There is no Fear in Love: (Parish & Richards #20)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘I’m the manager.’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Yes. Why, is that a problem?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not what you were expecting?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Do you have CCTV?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’d like to look at it for Friday, February 19 and last night, please.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Two women have gone missing.’

  ‘Missing! What does that mean?’

  ‘Don’t you watch the news?’

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  Parish took a pace forward. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  ‘That’s why I’m asking.’

  ‘Night.’

  ‘Your real name?’

  ‘That is my real name.’

  Richards looked it up on the internet using her phone and said, ‘Linda Poole.’

  ‘Please open the door and let us in, Linda. We haven’t got time for twenty questions.’

  ‘Show me your Search Warrant?’

  He didn’t normally threaten members of the public, but time was running out for Summer Trent. ‘We’ve had complaints about drugs being sold on the premises. I could overlook it, or give the drug squad a ring instead.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  ‘We’ve also had complaints about prostitution and lewd acts being carried out on clubbers against their will. I could overlook it, or give our friends in vice a call instead?’

  ‘I don’t take kindly to threats.’

  ‘And we don’t take kindly to people who obstruct an active police investigation. Especially when we’re trying to save a woman’s life. So, what’s it to be? I close you down for the next week while officers from Hoddesdon Police Station take this place apart to investigate what the hell’s been going on here, and the local authority reconsider your licence, or you co-operate by letting us in and showing us your security coverage of the two nights we’re interested in?’

  ‘I’ll make a complaint.’

  ‘Make all the complaints you want. We have very little time to save a woman’s life. You, on the other hand, are just being awkward for the sake of it. Well?’

  She opened the door. ‘Pig.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if it was your life we were trying to save.’

  There was hardly any light in the corridor, and it took them a few seconds for their eyesight to adjust.

  ‘This way.’

  There was a strong stench of stale urine as she led them past the toilets to the other end of the corridor.

  ‘In there,’ she said, pointing to a door. ‘The person who knows how to work the stupid fucking system isn’t here, so you’ll just have to figure it out for yourself.’

  Richards went into the room and switched the light on.

  ‘Got any condoms?’ Linda said to him.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Shame! I only have protected sex.’

  ‘I’m married.’

  ‘You want to listen to how pathetic that sounds. Nobody gives a shit anymore about what religion you are.’

  As she walked away she said, ‘Shut the back door on your way out, pig.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asked Richards when he stepped inside the room.

  ‘It’s a good job I know something about computers.’

  ‘Yes, but is it the something you need to know to get into the security system?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a password – guess what it is?’

  ‘Password?’

  ‘No. Eros0000.’

  ‘Seems appropriate.’

  ‘We used to have girls like that at school.’

  ‘With tattoos, piercings and their breasts hanging out?’

  ‘I think the boys would have liked that, but no – bullies.’

  ‘They’re in all walks of life, and come in all shapes and sizes. Richards. The trick is not to give into them. Once you do, they’ve won. Do you remember Acting DCI Trevor Naylor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He was a bully.’

  ‘He nearly killed you.’

  ‘That’s because I stood up to him. You always have to stand up to a bully – no exceptions, Richards.’

  ‘No exceptions?’

  ‘No. Inside, you might be quaking in your boots, but as soon as you back down, they’ll own you. If I’d backed down against Naylor, what would have happened?’

  ‘He’d have made you into a dirty copper like he was?’

  ‘Exactly. I wouldn’t have been my own man any more, I’d have been Naylor’s puppet.’

  ‘I wonder what happened to him.’

  ‘Hopefully, he got what he deserved. Sooner or later, bullies always get their just desserts.’

  ‘Look, Sir.’

  He watched revellers on the dancefloor and saw a familiar face. ‘Is this from last night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. You carry on looking while I phone DI Mellor.’

  ‘She’s using herself as bait to find her sister’s killer, isn’t she?’

  ‘That’s what she said she’d do. She’s a woman of her word.’

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘DI Mellor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’re at the Eros Club looking at the CCTV footage from last night and Friday, February 19. Tessa Henson is searching for the killer by using herself as bait.’

  ‘Stupid woman.’

  ‘Our thoughts exactly, but understandable under the circumstances. Can you deal with it?’

  ‘Leave it with me, Sir.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘Anything else, Richards?’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be.’

  ‘Okay. Email it all to Toadstone and ask him to get one of his minions to examine it. We haven’t got the expertise, equipment or time to look for Christy Henson, Summer Trent or Humbert. They’ll do it in a fraction of the time using face detection and recognition software, and CCTV analytics.’

  After a handful of seconds Richards stood up. ‘Okay. Ready when you are.’

  ‘Let’s go and grab some lunch while we can. I feel as though I’ve done a full day’s work already. Also, if DCI Todd has us meeting at five o’clock, then I doubt we’ll be getting home much before bedtime, which is going to put Digby’s bark out of joint because I promised I’d take him to the park to chase the ducks.’

  ‘He’ll sulk for days.’

  ‘Don’t I know it?’

  ***

  They didn’t arrive at the King George Hospital Mortuary until just after eleven-thirty.

  ‘This is late even for you, DI Blake,’ Doc Paine said. She was dressed in green scrubs and a clear plastic apron. Her arms – up to the elbows – were covered in blood and a salmagundi of other human fluids. Melissa Boyd was lying on the stainless steel table with her torso splayed open from neck to pubis.

  ‘Even for me?’ She stared at Stick. ‘Did you hear that, Sergeant?’

  ‘I heard it.’

  ‘And what are you going to do about it?’

  Stick scratched his head. ‘Is it a multi-choice question?’

  ‘I’d get more support from a panty liner.’ She turned her attention to the Doc. ‘Unlike you, Stick and I have been working our fingers to the bone. Have you heard about Martin Boyd?’

  ‘Yes. I’d just started on the post-mortems, so I had to send one of the junior doctors to carry out the initial examination and bring the body back.’

  ‘Do they know what they’re doing?’

  ‘This is a teaching hospital, Inspector. But to make sure I sent my technician with her. He knows exactly what needs to be done. Have you seen the body?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve just come from there. Pecker had a quick look. Fatal gunshot wound to the chest, and a blow to the back of the head.’

  ‘Why do you call Mr Peckham – Pecker?’

  ‘Peter Piper picked
a peck of pickled peppers . . .’

  ‘Yes, I know the tongue-twister, but isn’t calling him Pecker a form of bullying?’

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Ah! You’re one of the PC Brigade, are you?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Well, for your information, it’s a term of endearment. If I haven’t given you a nickname, then I either don’t like you, or you mean diddly-squat to me. Do you get my drift, Doc?’

  ‘So, you haven’t given me a nickname?’

  ‘You catch on quick. Well, you’ve been dissecting the Boyds all morning, what have you discovered?’

  ‘The two girls were being sexually abused.’

  Xena’s mouth dropped open as if the muscles, tendons and fibres had all been severed.

  Stick said, ‘I didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘Nor me,’ she said. ‘Christ! Mary was nine and Diane was only eight for God’s sake. And what do you mean: “They were being sexually abused”?’

  ‘Very recently.’

  ‘Penetration?’

  ‘Only vaginal presentation.’

  ‘That’s more than enough,’ Stick said.

  ‘Based on the marks, I’d say it had been going on for at least two years with Mary and probably a year with Diane – since the age of six.’

  Stick shook his head. ‘Jesus!’

  ‘Also, when I say “recently”, I mean yesterday morning before they were murdered.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Stick said.

  Xena hit him on the arm. ‘Will you stop saying that?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘How do you know that, Doc?’

  ‘I found semen – not inside, but outside. Remember, the family were murdered early in the morning. As such, the two girls hadn’t washed.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘And? Do you know who the semen belongs to?’

  ‘There’s a familial match. The boy’s DNA is completely different, so we know it doesn’t belong to him, which only leaves the father.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  She hit Stick’s arm again. ‘See! This is what families are made of . . . And you want to get Jenifer pregnant! You’re a crazy bastard.’

  ‘But you said . . .’

  ‘Forget what I said. I know absolutely fuck-all about families.’

  ‘There’s something else as well,’ Doc Paine said.

  ‘I think you’ve given us more than we deserve, Doc.’

  ‘The father of Melissa’s baby isn’t her husband.’

  ‘It’s like one of those soap operas where everyone has a secret,’ Xena said. ‘Martin Boyd was having an affair with a woman called Alicia Collins, abusing his two young daughters, and galloping into clinical depression on the charabanc to hell; his wife Melissa was having an affair with an as-yet unidentified person, was probably pregnant by him and planning to have it terminated, and she was also in the process of divorcing her husband; the two girls were obviously keeping the abuse by their father secret; which only leaves the twelve-year-old boy – David. As far as I can see, he was the only one who didn’t have any secrets.’

  ‘He was adopted,’ Stick said.

  ‘Do you think that secrets are genetic, numpty?’

  ‘I would say not.’

  ‘What’s your opinion on the subject, Doc?’

  ‘I think I’d have to go along with Sergeant Gilbert.’

  ‘They taught you something then?’

  ‘A little bit.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jerry saw Ray and Bronwyn spew forth out of the underground and onto the main concourse like flotsam and jetsam, and waved at them. ‘Yoo-hoo! Up here,’ she called, but they didn’t hear her.

  ‘Hey! That’s Bronwyn,’ Joe said. ‘God! Will you look at that figure, and those breasts and . . .’

  Shakin’ licked his lips. ‘You know what, Joe?’

  ‘Don’t even think about it Shakin’, she’d swallow us whole.’

  ‘Yeah, but what a way to go.’

  They both laughed.

  Jerry glared at them. ‘Be on your best behaviour.’

  Shakin’ pulled a face. ‘I’m shocked and stunned that you felt the need to mention it, Mrs K.’

  ‘Shocked and stunned!’ Joe agreed, pursing his lips and nodding.

  They eventually found each other and went into Costa.

  Shakin’ and Joe fetched the coffees paid for by Ray.

  Bronwyn said, ‘If you two perverts look in my direction, I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to the zombies in the underground.’

  ‘We’re shocked, aren’t we, Joe?’

  ‘Shocked and stunned, Shakin’,’ Joe said, shaking he head. ‘Shocked and stunned.’

  ‘So, what’s this all about, love?’ Ray said.

  ‘Are you a member of the Freemasons?’

  ‘You should know I’m not. Oh, I’ve been asked a few times, told that it would improve my career prospects, but I decided that it wasn’t for me – I’m not a joiner. If I couldn’t make it under my own steam, then I wasn’t going to get there.’

  ‘Very admirable.’ She told him about their visit to see DI Lucy Tripp at Kentish Town Police Station; about what Tripp had told them concerning Annie Frost, the Birthday Murder and how Michael Lannister had arrested her boyfriend for the murder . . .’

  ‘Michael Lannister!’ Ray said. ‘Where have I heard that name before?’

  ‘Apparently, he’s the Assistant Commissioner for Serious Crime and Operations at the Met.’

  ‘Of course. Okay, carry on.’

  ‘You were right about Helen Veldkamp being the key to this whole case.’ She described the details of the woman’s murder . . .

  ‘Just a minute.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Didn’t Lannister arrest the boyfriend of Annie Frost for the Birthday Girl Murder?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘So how is it that Helen Veldkamp was murdered in exactly the same manner and circumstances?’

  ‘Because Annie Frost’s boyfriend was not her killer.’

  ‘Who was then?’

  ‘Nobody knows yet. Or, if somebody does know, they’ve suppressed the information.’

  ‘But surely, once a second murder had been committed while the boyfriend was in prison, that would have been grounds for his release, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘This is where it gets messy.’

  ‘Okay, carry on.’

  ‘They buried the second murder.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘George Hill, Michael Lannister and a network of other Freemasons in positions of authority.’

  ‘I don’t believe that.’

  ‘Then how do you explain the fact that the two murders were never connected?’

  ‘Do you know what you’re saying?’

  ‘I know exactly what I’m saying, Ray. The second murder – Helen Veldkamp – was either never input into Crimint, or it was flagged limited access only. I’m sure Bronwyn would be able to tell you if that was possible.’

  Everyone turned to look at Bronwyn.

  ‘Anything is possible if you know what you’re doing.’ She glared at Shakin’ and Joe. ‘Are you two degenerates looking at my breasts.’

  ‘Breasts!’ Shakin’s eyes opened wide. ‘We haven’t seen a woman’s breasts for absolutely ages, have we, Joe?’

  ‘Ages and ages.’

  Jerry continued. She told him about the other three Birthday Girl murders: Beverley Manning, Charmaine Muldoon and Claire Saxby.’

  ‘And DI Tripp told you all this?’

  ‘Yes. I think she wants to come clean, but she hasn’t got the nerve to do it herself. And I can’t say I blame her. She isn’t involved, except by omission.’

  ‘She hasn’t informed anyone else?’

  ‘Who? She said that ninety percent of senior officers at the Met are Freemasons, and that the last time she tried to connect the murders of Annie Frost, Helen Veldkamp and Emily Hobson she was transferred to Siberia . . .’

  ‘That’s metap
horical,’ Joe chipped in.

  ‘Thanks, Joe,’ Jerry said. ‘But I think my husband knows that there are no English police officers stationed in Siberia.’

  A stupid smile appeared on Joe’s face. ‘Of course he does.’

  ‘What about Emily Hobson?’ Ray said.

  ‘She and Morton Gillespie were murdered by the Birthday Girl killer. That’s how Helen Veldkamp’s DNA found its way under Emily Hobson’s fingernails.’

  ‘Why did he kill them?’

  ‘I can speculate if you want me to, but I don’t know.’

  ‘What about the other three murders? Why hasn’t . . .?’

  ‘The same answer.’

  ‘So, you’ve stumbled onto a serial killer called the Birthday Girl Murderer . . .’

  ‘Yes and no. The media called the killing of Annie Frost the Birthday Girl Murder, but the other four victims have never been connected either to Annie Frost’s murder or to each other.’

  ‘And because they were protecting Michael Lannister’s arrest of the wrong man, you’re suggesting that a network of Freemasons conspired to bury Helen Veldkamp’s murder to prevent it being connected to Annie Frost’s murder, and as a result the killer remained free and subsequently murdered another three women and no one came clean?’

  ‘Yes, but what’s worse is that the boyfriend Lannister arrested for Annie Frost’s murder was killed seven months into his sentence by another inmate at Wormwood Scrubs.’

  ‘I hope none of this is true, Jerry.’

  ‘Hoping isn’t going to turn fact into fiction.’

  ‘What are you expecting me to do about it?’

  ‘More to the point – what do you want to do about it?’

  Everyone turned to stare at Ray.

  ‘Why are you all staring at me?’

  Jerry smiled. ‘Like me, they’re wondering what your answer will be.’

  ‘If you recall, I’m not in the police force anymore.’

  ‘I see. And you don’t know anyone you could speak to?’

  ‘And say what?’

  ‘I think you’re being deliberately obtuse, Ray.’

  Everyone turned their heads to stare at him again.

  ‘Did you have to bring those two muppets with you?’

  ‘Muppets!’ Shakin’ said. ‘We’re shocked you would compare us with cloth puppets, aren’t we, Joe?’

  ‘Shocked and stunned, Mr K.’