybe sign yourself into a rehab facility for treatment.’

  A different waitress brought the food. ‘Bon appétit.’

  ‘I didn’t realise we’d stumbled into a French pub?’ Xena said.

  The waitress smiled. ‘Je m’en fou.’

  Xena’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m going to look that up, and then come back and arrest you.’

  ‘I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything,’ Stick said.

  ‘Is that right? Can you speak French?’

  ‘Languages weren’t my specialist subject at school.’

  ‘What was?’

  ‘Mmmm!’

  ‘Woodwork?’

  ‘Yes, I liked woodwork I suppose, but the teacher made us make stupid things like bowls and stools. It was okay, but not very interesting.’

  ‘What about art?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Science?’

  ‘Not a chance. What about you?’

  ‘As you can imagine, I was good at everything.’

  ‘Of course. Did you have one subject that you liked more than all the others?’

  ‘Biology.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘We used to cut frogs and things up.’

  ‘And you liked cutting small animals up?’

  ‘I hope you’re not suggesting I have psychopathic tendencies?’

  ‘I never would.’

  ‘The other girls hated it. I enjoyed teasing them and making their lives miserable.’

  ‘Mmmm!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So, have you thought anymore about how you’re going to access AC Nunn’s records?’

  ‘I . . .’

  Xena’s phone vibrated.

  ‘Blake.’

  ‘It’s DCI Nibley, Blake.’

  ‘Always great to hear from you, Sir.’

  ‘I’m sure. I spoke to the Chief Constable, he spoke to the Commander of the Mets’ Marine Support Unit, and they’re sending down a salvage team to raise the Titanic. I said you’d meet them there and explain the situation.’

  ‘What time, Sir?’

  ‘They estimated a three o’clock arrival.’

  ‘Gilbert and I will be there to direct operations.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll welcome your input.’

  ‘Thanks for . . .’

  ‘Also . . .’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘There’s a password written on a post-it note stuck on your desk.’

  ‘I’m being framed. I don’t leave passwords . . .’

  ‘It’s the password that unseals AC Nunn’s service records.’

  ‘Really, Chief? Thanks . . .’

  ‘Don’t thank me, Blake. I know nothing about any password.’

  ‘Understood, Sir.’

  ‘And if the proverbial hits the fan . . .’

  ‘I have a plan in place for Gilbert to take the fall.’

  ‘That sounds like a reasonable back-up plan.’

  The call ended.

  ‘What am I being blamed for now?’

  ‘Obtaining the password that unseals AC Nunn’s service records and accessing those records like a common criminal.’

  ‘The Chief obtained the password?’

  ‘No. Did you not hear me? You obtained the password, and you’ll be accessing said service records using that password when we get back to the station.’

  ‘I forgot.’

  ‘Well, don’t forget again.’

  ‘Sorry. What about the boat?’

  ‘A salvage crew from the Mets’ Marine Support Unit will be arriving at three o’clock. We’ll meet them there and direct operations.’

  ‘Direct operations!’

  ‘Somebody has to?’

  ‘Do you know anything about underwater salvage?’

  ‘How hard can it be?’

  ***

  Once they were sitting in the car, Parish passed Richards the photograph of the second victim. ‘I’ve decided not to wait until the press briefing tomorrow. Photograph it with your phone, send to Jenny Weber the Press Officer and ask her to distribute it to the press agencies with the same request as the one we provided for Hayley Kingdom.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, but she didn’t move.

  ‘Take your time.’

  ‘Oh, you mean now?’

  ‘Now would be good, and then we can get going.’

  ‘You should have said.’

  ‘I thought I did.’

  It took her a couple of minutes to do as he’d asked.

  During which time he input Selwyn and Portia Kingdom’s address into the satnav.

  ‘One more thing,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Call the Duty Sergeant and tell him we’d like a squad car to meet us at the Kingdom’s address.’

  She did that as well. ‘Are we going to arrest them?’

  ‘Unless they have an astounding explanation for their daughter’s childhood physical injuries, sexual abuse, and the
pregnancy and subsequent abortion.’

  He pulled out of the hospital car park and headed towards the A406 North Circular and Walthamstow.

  ‘Connect my phone to Bluetooth and don’t break anything.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I feel like annoying Toadstone.’

  She plugged the phone in.

  ‘Dial his number.’

  ‘Hello, Sir,’ Toadstone responded.

  ‘It’s funny how most people love the dead, Toadstone. Once you’re dead, you’re made for life.’

  ‘Jimi Hendrix said that in an interview for Melody Maker in 1969.’

  ‘You’re brilliant, Paul,’ Richards said.

  ‘Thanks, Mary.’

  ‘He was lucky. There was a programme about Hendrix on the TV not long ago. He must have watched it and the quote lodged in his brain like a splinter.’

  ‘You’re the worst loser in the world.’

  ‘So Toadstone, I said I’d get back to you about the fraud at the ONS.’

  ‘I recall.’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t the ONS outsource some of their work?’

  ‘Of course! I should have realised. And you think the Criminal Statistics were compiled by a sub-contractor?’

  ‘That’s my guess.’

  ‘And you want me to find out which company?’

  ‘Remember! No names, Toadstone. I haven’t got time to attend funerals.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Sir.’

  The call ended.

  ‘You can be so mean sometimes,’ Richards said.

  ‘I might change my name by deed poll – Mean Jed Parish.’

  ‘I think you should. At least then there’d be no confusion about who you really are.’

  ‘I’ll give it some serious consideration.’

  ‘You do that.’

  Selwyn and Portia Kingdom lived in a mid-terrace house at 116 Sutherland Road in the Higham Hill part of Walthamstow.

  A squad car was parked along the road.

  Parish walked towards it.

  The officers opened the doors and began getting out.

  He held up a hand. ‘I’ll call you when I need you. I’m anticipating charging and arresting the couple who live at the address, so you’ll probably need to transport them to Hoddesdon. I’d like to see what they have to say for themselves first.’

  ‘No problem, Sir,’ the driver with a full beard said.

  ‘Names?’

  ‘I’m Crowther,’ the bearded man said, ‘. . .and he’s Marlow.’

  ‘Wait for my call.’

  He walked back to the house.

  Richards knocked on the door.

  Eventually, an overweight woman aged about fifty with blonde-grey hair past her shoulders, eyes that looked in different directions and a downwards sloping mouth opened the door. ‘What?’

  Parish held up his Warrant Card. ‘Detective Inspector Parish and Detective Constable Richards from Hoddesdon Police Station.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We have some bad news, I’m afraid. Is it possible that we can come inside and talk to you about your daughter Hayley?’

  ‘No. We don’t have a daughter called Hayley, or any other name.’

  He turned and pointed at the two uniformed officers sitting in the squad car. ‘They’re here to arrest you and your husband. You have the chance to tell us the truth now.’

  She turned her head and shouted into the house. ‘Selwyn! We’ve got visitors.’

  Selwyn Kingdom was slightly older than his wife. He was thin, with short neatly-combed grey hair and the skin of his face seemed to sag like that of a much older man.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’

  ‘Pigs. They say they’re here to arrest us.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ Selwyn said. ‘What the fuck for?’

  ‘We’d like to question you about your daughter Hayley.’

  ‘No such person. We’ve never had a daughter.’

  Parish signalled for the two officers to come over. ‘Mr and Mrs Kingdom, I’m arresting you both on the charge of historical physical and sexual abuse of your daughter Hayley, which will include an unrecorded childhood pregnancy and abortion, and the treatment of physical injuries.’

  ‘You’re making a big mistake, Inspector,’ Selwyn spat at him. ‘I’ll make sure your career is ruined for this.’

  The two uniformed officers reached them.

  Selwyn tried to shut the door and retreat back inside.

  Parish signalled for the two officers to detain him.

  Richards pulled Portia Kingdom out of the way and put a plastic restraint around her wrists.

  The two officers dragged a struggling Selwyn out of the house.

  Both officers were wearing personal body cameras.

  ‘I want anything they say to each other in the back of the car to be recorded.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Also, when you book them in at Hoddesdon, tell the Custody Sergeant to put them in separate cells. They’ll both be spending the night with us, so he should make them feel real comfortable. I also want fingerprints and DNA samples taken and cross-referenced with Hayley Kingdom. We’ll interview them tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, so a solicitor – duty or otherwise – should be in attendance.’

  ‘I’ll let the Custody Sergeant know, Sir.’

  ‘I want one of you to stay here until forensics arrives as well.’

  ‘Okay, Sir,’ Crowther said. ‘I’ll call for relief and then return for PC Marlow.’

  ‘Thanks, Constable Crowther.’

  The two officers manhandled Selwyn and Portia Kingdom into the squad car. While PC Crowther headed back to Hoddesdon, PC Marlow returned to stand guard outside the front door of 116 Sutherland Road.

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this, Richards. Call Toadstone and tell him I want forensics here. They’re to go through this house like a dose of salts – computer hard disc, online activity, telephone and bank records . . . And when they’ve finished on the inside, I want them to look under the house and dig up the back garden.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘When have I ever not been sure?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ***

  Travelling to Temple from St. John’s Wood wasn’t as difficult as getting to St. John’s Wood from Camden Town. She caught a train to Westminster on the Jubilee Line, and switched to the District Line. Temple was two stations away.

  She’d used the Maughan Library a number of times and knew where to go for peace and quiet. Not that the library was a noisy place, but with so many students and staff shuffling about like wraiths it resembled a shopping mall where the shoppers were only permitted to whisper, mime and gesticulate.

  After logging into her account she checked her emails, found the one Bronwyn had sent her and unzipped the file. There were a hundred and fifty pages. It took her an hour and a half to go through each transaction on the three accounts, but at least Rebecca was telling the truth when she said that two individual accounts had become a joint account on August 25, 2015. From her analysis she learned a number of things:

  Andrew earned nearly double what Rebecca earned;

  Rebecca’s income fluctuated and was dependent on the number of clients she saw;

  She had a number of regular clients;

  One client – Mr R Bailey – paid her two hundred and fifty pounds each week, which was five times what the other clients paid;

  Mr R Bailey was not one of the five client names on the list given to her by Veronica Darling;

  There was nothing out of the ordinary on the individual account transactions;

  At least eighty percent of the transactions on the joint account were initiated by Rebecca – that is, Rebecca spent most of the money.

  Her phone vibrated. She moved to a recess behind a bookcase to reduce the noise. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is that you, Mrs K?’

 
; ‘Hello, Shakin’.’

  ‘I have news.’

  ‘And me. You go first?’

  ‘Thanks to Nurse Arwen I managed to get onto the hospital system. Joe’s got himself a diamond in the rough there, Mrs K. Has he told you about the house calls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lucky stiff, or what?’

  ‘You have Dixie Chivers.’

  ‘I know, but a real nurse doing real house calls. Just thinking about it . . .’

  ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Oh yes! Rebecca Hardacre doesn’t exist. There’s no record of her ever having received any treatment at a National Health Service facility.’

  ‘That can’t be right.’

  ‘I checked every which way, Mrs K. According to the system there’s no such person as Rebecca Hardacre . . . Well, not the one we’re looking for anyway.’

  ‘She must have childhood records. There’s a whole list of vaccinations that would have been given and recorded as well as injuries, illnesses and . . .’

  ‘There’s nothing, Mrs K.’

  ‘And then there’s the baby she said she lost . . . ?’

  ‘Still nothing.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Shakin’.’

  ‘Nor me, but that’s not the end of it.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘I had the idea of checking Andrew Crowthorne’s records.’

  ‘One day, you’ll make a brilliant barrister, Shakin’.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs K. I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind.’

  ‘Or end up in prison. You were saying?’

  ‘Oh yeah! I had to do a double-take and check that the records I was looking at were those of our Andrew Crowthorne and not some car crash victim who’d wandered in off the street . . .’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘During the period he was with Rebecca he came into Accident & Emergency twelve times with a variety of stabbings, lacerations and broken bones. From what I saw, he was a medical marvel to have survived as long as he did.’

  ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘I had my husband take a look at the post-mortem report. He suggested that Andrew’s injuries were consistent with those of a person who had been physically abused over a period of time. He also said that the report wasn’t very comprehensive, and that we should ask for a second opinion. Everything we’ve found out about their relationship so far points to Rebecca abusing him, not the other way round. Her whole story appears to be a complete fabrication.’