by Ellis, Tim
‘Proves my point. If Nash was still with you, you’d have sent her, not come yourself.’
She was right. Nash had been right as well. ‘Now that I am here, can we get on with it?’
‘Of course. The iron bar is just that – an iron bar. It isn’t new. We found spots of rust on it. It could have come from anywhere. There were no fingerprints or DNA found on it. The flower was the same. However, I did find out...’
‘Rejected love.’
‘You’ve been doing your homework.’
‘I’m a detective. I detect.’
She passed him a brown envelope. ‘Photographs. Also, we found a fabulous array of pubic and other hairs in the bed and on the floor. And, we discovered numerous stains on the bedding belonging to at least seven different people. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘Apparently, she liked to have a different man in her bed every night.’
‘I wish I had the energy.’
Kowalski grinned. ‘And me.’
She handed him a sheet of paper. ‘It wasn’t only men she liked to have in her bed. Two DNA matches. As you’ll see, a woman by the name of Caroline Mitchell spent some time in there as well.’
He looked at the paper. The other name was James Smith. Both had addresses, but he didn’t need to visit Caroline Mitchell – she was one of the bar staff, and she was coming to see him this morning.
On some cases, suspects were like rocking horse shit – you just couldn’t find them if your life depended on it. This case though, he had more suspects than he could shake a dirty stick at.
‘Just when I thought I was getting somewhere, you have to bowl me a googly.’
‘I used to play women’s cricket at uni, but I was the wicket-keeper not a bowler.’
‘I can imagine. Anything else?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘More than.’
‘We still have a significant amount of bodily hairs, fluids, and fibres to analyse, so I’ll let you know more when I have it.’
‘Thanks. Unfortunately, evidence of more suspects won’t help me.’
‘There’s no pleasing some people. You moan when we find nothing, and you moan when we find something. Maybe I’m in the wrong profession, or maybe I’m getting too old and wise to put up with your crap, Kowalski. Next time, send your gofer.’
‘Always a pleasure coming up here to see your smiling face, Di.’
‘Swivel.’
***
That devil’s spawn was the scourge of her life. She had created more than a dozen poppets, used spawn’s own hair, fingernails, and saliva, but nothing seemed to stop that crazy bitch. She was like a cockroach – never stop ‘em, never kill ‘em.
She began to read the notes that someone had made on the whiteboard, and realised she must be in the wrong incident room. But she didn’t get up and leave, because something had caught her eye – a dead flower!
‘Uh oh!’ she said out loud. She’d seen something like that only the other day. Now, what was it? And where was it?
She got up, opened the door a crack, and squeezed her head out into the corridor. Looking both ways, she didn’t see devil’s spawn waiting to pounce on her. She made a dash for the stairs, but Inspector Threadneedle was hiding in the shadow of a doorway.
‘Constable Laveque, and what could possibly bring you up here to the third floor?’
Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw devil spawn’s horns, her burning red eyes, and the drool from her mouth burning holes in the linoleum. The stench of sulphur wafted up her nostrils.
‘Message, Ma’am, for Inspector Parish, ‘bout an MP.’
‘And you couldn’t send him an email?’
‘Wanted it urgent, he did. Matter of life death, he said.’
‘Is he here?’
‘Can’t find him, Ma’am.’
‘You could text him.’
‘Ain’t got my phone on me.’
A mobile phone appeared in Inspector Threadneedle’s hand as if the devil had nothing else better to do. ‘Tell me the message, I’ll send it to him?’
‘Ain’t got the exact details on me, Ma’am.’
‘How strange. Now I come to think of it, didn’t I say you couldn’t come up here?’
‘Don’t recall, Ma’am.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you recall every word. Well, let me reiterate, Constable. This floor is for detectives. I know you’ve passed Phase One of your National Investigators Examination, but you’re not a detective. And if I have my way, you never will be a detective. You work in Missing Persons. Is that clear?’
‘Clear, Ma’am. Lola works in Missing Persons, she ain’t allowed up here on the third floor neverways, and she ain’t never gonna be a detective.’
‘That’s right. To my mind people should be put where they’re best suited, and your place is in Missing Persons. As far as I’m concerned you’d make a useless detective – you’re too small and too fat.’
‘Too small and fat, thank you, Ma’am.’
‘Now, you have work to do in Missing Persons, I believe.’
‘Work is piling up, Ma’am.’
‘If you have a message for Inspector Parish either email or text him, but don’t let me ever catch you up here again.’
‘Ain’t no third floor to this police station anymore, Ma’am.’
‘Good. Off you go now.’
She hung her head, and made her way back down the stairs to Missing Persons. How did devil’s spawn know she’d gone up there? What was she doing in that doorway? She must have some powerful juju to stop her poppets in their tracks. What was she going to do now?
Chapter Seven
It was five to nine. Two of the bar staff – Julie Regan and Adrian Powell – had arrived and were waiting in reception to be interviewed. He was beginning to regret getting rid of Nash before she’d helped him with the interviews. He thought he’d get Powell out of the way first, but he was going to be pushed for time. He could afford ten minutes with each, and then he had to start off to King George Hospital for Lisa Taverner’s post mortem.
Ade Powell – as he liked to be called – was a bodybuilder. Even though it was minus five degrees outside, he wore an ultra-tight T-shirt that emphasised his physique and enormous muscles. Kowalski was reminded of his younger rugby-playing years.
‘You’re a barman at The Snooty Pig?’
‘And security. I get paid extra to keep the peace. Aren’t you going to switch the tape recorder on?’
‘We only do that for suspects. Should we consider you as a suspect, Mr Powell?’
‘Hardly. You should know yourself that the drugs I take shrivel up my testicles and stop me from getting a hard-on.’
‘You take drugs?’
‘Steroids, HSG, Lasix and Cytomel.’
Kowalski had heard of all of them, but never taken any after he found out how they destroyed your body from the inside out. ‘You’ll fucking kill yourself.’
‘Hey, a man’s gotta do... If you wanna be the best, you have to make sacrifices.’
Kowalski shrugged. Time was running out – in more ways than one. ‘What can you tell me about The Snooty Pig and Lisa Taverner last night?’
‘Place was heaving. Even though it was a Tuesday, you couldn’t move. Used to be a normal pub until she turned it into a knocking shop.’
‘Do you know who went upstairs with Miss Taverner last night?’
‘No one.’
‘I thought she had a different man every night.’
‘Two or three times a week maybe. But nobody knew which night. That’s why the place was heaving. They all came hoping last night was one of the nights.’
‘Did you have any trouble during the night?’
‘I don’t get trouble. People in Wormley know not to give me any trouble.’
‘If you were going to point the finger at anyone for killing Miss Taverner, who would it be?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea. There were lots of wives wanted to k
ill her, but I don’t think any of them did.’
‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’
‘Anybody mentioned the flowers?’
‘What flowers?’
‘For the past month somebody had been sending her a bouquet of white roses once a week – she was getting spooked by it.’
‘Was there a card with them?’
‘Had on it, “I Love You, J”.
‘And she didn’t know who “J” was?’
‘No idea.’
‘Who delivered the flowers?’
‘Different florists every time. Two stuck in my mind: The Flower Grove and Simply Flowers.’
‘Thanks for your help, Mr Powell.’
‘No problemo.’
‘It doesn’t sound right without a German accent.’
‘Austrian.’
‘Same place, aren’t they?’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
Next, he interviewed Julie Regan and then Christine Henery, both of whom had been recruited for their ample curves, and not the size of their brains. Neither could add to what he already knew about Lisa Taverner and what happened on Tuesday night.
‘Sit down, Miss Mitchell,’ Kowalski said. He glanced at the clock. It was twenty past nine. He’d done well, so far.
‘Caroline... please.’ She touched his hand.
She had long dark hair bunched on either side of her head that hung to her navel. Heavy black and blue eye make-up, earrings the size of knuckle-dusters, and a chunky necklace with a large cross that hung between her generous tattooed breasts.
‘You’re here for a police interview, Miss Mitchell, not an audition for a movie.’ He was tempted to say “porn movie”, but resisted. ‘Your DNA was found in Miss Taverner’s bed. What can you tell me about that?’
‘What do you want to know? I like men and women. I like threesomes, foursomes, and lotsomes. You can see I’m built for it. Maybe you and I...?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘So, there’s a sliver of a chance then?’
‘No. When you were sharing a bed with Lisa Taverner, who else was in the bed besides you and her?’
‘Which time?’
Kowalski’s face creased up. ‘How many times were you in her bed?’
‘Lots. Once people have a nibble of me, they want to gobble me all up.’
He shook his head. ‘I have no doubt. Can you think of anyone who would want to kill Lisa Taverner?’
‘Are we excluding all the wives, all the men she didn’t fancy, all the...?’
‘Never mind. What about the white roses, do you know anything about those?’
‘The secret admirer. That’s what we all called him.’
‘Him?’
‘Well, it could have been a woman, but we guessed it was a man.’
‘No idea who it might have been?’
‘None.’
‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’
‘What, like I have multiple orgasms, and...?’
‘About the murder of Miss Taverner.’
‘You know about the phone calls, right?’
‘What phone calls?’
‘When she began getting the white roses, the phone calls started as well.’
‘And?’
‘That’s it. He’d ring, say nothing for a minute, then put the phone down.’
He phoned Di Heffernan. ‘Can you get me The Snooty Pig’s phone records for the past month?’
She made a noise down the phone.
He smiled. ‘Thanks, Di.’
Turning back to Caroline Mitchell he said, ‘Thank you for your help, Miss Mitchell.’ He moved round the table to escort her out.
‘I could be more help if you’d let me,’ she said stroking his thigh. ‘I bet a woman’s erogenous zones aren’t unfamiliar to you.’
‘I’m flattered, but no thanks.’
‘Okay. I have a queue anyway, but I was gonna let you jump right over that queue with those strong legs you’ve got.’
She didn’t look so desperate that she had to chase after a fat old man. Maybe he still had it after all.
***
So, Lola had passed her Phase One National Investigators Examination – an idea jumped fully formed into his head.
He’d sent Richards to see Jenny Weber – the Press Officer – to organise a press briefing for ten o’clock, and he was on his way to the incident room when he heard Inspector Threadneedle talking to someone. Out of curiosity, he’d stopped to listen to what she was saying.
‘Maureen, how nice to see you,’ he said as he walked round the corner.
‘Oh hello, Parish. How long have you been skulking there?’
‘Long enough. I was waiting until you’d finished tearing a strip off PC Laveque for coming up here to see me.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘She deserved it. I’d previously told her she wasn’t allowed up here.’
‘No one deserves to be spoken to like that, and no one deserves to be stuck in a tiny box to work. I’d like to take Lola off your hands, bring her up here to work with me.’
‘She’s mine, you can’t have her.’
‘If you don’t give her to me of your own free will I’ll make sure you’re investigated by the Professional Standards Committee. You know how much we detectives like to fabricate and plant evidence.’
‘I know about you, Parish.’
‘What do you know, Maureen? That I’m a man of my word, and that I don’t like dirty cops or bullies? That I’ll do whatever’s necessary to right a wrong, protect the innocent, and bring the guilty to justice?’
‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Many people underestimate me. One day I’ll return the favour. You can have Laveque, but you’ll end up paying three times what she’s worth.’
‘I’m sure I will, Maureen, but that’s usually the way it goes. You’ll send her up to see me?’
‘Tomorrow morning. I need her to hand over to somebody else first.’
‘Thank you. Very kind.’
Maureen Threadneedle looked at him as if she really could turn people to stone, and then walked towards the stairs.
His arms and legs began to stiffen up, so he backtracked to let the Chief know what he’d done.
Carrie was sitting at her desk outside the Chief’s office.
‘Hello, Jed. How are you?’
He smiled. ‘It’s nice to see you, Carrie. I’m good. How’s the job going?’
‘I love it here.’
‘I’m glad.’ He moved towards the Chief’s office door and opened it before Carrie could stop him. There was a grey-haired man in a pinstriped suit sitting in an easy chair speaking. ‘Oh, sorry,’ he said, and shut the door again.
‘She has a meeting with Lord Peter Elias, the Lord Chief Justice.’
He wasn’t listening. As soon as he saw Peter Elias he just knew who he was. He may have been the Lord Chief Justice, but he was also the Worshipful Grandmaster of the P2 Freemason’s lodge. What concerned him was that the Chief was having a meeting with Elias straight after their meeting in the toilet. He hated coincidences. Was she ratting him out? Was he a dead man looking for a place to die? No, she wouldn’t do that – would she?
***
‘What old Lola gonna do?’ Lola mumbled to herself as she sat back down in the chair in her tiny room. ‘That devil’s spawn has been sent from hell to drag poor old Lola down there. She got her claws round my ankles, and she be pullin’ hard that’s for sure.’
She withdrew the bag of bones from her handbag, and threw them on the floor. Then she picked up the gold ornate bell next to her computer and rang it three times. As she stomped on the bones with both feet she began to chant...
I call upon the Ancient Ones from the great abyss to do my bidding I invoke Cuthalu, God of Anger and the creatures of the underworld hear me now...
Bones of anger, bones to dust
full of fury, revenge is just
I scatter these bones, these bones of rage
>
take thine enemy, bring her pain
I see thine enemy before me now
I bind her, crush her, bring her down
With these bones I now do crush
Make thine enemy turn to dust
torment, fire, out of control
With this hex I curse your soul
So mote it be!
There was a knock at the door. It began to open.
‘Hello, is anybody there?
She pushed the bag of bones under the table with her foot. ‘Lola ain’t receiving no visitors now. What you want?’
The head of a freckle-faced young woman appeared round the door. ‘I was told by Inspector Threadneedle to...’
Lola crossed herself.
‘Oh... to come in here and take over Missing Persons from you. My name’s PC Ann Preston.’
‘What you saying, girl? Lola in charge of Missing Persons, not you. Git your lily-white ass out of my salacious office.’
‘Constable Laveque?’
Lola’s eyes opened wide. ‘Yes’m, Ma’am?’
‘I’m not squeezing into that grotto you call an office, come into the corridor.’
She shuffled out through the door.
‘I’ve decided that I’ve had enough of your insubordination, your slovenly ways, and your hoodoo voodoo rubbish. For the rest of today, you’re to hand over Missing Persons to PC Preston. Tomorrow morning you will report to Inspector Parish on the third floor...’
‘Ain’t no third floor to this police station, Ma’am.’
‘Of course there is. Don’t be stupid, Constable. Why Inspector Parish wants you is anybody’s guess, but he’s welcome to you. Good riddance is what I say.’
‘Good riddance to Constable Lola. Yes’m, Ma’am.’
‘Take Constable Preston in there, and don’t come out until she knows everything you do about Missing Persons.’
Inspector Threadneedle began to walk away.
Lola called after her, ‘Constable Preston will know as much as Lola in the morning, Ma’am. You just watch and see.’
