by Tim Ellis
‘What about last Friday?’ Richards said.
‘You know she had a week’s holiday to see family?
‘Yes.’
‘Well, because of that I said she could leave at two o’clock. She said goodbye as if it was a normal Friday, and off she went. No hugs, no sadness, no tears. She wasn’t really one of us – it was simply a job. Group hugs didn’t have the same meaning to her as it does to the rest of us. Can I ask . . . ?’
‘What?’
‘Are the couple called Kingdom who live in the house where all those bodies have been found related to our Hayley?’
Richards looked at Parish.
Parish said, ‘It was her parents.’
‘Goodness. No wonder Hayley had issues.’
‘Is it all right if we take a look at her workspace?’
Bernie stood up. ‘Of course, but there’s nothing there. We only realised, after she’d gone, that she’d cleared everything from her desk. We had the feeling she’d found another job, but now we know it was a lot worse than that. What we don’t understand is, how did she know she wasn’t coming back if she was murdered?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to understand, Mr . . .’
‘No, we don’t use last names here. Bernie, that’s what everyone calls me. Here we are,’ he said, indicating a vacant workspace. ‘Hayley liked to look out of the window. She said it kept her sane.’
Parish scoured the top of the desk, the pinboard panelling on two sides, the drawers in the desk and then got on his knees to look underneath.
‘Are you looking for something in particular, Inspector?’ Bernie said.
‘An address.’
‘Well, as I said. She took all her personal effects with her and threw the rest away.’
His forehead crinkled up. ‘Threw the rest away! Where?’
‘In the bin, I suppose.’
He looked in the waste bin, but it was empty. He used the desk to push himself up. It was Wednesday today, he thought. The bins would no doubt have been emptied on Friday evening or early on Monday morning. ‘Where would the rubbish have been put?’
Bernie pulled a face. ‘That information is well beneath my pay grade. CHARLIE!’
‘Here, Bernie.’
‘Come over here will you?’
‘On my way.’
Charlie appeared. ‘How can I help?’
‘When the cleaner empties the waste bins, where does he put the rubbish?’
‘He is a she, Bernie. Her name is Yvette, and it depends on whether the black sack is full, or not. If it’s full, she takes it down to the wheelie bins at the back. If it’s not full, it’ll still be attached to her cleaning trolley.’
‘Do you know which?’
‘No, Bernie. I can easily find out though. Do you want me to find out?’
Parish nodded. ‘Yes, please. We’ll come with you.’
‘Okay.’ She skipped to the cleaner’s cupboard and opened the door with a key. ‘Here it is. Looks as though it’s nearly full. She’ll probably take it down to the wheelie bins tonight.’
Parish helped himself to the black sack off the back of the trolley and tipped all the rubbish out on the linoleum floor.
‘Oh!’ Charlie said.
‘It’s all right,’ Parish said. ‘We’ll put it all back. We’re looking for an address that might save a girl’s life.’
Charlie sat down on the floor with them. ‘Then I’ll help.’
The three of them checked every piece of paper and card. Some of the paper waste had been ripped up and they had to re-assemble them like jigsaw puzzles, but just when they thought it was all a wasted effort Charlie found a business card for a restaurant in Stepney torn into four pieces. On the back was an address written in pencil:
15 Lake Road
Nazeing
Essex
EN9 7PN
‘I could kiss you, Charlie,’ he said.
‘I wouldn’t mind if you did.’
‘Unfortunately, I’m married with two children. Otherwise . . .’
‘The story of my life,’ she said.
Richards nodded. ‘I know how you feel.’
After putting the rest of the waste back in the black sack, they said thank you to Bernie and Charlie, made their way back out into the street and headed towards the train station.
‘Otherwise what?’
‘I think you know the answer to that, Richards.’
‘I’ve realised you’re a flirt.’
‘I’m shocked you should even think such a thing.’
He took out his phone and called Peckham. ‘Any luck, Peckham?’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
‘Well, Richards and I might just have saved your bacon. Find out who lives at 15 Lake Road in Nazeing, EN9 7PN, and then run a background check on the occupant. Call me back as soon as you’ve done that.’
‘Will do, Sir.’
The call ended.
‘We should send people to arrest him.’
‘We could do that, but what if there’s no evidence?’
‘There’ll be evidence.’
‘But what if there isn’t? What if he takes the victims somewhere else . . . Like a lock-up garage, and that’s where he lives out his fantasies.’
‘We’d find it.’
‘Would we?’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t send people there to arrest him just yet.’
‘A wise decision.’
‘We should send people there to stake the house out though.’
‘Now you’re thinking like a detective, Richards.’
‘I am?’
‘You are. We want to catch him in the act.’
‘You’re going to use a thirteen year-old girl as bait?’
‘She’ll be safe. We’ll be there to protect her.’
‘I hope so, Sir.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stick parked in the parking area next to the River Stour on Burnt Mill Lane and they walked down to the small Marina.
Roundhouse and his apes had dumped the salvaged boat on the jetty, which no doubt would cause problems for the Captain when forensics had finished examining it.
‘Are you there, Matt Pratt?’
They heard footsteps and some sloshing.
‘Is that you, Ma’am?’
‘Who else would call you Matt Pratt?’
‘No one else, Ma’am.’
‘There you are then. Have you seen anybody else while you’ve been working here?’
‘Can’t say I have, Ma’am. I did hear some raised voices, but when I stuck my head over the side there was nobody about.’
‘Not seen the Captain?’
He shook his head. ‘No one.’
‘Okay. Found anything else?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Keep at it. Where’s the dog?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I thought you had a dog here.’
‘No, no dog.’
‘Okay.’
They made their way to the office.
Xena thumped Stick on the arm. ‘You said he had a dog there with him.’
‘That’s what I was told, but I have the feeling they were joking.’
‘You’re a numpty.’
The bell jangled when they went in through the door, but there was nobody about.
‘Captain!’ Xena called.
There was no answer.
‘Take a look in the back, Stick.’
Stick wandered through into the back of the office, and he called back to her. ‘You’d better come and see this.’
She followed him.
The Captain was sprawled in a Captain’s chair with blood seeping through his shirt and a knife wound in his chest.
‘Is he dead?’
Stick put his fingers against the Captain’s neck. ‘Yes – no pulse.’
‘Beagrie.’
‘Seems likely.’
‘But where is he? And where’s Patty Birchill?’
They called it in, found t
he door key and locked the office door. Then they walked back to the boat.
‘Matt Pratt?’
‘Yes, Ma’am?’
‘Looks like you’re it.’
‘I am?’
‘The Captain is dead in his office. A couple of officers are on their way to keep you company, but you’re to do the forensics.’
‘Me! I’ll be here all night.’
‘That’s what you signed up for.’
‘I’m freezing. You couldn’t get me something to eat and maybe a hot drink, could you?’
‘No.’
’Oh!’
‘Where’s Hazel and her boat?’ Stick said.
Xena stared at the gap on the jetty, and then looked up and down the river. ‘Shit!’
‘You’re thinking . . .’
‘Don’t start that again.’
‘Right! Pratt, you’re with me. We’ll go left. Stick, you go right. I’ll call Operations as we move and tell them to send more armed officers here.’
‘Aren’t I meant to . . . ?’
‘There’s an eight year-old girl been abducted, Pratt. Are you with me? Or would you prefer I went on my own?’
He began taking off his forensic suit. ‘I’m with you, Ma’am.’
‘Leave all your stuff here – nobody’s going to steal it.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Call me if you spot the boat, Stick. Under no circumstances are you to try and arrest Beagrie on your own.’
‘The same goes for you. Pratt is a forensic officer not a copper, so wait for back-up.’
‘You think I’m stupid?’
‘You said I’m not allowed to think what you’re thinking anymore.’
‘Get going.’
‘I’m going.’
Pratt jumped off the boat and they set off jogging along the tow path.
Xena called Operations and told the Duty Inspector what was happening. Armed officers would be despatched, and the helicopter would be redirected to search for the boat along the river.
The problem was, it was getting dark.
‘Did you bring a torch, Pratt?’
‘No, but I’ve got a small LED one on my keyring.’
‘I suppose it’ll have to do.’
‘What are we looking for, Ma’am?’
‘An orange and purple narrowboat. And you can drop the “Ma’am” all the time. I like you Pratt, so you can call me Xena.’
‘Like the Warrior Princess?’
‘You had to go and spoil the start of a beautiful relationship, didn’t you? Now you’re in danger of having your testicles put through a meat grinder.’
‘I guess everyone makes reference to the Warrior Princess, don’t they?’
‘No. Everyone might think it, but they’re not stupid enough to actually say it out loud . . . Well, not if they want to live a long and carefree life anyway.’
‘I’m a quick learner.’
‘You’ll need to be.’
He pointed up ahead. ‘Is that what we’re looking for?’
‘Yes.’
She phoned Stick. ‘You’re going the wrong way, numpty.’
‘Okay, I’ll follow you. Don’t do anything until I get there.’
Next, she called Operations and told the Duty Inspector that they’d spotted the boat just past the right-angled bend and were now heading West instead of North.
They could hear the helicopter, but all the pilot could do was keep sight of the boat. There were fields to land in, but that wasn’t what it was required to do. What they needed were the armed police to appear and challenge Beagrie.
Unfortunately, Beagrie had other ideas. He steered the boat close to the bank and jumped off onto the tow path. The boat kept on going, it’s motor chugging in the rapidly fading darkness.
Xena wondered where Hazel and Patty Birchill were.
She’d expected Beagrie to escape along the tow path in the opposite direction. Instead, he ran towards them with a double-edged pointed knife in his right hand. ‘Come on then. A couple more dead bodies ain’t gonna make no difference.’
Pratt jumped in front of her. ‘Get back,’ he shouted at Beagrie.
‘What the fuck are you doing, Pratt?’ she said.
But he was already running towards Beagrie.
They were like express trains on the same tracks heading for a head-on collision.
She knew Pratt was going to die, but she was helpless to prevent it. And once Pratt was dead, Beagrie would come after her.
But that’s not what happened.
Pratt disarmed Beagrie, put him face down on the ground and held him there with one hand.
‘You crazy bastard, Pratt,’ she said. ‘You could have been killed.’
‘Did I not tell you I was in the Royal Marines Special Boat Service for seven years?’
‘No, you didn’t tell me that.’
‘Unarmed combat is a mandatory part of the training.’
‘I’ll go and check the boat. Are you okay . . . ?’
‘Go.’
She ran to catch the boat up as it scraped on the bank of the river, and then leapt onto the flat decking at the rear. She navigated her way to the doors that led into the living area. Hazel and a petrified Patty were bound and gagged. She untied them.
‘You’d better stop the engine before we end up in London,’ she said to Hazel.
Hazel nodded and climbed up the steps.
‘Are you all right, Patty?’
‘Where’s the man?’
‘Don’t worry, we have him under arrest. He’s not going to hurt you.’
She burst into tears. ‘I was so scared.’
Xena hugged her. ‘Being scared was okay, but you don’t need to be scared anymore. That man will be locked up in prison forever now. Nobody will ever see him again.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive. Come on, let’s go and sit outside and watch the ducks swimming by.’
‘I like ducks.’
‘Ducks are good.’
Armed officers arrived and took Beagrie away. Patty’s parents arrived, and after thanking Xena and Pratt profusely, they took their daughter home.
Stick arrived. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘As if you care. If you cared you’d have been here to protect me. Instead, I had to rely on a pathetic forensic officer. Well, you can go back to the boat and arrange for people to guard it overnight. I’m going to take my saviour home, give him a good meal and let him sleep in my coal bunker for the night . . . Any complaints?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good. You’re with me, Matt Pratt.’
***
‘Hello. Are you, Winston?’ the obese girl said, standing at the door.
‘Yes, I’m Winston.’
‘I thought you’d be younger.’
‘You’re as young as you feel. And you must be the lovely Abigail.’
‘You know I’m not lovely – look at me.’
‘Inside, you’re a beautiful person. All those who bullied you and called you names are the ugly ones. They’ll get their just desserts, believe me.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so.’ He held out his hands. ‘Here, let me take your coat.’
She struggled out of the coat she was wearing and passed it to him. ‘I won’t be needing that again, will I?’
‘No.’
He hung up the coat behind the door.
‘Come through. Would you like anything before . . . ?’
‘No. The sooner the better, I think.’
‘You’re not nervous, are you?’
‘A little . . . Well, a lot really.’
‘Take a seat on the sofa – I have just the thing.’
She sat down.
He went into the kitchen and came back with two full glasses of a red liquid.
She looked at them.
‘Wine,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing in mine – I have to keep a clear head to do what I have to do, but yours has
a little something in it to make you less nervous.’
‘I don’t know . . .’
He continued to hold the glass out towards her. ‘You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. I just thought . . .’
‘It’s not going to . . . ?’
‘Don’t worry. It’s only a small amount of Valium my mother used to take the edge off her depression. You’ll hardly notice any change.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure. You know you can trust me, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ She took the glass from him and poured half the liquid into her cavernous mouth. ‘Since we met on that site, you’re the one person who has always been there for me.’
‘That’s because I care about you Abigail. Tonight, we’ll end it all together. That’ll show them all.’
‘Yes . . . I’m beginning to feel a little strange.’
‘It won’t last.’
‘You’ve not . . . ?’
‘No, I wouldn’t poison you. We agreed on the gas . . .’
‘Yes . . . Whoa! I feel woozy – like my body doesn’t belong to me.’
‘It’ll wear off soon. We’d better go through into the kitchen while you’re still awake. I don’t know what I’d do if you fell asleep.’
She tried to get up on her own, but she couldn’t.
In the end, he had to help her. Goodness, she was heavy. He guessed fifteen or sixteen stone, and he was only ten and a half stone. He’d always been featherweight, but Abigail was heavyweight.
He guided her through the kitchen door and bent her down over the table.
‘What’s . . . happening.’
‘Everything’s all right – just relax, Abigail.’
It wouldn’t be long now.
He’d realised early on – when he began conversing with Abigail – that once he’d killed he’d have to dismember her body so that he could move it. There was no way he’d be able to move a dead weight of sixteen stone on his own. After reading instructions on the Dark Net about how to cut up a dead body, he’d had to buy polythene sheeting, proper heavy-duty black sacks, scalpels and a bone saw . . .
