by Ellis, Tim
‘I think you summed up the task very well, Kristina.’
‘Bollocks, Kowalski. Go and find out for yourself.’
The phone went dead.
‘You got a way with women,’ Lola said.
‘Thanks, Lola.’
‘No, it ain’t a good way.’
‘Oh!’
‘So, what we got?’
He told her what Kristina had said.
‘We going to the hospital then?’
‘I don’t know.’ He found the contact file on his desk, looked up DC Katie Walker’s number, and rang it.
‘Katie, it’s Inspector Kowalski.’
‘Hi, Sir.’
‘You found the vehicle I’ve been looking for on the hospital security recording, so I believe?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m sitting at my desk in the station.’
‘And you’ve got the CCTV recording with you?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, because of the snow yesterday afternoon at the time that nurse went missing. It’s bloody useless, can’t see anything.’
‘Couldn’t forensics clean it up?’
‘You mean remove the snow?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Have you been drinking, Sir?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, snow is snow. If it was electronic snow – interference – then they could maybe do something, but snow is... well, snow.’
‘Well, how come you saw the Range Rover?’
‘There was a break in the snow and we caught a glimpse of the number plate, but that’s all.’
‘And you think it has something to do with the nurse going missing?’
‘Not the foggiest idea. There were a number of vehicles that left the hospital around that time. It was knocking off time for the nine-to-fives. Also, we don’t know whether she was kidnapped and bundled into a vehicle, walked somewhere and hailed a taxi, or caught a plane to Abu Dhabi.’
‘So, you haven’t found the missing woman?’
‘Nope. No breadcrumbs to follow. We’re checking out the husband, stalkers, unhappy clients, you know the thing, but nothing yet.’
‘Oh well, thanks anyway, Katie.’
‘For what it’s worth you’re welcome.’
He put the phone down.
‘If’n the Rover be at the hospital,’ Lola said. ‘What was it doing there?’
‘More to the point what was Jeremy Kincaid doing there? I can’t see why he would kidnap a nurse. We’ll have to go there and find out if he had an appointment with someone.’
‘Like who?’
‘I don’t know... someone.’
***
The side door of the Toxic Club opened again. The same man said, ‘Come.’
They stepped inside.
‘I check for weapons.’
Parish lifted his arms and spread his legs while the man ran his hands over his body.
‘You’re not doing me,’ Richards said.
‘Stay outside then.’
‘It’s all right, you wait outside,’ Parish said.
‘This is one of those times I need to watch your back, isn’t it?’
‘I would say so.’
She stepped forward. ‘If you do anything I don’t like I’ll bite your nose and ears off.’
The man smirked, and then ran his hands lightly over her body.
‘Okay, follow me.’
They followed him down a set of stairs, through a steel door, and into an office where another, older man was sitting. There were half a dozen blank television screens hanging on the walls, a large desk, and some other hard back chairs.
‘What is it, don’t we pay you enough?’ the older man said. He had a receding hairline and a shaved head. He wore a crew neck jumper, but Parish could see the snake tattoo above the collar.
‘We’re from Hoddesdon Police Station investigating the murders of three women, all of whom had the club UV stamp on their left wrists.’
The man indicated Parish should sit. Richards remained standing behind him.
‘So, you think we murder paying customers now. A good strategy for increasing profits, hey?’ He laughed and the other man laughed with him.
‘These women have had their heads, hands and feet removed. So, someone is murdering your paying customers.’
‘And you think we’re going to help the police to find this person?’
‘That would be good. If I recall, co-operation is a two-way street.’
He looked at the bodyguard. ‘Do we have people on the books from Hoddesdon, Vasiliy?’
‘No, boss.’
‘If we’re not paying you, what do you know about co-operation?'
‘I know that those who don’t co-operate don’t stay in business very long.’
‘You come from Hoddesdon and threaten me.’ He opened a drawer in the desk, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at Parish. ‘Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now and take the woman?’
He saw Richards’ head move to stare at him.
This wasn’t really going according to plan – not that he had a plan. Threatening people worked if they feared what you were threatening them with, but this man had no such fears. He didn’t care that Parish had seen his gun, and he obviously had no issues about killing two police officers. ‘It would be in your best interests to co-operate with us, and that isn’t a threat, it’s good business practice. If people know, as they soon will, that women who come here are in danger of being murdered, then they’ll stop coming. By co-operating with the police, not only do you give your club an air of respectability in the eyes of the public, but your customers will have confidence that you’re doing everything in your power to protect them.’
He put the gun back in the drawer. ‘I like you. You talk my language.’ He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘The language of money. So, tell me what it is you want.’
‘Three women have been murdered and disposed of in sewers around Hoddesdon. The killer targets young women who have recently given birth. He chops off their head, hands and feet, which are disposed of somewhere else. On one of the victims he also sliced off a piece of skin from the left shoulder that had a butterfly tattoo on it.’ Parish illustrated the size of the tattoo by joining the thumbs and forefingers of both hands together to form a circular shape. ‘He obviously doesn’t want these women recognised. The only lead we have is the club’s UV stamp on their wrists.’
The man spoke Russian to his bodyguard, who began rummaging on a shelf.
‘Okay, as it is Christmas I will co-operate with the police.’ He laughed again and said something else in Russian to his bodyguard who also laughed. ‘If this is anything other than you finding a killer, I will kill you and all your family. Do you understand me?’
‘I understand.’ Parish had no doubt that the Russian would carry out his threat.
‘You have a card?’
Parish gave the man one of his cards, and was given one in return.
‘Now we both know the other.’
He looked down at the card he’d been given. It had a symbol that Parish didn’t recognise and a name: Boris Zakayev. The name meant nothing to him. He slipped the card in his pocket.
‘I recognise the butterfly. Her name is Irina Lugovoi. She used to work for me as a dancer until she got pregnant.’
The bodyguard passed Zakayev something, and he held it out towards Parish.
‘This is the security coverage for the club. You will see many things on this DVD, which you should ignore. Once you have what you need, you will destroy the disc – do we understand each other?’
Parish nodded. ‘We understand each other. I’m only interested in catching a killer.’
‘Similar murders occurred in Russia over the past ten years. The politsiya never caught him because he worked for me. His name is Dmitriy Lytkin. On the security disc, he is the one with the spider’s web tattoo on his face
. Vasiliy has put his address in there also.’
‘What about the babies?’ Richards asked.
‘Ah, she speaks. You are very pretty. You could come and dance in one of my clubs if you lose a few pounds. I will make you one of my women.’
‘I don’t think so.’
He laughed, and there was an exchange in Russian between the two men again.
‘The babies are for his mother. She likes to raise children in her own special way, as she did with Dmitriy. He likes to please his mother, and he also likes to kill women. Both get what they want.’
‘What is he doing over here?’ Parish said.
Zakayev leaned back in his chair. ‘I am to blame for that. As I said, he works for me. He promised me he wouldn’t murder any more women unless I authorised it. He has obviously disobeyed me, and has been working for himself and his mother again. It would be simpler for me to have him killed and make him disappear, but I give him to you in the spirit of co-operation. Of course, if you catch him alive, I do not know him.’
‘That goes without saying.’
‘And yet I have said it.’
‘Is his mother here as well?’ Richards said.
‘No, she is still in Russia.’
‘So, where are the babies?’
‘He would have sent them back to her on the Russian ships. Some people send money back to relatives, he sends babies. He may be a killer, but don’t mistake him for an ignorant man – he is not stupid.’
Parish stood up and offered his hand. ‘Thank you for your co-operation, Mr Zakayev.’
Zakayev opened the drawer again and withdrew a brown envelope, which he put in Parish’s outstretched hand. ‘And thank you for your co-operation also, Detective Inspector Parish.’
Parish looked at the envelope, and knew that if he refused to accept it he’d probably leave in a body bag. He slipped it in his pocket.
Zakayev nodded. ‘Show them out, Vasiliy.’
In the car Richards said, ‘I thought we were going to die in there.’
‘I think we were close a few times.’
‘He’s solved our case for us, hasn’t he?’
‘It would appear so. Mind you, he brought the killer over here in the first place.’
‘What’s in the envelope?’
‘What do you think is in the envelope?’
‘Money?’
‘I knew there was a brain in there somewhere.’
‘How much?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Just interested in what the wages are like.’
He took the envelope out of his pocket. The notes were all fifties, and bundled together in thousands – there were ten of them. ‘Ten thousand pounds.’
‘We’re in the wrong job.’
‘You could go back in there and say you’ve changed your mind.’
‘As if. So, you’ve taken a bribe.’
‘I accepted a donation for the Police Benevolent Fund. If I’d refused it what would have happened, do you think?’
‘You’d have been awarded a commendation?’
‘And they’d have pinned it to the body bag.’
‘What are we going to do now?’
‘Now, we’re going to call CO19, and get them to bring their tanks and bazookas so that we can go and arrest Dmitriy Lytkin.’
‘Do you think I need to lose a few pounds?’
‘I was wondering when we’d get to that.’
‘I think he had a cheek saying it.’
‘Do you want to be a pole dancer?’
‘Do you think I could?’
‘Would you like to have men ogling you and slipping five pound notes in your bra and knickers.’
‘You seem to know a lot about pole dancing.’
‘Police training.’
‘Liar! And anyway, I’d expect more than five pound notes – more like twenty, or fifty pound notes.’
‘If you were the mob boss’s moll you’d probably get fifty pound notes.’
‘Oh, so I wouldn’t get the high-value bank notes unless I was his moll, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Stop talking, Ring CO19 and tell them to meet us at Lytkin’s address in an hour.’
***
At the hospital they went directly to Medical Records. Kowalski flashed his warrant card at a dour faced woman called Joan Fletcher-Brown.
‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’
Kowalski sighed.
Lola shouldered herself in front of him. ‘No lady, you meant to be helpful. You got a supervisor? If’n you don’t want to help the police in the expediting of their duties we can always speak to your supervisor. In fact, maybe we go straight to the President of this here hospital and tell him what a sour-faced unhelpful cow you is. Are you impressed now?’
‘There’s no need to take that attitude.’
‘You the one with the attitude, lady. We want to know if’n a person by the name of Jeremy Kincaid had an appointment in the hospital yesterday afternoon. You think you can help us with that, or not?’
‘I can help you.’
‘Good. Git clickety-clacking then, and don’t keep us waiting.’
Kowalski smiled. It was like having his very own pit-bull terrier.
‘There were two people called Jeremy Kincaid who had appointments yesterday afternoon,’ the woman said. ‘One was a ten year-old boy visiting the oncology department for...’
‘No, not him,’ Lola said.
‘The other was a pensioner who went to the eye clinic.’
‘No, not him either. That all you got?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, thank you for your assistance.’
They were just about to go when Lola turned. ‘You got every place where people can have appointments connected to that there computer?’
‘No, there are two departments that run their own appointment system.’
‘And they are?’
‘Breast screening and Genitourinary Medicine.’
‘Well, a man ain’t going for breast screening. What’s the other one about?’
‘Sexually transmitted diseases, family planning care, pregnancy testing and advice, and sexual and genital problems.’
‘Okay, we gonna try there. Which way?’
The woman pointed to the left. ‘Third floor in the lift.’
‘See, it ain’t hard to be pleasant,’ were Lola’s parting words.
‘You were very good in there,’ Kowalski said as they walked along the corridor.
‘Miserable people make Lola angry. There be enough people in the world who have cause to be miserable. It didn’t look to Lola that she had any cause to be.’
When they reached Genitourinary Medicine, the receptionist – Alexandra Brannan – said they needed a warrant. Kowalski smiled at her, caressed her hand, and asked her to write her number on a bright yellow post-it note. She then felt she could probably tell them that a person of that name had not had an appointment in the department yesterday afternoon.
As soon as they left the department Kowalski screwed up the paper and threw it in the first bin he came to.
Lola laughed and then said, ‘We making a good team Ko-wall-ski.’
‘Yeah, but we still ain’t found Kincaid.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘I need some good PR at the moment. Ring Jenny Weber and tell her that the press briefing is cancelled, but to inform them that that they should meet me at...’
‘Haven’t you got a partner anymore?’
‘My PR is your PR. Generally, when they print something about me they usually use a picture of you.’
She used the thumb and forefinger of her left hand to rub her chin. ‘That’s very true.’
‘And keep your buttons done up and your skirt below your knees. I don’t want you showing off your bra and knickers for men to slip five-pound notes in.’
‘It’s fifty-pound notes, and if you hadn’t noticed I’m wearing trousers.’
‘Oh yeah. So, are you ringing
Jenny Weber, or just sitting there making complaints?’
She rang the press officer and told her what was happening.
Parish drove. They arrived at 12 Little Brook Road in Roydon with ten minutes to spare.
The press had begun to accumulate like cockroaches. It was as if somebody had switched the lights off in the bathroom.
‘So, Dmitriy Lytkin looks out of his window, sees us, the press, CO19, and leaves by the back door,’ Richards speculated.
‘You’re missing one important point.’
‘Go on, enlighten me?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She turned in her seat to stare at him. ‘When did he die?’
‘You tell me, nearly detective Richards?’
‘Oh! Well... instead of leaving by the back door, he decides he’s cornered and kills himself?’
‘He’s not the type of person that would commit suicide.’
‘Is this one of those locked room mysteries?’
‘If you like.’
‘Is there a puddle of water on the floor suggesting that it was a sliver of ice that’s now melted?’
‘No.’
‘There’s a secret passage?’
‘No.’
‘A duplicate key?’
‘No, and you’re not even close by the way.’
‘So, it’s not a locked room mystery?’
‘No.’
‘You said it was.’
‘You assumed it was.’
‘I give up.’
‘I hope you’re going to have more imagination, and not give up so easily on the next case, otherwise we’ll never catch the killer.’
‘Why would that be?’
‘Because you’re leading it.’
‘Oh God!’ She started breathing heavy. ‘I forgot.’
‘Do you want a brown paper bag?’
‘Have you got one?’
‘No.’
‘Okay, I’m all right now.’
‘Who did we just go and see?’
‘That mob boss, Boris Zakayev... Of course! He’s not going to let us take him alive. He’s already sent someone to kill Lytkin, hasn’t he?’
‘I knew you’d get there eventually.’
‘So, why are we sitting out here?’
‘Just in case he hasn’t.’
