Lamb to the Slaughter (9781301399864)

by Ellis, Tim

  It didn’t matter what she said or did – nothing seemed to work with Amy. Each time the crazy woman came down into the cellar Jerry would try a different tactic, hoping that she could find something that would work and stop the senseless beatings.

  The light went on.

  Jerry screwed up her eyes.

  Amy came down the steps.

  ‘My goodness, child, look at the state of you. How do you get yourself into such a mess?’

  She had no idea why Amy kept calling her child. It was as if their roles were reversed – Amy was the mother and Jerry the child, but why? Was it something to do with Amy’s childhood? There was no way she could ask Amy to explain. If she did, that for sure, would invite another beating.

  Amy went back up the cellar steps and returned with a bowl of hot, soapy water.

  ‘We need to keep these nasty cuts clean,’ Amy said, gently wiping Jerry’s skin. Afterwards, she smeared antiseptic ointment over the broken skin. ‘We don’t want them getting infected, do we?’

  She sat down on the floor, put Jerry’s head in her lap and started stroking her hair as she sang a lullaby:

  Sleep, baby, sleep

  Your father tends the sheep

  Your mother shakes the dreamland tree

  And from it fall sweet dreams for thee

  Sleep, baby, sleep

  Sleep, baby, sleep

  Sleep, baby, sleep

  Our cottage vale is deep

  The little lamb is on the green

  With snowy fleece so soft and clean

  Sleep, baby, sleep

  Sleep, baby, sleep

  Jerry’s eyes closed and she began to drift off to sleep. What was happening? How could she get herself out of these chains and out of this cellar? Ray was never going to find her. She would never see her children again. This was her life now – chained up like a beast in a pit.

  She felt Amy tugging at her hair.

  Jerry opened her eyes and tried to sit up. ‘What are you doing?’

  Amy held the point of a knife against Jerry’s left eye. ‘It’s all right, child. We need to cut your long hair, so that it’s easier to keep clean. The last thing we need is for you to get nits or something else just as disgusting.’

  Amy was sawing through her lovely hair with the knife and piling it in a heap on the floor.

  ‘No.’ She tried to sit up, to move away, but Amy held her tight.

  ‘Sit still, child. This knife is sharp. If you’re not careful the knife might slip and goodness knows where it will end up.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Jerry sobbed.

  ‘That’s right, you pray to God for forgiveness, child.’

  Tears tumbled down Jerry’s cheeks.

  In the end, she simply lay there and let Amy hack through her hair and sometimes her scalp. Runnels of blood trickling down her face, the back of her head and her neck.

  Oh Ray!

  Where are you?

  Please come and save me.

  ***

  While Richards was constructing the timeline and plotting the locations of all the abductions, Parish took Lily Gold to the Woodland Lodge and waited while she booked in.

  ‘Do you want a lift back to the station?’ she said.

  ‘No. Happy to walk. It’ll give me the chance to clear my head and do some thinking. Will you be all right?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. An evening meal and an early night for me. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘That’s for sure. Are you coming to the station in the morning before you set off?’

  ‘Yes, I need the addresses, and I ought to phone the families to make sure they’re in and it’s convenient for me to visit.’

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning then. Thanks for your help today, and I’m sorry about your husband and your partner.’

  ‘Yeah, life sucks.’

  ‘Maybe a convent is a good idea.’

  She laughed. ‘You didn’t believe that crap, did you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  As he left the hotel, he wondered what it would be like to live the simple life in a convent – growing vegetables, making clay pots, praying, singing hymns . . . There’d be no stresses, no Champions League football, no decent coffee . . . Yes, but there’d be peace and quiet, time to reflect on the meaning of life and the universe, time to read – the bible. Would that be enough? Richards wouldn’t like it – no Crime Channel and no serial killers.

  He had a mind-numbing thought as he strode along the street and thought of Richards. He’d left her alone with the Smith box he’d stuffed under his desk earlier. He could guarantee that all she’d been waiting for was the opportunity to take a look inside that box, and he’d handed it to her on a plate with whistles and bells on.

  Oh well, there was nothing he could do about it now. She would have found out what was in the box sooner rather than later. She was like Eve in the Garden of Eden – she didn’t care if it was forbidden fruit or not, she was going to eat it regardless of who told her she couldn’t.

  He arrived back at the station.

  Richards was sitting at her desk staring into space.

  ‘You’ve done the timeline and plotted the locations of all the abductions on a map?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I did a fabulous job and they look very nice.’

  ‘Do either of them tell us anything?’

  ‘No.’

  He sat down opposite her and glanced down. ‘Where’s the box from under my desk?’

  ‘That’s an interesting question.’

  ‘Yes, it is. I suppose I’d better call Robbery and check the CCTV recording for the past hour. I have a sneaking suspicion that we’ll soon find the culprit.’

  ‘It’s in the boot of your car.’

  ‘I see. And what’s it doing there?’

  ‘I anticipated that you would want to look at those past case files more closely at home tonight.’

  ‘You looked in the box, didn’t you?’

  ‘Moi? I distinctly recall you saying that if I looked in that box you’d find another partner.’

  ‘I also said that if you touched the box I’d find another partner as well.’

  ‘That’s why I asked one of those nice men on the desk downstairs to put it in the boot of your car.’

  ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’

  ‘I am clever.’

  ‘Did you notice that there were only four files?’

  ‘I was . . .’

  ‘Ah ha! I suppose I’d better put the word out that the great and wonderful DI Jed Parish needs a new partner, and Cheshunt can have their reject back.’

  ‘You’re a pig.’

  ‘And you’re so predictable.’

  ‘I am not. So, come on then, where did the box come from?’

  ‘You tell me?’

  ‘They use those boxes in the evidence store.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Somebody might have signed it in and out.’

  ‘You can check tomorrow. Are you ready to go?’

  ‘Yes. Aren’t you excited?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Seeing what’s inside those files?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You are. I know you can’t wait to get that box inside the house and find out what it’s all been about.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I’m excited about.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘I’m excited about you joining me for my early morning training sessions.’

  ‘You’re a pig.’

  ‘Me? You’re the one who said, “Oh yes, Sir. I’m looking forward to holding your hand while we run the London Marathon together.”.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘As your sweat intermingles, I expect he’ll point out the sights along the route like a tour guide . . . and here’s the famous tea clipper built in 1869 – the Cutty Sark, over there is the Mayflower pub where the pilgrims met before they set sail for America . . . and thi
s is the Isle of Dogs . . .’

  Richards laughed. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘I want a certificate.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘That says you still need to wear that plastic boot. If I know you, and I think I do, you’ll still be wearing it in six months’ time.’

  ‘Ow,’ she said as she stood up.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think I’ve damaged my ankle ligaments again. Oh dear! It feels twice as bad this time.’

  ‘If you’re not out running with Digby and me by the end of next week I’ll have to send you for a second opinion.’

  ‘As if.’

  ***

  ‘Numpty! Did you forget that your partner was lying here shifting between life and death like a wraith?’

  He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘You look a lot better.’

  ‘Out with it then. Why have you got a face like a badger’s bum?’

  ‘DC Koll has left me. She’s been taken into protective custody by the CPS and won’t be coming back.’

  ‘I see. So you thought you’d come running back to me? Well, maybe I don’t want you anymore.’

  He sighed. ‘Okay. Do you want me to leave now?’ He started to get up.

  She gripped his arm. ‘You know I’m only joking.’

  He grinned. ‘I know. So was I.’

  ‘If I wasn’t so close to the gates of Hell, I’d get out of this bed and murder you, Stickanut.’

  ‘You’re glad to have me back then?’

  ‘I don’t know. What have you brought me?’

  ‘Who says I’ve brought you anything?’

  ‘I know a bulge when I see one.’

  He pulled a bag from his coat.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Three guesses?’

  ‘Don’t be childish. Just hand it over.’

  He passed her the bag.

  She opened it. ‘Perfume!’

  ‘Why, what were you expecting?’

  ‘A phone.’

  ‘You’re not allowed a phone while you’re in here.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘That’s so.’

  ‘Why did you buy me perfume? Don’t you think I smell nice?’

  ‘You smell very nice. Did one of the nurses give you a bed bath?’

  ‘Are you saying I smelled like a rancid fish sandwich before?’

  ‘I don’t recall mentioning sandwiches.’

  ‘Well, for your information, Stickamundo, they let me have a shower.’

  ‘Was it the best shower you’ve ever had?’

  ‘No, that was when . . . Why are you peeking into my knickers drawer again?’

  ‘Just showing my concern for your wellbeing.’

  ‘You’re just jealous that I’m back with Tom Dougall.’

  ‘I have certain reservations about that state of affairs.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, I have certain reservations about the state of affairs with you and Jennifer.’

  ‘I don’t see why?’

  ‘So, tell me about the case.’

  ‘My case.’

  ‘Our case.’

  ‘It must be the drugs addling your brain. People with one foot in Hell’s door don’t share cases with working detectives.’

  She leaned over and took out her new phone from the bedside cabinet. ‘No, but a person bored out of her skull with a brand new phone might very well be of assistance to a detective without a partner and the brains of a flip-flop.’

  He looked around to make sure none of the nursing staff were about. ‘You’re asking for trouble.’

  ‘They know I’ve got it.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘Staff Nurse James said I could keep it as long as I was nice to them.’

  ‘So, you won’t have it very long then?’

  ‘I can be nice when I want to be.’

  ‘I haven’t seen any evidence of that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Stickleback, you’ll get everything that’s coming to you.’

  ‘I have no doubt. Tom Dougall smuggled it in, didn’t he?’

  ‘You have a low opinion of him, don’t you?’

  ‘I worry about you, that’s all.’

  She put her hand in his and squeezed. ‘He makes me happy, and let’s face it, I haven’t had much of that lately.’

  ‘Okay, but you better tell him I’m keeping my eye on him.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be petrified. Well, come on then, tell me about our case.’

  ‘You’re not going to ring me up every five minutes asking me what I’m doing, are you?’

  ‘Do you think I’ve got nothing else better to do?’

  ‘No.’

  While he’d been drinking his half of lager in the bar of Koll’s hotel, he’d anticipated Xena’s desire to meddle in his investigation, so he’d written down the key points on a paper napkin. He pulled it from his pocket and passed it to her.

  ‘What’s this meant to be?’

  ‘The key points of the investigation.’

  ‘If I’m not mistaken, there’s an official form in triplicate for interim investigative reports submitted to a senior officer. Paper napkins . . .’ she sniffed it, ‘. . . from a homosexual lapdancing club are frowned upon.’

  He went to take it back. ‘Sorry, I’ll type one up tomorrow and maybe you’ll get the yellow copy at the back that nobody can read by Friday.’

  She snatched the napkin away from his grasping hand. ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want it.’

  ‘I’m going home now.’

  ‘Are you not staying to answer questions?’

  ‘To be interrogated, you mean?’

  ‘I’ll make notes and ring you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’m going to Holborn in London.’

  ‘You’ll have lots of time to talk then. Get your notebook out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well?’

  He took it out.

  ‘Write my new number down.’

  ‘Go on then?’

  She told him. ‘And . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Put a hundred pounds credit on it.’

  He held out his hand.

  She looked at him. ‘You’re so desperate that you’d steal money from your dying partner?’

  ‘I hope Tom Dougall knows what he’s letting himself in for,’ he mumbled as he headed for the door.

  ‘He’s not the only one who’ll suffer when I get out of here.’

  ‘I know.’

  Chapter Nine

  He hadn’t been in a spa before. Jerry had – with a group of her friends, but he hadn’t.

  There’d been a leaflet strategically placed on the dining table when he’d sat down in the restaurant for his evening meal. He’d read it in-between the pelican soup, the veal escalope and the black forest gateau. Apparently – for one night only – there was a seventy percent discount on a visit to the hotel spa. He decided that he’d feel as guilty as a dormouse in a church if he took advantage of the balneotherapy on offer while Jerry was suffering God-only-knew what at the hands of that unknown woman.

  Before the evening meal, he’d examined the road atlas in great detail, marked the addresses of the missing women on the relevant pages, and plotted his journey back to Essex. He tore the pages out of the atlas, caught the lift back down to the hotel reception and borrowed a roll of clear tape. He then went back to the room and stuck the pages together, so that he could see clearly the trail Maureen Threadneedle had identified. She was right – it led to London. Now though, it appeared that the woman might be somewhere near Theydon Bois in Essex, or was it another false lead?

  If she was Hawkesby’s sister, there was a gap – both in time and geography – that he needed to fill. The first woman – Tiffany Mara – had been reported missing in Droitwich Spa in 2006, which was nine years after the fire. The fire had occurred when Harry Hawkesby was two – in 1997. Where was the sister for nine years – between 1997 and 2006? Where w
as she living? What was she doing?

  After Tiffany Mara came Viki Cole from Banbury in 2008, Bambi Bradford from Henley-on-Thames in 2010, Julie Wilkinson from Esher in 2012, and more recently – in 2013 – Erica Bull from Theydon Bois. Who was the identity-thief now?

  Where were all these women? Had the sister killed the women and disposed of the bodies? Why had none of the women been found? Were there other missing women that they knew nothing about?

  What concerned him was that the woman had previously held onto an identity for two or more years, but over the past six months she’d had three. What had changed? Why had she taken Jerry?

  He had no answers. All he had was a barrel-full of questions and a feeling of despair.

  Maureen Threadneedle rang him as he was about to go to dinner.

  ‘Do you want the bad news?’

  ‘Usually, there’s a choice between the good and the bad.’

  ‘There’s only bad today.’

  ‘Give me both barrels then.’

  ‘We found the VW Polo not far away from Theydon Bois station – it had been abandoned with the keys in the ignition. Two youths thought it might be fun to see how much damage they could cause to the car and another twenty vehicles along a residential street.’

  He sighed.

  ‘Also, a squad car visited the address – nothing’s changed. In the house were Erica Bull’s parents and two younger sisters, but they hadn’t seen Erica for four days. They waited twenty-four hours before they reported her missing in the mistaken belief that it’s what you’re meant to do.’

  ‘Did she live with her family?’

  ‘No. She’d recently moved into a pokey little flat on the outskirts of the town. That’s another reason why they delayed reporting her missing.’

  He wrote down the details in his notebook.

  ‘Thanks for all your help today, Maureen.’

  ‘You know me – always happy to help.’

  He ended the call.

  Every time he thought he might be onto something it petered out into nothing. He had no choice but to keep going, and hope that the woman had left some breadcrumbs he could follow.

  He convinced himself that he needed something to relieve the stress. Jerry would understand he was sure. She certainly wouldn’t thank him if he had a another heart attack because he was too stubborn to take a rest. On a whim, after he’d handed the roll of tape back into reception, he wandered down to the spa in the basement.