Breath of Life (9781476278742)

by Ellis, Tim

‘I’ll decide whether we need to worry about one-point-two. Go on, what is it?’

  ‘Minimise risk to the health and safety of yourself and others during investigation operations.’

  ‘Yes, I can understand why you might want to skip over that one.’

  ‘No, I accidentally missed it...’

  ‘Pah! You must think I climbed out of the evolutionary sludge this morning. You nearly got yourself killed. And then there’s Catherine Cox, and Tracy Duquemin, and...’

  ‘All right, you needn’t reel off a long list of the people I nearly got killed. But they didn’t die, did they?’

  ‘Dumb luck.’

  ‘I think you’re too close to me to take an objective view of my finer qualities.’

  ‘Don’t think that because you’re now my stepdaughter you’ll get preferential treatment. If anything...’

  ‘Exactly! You’re going to the other extreme. I’d like a second opinion.’

  ‘A second opinion! Who would be foolish enough to state that you’re a safe person to have around? You’re an accident looking for a place to happen.’

  She slammed the booklet shut, and threw it in the back of the car.

  Parish pulled into the car park at King George Hospital, found a space, and switched the engine off.

  ‘Is that it then? You’re going to give up police work and be a checkout girl at the local supermarket?’

  ‘I’m going to put in an official complaint about the way that you treat me.’

  Parish threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re going to complain about me doing my job?’

  ‘About you being a zealot.’

  ‘You don’t even know what the word means. Come on, Doc Riley will be waiting to pay for our lunch, and all this stress has made me hungry.’

  They climbed out of the car and headed towards the hospital reception.

  Richards wrapped her scarf tighter and pulled the zip of her jacket up higher. ‘Stress! I’m the one that’s stressed. You should come with a government health warning. I should get danger money working with you.’

  ‘I’m the one in danger. You’re a loose cannon. I should wear body armour all the time like one of those bomb disposal officers.’

  ‘You...’

  ‘They have cooling-off rooms on the third floor, you know.’ Doc Riley said. She was sitting at a table with a pot of tea and an open report in front of her.

  Parish grunted. ‘A difference of opinion on training methods, but as I’m the DI and Richards is the PC I think my opinion carries significantly more weight.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘Anyway, how are you, Doc?’

  ‘Better now that you’re here. I’m ready for my lunch.’

  They joined the lunchtime queue. Parish pointed to a minced beef and onion pie, some rustic chips, and a helping of peas. He resisted the urge to ask for two slices of buttered bread, and ignored the spoilsport on his shoulder telling him that he didn’t need a treacle tart and ice cream. Richards had a plate of leaves, and Doc Riley selected some disgusting looking pasta.

  ‘You’re all right talking gore while we’re eating?’ Doc Riley asked.

  ‘Talk away, Doc. Nothing comes between food and me.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘Will you stop making strange noises, Richards. People will think you’ve just escaped from the thirteenth floor. So Doc, give us the bad news.’

  ‘Dr Toadstone didn’t find the head, hands and feet.’

  ‘I expected that. They were probably dumped elsewhere.’

  ‘The cuts were all made with the same instrument – probably a handheld meat saw.’

  ‘Even through the bone?’

  ‘Meat saws are designed to make short work of bone.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. Was she dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You mentioned she’d given birth recently?’

  ‘Within the last six weeks. The breasts were still lactating, and there was evidence around the nipples of her having breastfed.’

  ‘So there’s a starving baby out there?’

  ‘I would say so.’

  ‘My wife is due to give birth in the next week.’

  ‘Really? A Christmas birth?’

  ‘I’m hoping it will be. The ideal Christmas present.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘Don’t mind Richards, she doesn’t like being told the truth by her boss.’

  ‘Huh.’

  Doc Riley smiled. ‘Yeah, bosses suck.’

  ‘Aren’t you a boss yourself?’ Parish said.

  ‘I suppose, but I suck at it. I just like to boss the dead about – they don’t answer back.’

  ‘Are you listening, Richards. Maybe I’ll swap you for a corpse.’

  ‘And maybe I’ll swap you for a decent boss, like Inspector Kowalski.’

  Parish gave a laugh. ‘Haven’t we had this discussion before?’

  ‘But we never put it to the test.’

  ‘Maybe we should. I’ll have a word with Kowalski, and see if he wants to work with a loose cannon.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘The contents of the stomach were analysed, and you must understand that calculating a time of death based on the stomach contents alone is an inexact science, because far too many internal and external factors can affect the rate at which food is digested.’

  ‘Caveat noted,’ Parish said.

  ‘Her last meal was largely contained within her stomach, which suggests that she was killed shortly after eating. The meal was a mixture of rice, salad, and a veggieburger, which might suggest that she was a vegetarian. How relevant that is I don’t know. I’ll stick my neck out and say she was probably killed about three weeks ago.’

  Richards’ fork – loaded with wild rocket leaves – hovered in front of her mouth. ‘That means, if she was in the sewers for a week, she must have been kept somewhere for two weeks.’

  ‘I thought the forensic examination of a dead body would wake you up.’

  ‘Even though someone not too far away from here is trying to sabotage my career, at the moment I’m still nearly a detective.’

  ‘”Nearly” being the operative word.’

  ‘A freezer,’ Doc Riley said. ‘I found evidence of ice crystals in the deep tissues.’

  Parish chewed a forkful of mishmash while he thought. ‘So, she was killed, cut up, kept in a freezer for two weeks, and her body parts were dumped in different locations.’

  ‘We assume the body parts were disposed of in different locations,’ Richards said. ‘We need to find the rest of her.’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘Sometimes I can be helpful.’

  ‘What about the forensic toxicology, Doc?’

  ‘I found no evidence of drugs, alcohol, or any other toxic substance. Her DNA was input into the database, but no match was found. There were no medical abnormalities. However, there were still traces of amniotic fluid in her cervix, and from that I was able to determine two things. First, the baby is a boy. And second, the father is a man called Kenneth Crafford.’ She slid a piece of paper across the table. ‘He’s a solicitor, and that’s his home and work addresses. Apparently, he volunteered a DNA sample eighteen months ago, which should have been removed by now.’

  Parish stared at her and then at the paper, pushed his dinner plate to one side, and started on his treacle tart and ice cream.

  ‘We have a lead, Sir,’ Richards said.

  ‘I forgot all about the amniotic fluid,’ Parish said, as a globule of ice cream made one of his teeth hurt. ‘It’s like an internal safe deposit box. I’m beginning to think you might know what you’re doing after all, Doc.’

  ‘Very generous of you to say so, Inspector.’

  ‘Richards, remind me to book a dentist’s appointment.’

  ‘Serves you right for eating rubbish all the time.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion on my dietary habits.’

  ‘Maybe you should.’

  ‘Anything else, Doc?’
>
  ‘There were no identifying marks on the body, so we still don’t know who she is I’m afraid.’

  ‘You’ve given us a lead. Hopefully, we’ll soon find out who she is. And then we’ll just follow the breadcrumbs to her killer.’

  ‘I hope it’s that easy.’

  ‘It won’t be,’ Richards said.

  ‘You’ve been infected by Toadstone, haven’t you?’ He turned to the Doc. ‘You haven’t got anything for a case of pessimism, have you?’

  ‘If it’s left to fester, it can become serious. The only known antidote is optimism.’

  ‘See, Richards. Not only am I your boss, but I’m also your antidote. If you swap me for Kowalski, your pessimism could get a lot worse. Admit it, you need me.’

  ‘Huh.’

  On the way across the car park, Parish’s phone vibrated.

  ‘Parish?’

  ‘This is Constable Lola Laveque from Missing Persons.’

  ‘Hello, Lola. Have you got good news for me?’

  ‘I have the names of two MPs who match the criteria you gave me this morning.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Clare Stratton and Karin Rix..’ She gave him the names and addresses of the people who had reported the two women missing, and he repeated what she said, so that Richards could write the details down in her notebook.

  ‘Everything else okay?’

  ‘Lola is keeping low to the ground like a snake’s belly. Devil’s spawn is...’

  The call ended abruptly.

  It began to snow.

  ***

  ‘Are you thinking it could be the wife of one of her male customers?’ Kowalski asked Nash.

  They were still sitting in the pub’s living room.

  Nash nodded. ‘She was pretty, the cleaner said so. She’s had her face smashed in, and a dead flower pushed up her vagina. I think the clues are there.’

  ‘The face – yes, but I’d be happier if I knew the significance of that dead flower. What does it mean?’

  ‘Destroyer of relationships maybe, or something along those lines.’

  Kowalski leaned back on the hard-backed chair unconvinced. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘So, where do we start?’

  ‘Bar staff,’ he said. ‘They’d probably know if the landlady were having sexual relationships with her customers. Go and find Di and ask her if she’s come across a PAYE book, or something relating to pub staff.’

  Nash wandered out to find Di Heffernan.

  Was it the wife of Lisa Taverner’s latest beau? It wasn’t a robbery, of that he was sure. The killer must have come prepared with the iron bar and dead flower. It was certainly premeditated, and it would be unlikely that a woman would have used a heavy iron bar. He’d be interested to know if there were any fingerprints on the iron bar. The killer must have also been splattered with the victim’s blood.

  Nash returned carrying a ledger in her gloved hands, and placed it open on the table.

  ‘Five current staff, three more who have recently left. I’ve written all the names, addresses and telephone numbers down in my notebook.’

  Kowalski checked his watch. ‘It’s five past eleven. The lunchtime staff should be arriving soon. Go and tell the uniform at the door to give us a shout when they get here.’

  ‘They say exercise is good for the heart, you know.’

  ‘I’m grateful that you’re taking an interest in my health needs, Nash. Now, do as I ask.’

  That’s all he needed – a partner who didn’t think he had the right to tell her what to do. He sighed. What the fuck did you have to go and kill yourself for, Ed? Why didn’t you talk to me? We were mates for Christ’s sake.

  He looked at the ledger on the table. The five staff still employed were Julie Day, Donna Burgan, Muriel Davies, Adrian Powell and Caroline Mitchell. The three who had left were Christopher Leamon, Christine Henery and Tony Gardner. He and Nash needed to interview them all.

  Nash came back with a busty female wearing a low-cut top, false eyelashes, and a long blond wig.

  ‘This is Muriel Davies,’ Nash said.

  He stood up and offered his hand. ‘Muriel, thanks for agreeing to talk to us.’

  She stopped chewing the gum in her mouth. ‘Dead I hear?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid Miss Taverner was murdered last night.’

  ‘And who have you got for it?’

  He gave her half a smile. ‘Do you have a list of possible suspects for us?’

  ‘Well, I would have said Sharon Cutin – Geordie Curtin’s wife.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Came in yesterday effin’ and blindin’ like a miner about how Miss Taverner was a whore for trying to steal her husband. Tried to climb over the bar to get to the landlady, but two of the regulars stopped her and threw her out. That was the lunch time entertainment. Who needs to watch Eastenders when you can get it here for real?’

  ‘Mrs Curtin didn’t come back inside?’

  ‘Not while I was there. I only do lunchtimes until three o’clock. Got a kid and no husband. Pick him up from school at three forty.’

  ‘Any other people near the top of your suspect list?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a list all right. She was working on Geordie Curtin. He’d said no up until yesterday, but you could see he was wilting. She kept flashing her tits, wearing short skirts with stockings and suspenders underneath, and bending over so that he got an eyeful. Men can’t resist those tactics for very long.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose so.’ He knew very well how long his resistance lasted. He could count the seconds on one hand. ‘Do you know the names of the men she took up to her rooms recently?’

  ‘As I said, I don’t work at nights. Sometimes I get my mum to look after Dirk, and I come in here for a drink. Mostly though, I’m stuck in the flat watching TV. You want to speak to Donna. She’ll be here by now. She works lunchtimes and evenings, and keeps me up to speed with what goes on at night. Well, she used to. Is the pub opening?’

  ‘Not today. It’s a crime scene.’

  ‘When will it...?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I have no idea what will happen. You probably need to phone the brewery.’

  She stood up. ‘Thanks, anyway.’

  ‘Bring Donna Burgan in if she’s out there,’ Kowalski said to Nash.

  Chapter Four

  Angela Parish was meeting Laveen Edminson for lunch. They hadn’t seen each other since she’d met Jed. Laveen was her oldest friend from nurse training, but now worked in one of the local banks as a Customer Manager. Laveen was five years older than her and had two grown-up children. A boy called Harris who was a structural engineer in Germany, and a girl called Romney who did film animation with a television company in Canada.

  She sat down at a table near the window in the Marquis de Salade. The cafe was in a back street in Chigwell. She wasn’t keen on the name, but the food was always delicious.

  It had been seven months since she’d married Jed, and she still couldn’t get used to calling herself Mrs Angela Parish. She had been Angela Richards for so long it was hard to make the adjustment. And, of course, Mary hadn’t changed her name, so she was still called Richards. It was all a bit confusing. And the rigmarole she’d had to go through in becoming Angela Parish in reality. It wasn’t just a case of getting married and signing a bit of paper. There were bank accounts, the deeds of the house, her mobile phone records/bills, utility bills, the home telephone, her car insurance... the list just went on and on. In fact, she was still getting mail addressed to Angela Richards. The more she wrote to them with her new name, the more mail Angela Richards received. It was as if somebody somewhere just didn’t want her to be married to Jed Parish.

  ‘Let me look at you,’ Laveen squealed as she came into the cafe. She was still at the door when she said it, so everyone in the cafe heard and turned to stare.

  Angie blushed.

  ‘Come on, stand up. Let me see what that nasty policeman has done to you.’

  Angie stood up to reveal her bulging midriff.<
br />
  ‘My God, it’s triplets.’

  ‘It had better not be.’

  ‘It’ll weigh at least twenty pounds.’

  ‘Closer to twenty-five.’

  They burst out laughing and hugged.

  Angie was relieved to be out of the glare when they sat down. Laveen looked beautiful. Her hair was light brown and cut into a bob, which she’d tucked behind her ears. The wrinkles were beginning to make inroads, but still had a way to go. Her enthusiasm and laughter were still as infectious as chicken pox, and that’s why Angie had kept in touch with Laveen.

  ‘Boy or girl?’

  ‘It’ll be a boy.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’

  ‘No, but it’ll be a boy. I’ve had instructions.’

  ‘Of course, they want a male heir to continue the line. Men are so prehistoric.’

  The waitress came over with two menus and they ordered an iced latte each to drink.

  ‘What are you having?’ Laveen asked.

  ‘I think I’ll have the spinach, mozzarella, and roasted red pepper panini. It comes with curly fries and a side salad. I shouldn’t, but as long as that nasty policeman doesn’t find out...’

  Laveen slammed her menu shut, took Angie’s from her and said, ‘I’ll have the same.’ After some hand waving the waitress came over and took their order.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Noah, or on the outside chance that a baby girl comes along – Evie.’

  ‘No middle names?’

  ‘It’s complicated. Walter for a boy, and Vovka if it’s a girl. They both mean Walter.’

  ‘How last century.’

  ‘As I said, it’s complicated. Jed’s boss made a bequest in his will, and we have to call the child Walter to receive the money.’

  ‘Oh well, if there’s money involved, call it whatever you want.’

  ‘He was also a dear friend.’

  ‘So, tell me about this nasty policeman?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, he’s not so nasty.’ She’d brought a couple of wedding photographs with her, and passed them across the table.

  ‘At your age – you should be ashamed of yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’

  They laughed again.

  ‘He’s yummy.’