by Tim Ellis
‘I’d love to, but my boss won’t let me.’ She followed Parish out into the thoroughfare.
‘He was nice.’
‘If you like living in another reality where spliffs grow on trees, and money is wrapped up in marijuana leaves.’
‘I could get used to that.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. Right, where are we going next?’
‘Back to see Mrs Cousins to look at Allan’s keepsakes?’
‘And then where?’
‘Lunch?’
‘And then where?’
‘Probably back to where Alice Cooper lived, to ask the people who live there now who the Estate Agents were that sold them the house, and then we should visit them to find out where all the contents of the house went?’
‘You’re doing well, so far. And then where?’
‘Back to the...’
‘Wrong.’
‘Oh! Have we got somewhere else to go?’
‘You tell me. Have we finished with Mobiles2Go?’
Richards thought for a moment as they descended to the ground floor on the escalator. ‘Well, yes. Brian Palin is in Canada, but I suppose we could check to see if he really went.’
‘What about the accounts?’
‘They’ve gone, haven’t they? Probably burnt.’
‘Do you know anything about the financial accounts of small businesses?’
‘Not a thing.’
‘What about Value Added Tax?’
‘The government add that to everything we buy, don’t they?’
‘Yes they do, but businesses have input and output VAT and they only have to pay the difference between the two.’
‘We’ll have to find the car, so that I can lie down. I feel sleepy all of a sudden.’
‘I see, so you don’t want to know that there may be copies of the accounts?’
‘Is my knowing going to involve a detailed explanation of those accounts?’
‘No.’
‘Okay, I want to know.’
‘If we’re dealing with VAT, who else might want a copy of the accounts of a businesse?’
‘I like the way you make it easy for me – the Inland Revenue?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you think you can make it easy for me to find the car now?’
‘You’re a...’
‘I’m a what?’
‘Something unspeakable.’
They spent the next fifteen minutes searching for the car, but Parish didn’t mind too much because he’d already resigned himself to Mr Murphy causing havoc today.
***
At 97 Pyenest Road in Great Parndon they discovered that Trevor was attending an interview, his two sons were at school, and Mrs Cousins was on her own. What neither Parish or Richards had noticed the last time they’d visited was the loudspeaker fitted flush in the glass, so they were a bit surprised to hear a voice.
‘Yes?’
‘Mrs Cousins, Its DI Parish and Constable Richards again.’
A buzzer sounded, and the door clicked open. They went inside and found the old woman sitting in the same rattan chair.
‘I’d make you a drink, but I’m not feeling very well today.’ She held up her shaking hands. ‘I can’t find the nose in front of my face, and my legs won’t work properly either.’
‘That’s all right,’ Parish said. ‘We’re fine.’
‘I could make a drink, if you want?’ Richards said.
‘Would you, dear? That useless son of mine said he wouldn’t be long, but he’s been ages. I could strangle a cup of tea... And him, if I had the strength.’
‘What brings you back?’ Mrs Cousins asked Parish once Richards had left. ‘Have you had news of Allan?’
‘No, nothing yet I’m afraid.’
Her whole body slumped even more than it had been. ‘Oh, I was hoping...’
‘I’m sorry.’ He was sorry that he hadn’t arrived with more positive news. Had he been a well wisher he might have sat back and let the old woman wallow in the thoughts of her missing son, but he hadn’t merely popped round to hand out tea and sympathy, he was trying to find her son and didn’t have the luxury of time. ‘On our last visit you said that all you had left of Allan were a few keepsakes.’
‘Yes, that useless Trevor put them in the attic.’
‘I’m sorry to impose, but would it be possible to see them?’
‘Well, of course, anything I can do that might bring my Allan back, but I don’t know where Trevor put them in the attic. We could ring him. He might be on his way back, or if not, he will be able to tell us where he put them.’ She picked up a mobile phone with oversized keys off the side table and found her son’s number.
‘Where are you?’
‘I thought the interview was ages ago. You’d better not be in that bar again.’
‘Well, if you’re not going to be home for a while, you’d better tell me where you put Allan’s things.’
‘Don’t show your stupidity. How would I get up in the attic? I’m sure I came home from that hospital with the wrong baby. The police are here and they want to look at Allan’s things.’
‘They’ve got better things to do than wait for you to swill your mouth out with alcohol.’
‘Just tell me?’
She seemed about to throw the phone across the room, but thought better of it.
Richards came in with a tray of drinks.
‘Allan’s things are in two brown boxes on the left of the attic opening.’
‘While you’re playing at being Mother, I’ll go and search for these two boxes.’
‘You’ll need the stepladders out of the garage,’ Mrs Cousins said. ‘The key is on a hook on the right as you go into the kitchen.’
‘Thanks.’
Parish took the key from the kitchen, found the stepladders in the garage, and manhandled them into the house and up the stairs. He opened up the ladders beneath the attic opening on the landing and climbed up. Using his head to push the wooden cover upwards, he then slid it to the side. He found the light switch and flicked it on, and then had to balance on top of the ladders to hoist himself into the attic. Once in there with his legs dangling through the opening, he found the two boxes easily. He was expecting to find two shoeboxes, but was surprised to discover that they were large boxes measuring two feet by three feet, with a depth of two feet. They would just squeeze through the opening.
He leaned down and yelled, ‘Richards?’ What he hadn’t thought of was how to get the boxes out of the attic. He hated to admit it, but he needed help.
‘Yes, Sir?’ she called up the stairs.
‘Come up here and help me get these boxes down.’
Between them, they managed to jiggle the two boxes through the opening. He switched the light off and pulled the cover back, but left the ladders at the top of the stairs. No doubt Trevor would be forced to put the boxes back. They needed to make two trips to lug the boxes out into the conservatory.
‘Tea, Sir?’ Richards said as he slumped into a rattan chair.
‘Yes, that was thirsty work.’ To Mrs Cousins he said, ‘I wasn’t expecting such large boxes.’
‘Yes well, I didn’t know what was up there. Trevor just emptied the room. I thought he’d thrown most of Allan’s stuff out, but he obviously hadn’t. I’m glad you’ve brought them down, because now I can look through them and remind myself of the things Allan did.’
Richards knelt on the carpet and opened one of the boxes.
‘Will you look at that?’ the old woman said.
Richards passed her a three-inch gold star with a jumble of running legs inside, attached to a small marble-like base.
‘Allan won that when he was ten years old in the sprint at his primary school Sports Day. Of course, that was before they started giving everyone prizes because they thought losing might damage the children psychologically – what a load of rubbish.
Next, Richards pulled out a picture frame...
‘There’s Allan and Tr
evor with their dad when...’
Parish realised that if they had to listen to Mrs Cousins reminiscing over every item in the boxes they’d be here for a week. ‘Listen, would you mind if Constable Richards and I went through the boxes to identify anything that might be useful to our investigation? You’ll understand that our time is a precious commodity, and the more time we spend here, the less time we have to search for Allan.’
‘Of course, you don’t want to listen to an old woman talking about her lost son who she hasn’t seen for nearly a year, and will probably never see again. You rummage through those boxes. I’ll just sit here and drink my tea until you’ve finished.’
Richards gave him a look.
He shrugged. What did she expect? He’d told her before about keeping her feelings in a lead-lined box.
They emptied the two boxes on the floor. Mrs Cousins went through a series of grunts, laughs, and other unrecognisable noises as they withdrew each item from a box and examined it thoroughly. Eventually, they were left with two items. One was a collection of four train tickets from Harlow to Maldon dated the 9th and 12th of August and the 3rd and 6th of September last year. They found the tickets behind a Year 11 Passmores Comprehensive School photograph, between the picture and the backing card.
‘Do you know why Allan might have travelled to Maldon?’ Parish asked Mrs Cousins.
‘He never mentioned anything to me. I didn’t even know he knew where Maldon was.’
‘Did you ever take him there as a child?’ Richards asked.
‘No, never. Why would anyone go to Maldon?’
Richards shook her head. ‘I have no idea. I’ve never been there.’
The other item was a half-inch thick twig, cut at both ends, with a horizontal line scratched into the bark and three right lopsided lines crossing through the line as if it had been used to symbolise the number four.
Mrs Cousins shrugged and pulled a face before Parish could ask her if she knew what it was.
‘Do you mind if we take these items with us for further investigation? We will, of course, return them when we have no further use for them.’
‘Take them, and keep them. I don’t know what they are. Everything else in the boxes has some sentimental value, but those things mean nothing. If you think they’re connected to him going missing, then I don’t want them anyway.’
Richards put the tickets and the twig into two clear evidence bags and sat back on the sofa.
‘Would you like me to put the boxes back in the attic?’ Parish asked.
‘No I would not. Trevor would never bring them down, he said he didn’t want me moping over Allan’s junk. Well, thanks to you I’ve got Allan’s memories back, and these boxes are staying here now.’
They finished their tea. Richards washed up even though Mrs Cousins said that Trevor could do it, and then they left her to her reminiscing.
As they walked to the car Richards said, ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Who said I was thinking anything?’
‘You’re always thinking.’
‘Well, trainee detective Richards, what’s more important is what you’re thinking, which reminds me that we’ll have to have a formal meeting soon to review how far along you are with your competencies.’
‘How far along am I?’
‘If you were running the London Marathon, you’d be at the back with the centipede, Batman & Robin, and the purple ostrich.’
Richards feigned laughter. ‘You’re so funny, you should audition for Britain’s Got Talent. Simon Cowell would love you.’
‘I know, I’m multitalented. So, tell me what you’re thinking.’
‘I think I’ve got a headache.’
They climbed into the car.
‘Has that ever worked on me?’
‘No, but it might one day.’
‘It won’t. Well, tell me about the train tickets.’
‘Two train journeys to Maldon in August, and two in September, that’s where he might be now.’
‘Okay, but why did he still have them?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Usually, to get out of a main station like Harlow, you have to put your ticket into the machine so that you can walk through the barrier, and at the end of your journey the machine swallows it up.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Hey, you’re right. He must have asked the person at the barrier if they could let him through, so that he could keep the tickets.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve got a box with little things in like that. I remember there’s a train ticket to London in the box. We went from school to see the Science Museum, but I was in love with a boy called Tony Cattani – I think he was Italian – and we held hands and kissed for the first time, so I kept the ticket. He was my first love.’
‘Is your love life relevant to this case?’
‘What I’m saying is that he kept the tickets because they must have meant something to him.’
‘Is that the only reason he might have kept the tickets?’
She was quiet for a while.
‘I can’t hear any cogs crunching and whirring. You haven’t gone to sleep, have you?’
‘You’d know if I went to sleep, I’d start snoring. Maybe there’s something hidden on the tickets that we can’t see, like an invisible message.’
‘Written in invisible ink?’
‘Yes, something like that.’
‘Do they even make that anymore?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So, we’ll give the tickets to Toadstone for analysis?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about the twig?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘The mark on the twig?’
‘My mind is empty.’
‘Yes, I know that, but what do you think about the mark on the twig?’
She pointed at the dashboard LED clock display. ‘It’s five to twelve. Lunch?’
‘Food is always a good way to change the subject.’
‘I know.’
Chapter Twelve
‘You’re unusually quiet, Ed,’ Ray Kowalski said as they trudged down the spiral concrete steps to the 7th basement. There was no echo, and his voice seemed to disappear as soon as it exited his mouth.
When they’d arrived at quarter to eleven the old security guard at the entrance had looked at them as if they’d walked directly from the homeless shelter, and he wasn’t really impressed when Kowalski produced his warrant card.
‘That’s a nice shiny badge,’ he said. ‘Did you get it out of a packet of cereal?’
Kowalski smiled and said, ‘I’ve got a couple of spares, if you’re interested?’
‘And that photograph makes you look like a male model.’
‘Those were the days,’ Kowalski said with a faraway look in his eyes.
According to the plastic name badge he wore on his white shirt the guard’s name was Marcus Grant. He had short white hair, glasses, a large bulbous nose, and a face that had been pushed through a lemon squeezer.
‘What do you want? The records in this storage unit are my responsibility, you know.’
‘Lola Laveque sent us,’ Ed intervened.
Marcus Grant’s face creased up. ‘You should have said earlier, I’d have let you straight in. Can’t be too careful with police records, you know. Everyone wants to get their hands on my records. How is Lola? Ain’t seen her for some time now. Tell her Marcus says, “Hi”.’
‘Lola is good,’ Ed said. ‘We’ll pass on your best wishes.’
They moved forward, but Marcus shook his head. ‘You don’t want to start wandering off like that. Here,’ he thrust at each of them a small folded leaflet and a yellow safety hat with a torch on the top. ‘A map, so you don’t get lost. We’re still looking for three people who wandered in there in 1991, and a light so that you can see where you’re going.’
Kowalski corrected him. ‘Lola said it was 1994.’ He slid the yellow hat on his head and switched the light on.
‘Lola’s referring to the Huddlestone Three. Yeah, they went missing, but we found their skeletons in 2005. The ones I’m talking about were criminals who broke in before we upgraded our security. We caught them going in on CCTV, but they never came out again. I get reports from visitors of strange noises, fleeting shadows, and eating sounds. All I’ll say is stick together, and don’t go wandering off from the main routes.’
The map was similar to the one produced for the London Underground. They found row CAH, and followed it down until they reached the Blueberry junction. The concrete steps spiralled downwards like the descent into hell. Holding onto the metal handrail they started down.
‘I’ve been wondering how Parish is a DI, and I’m still a DS,’ Ed said in reply to Ray’s original question.
Kowalski let out a small laugh, which sounded more like a pig snuffling truffles. ‘That’s because he’s good looking and you’re ugly.’
‘Is that what it boils down to, Ray?’
‘I was joking, and we won’t talk about the halo effect.’
‘I should have been a DI.’
‘You’re the best DS this side of the Watford Gap, Ed. I’m sure you’d rather be a brilliant DS than a crappy DI.’
‘You think I’d be a crappy DI?’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’
‘You recommended me, didn’t you?’
‘Of course. I told the Chief you were a superb DS, and that you should be promoted toot suite.’
‘Then why am I still a DS?’
‘Promotion boards are sitting in September. You’ll get your DI then, but that’ll be the end of our partnership, Ed.’
‘It’s too late for me, Ray.’
‘Nonsense. You’re how old?’
‘Yeah, too late for me. It’s a young man’s game now. I should have got out when I still had the chance of doing something different. I’m too old for everything now...’ Except killing, of course. He wasn’t too old to become a murderer. God, what had he done? If there was ever a chance of him becoming a DI, it had been washed away in blood. As he led the way down the spiral stairs the blackness engulfed him.
‘You’re never too old that’s my motto. Anyway, why would you want the hassle of more paperwork that’d take you away from that supermodel wife of yours and those three troglodytes you call children? If you take my advice, you want to thank your lucky stars you’re in a well-paid job with a fantastic partner, and have the support of a loving family.’
