by Ellis, Tim
‘Kathleen White from the Redbridge Camera,’ said a blonde-haired woman with flaccid jowls and more make-up on her face than Max Factor had in its warehouses. ‘Was Sally’s abduction related to the abductions of other children in the south-east of England?’
‘As far as we’re aware, there is no link between the abduction of Sally Bowker and any other child.’
A pretty waif with bright red lipstick and streaked white hair said, ‘Natalie McMullen from the Estuary Telegraph. Are you working with the Essex Police, DI Gold?’
Lily stepped forward. ‘Because Sally Bowker was abducted in Norfolk but was found here in Essex, DI Parish and I will be conducting a joint operation to find her killer.’
‘Annie Hartley from the Mission Daily.’ She had a bent nose and an obscene amount of dark hair on her face. ‘Do you think that whoever abducted Sally and murdered her parents is the same person who killed her?’
‘We’re not sure, Miss Hartley. It’s certainly something that we’ll be looking into.’
A tall thin man with a ponytail and dark glasses spoke next. ‘Jimmy Fleming from Five News. Can you tell us what’s wrong with Constable Richards?’
‘That – Mr Fleming – would take far too long.’
There was a ripple of laughter, which meant the briefing had ended on a high.
‘Now I’ll never get a man,’ Richards said, sticking her bottom lip out. ‘The whole world will think there’s something wrong with me.’
Gold pulled a face. ‘Men are overrated anyway. That Angela Dear had the right idea. Find yourself a nice woman and settle down with her.’
‘I don’t think I want to do that if it’s all right with you, Ma’am?’
‘Stop panicking, Richards. Nobody’s going to force you to join the cult of lesbianism. You’ll get floods of offers from men wanting to fix you for free.’
‘But I’m not broken.’
‘A minor point.’ He turned to DI Gold. ‘How far along are you with your investigation into the removal man and his other victims?’
‘Not far. I have all the details in the boot of my car. We need to tie them all together.’
‘Okay. I didn’t really see us using Norfolk as a base of operations. What do you think?’
‘Hoddesdon is fine by me. I’ve brought enough clothes with me for a week. I don’t need to go back to Norfolk anytime soon.’
He guessed there were problems at home or at work – or maybe both, but he didn’t pursue it. It was none of his business.
‘Aren’t you married, Ma’am?’
‘Bastard. Marriage is overrated as well.’
‘Oh!’
‘Ignore me, Constable. I have issues with men at the moment.’
‘All men, or just one man?’
‘Aren’t they all the same?’
Richards nodded. ‘Most of them are, but there are some . . .’
‘Yes, but how do you pick a good apple from a barrel full of rotten ones?’
Parish interrupted. ‘I’m sure this misandry would be much more palatable over a decent lunch.’
‘I’m not particularly hungry,’ Gold said.
‘Nor me,’ Richards added.
‘Well I am,’ he said. ‘I’m ravished.’
Richards grinned. ‘You mean famished?’
‘Oh, so you’re an expert on what I mean now, Richards? Come on, get your fat arse moving before I shrivel up and blow away in the wind.’
‘What wind?’
Chapter Six
‘I hate you.’
‘What have I done now?’ Tom Dougall said, moving a plastic chair next to the bed.
‘It’s what you haven’t done. You haven’t been to visit me. You haven’t called. You say you want me, yet I never see you. In fact, I feel like a single woman again.’
He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. ‘Yeah, I could do with feeling one of those myself.’
‘See, that’s exactly why I hate you.’
‘If you recall – I’ve been busy picking up the pieces after your cowboy partner shot up Point Clear.’
‘Twenty-four hours a day?’
‘More or less.’
‘You’re a liar. Did you have time to eat?’
‘Barely.’
‘Have you been in the pub with the guys?’
He hesitated slightly. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Liar.’
‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’
‘And I should be grateful?’
‘Also, if you recall, your phone lies unloved and unanswered in a safe.’
‘As if I could forget.’
He grinned like a schoolboy up to mischief. ‘I’ve brought you a present.’
‘Not more grapes. I hate grapes.’
‘Not grapes.’
‘I’m too ill to drink wine.’
‘Not wine. One more guess and then it goes back to those robbing bastards at the phone shop.’
Her eyes opened wide and she smiled as if she’d forgotten how. ‘A phone?’
He slid a box from the inside of his jacket to under the bedclothes in one fluid movement.’
‘All right, I don’t think you need to leave your hand in there, Tom Dougall.’
‘Sorry,’ he said pulling it out. ‘Force of habit.’
She lifted the bedclothes slightly. ‘You raided your piggy bank then?’
‘That’s the best phone on the market.’
‘It had better be. I deserve the best.’
‘That’s why you’ve got me.’
‘Self-praise is no recommendation.’
‘You’re welcome.’
She touched his hand. ‘Thanks.’ Her eyes creased to slits. ‘You did put credit on it?’
‘Of course – ten pounds.’
‘Ten pounds – I feel like a whore.’
He grinned. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘You wish.’
‘I’ve put my number in it.’
‘I’m hardly going to waste my overly generous allocation of credit phoning you, am I?’
‘For emergencies.’
‘I see, so you’ll rush here when I need a bedpan?’
‘It’s not something I’ve tried before, but if it turns you on I’m willing to give it a go.’
‘Excuse me,’ Staff Nurse James said coming into the room. ‘We have strict visiting times, and this is not even close to either of them.’
‘I’m a police officer,’ Tom Dougall said. ‘I needed to ask Ms Blake some questions.’
‘Would you believe you?’
‘I don’t believe anybody.’
‘Nor do I. Close the door on your way out, DI Dougall.’
He leaned over and kissed Xena again. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘You’d better.’
‘You’re determined to break all the rules, aren’t you?’ James said after Tom had gone.
‘You can’t blame me because some stranger decides to wander in off the street. I think you’ve forgotten that I’m barely hanging onto life here – the slightest upset could tip me over the edge.’
Staff Nurse James laughed. ‘You’re as strong as an ox now, and twice as ugly.’
‘I’m sure that’s not the way you’re meant to talk to patients. Maybe I should put in a complaint.’
‘Maybe you should. Right, today’s the day.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Time to get out of that bed.’
‘No, I don’t think so. You’re confused. You’ve misread the doctor’s instructions. I’m not ready. My stitches will burst open. There’ll be more of my insides on the floor than in my body. Oh shit! Are you sure it’s today? Maybe it’s tomorrow, or Monday next week.’
Staff Nurse James pulled the bedclothes off Xena like a magician revealing the guts of her trick. ‘Don’t worry . . . Hello! What have we here?’ she said picking up the box with the phone inside.
Xena grabbed at it, but James held it just out of reach.
‘If I’m not mista
ken, this is contraband. I should have realised that Mr Dougall was up to no good.’
‘Please don’t take it away.’
‘That’s not a word I associate with you.’
‘Please.’
‘Twice in one day. I feel faint. I might have to crawl into that bed to recuperate after you get out of it. Here’s what’s going to happen. You do everything I say, and I’ll let you keep the phone.’ James stared at her waiting for an answer.
‘You’re a bitch.’
‘Mmmm – the latest model as well. Mr Dougall must really like you although I’m at a loss to explain why.’
‘All right then, but . . .’
‘No buts – unconditional.’
‘Crap!’
James waved the box in front of her like a carrot on a stick. ‘I want you to repeat after me: My soul belongs to Staff Nurse James.’
‘You can . . .’
‘I don’t think that would be appropriate.’ She slipped the box into Xena’s bedside cabinet. ‘Are you ready?’
‘What for?’
‘I’m going to help you into the bathroom. We’ll take your string vest and support stockings off, and then you’ll climb into the shower.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘God! I’ve forgotten what a shower feels like.’
James wrinkled her nose. ‘I can imagine. The next time your boyfriend comes in, you’ll smell half-human instead of half-rotting corpse.’
‘Your bedside manner sucks.’
‘That’s a compliment coming from you.’
***
After they’d left Shirley Bridges’ cottage they called in at The Fox & Hounds in Steeple Bumpstead for lunch.
While they’d been in the pub, Koll had rung Dawn Mines in forensics to see if she’d been able to work out anything in relation to the collection of the alphanumeric characters they’d previously discovered in Pitt’s house:
FOGRANBAG0M9AAT7
There were very few people in the pub, so Koll put the call on speakerphone.
‘Fata Morgana GB 970,’ Mines said. ‘GB is fairly obvious, but I have no idea on the order of the numbers.’
‘And what does “Fata Morgana” mean?’ Stick asked.
‘I expect it’s a code word or something like that. The actual term means an unusual and complex form of superior mirage that is seen in a narrow band right above the horizon.’
‘I see.’ But he didn’t really.
‘Where does the name come from?’ Koll asked.
‘It’s an Italian phrase derived from the vulgar Latin for “fairy” and the Arthurian sorceress Morgan le Fay. The mirages are often seen in the Strait of Messina, which is a narrow passage between the eastern tip of Sicily and the southern tip of Calabria in the south of Italy. It connects the Tyrrhenian and the Ionian seas.’
‘Thanks, Dawn,’ Koll said.
‘You’re welcome.’
The call ended.
‘We don’t really know what we’re doing, do we?’ Koll said.
‘No,’ he agreed.
‘Maybe we should ask Shirley Bridges to come to Pitt’s house with us.’
‘I was thinking the same thing.’
After lunch they went back to the thatched cottage. Shirley Bridges was reluctant to accompany them at first, but agreed when Stick suggested that her help in solving the puzzle might go some way towards ameliorating the damage perpetrated by her brother.
‘I am not now, nor have I ever been, my brother’s keeper.’
‘As you said yourself, you had the opportunity to stop him, but you chose not to.’
‘That’s below the belt, Sergeant.’
‘I’m sorry, but we need your help, Mrs Bridges.’
‘During the journey they told her about the code name and the discussion they’d had with Dawn Mines.
‘There’ll be reverse clues buried in there somewhere, but they won’t be anything to do with fairies, Morgan le Fay, mirages, Sicily or the Strait of Messina – they’re all too obvious. Mathew may have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid.’
Once they were back at 12 Old Ferry Road – Mathew Pitt’s townhouse in Wivenhoe, Colchester – Koll said, ‘Do we even know what we’re looking for?’
‘I’ve been thinking about what we should do during the journey,’ Bridges said. ‘I think we should clear a space here in the kitchen/dining room and bring everything down here.’
Koll’s face creased up. ‘Everything?’
‘Pictures, ornaments, books . . . everything that’s movable.’
‘Not bedding?’
‘No.’
‘Furniture, towels, curtains, light fittings?’
‘No. I think you should use your common sense. I’ll walk round afterwards and check that you haven’t missed anything important.’
So that’s what they did.
Koll took the third floor, Stick the second. While they were carrying everything down, Shirley Bridges climbed into the cellar and looked at the hidden room. She was still in there when they’d finished.
‘We’re ready,’ Stick called down to her.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said when she climbed back up.
They could see she’d been crying.
‘I’m sorry,’ Stick said. He didn’t know what else to say.
Spread out over the floor and on the breakfast bar were about thirty items that had belonged to Mathew Pitt.
Shirley said, ‘At least no one’s going to give me Chinese burns if I get it wrong . . . Well, at least I hope they’re not.’ She looked at each item and separated them into relevant and irrelevant until she had seven pieces left:
A battered old brown teddy bear with one eye missing.
A library card for the British Library of Political & Economic Science in Holborn, London.
An eleven inch tall brown stoneware whiskey jug made in Ohio, America in 1923.
A gelatine silver print entitled “Luminogramm” by Otto Steinert dated 1952.
An antique Mawrika gold pocket watch dated 1875 with the initials PJW on the back and the hands stopped at twenty-five to two.
A six-inch coloured ceramic plate with IONIAN engraved on the back and signed by the artist Janice Wicks, 1970.
An old book about Gustave Eiffel and the building of the Eiffel Tower dated 1889.
Thus far, they had been in the house for an hour and a half.
Stick began pacing.
‘I know you’re impatient, Sergeant, but I can’t think if you’re going to pace round the room like a caged wolf.’
He sat on a chair. He liked the idea of being a wolf – loping around the countryside, howling at the moon, pouncing on unsuspecting prey – Stick the wolf.
Shirley spent another hour examining the last seven items and was finally left with three pieces in front of her.
A library card for the British Library of Political & Economic Science in Holborn, London.
A gelatine silver print entitled “Luminogramm” by Otto Steinert dated 1952.
A six-inch coloured ceramic plate with IONIAN engraved on the back and signed by the artist Janice Wicks, 1970.
‘Why have you chosen these three items?’ Koll asked.
‘Why?’ Bridges repeated. ‘You didn’t say I had to justify my choices. I can’t tell you why. All I can say is that I was a little girl again choosing those three things. I don’t know whether they’re the right ones. I chose them because – for better or worse – I was Mathew Pitt’s sister, and this is the game he made me play. Those three pieces are connected in some way.’ She looked at them and shrugged. ‘How they’re connected is for you to find out. My suggestion is that you start with the library card. Why did he have a British Library card when he worked at a university? He must have visited there to acquire the card. Find out why and I think you’ll be part way to solving the riddle.’
‘Thank you, Shirley,’ he said.
Stick put the library card in his wallet. They wrapped up the
Steinert print and the ceramic plate in two of Pitt’s towels, and placed them in the boot of the car. Then they set off back to the station via Steeple Bumpstead.
***
He booked himself into the first hotel he came to, which happened to be the Mill Hotel and Spa overlooking the River Dee. It wasn’t the cheapest hotel he could have found, and he didn’t plan to use the spa, but it provided what he needed – a bed and food for one night.
The room was on the second floor. A barge went past packed with people as he looked out of the window, and it was a good job he hadn’t stripped off his clothes because he saw a group of Japanese tourists loaded down with cameras taking photographs.
He phoned home.
Matilda had the house running like a well-oiled matriarchy, and no doubt Bert was keeping out of the way in the garden shed.
After Matilda had reassured him everything was fine, he spoke to his eldest – eleven year-old Gabe.
‘You’re the man of the house while I’m away.’
‘What about grandpa?’
‘Grandpa’s in charge of the garden and the shed. You’re in charge of the house.’
‘I don’t think grandma will like that.’
‘Whose house is it?’
‘Grandma’s?’
He let out a laugh. ‘She’d like to think so. No! The house belongs to your mother and me.’
‘Does grandma know that?’
‘Yes, she knows that.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Whose house will it be if your mother and I aren’t around anymore?’
‘You’re not going to die, are you?’
‘No, it’s just a question.’
‘Grandma’s?’
‘No, it’ll be your house. You’re my eldest, so everything I have would belong to you.’
‘What about the girls – don’t they get anything?’
‘Yes, all four of you will get an equal share, but you have to make sure there’s a house to have an equal share of.’
‘Have you told grandma about this?’
He decided he was fighting a losing battle. ‘How’s school going?’
