by Tim Ellis
‘What about Morton – where was he?’
‘You know he was a doctor, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, he was on-call that night at the Neurological Hospital on Cleveland Street.’
‘On-call?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you know about the window in the ground-floor toilet and the loose posts in the palisade fencing?’
‘Yes, I knew about the escape route, but I never used it. A lot of the lower-class girls did though. I had Morton, so I didn’t need to use it. If we were doing anything . . . you know, we went to his room on Cleveland Street.’
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’ve found a witness who said they saw Emily climbing out of the toilet window at quarter to one in the morning, and Morton was with her.’
Lisa’s face drained of blood. ‘No, that can’t be right. As I said, Morton was on-call.’
‘I have no reason to disbelieve the witness, Lisa.’
‘Morton would never have cheated on me.’ Tears ran down her face. ‘We were going to get married.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Who’s spreading these lies about Morton when he’s dead?’
‘I can’t tell you that, Lisa. In the days after Emily’s death, did you notice any change in Morton’s behaviour?’
‘He knew Emily the same as we all did. Her death affected him like the rest of us, but it was nothing that we weren’t all feeling.’
‘Thank you for your time, Lisa. And I’m sorry to have brought you bad news.’
Lisa stood up. ‘I never married, you know. As I said, Morton was the love of my life, so I don’t believe he was with Emily that night. Whoever said they saw him was either lying or mistaken.’
Jerry watched her leave and join a small group of people waiting for the lift to arrive.
Surely, it would be easy enough to check whether Morton was on call that night. Lisa didn’t need to know one way or the other, unless the case was ever solved and became public knowledge. She called Shakin’.
‘Everything okay, Mrs K?’
‘Yes, fine. How are things with you?’
‘Little Miss Muffet has agreed to sit on my tuffet later, so I think we’re on full-steam ahead.’
‘You’re a disgusting boy, Richard.’
‘I’m sacrificing my good name and virginity for the greater good, Mrs K.’
‘Of course you are. Well, while you’re doing that, ask the young lady to see if she can find out whether Morton Gillespie was on-call at the hospital on the night of Emily’s murder. That’s where he told Lisa Portfield he was, and he can’t have been in two places at the same time.’
‘Will do.’
‘Have a nice night, Shakin’.’
‘I intend to, Mrs K.’
She ended the call, left the coffee untouched on the table, made her way outside and headed towards Euston Square station. As she did so, it began to dawn on her that maybe Morton Gillespie’s hit-and-run accident wasn’t an accident after all, but pre-meditated murder. It seemed too much of a coincidence that he was killed only three days after Emily was brutally beaten, raped and strangled. At the time, there was nothing to link one incident to the other, because there was no connection between Emily and Morton, but now . . .
***
The Maltster on Windmill Lane had substantial external seating at the front of the pub. Had it been high summer, they would have been flanked by al fresco diners as they entered, but February was not the month for eating outside.
Inside, there was a log fire burning in the hearth and it seemed to be a traditional pub rather than a fast-food restaurant masquerading as a pub.
Richards showed her Warrant Card to the bald barman. ‘I’m DC Richards, and he’s DI Parish. Could we speak to the manager, please?’
‘Speaking. Paul Rogers at your service. Has somebody been complaining about the noise?’
‘No. Do you have CCTV?’
‘Ah! Used to, but I was told it was illegal. So I looked into it, and yep – it’s illegal.’
Richards looked at Parish and smiled. ‘No, they’re not illegal, Mr Rogers.’
‘You’re an expert, are you?’
‘An expert on what?’
‘Did you know that a system has to be registered under the Data Protection Act?’
‘No.’
‘Nor me. You have to store the tapes securely once they’ve been filmed, because the imagery apparently is the same as confidential personal information.’ He shook his head. ‘It beggars belief. I mean, I thought it was just a simple CCTV system that would enable me to catch some of the low-lifes we get in here committing criminal damage, fighting, taking or selling drugs and so forth, but not a bit of it. The research also suggests that CCTV doesn’t actually cut crime, people just move to where there’s no cameras. Not only that, you can’t keep the monitor where the public might see it – that’s a breach of the Data Protection Act, and if the evidence ever gets to court it can be challenged, because I wouldn’t be able to prove that no one had hacked into the system and modified it. So, there you have it – no CCTV.’
‘Thanks for your time, Mr Rogers,’ Parish said.
‘Hey, no problem. You tell them to sort the crazy laws out and I might get a CCTV system to help you guys, but I’m not going to do the right thing and then be prosecuted myself for falling foul of those crazy laws.’
Outside, Parish’s phone vibrated.
‘Hello, Doc. Good news, I hope?’
‘Well, news at least. A senior Home Office forensic pathologist from London is arriving tomorrow morning – a Professor Montague Carling. He says I can help him with the post-mortem.’
‘Very generous of him.’
‘It’s a great honour.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘He’s forgotten more than I’ll ever know.’
‘If he’s forgotten so much, why is he still a practising forensic pathologist?’
‘You missed your vocation.’
‘So people tell me.’
‘Will you and Mary be here for the post-mortem?’
‘It depends on whether SCIT are going to take over the case, or not. They’re the experts on this killer, not me.’
‘You’ve not solved the case yet then?’
‘Hardly.’
‘I’ll maybe see you tomorrow then.’
‘See you, Doc.’
He ended the call and climbed into the car ‘That was Doc Riley.’
Richards raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? I never would have guessed.’
‘There’s a senior pathologist coming from London and he said he’ll let Doc Riley help with the post-mortem.’
‘Do you think SCIT will keep us on the case?’
‘They might let us help. You know – making the tea, sharpening the pencils, cleaning the whiteboards – that sort of thing.’
‘Maybe me, but you’re a DI. Surely they’ll let you do more important tasks such as keeping the files in order, getting maps from the map store, making phone calls and so forth.’
‘Drive.’
‘Where to?’
‘Back to the station. We have a DVD and Christy Henson’s diary to give to Toadstone, don’t we?’
‘Oh yes! I’d forgotten all about those.’
‘And then we’ll bring the incident board up-to-date and brief the Chief.’
‘No press briefing?’
‘Not our case anymore.’
‘And after that we’ll go home?’
‘Yes.’
‘We didn’t solve the case.’
‘There’s still a bit of time to go.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Richards set off towards the station.
SCIT would probably let them help, but it wouldn’t be the same. Not that he was getting possessive over a murder investigation. It was simply that he and Richards were used to working together. They had a way of going about things, of getting to the truth. If there were other
people involved, he imagined that too many cooks would spoil the broth. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. Things were the way they were. The important thing was to catch the killer. And if the people at the top thought that sending a team of specially-trained detectives to Hoddesdon to show him how it was done well, that’s just the way it was.
‘Are you thinking about tomorrow?’
‘I was wondering where to take your mother on holiday this year.’
‘You mean, your wife?’
‘That’s the one. I can’t decide between Chernobyl and Fukushima – what do you think?’
Richards laughed. ‘I was going to say, “Can I come?”, but I don’t think I want to go to a radioactive wasteland.’
‘Mmmm! You might be right. Maybe I should consider Brighton.’
‘Brighton sounds nice.’
‘No, you can’t come. You’ll be looking after Digby, Melody and Jack.’
‘It’s interesting how you put Digby before your two children.’
‘Digby will always be my firstborn.’
‘You’re crazy.’
At the station they walked straight up to Forensics and along to Toadstone’s laboratory.
‘Oh. Hello, Sir. Hi, Mary.’
‘Hi, Paul.’
‘Life is really simple Toadstone, but we insist on making it complicated.’
‘It sounds like something Confucius might say.’
Richards stared at him.
‘A lucky guess.’
‘Ha!’ Richards said. ‘It wasn’t a lucky guess at all. Paul knows every quote you throw at him.’
‘One of these days I’ll throw something that will completely bamboozle him, and then what will you do, Richards?’
‘That day will never come. Paul’s a walking encyclopaedia.’
‘He knows a few quotes, that’s all. A monkey could do it.’
‘Like you, you mean?’
‘So, give Toadstone the DVD and the diary, and stop being insubordinate to your superior officer, Richards.’
‘Oh yes! I keep forgetting about the DVD and the diary.’
‘The victim and the killer are on the DVD, Toadstone. You can see the victim clearly, but the killer seems to know where the cameras are located. I’m going to leave Richards here to help you, while I brief the Chief. She can show you the place on the DVD that we’re interested in, and provide you with a description of the killer. It’s not really a description of him, just as he hasn’t got size ten feet, but if you can find his face one of your people might be able to do something with it. Also, Richards sent you an email with January and February’s security footage from the Crocodile pub attached to it, so I want someone to examine the footage more closely. The killer’s on there somewhere, we just have to find him. Richards also has Christy Henson’s diary. I’m not optimistic you’ll find anything useful in it, but we have to look under every stone.’
‘We’ll do our best, Sir.’
‘I know you will Toadstone, and don’t think I’m not grateful.’
Richards brow furrowed. ‘That’s not what you said this morning.’
‘That’s exactly what I said this morning. Isn’t it, Toadstone?’
‘In a roundabout way.’
‘There you are, Richards. Truth straight out of the horse’s mouth. Right, I’ll go and brief the Chief, and I’ll see you in the incident room in half an hour – don’t be late.’
‘I’ll try not to be.’
‘One thing, Sir,’ Toadstone said.
‘Yes?’
‘We didn’t find anything on the nails except the victim’s own DNA.’
‘As I expected.’
He made his way down the stairs and along the corridor to the Chief’s office.
The Chief’s secretary – Lydia O’Brien – looked up as he approached. ‘Hello, DI Parish.’
‘Hello, Lydia. You’re looking exceptionally beautiful this morning.’
‘Very kind of you to say so. He’s expecting you.’
‘Thanks.’ He gave a short tap on the door and opened it.
‘Ah, Parish! I was thinking of sending out a search party.’
‘I had to go up to Forensics to give Toadstone a DVD of security footage, Christy Henson’s diary and explain what I wanted him to do with them.’
He told the Chief about Christy Henson’s sister – Tessa; about Tuppence Bevan at Cheshunt Community Hospital; about their night out starting at the Crocodile; about the killer calling himself Humbert Humbert and avoiding the cameras and about the two women and three men leaving in a taxi for the Maltster.
‘So, you’ve asked Toadstone to try and find the face of the killer on the security footage from which they can extrapolate?’
‘Yes, but I’m not holding out much hope. He’s avoided capture for five years, so he’s hardly likely to make a rudimentary mistake now.’
‘They do though, don’t they? Sooner or later he’ll make a mistake and we’ll have him. Talking of which, you know about SCIT arriving tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘I received a call from DCI Mike Todd at SCIT.’
‘Are they taking over the case?’
‘No, no. He said he’ll simply be the conduit between you and senior command at the Met. The people he’s bringing with him have been working on this case for five years; they’ve collated a massive amount of information . . . Have you heard of HOLMES?’
‘Sherlock?’
‘You missed your vocation, Parish.’
‘So people keep telling me. Yes, I’m familiar with the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. I’ve never had the pleasure of using it, but I believe they’re on Version 2 now, aren’t they?’
‘Yes. Everything about “The Lover” is on there. DCI Todd has heard of you and DC Richards and is suitably impressed with your clear-up rate. He’s quite happy for his team to act as support and let you get on with it. Of course, there’ll be a cut-off point, but a number of murder teams have tried and failed to catch this killer, so you’ll have a bit more rope than usual. And based on what you’ve discovered today, I have every confidence in you and Richards.’
‘Very kind, Chief.’
‘I’m only kind because you make me look good. If you couldn’t find a cup cake in a cake shop, then my kindly demeanour would go out of the window, so don’t think I’m being saintly – I’m not.’
‘Understood.’
‘Good. SCIT will be using the Major Incident Room on the top floor. I’ll show my face first thing to make sure there’s no argy-bargy, and then I’ll let everyone get on with it as per my normal modus operandi.’
Parish stood up. ‘I’ll see you in the morning then, Sir.’ He made his way to the incident room expecting to see Richards, but DS Gilbert was in there.
‘She’s got you stealing it back, has she?’
‘Sorry, Sir,’ Gilbert said.
‘That’s all right. Richards and I don’t need an incident room now anyway.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s a long story, but this is not the best incident room, Sergeant.’
‘I had my doubts.’
‘I was playing double-bluff.’
‘You knew she’d try and steal it back, so you picked the worst one of the two?’
‘Correct. You should go back and tell her that you’ve figured out I was playing double-bluff, and that you’ve decided to play me at my own game by using triple-bluff and staying where you are.’
‘I like that idea. I like it a lot. So, where will you be?’
‘Upstairs in the Major Incident Room.’
‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t, but no doubt you will tomorrow. Goodnight, Sergeant.’
‘Goodnight, Sir.’
He found Richards in the squad room. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’
‘You saw Sergeant Gilbert stealing the incident room?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought I’d wait until you appeared.’
‘W
e don’t need an incident room now.’
‘Oh?’
‘We’ll be working out of the Major Incident Room up there,’ he pointed to the ceiling.
‘I’ve never been up there.’
‘You haven’t missed much. It’s a room just like this one. Are you ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
‘Let’s get going then.’
Chapter Fourteen
Helen Hunter at Hunter-Burton Solicitors on the High Street in Hoddesdon was a slight woman with wispy brown hair, lines either side of her mouth and the front of her neck, and hands that she couldn’t keep still.
‘Yes, come in,’ she said to them. ‘Margaret Clements called me. I’ve been expecting you. Please, sit down.’ She pointed to easy chairs grouped around a coffee table that had a range of divorce literature fanned out on it. ‘Tea? Coffee?’
‘No, we’re fine, thank you,’ Stick said.
They perched on the chairs.
Hunter came and joined them. ‘Terrible business. And you think Melissa’s husband killed his whole family? I don’t know what to say. Of course, you hear about it on the news all the time, but it’s always in some other place with people you will never know. It’s as if you’re one step removed from it all. But now . . . Well, Melissa Boyd is one of my clients. I suppose I should be using the past tense, shouldn’t I?’
‘If we could just ask you a few questions and then we’ll be on our way?’ Xena interrupted.
‘Of course. Although I don’t know what I can tell you. I had one consultation with Melissa . . . In fact, it was a free consultation, so I won’t be getting paid for it.’
‘Melissa came to see you when?’
‘Last Wednesday. She said she’d just come from seeing Margaret Clements.’
‘And what did she want to know?’
‘What would happen to the farm, the children, the money and so on if she sued her husband for divorce. Of course, I explained everything to her . . .’
‘What reason did she give for wanting to divorce her husband?’
‘Oh, did I not say?’
‘No.’
‘Adultery. Apparently, he’d been seeing another woman.’
‘Did she say who?’
‘No. I explained the legal definition of adultery. She said she had evidence of her husband’s adultery, but she didn’t say what that evidence consisted of.’
