“You might feel alright now, but you’re in shock. It sometimes doesn’t become apparent until later,” he warned Pat.
“I’ll bear that in mind thanks.”
“Don’t worry Matt he won’t be driving anywhere for a while,” P.C. Kelly assured him.
Matt returned to the injured biker and assisted his colleagues as they transferred him to the awaiting ambulance. Seconds later with its siren wailing, the ambulance sped away out of sight.
P.C. Kelly now turned his attention back to Pat who was drawing nervously on another cigarette.
“You’ll have to be breathalysed Mr. Hinds. If you’ll follow me to the patrol car we can get on with it.”
“How much longer will I have to be detained, I have an appointment to keep? Pat asked glancing at his watch.
“You won’t be going anywhere until your vehicle has been thoroughly checked over and released by our accident inspectors. If it’s found to be defective you’ll be arrested and charged,” P.C Kelly replied. The young P.C. seemed to be enjoying the misery he was inflicting on Pat.
“I bet you really enjoy your job, don’t you Constable?” Pat replied.
The young P.C. didn’t reply as he ordered Pat to blow into the breathalyser. Taking a deep breath, Pat willingly obliged. After examining the machine, P.C. Kelly looked up.
“You’ve tested negative Sir, which is good news for you.”
“Not really, I don’t drink alcohol,” Pat replied proudly.
Unaccustomed to declaring his sobriety, Pat knew that at this precise moment he could effortlessly down a bottle of scotch without taking a breath. Giving up drinking had been easier than he had anticipated, but during moments of intense stress, he would have to fight desperately hard to resist the temptation. This was one of those moments and the temptation was eating away at him.
“You’ll have to accompany us to the station now Sir. Please get into the car,” P.C Whiston led him away
“I don’t really have a choice do I?”
“We’re just doing our duty Sir; you’ll probably be free to go in a few hours.”
The short journey to the police station was spent in silence with the exception of the occasional crackling on the radio. On arrival, he was escorted to the desk sergeant who proceeded to ask a chain of irrelevant questions before he was officially interviewed. Almost two hours later, he was asked to take a seat in the waiting area by which time, his patience was wearing thin. An elderly lady sitting opposite was staring intently at him.
“Are you in trouble young man?” she leaned forward.
“No, I’m a witness,” he smiled and added, “What about you?”
“I lost my watch and someone handed it in. I’m just here to pick it up. It’s nice to know there are still some honest people about.”
Pat was called to the desk.
“I have to go now, I’m glad you’ve found your watch.”
“Your car has been inspected and found to have no serious defects despite the age and condition of it,” the desk Sergeant informed him.
“It’s a piece of shit,” Pat spoke his thoughts then turned to the elderly lady.
“Sorry about my language.”
“What did you say dear?” she asked. Before he had time to reply the officer spoke again.
“The damage from the impact of the crash needs to be repaired as soon as possible. We really shouldn’t let you drive it, but I believe you have an appointment to keep?”
“I did have. I’ll get it fixed later today,” Pat lied again.
“Make sure you do.”
“Is there any news on the biker?” Pat asked the Inspector before he left.
“No, but we’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”
“Thanks, I’ve left my mobile number with the sergeant.”
Pat collected his car and eventually rejoined the road. Still somewhat shaken but more shocked at what a moments lapse in concentration could lead to, he drove with extreme caution vowing to deliver complete and unfaltering attention to the road. Realising how lucky he’d been not to have been charged with dangerous driving, he attempted to push the injured biker out of his mind. A few hours later the old Ford Mondeo; complete with a huge dent in the bonnet, arrived amidst the flat landscape of Lincolnshire. Avoiding the city centre, Pat turned off the road as he passed the County Showground and headed towards Stow. With an abundance of churches and arable land, he wasn’t very impressed with the landscape; he preferred rugged cliffs and rolling hills. Scottish scenery was his favourite; he had vivid memories of his last visit there. The silent eeriness of Glen Coe would stay with him forever. If you listened hard enough into the grey skies and desolate hills, you could almost hear the cries of the highlanders who had fought there hundreds of years earlier. It was like nowhere else on earth, and to him it was the pinnacle of beauty and serenity. Bringing his mind back to the present, Pat realised he had missed the tuning for Stow and stopped the car.
“Shit” he muttered and reversed into a side street realising he had let his attention slip so soon after the accident. Minutes later, a sign informed him he had reached Stowe where they welcomed careful drivers! After finding an empty space in an overcrowded car-park, he locked up and proceeded to walk towards the town centre. The tourist information centre issued him with a map and very shortly he was walking along Burnham Crescent in search of number twenty one. Unfortunately for Pat, the present occupiers of the house were of Hungarian origin and didn’t speak a word of English.
“Thanks a lot and,” Pat muttered as the door slammed in his face following a barrage of Hungarian abuse.
On impulse, he decided to try the neighbouring house, and knocked on number twenty three. An old lady answered the door and asked what he wanted.
“I’m making enquires about a couple who used to live here about ten years ago; Gerry and Anne Parish. I don’t suppose you remember them?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh yes I do. What do you want to know?”
“Could I come in?”
“Do you have any identity with you?” she asked cautiously.
Pat fumbled around in his pocket and produced his I.D badge.
“A reporter, I’ve never met a reporter before. What’s your name, I can’t read the writing without my glasses?” she asked.
“Patrick Hinds.”
“Come in Patrick Hinds, do you drink coffee, I’ve just made a fresh pot.”
“That’ll be lovely I’ve been on the road all day.”
“I’m Lilly Greensmith by-the-way. I’ve lived here for forty years and I could tell you a thing or two about the folks I’ve seen come and go,” she grinned.
This was exactly what Pat was hoping to hear, and he rubbed his hands together in fervent anticipation. With a mug of the hottest coffee he had ever had, he sat in Lilly Greensmith’s cosy lounge in fear of inflicting first degree burns on his skin.
“Now Patrick Hinds, what would you like to know,” she began.
“Everything,” he smiled.
“Well let me see, they were a lovely couple, nothing unusual about them. Gerry was a factory worker I think, and Anne worked part-time somewhere I can’t remember exactly what she did. Gerry was also studying at night school. I don’t know what he was doing, but he wanted better things for his family. I used to look after their twin daughters for them when they had the occasional night out. Claire and Kate, no it was Helen, Helen and Claire; they looked just like their mother you know with beautiful black hair and brown eyes. Such a tragedy what happened to them,” she paused momentarily and stared vacantly at the fireplace.
“There’s a photograph of the twins on the shelf,” she pointed to a framed print.
Pat took the photo down and studied the two identical faces smiling up at him.
“Could you tell them apart?” he asked
“I could sometimes, but they used to play tricks on me, so I made them wear name tags when they came to visit. That’s Claire on the left, and Helen on the right. Thi
s photograph was taken just before Claire died.”
Pat replaced the picture and sat down.
“They certainly are pretty girls,” he commented.
“There was an accident, Claire was killed. She fell out of a tree. Gerry was supposed to be watching them, but I saw him take the car and go out. He was gone for a long time and when he returned, Claire was lying face down on the lawn. Helen told the police that their father had been there. I never said anything, they were suffering enough, and the Social Services were knocking on the door constantly. A few months later the arguments started, I could hear Anne screaming and shouting at Gerry. She began to drink heavily as well, and not long after, Gerry moved out.”
“Did Anne continue to live here?” he asked.
“She did, but that’s when she changed and stopped speaking to me. A few months after Gerry left, she became friendly with a group of people, very strange looking they were. Men with pony tails and scruffy clothes, and the women didn’t look very lady-like, if you know what I mean. They used to come to her house two or three times a week; I did wonder if they belonged to a religious cult. You hear such terrible things about how they brainwash people and take all their money. I never found out; but one day they arrived with a large van and Anne moved out. She never told me where she was going or said goodbye, and I’ve not seen her since. The house was empty for a while and now there’s a foreign family living there, they don’t speak a word of English you know, and they’ve got five children.”
“I know,” Pat smiled.
“Do you have any photos of the Parish’s?” he asked.
“I’ve got plenty, I’ll find you one,” she took an old shoe box from a cupboard, and flicked through them until she found what she was looking for.
“You can have this one,” she passed it over.
Pat slipped the photo in his pocket and thanked Lilly for her help. Although he hadn’t found out much, there was little doubt that Anne Parish was married to Ben Preston, and she probably was involved with some sect or organisation.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help you anymore,” Lilly said as she opened the front door.
“You’ve been very helpful Lilly, but if you do think of anything else, here’s my phone number; you can call me anytime on it.”
“It’s a long number, isn’t it?”
“It’s a mobile phone number they’ll all long numbers,” he smiled at her.
“I don’t have one myself; they’re too small”
“That’s modern technology for you.”
“I’ll call you if I think of anything else. Goodbye Patrick Hinds,” she closed the door.
****************
Exeter Canal, and it’s easily assessable footpath, made it a popular venue for both dog-walkers and anglers alike. It was also a receptacle for enormous amounts of discarded drinks cans and bottles, which could be seen bobbing on the surface as if in a race. Occasionally, a supermarket trolley would find its way into the muddy waters, pushed there by gangs of youths who had nothing better to do with their time. Today however, a different article of flotsam was discovered amongst the variety of bobbing cans and debris.
Mary Hamersley was taking her usual stroll with her poodle Coco, when she caught sight of what she assumed was a tailors’ dummy floating on the surface. As she cautiously approached the suspicious object, its true identity became horrifyingly obvious. The body of a young man lay face up in the water, his eyes wide open staring lifelessly towards the sun. Reeling backwards in shock, Mary tugged on the dog’s lead and hurried home to phone the police.
Half an hour later, the canal side was crawling with police cars and officers combing the area for clues. A cordon was placed around the site to prevent members of the public from entering, and contaminating the crime scene.
The young man’s body was eventually taken away to the Morgue, which had already seen three suspicious death’s inside a week. It shortly transpired that all these deaths led back to the Lotus hotel, after the latest victim was identified as Joseph Szczepanski a waiter employed there. It was also discovered after the autopsy was carried out, that Joseph had been murdered. A severe wound to his skull, and a contusion in the lumber region indicated he had been assaulted, before he entered the canal. It was also ascertained that he was still alive when he was pushed, or fell into the canal. His death was due to drowning, confirmed by the amount of water discovered in his lungs. Inspector Salt decided it was time to visit the Lotus again; there had to be a connection with the deaths and the hotel.
On arrival, Sean Hughes escorted Inspector Salt to Alex’s office where he was deep in conversation with Kate.
“Inspector Salt to see you Mr. Lawton,” Sean turned to leave, but the Inspector advised him to stay in the room.
“What I have to say concerns you all. The body of a young man has been found in Exeter Canal. He’s been identified as an employee of yours Mr. Lawton.”
“Who is it Inspector?” Alex asked apprehensively.
“Joseph Scz, Sczer…….. he attempted to pronounce his name.
“It’s Szczepanski Inspector; was it an accident?” Alex added.
“No I’m afraid not, he was murdered. It now seems very likely that someone has something against you personally, or your hotel. This is the second murder and a suicide this week all connected to this hotel, and we mustn’t forget your missing guest of course.”
“He’s not missing anymore, he turned up last night,” Alex up-dated him.
“Why wasn’t I informed?” the Inspector asked.
“He wasn’t in any fit state to talk to anyone. I’ve only just had the chance to talk to him myself.”
“Is he ready to talk to me now?”
“Yes of course, and I think you’ll find what he has to say very interesting indeed.”
Alex left the Inspector and went in search of Ben, whom he found in his room changing his bloodied clothes. Ben reluctantly agreed to speak to the Inspector, and followed Alex along the corridor towards the lift. When the door opened, Charles Lewis stepped out. His expression was pitiful as he gripped a bottle of scotch firmly in one hand, and a glass in the other. Alex attempted to speak to him, but Charles raised his hand in protest.
“I’ll see you later,” he replied ignoring Alex’s disapproving look.
“That’s not the answer Charles.”
“Then what is?” he asked as he walked away.
Alex wanted to follow Charles and talk to him; he needed support and understanding. Their friendship had spanned many years, and now he felt as though he was letting him down. Still dwelling on Charles’ frame of mind, Inspector Salt strode towards Ben.
“The wanderer returns. It makes a pleasant change not to be looking at another corpse Mr. Preston.”
After a brief explanation of the events that lead up to his abduction, Ben divulged detailed information concerning his first wife’s involvement with the animal rights organisation. Inspector Salt listened without interrupting and then spoke.
“Anne Parish was not involved as you put it, she was the founder of this group,” he corrected him.
“What do you mean by ‘was’ Inspector?” Ben asked.
“She died several years ago, in a car accident. We have been aware of the group’s activities for some time, but we’ve never been in a position to charge them with anything other than petty affray. There was never enough evidence. They went to ground when Anne died, so unless her ghost is roaming round killing people, you must have made a mistake Sir,” he said.
“I was married to the woman; don’t you think I’d recognise my own wife?” Ben refused to accept his words.
“I don’t know, but I can assure you she died six years ago. I can take you to the cemetery if you don’t believe me.”
Ben was stunned into silence by the news. It was Anne who’d kept him tied up in that filthy basement; there was no doubt about it. Her hair was a different colour and she had gained a few pounds, but it was her, he was adamant.
“Who identified her body Inspector?” Ben eventually managed to ask.
“I wouldn’t know without looking at the files, but I can find out for you.”
“If you don’t mind,” he muttered.
“Can I ask you when you last saw Joseph Szczepanski, Mr. Lawton?” the Inspector made an attempt to pronounce Joseph’s surname.
“I think it was Tuesday evening, I can’t be certain,” he turned to Sean. “When did you last see him?”
“It must have been Tuesday; he was definitely in the Silver Bar in the evening,” Sean agreed.
“It’s not that important. Did he have any enemies or problems that you were aware of?”
“Enemies; he was just a young waiter not a gangster, as for problems, he always seemed happy and I’d just promoted him,” Alex added.
“He was a very amiable person Inspector; popular with both the staff and guests. I never had cause to chastise him where his work was concerned. He was a bit of a day dreamer, but he never shirked his duties,” Sean explained.
“We have to cover all probabilities, but everything seems to come back here to this hotel.”
“Could he have been involved with these animal rights fanatics? Ben has told you about the contract being stolen?” Alex asked.
“I saw him with the envelope in his hand,” Kate confirmed.
“You saw him with an envelope Mrs. Preston; you didn’t see the contents,” the Inspector argued.
“He was in Alex’s office without his permission; don’t you think that’s suspicious?”
There was no reply to this comment, so Ben took the opportunity to question the inspector.
“If you’re right and Anne Parish is dead, then who abducted me? How would I know about her organisation?”
“That’s what we need to find out. For all I know you could be part of this organisation yourself; it could be you who killed Emma Lewis and Joseph Sczea, Joseph,” he said abandoning his attempt to pronounce the name.
“That’s absolutely ridiculous and you know it. Why would I want to kill Emma Lewis, I loved her?”
“You told me you were going to finish it with her,” Kate stared intently at him.
HIDDEN SECRETS Page 14
