by Ellis, Tim
‘Or I could drive, and you could ring those people.’
‘Just do as I ask, Nash. Why does everything have to be a battle with you?’
‘Because you pick the easy jobs for yourself all the time.’
Kowalski climbed into the driver’s side and had to adjust the seat and mirror. After another battle played out as she gave him the postcode for Tony Gardner’s address. Neither suspect lived far from the pub.
After she’d contacted the four bar staff he said to her, ‘I discovered that a dead flower means, “rejected love”.’ Not for her input, but merely to break the heavy silence between them. Once they got back to the station he’d tell her that regardless of what the Chief said, he’d rather work on his own from now on. Tomorrow, if she were still in the team, she could interview the bar staff and then focus on paperwork. He didn’t want to spend the best part of his life with someone he didn’t get on with.
‘Rejected love! Okay, but the flower might just be a flower. It might not have any underlying message like that.’
‘The killer specifically pushed the stem up her vagina. If it’d had no message he would have simply placed it on her body. Putting it where he did was a deliberate act.’
‘I can’t believe that your average guy knows that a dead flower means rejected love. Who knows things like that? You didn’t know.’
No he didn’t. She was certainly right about that. ‘The smashed in face was a message as well.’
‘Oh?’
‘If I can’t have you, no one else will.’
‘So, you think she rejected someone’s advances. He then came back, smashed her head in, and deposited a dead flower in her vagina?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. He came prepared with the iron bar and the flower. It was obviously premeditated.’
‘He broke in. It wasn’t last night’s lover.’
‘If she had a man every night, where was he? Who was he?’
Nash folded up her notebook and put it back in her coat pocket. ‘Yes, we don’t even know who went up to her rooms last night. If there was someone, he obviously didn’t stay. Maybe we’ll find out who he was tomorrow when we interview the other bar staff. Also, I can’t imagine Lisa Taverner rejecting anyone. If what Donna Burgan and Muriel Davies said was true about her having a different man every night, then she couldn’t afford to reject people.’
‘The photographs suggest she was pretty good looking, and she certainly had a nice body...’
‘Trust a man to notice that.’
He ignored her. There was no point in arguing for the sake of it. He’d already decided to get rid of her.
‘...So, I think she could afford to be picky. I also think that a different man every single night is probably an exaggeration. I’m sure there were times during the month when she wouldn’t want to have sex.’
Kowalski stopped outside Number 17 Wharf Road. They climbed out, walked up the path, and knocked on the door.
It opened. A man in his early forties as tall and wide as Kowalski stood there in a stained vest, tracksuit bottoms and flip-flops. ‘Yeah?’
Kowalski held out his warrant card. ‘Mr Tony Gardner?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘We’d like to ask you some questions about your relationship with Lisa Taverner.’
‘I didn’t have a fucking relationship with her – that was the problem. Bitch! Fucked everyone, but wouldn’t let me fuck her ass. I heard it on the news she was murdered last night. The bitch got what was coming to her.’
‘Do you mind if we come in?’ Nash asked.
‘What – too fucking cold out there for you pigs? Bollocks, you can stand out there.’
‘Where were you last night, Mr Gardner?’ Kowalski asked.
‘Here, all night.’
‘Can anyone verify that?’
‘Do I need someone to?’
‘Yes.’
‘Verity,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘Get your fat fucking arse out here.’
A heavy black woman wearing a T-shirt and shorts came to the door.
‘Tell these fucking pigs where I was last night.’
‘He was here making my life a bleeding misery,’ she said.
He raised his hand as if to hit her, but she shuffled back along the hallway.
‘Fucking bitch,’ he shouted after her.
‘Fucking bastard,’ bounced back at him.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Gardner.’
‘Fuck off.’ The door slammed.
‘We should have arrested him,’ Nash said.
‘Why?’
‘He could have killed her.’
‘Without brains that would have been difficult.’
Tony Gardner wasn’t their killer. Kowalski pulled his coat collar up. The snow was getting worse.
The next address was 23 Bushby Avenue. Christopher Leamon had just gone to the shops for cigarettes when they arrived. Mrs Leamon invited them in to a messy living room to wait. There were three children under the age of ten sitting on the floor watching a horror movie.
‘He won’t be long. Coffee?’
‘That would be good,’ Kowalski said, opening his coat and sitting on the sofa.
Instead of heading for the kitchen Mrs Leamon sat in a chair. ‘It’s about that bitch at the Pig, isn’t it?’
‘Miss Taverner. Yes.’
‘She got what was coming to her.’
‘So we’ve been told. You don’t happen to know where your husband was last night, do you?’
‘And why wouldn’t I? He was here all night with the kids and me. Fucking bitch. Why didn’t she want my husband to fuck her? Oh, I know he can be an arsehole most of the time, and he doesn’t wash when he should, but he’s not as bad as some she went with.’
Nash moved to the edge of the sofa. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Leamon. Are you saying that you’d have been happy for your husband to have had sex with Lisa Taverner?’
‘No, what do you take me for? But I’m certainly not happy at the cow saying my husband wasn’t fit to sleep with. What does that say about me?’
They heard the front door open. A blast of Siberian wind gusted along the hall and into the living room.
‘Shut the fucking door, dad,’ the middle child shouted without turning round.
‘It’s like the fucking Antarctic out there,’ Mr Leamon said as he shut the front door.
‘The police are here,’ his wife shouted to him.
‘Let Rasputin out of the kitchen, Cindy. He’ll chase the bastards out.’
Kowalski could hear Rasputin scratching at the kitchen door.
‘Oh hello, officers,’ Mr Leamon said as he came into the living room. ‘I didn’t see you there. Would you like to meet Rasputin? He’s my Doberman, and he just loves to chew on police officers.’
‘If you do,’ Nash said. ‘You’ll be arrested, and the dog will be put down.’
‘I had nowt to do with her timely death. That’s what you’re here about, isn’t it?’ Leamon flopped into a chair and lit up a cigarette. He had short black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a beard. His shoulders sloped dramatically below a head that seemed too big for his body, and his eyes didn’t seem to fit right – the left one wandered off to the left before it returned to centre again.
‘Yes, that’s what we’re here about,’ Nash said. ‘Your wife said you were home all night.’
‘Well, there you are then. I have a cast-iron alibi. You can get the fuck out now.’
‘Can you tell us about your relationship with Lisa Taverner?’
‘You already know she wouldn’t have sex with me, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You think I killed her because of that. Well, if I’d thought about it long enough I might have done, but I didn’t. My wife gives me all the sex I want, and more. Don’t you Cindy?’
‘Yeah, he gets what he wants from me all right.’
Kowalski stood. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr and Mrs Leamon. I hope there won’t be any need to bother you again.’
; ‘If you do come back,’ Leamon said. ‘Rasputin will probably answer the door.’
In the car Nash said, ‘He could’ve done it.’
‘No brains again. Lisa Taverner’s killer thought about what he was going to do to her. He planned it and came prepared. There’ll be no fingerprints, DNA, or fibres. He doesn’t want to get caught. And even though the iron bar and flower were left at the scene, forensics won’t find any trace evidence on either of them, and we won’t be able to tie them back to him.’
‘You don’t know any of that.’
‘I’ve been doing this job for a while, Nash. I’m giving you the benefit of my experience.’
‘Even so. I like to keep an open mind.’
‘You do that.’ Ed would have come to the same conclusion as him. Nash merely annoyed him now.’
He switched the engine and lights on and headed back to the station. The snow was still falling, and it was difficult to see. Thankfully, Nash kept her mouth shut.
***
‘This snow reminds me that it’s nearly a year since we met.’
‘A year of hell.’
Her eyes narrowed as she turned to look at him. ‘Meaning?’
‘We’ve lost a few good friends.’
‘Oh yes. I thought you meant it’s been hell with me as your partner.’
‘That as well.’
‘I know you don’t mean it.’
‘Not everything is about you, Richards.’
‘I know. I still miss the Chief.’
‘When we get home you, me and Digby can build a snowman.’
She laughed and her eyes opened wide. ‘With a hat and scarf?’
‘Most definitely. No shabby snowmen at 38 Puck Road.’
First they travelled to Little Brook Road in Roydon to see Julie Regan – the flatmate of the first missing person that Lola had given them – Karin Rix.
Richards knocked at Number 7. She had a patterned woolly hat on her head, and a thick matching scarf knotted around her neck. ‘I don’t mind the snow, but I hate the wind.’
The door opened. ‘Yes?’
‘Police,’ Richards said. She already had her warrant card out. ‘We’d like to ask you some questions about Karin Rix.’
‘You’d better come in.’
Once they were sitting on hardback chairs in the kitchen Julie Regan said, ‘Hot drink?’
‘No thanks,’ Parish said. ‘Will you sit down, please.’
Julie Regan had shoulder-length blonde hair, a sleeveless knitted top, and both arms were completely covered in tattoos.
‘Nice artwork,’ Richards said.
‘Got them in other places as well.’ She nodded at Parish. ‘But I won’t say where. What do you want to know about Karen?’
‘You reported her missing?’
‘Yeah, about five weeks ago. A week after she’d given birth.’
‘And you’ve still heard nothing from her?’
‘No. Not a word.’
‘What about her mobile?’
‘I’ve left messages – nothing.’
‘What happened to the baby?’
‘She put it up for adoption. She was only twenty-two. Although she wanted to keep it she knew it would ruin her life.’
‘A boy or a girl?’
‘A girl.’
‘Thanks very much for your help, Miss Regan,’ Parish said, standing up.
‘Is that it?’
‘We’ve found a woman’s body – it isn’t your friend.’
‘I suppose I should be thankful for that, but what about Karen?’
Parish pulled a sympathetic face. ‘The officers assigned to her case will keep searching.’
Outside in the car Richards said, ‘What officers?’
‘Sometimes it’s appropriate to tell little white lies.’
‘I suppose.’
‘One down, one to go.’
Mr Michael Proctor was the boyfriend of Clare Stratton who lived at 176 Highland Road in Little Nazeing. It was ten to four when they arrived.
‘You’ve got news of Clare,’ Mr Proctor asked when they told him who they were.
‘Before we answer that,’ Richards said. ‘Could you answer a few questions?’
‘Of course.’
‘Our understanding is that Clare recently gave birth?’
‘On 12th November.’
‘Was the baby a boy or a girl?’
‘A boy – he was our second – Terrence Victor we called him.’
‘And where is the child now?’
‘Asleep in his cot.’
‘Do you mind if I take a look?’
Mike Proctor shrugged. ‘Okay.’
She followed Proctor upstairs and saw the baby asleep in his cot. Once they were downstairs again she said, ‘Did Miss Stratton have any identifying marks on her body?’
‘You’ve got photographs of her. Why can’t... God, you’ve found a body without a face.’
‘Identifying marks, Mr Proctor?’
He lifted up his left arm and pointed to the soft flesh near the armpit. ‘She’s got a mole here, about an inch in diameter, and another one beneath her pubic hairs.’
Richards paused for a moment. ‘A woman’s body has been found, but it isn’t Clare Stratton.’
‘Thank God,’ Proctor said. ‘You’ll keep looking for her?’
‘Of course we will,’ Richards lied.
‘You’re getting good at that,’ Parish said as they walked to the car.
‘What, lying?’
In the car he said, ‘And then there were none.’
‘You always say that when we run out of people.’
‘I never say that.’
***
Kowalski knocked on the Chief’s door. He’d left Nash to start making up an incident board with everything they knew about Lisa Taverner’s murder.
‘Come.’
‘Hello, Ray. How’s the investigation going?’
‘Okay, yeah. That’s not what I want to talk to you about though.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s about Nash.’
‘What about her?’
‘I can’t work with her.’
‘You chose her.’
‘I know. I made a mistake.’
‘There’s not a lot I can do about that. Has she done something wrong? Made a mistake? Been insubordinate?’
‘No, nothing like that. We’re just not on the same wavelength, and she’s a pain in the arse.’
‘You have to work at a relationship, Ray.’
‘That’s your advice?’
‘What do you want me to do – sack her?’
‘I don’t care. I just don’t want to work with her.’
‘You’re stuck with her, I’m afraid. If either of us do anything to jeopardise her position we’ll be facing a charge of constructive dismissal, and I certainly don’t want any problems like that on my watch.’
He stood up. ‘Thanks for nothing, Chief.’
It wasn’t really what he wanted to hear. Oh well, he’d just have to try and work through it. Shit!
***
Richards had nipped to the toilet before she took the pool car back. What she didn’t want to do was end up walking back in the freezing cold and the snow with a full bladder.
She heard the door open and Nash talking to someone on her mobile as she came in. For some strange reason she lifted her feet up, so that if Nash looked under the door she would think there was no one in the cubicle. Why she did it, she had no idea. Maybe she just didn’t want to talk to Nash.
‘Hang on, Sir.’
Richards felt her heart rate increase.
‘Okay, I’m alone.’
‘No, I hate working with him. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and he’s really just a fat old man.’
She thought Nash must be talking about Kowalski, but whom was she talking to?
‘No. As far as I know Parish and Richards haven’t mentioned anything about Frati Neri. I rifled through their desks,
but I didn’t find anything.’
Richards gasped, and pressed a hand to her mouth.
‘The Chief hasn’t spoken to me recently, but I’ve bugged her office. I’ll let you know if she’s plotting behind your back.’
God, what was going on? What was Nash talking about? Who the hell was she talking to?
‘Thank you, Sir.’
She heard water running, and then a paper towel being pulled from the dispenser.
The door opened and closed.
She waited. There were no other noises, so she put her feet down, stood on the toilet seat and looked over the cubicle. The room was empty.
After quickly washing her hands, she left the toilets and hurried down the stairs to the car park. She returned the pool car, and began to walk back to the station along the High Street in the snow.
She thought it had all ended, but it hadn’t. P2 were still watching them, and they’d put Nash in to spy on them. How, she had no idea. And how was the Chief involved? God, what was she going to do? This was one of those times that she shouldn’t go running off into the long grass. The first thing she needed to do was tell Inspector Parish – he would know what to do.
Chapter Six
Kowalski wandered into the incident room. He found Nash sitting on the table staring at the whiteboard upon which she’d written the details of the case.
‘Got everything down there?’
‘I think so. We won’t get photographs from forensics until the morning.’
‘Okay, you can go home now.’
‘You don’t want to talk about the case?’
‘Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I simply want to run things in slow time through my mind.’
Nash shrugged. ‘Okay. I don’t need to be told twice. Goodnight.’
‘Yeah.’
He was depressed, and he blamed Ed. It wasn’t the fact that Ed had killed himself and his whole family that had got to him – yeah that was certainly something that had taken his breath away. But it was the fact that Ed hadn’t said one word to him – not one fucking word to his partner, his boss, and his friend. He kept thinking that it said more about him, than it did about Ed. Maybe he wasn’t fit to be all those things – maybe he was more suited to working alone.
