Lamb to the Slaughter (9781301399864)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘Utter rubbish.’

  ‘Are you just going to ignore everything she said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re in denial. It’s part of the grieving process.’

  ‘You watch far too much television.’

  ‘I know that you were created from old rags, glue and rubber bands in a laboratory, but mum and I still love you. ’

  ‘Very generous, I’m sure.’

  No sooner had they arrived at the station than Sergeant Melissa Wise – the night duty Sergeant going off shift – called to Parish before he could get up the stairs. ‘You have a delivery, Inspector.’ She thrust a brown envelope with his name on it at him.

  He pulled a pair of plastic gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. ‘Where did this come from?’

  ‘It was delivered in the early hours of this morning by old Abram the tramp.’

  ‘And you . . . ?’

  ‘No, we don’t know who asked him to deliver the package. Do you want to know why?’

  ‘He smelled?’ Richards suggested.

  ‘Like a sewer, but that wasn’t the reason. He could hardly stand up. He’d drunk a whole bottle of meths and was half way through another one. Whoever did ask him to deliver the package knew exactly what they were doing.’

  ‘So you put him in the cells?’

  ‘Are you crazy? We were glad to see the back of him. He’s been in the cells before, and we had to disinfect them afterwards.’

  ‘He could be a witness.’

  ‘Most of the time he can’t even remember his own name.’

  He sighed. ‘Oh well, thanks anyway, Melissa.’

  ‘The pleasure was all yours.’

  ‘It’s another body part, isn’t it?’ Richards said, as they climbed the stairs.

  ‘You should be a detective.’

  ‘I’ve been saying that for ages.’

  They took the package directly up to forensics.

  ‘It wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark, you know, Toadstone.’

  Toadstone smiled. ‘Howard Ruff, a financial adviser who the New York Times called “The Prophet of Doom”.

  ‘You’re never going to beat him,’ Richards said with a laugh.

  Parish passed Toadstone the envelope, who opened it up in front of them.

  ‘Yuk!’ Richards said, putting a hand up to her mouth. ‘Eyeballs.’

  ‘See no evil, I would imagine,’ Toadstone mused.

  Parish pointed to the numbers on the inside of the lid:

  57.723164

  0.0251684

  ‘Find out the location and get your people over there, Toadstone. I want to know who it is before I ring Hornby’s. We should be able to eliminate a number of Rattinger’s cases and narrow down the search now that we have two victims.’

  Toadstone typed the numbers into the search engine. ‘It’s in Broxborne next to the railway line.’

  ‘Not too far away. I’ll be waiting for your call then.’ He turned on his heel and headed back along the corridor.

  ‘I can’t walk that fast,’ Richards called after him.

  He had far too much to do this morning to carry passengers. She’d catch up.

  Before he went into the squad room he called in to see the Chief.

  Carrie hadn’t arrived yet, but it crossed his mind that he was picking Melody up on Sunday. That was another thing – where did the Epsilon experiment leave his son and daughter? If his genetic code had been altered, would that be passed on to his children? The whole thing was a mess. He should have left well alone, burned the files on Chigwell common as a sacrifice to Apate – the goddess of lies and deceit.

  ‘Come,’ the Chief’s voice filtered through the door when he knocked.

  ‘Morning, Chief.’ He told him about the eyeballs delivered by old Abram the tramp, and that forensics were on their way to find out who the victim was.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Triangulation.’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘It’s obviously related to one of Rattinger’s cases. A second victim narrows down the search to cases involving the two.’

  ‘That seems logical.’

  ‘I’m going to leave Richards here to get on with that this morning, while I go to Tilbury Power Station. We can’t afford the time for doubling up, and Richards with her boot on slows me down as well.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘In much the same way as Rattinger’s cases, I need to triangulate the existing evidence in order to identify a manageable suspect list. There are fifty-five green Range Rovers in the area of Hangman’s Wood and over three thousand power station employees. So, I’ll be taking a computer technician with me this morning to interrogate their staff database.’

  ‘There’s also the issue of another child abduction and murder in Hastings.’ The Chief told him what had been found at 77 Ellenslea Road.

  He phoned Lily Gold.

  ‘Oh God – my head!’

  ‘I thought you were having an early night?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘We have another child abduction – a Sarah Rose Justice, and her mother was murdered as well.’ He gave her the location.

  ‘I’ll get down there. Any news from your end?’

  ‘Nothing new – hopefully we’ll get a break today. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘I’ll let you get on, Inspector. We’ll catch up at . . . say three-thirty this afternoon before the press briefing.’

  He nodded.

  Carrie had arrived.

  After he’d said ‘Good morning’, he asked her to organise a search warrant for the Tilbury Power Station staff database and to fax it through to them once she’d received it.

  ‘See you Sunday?’

  ‘Can’t wait.’

  He went back up to forensics and arranged for Fiona Gebbie to meet him in the car park in half an hour. Then he strolled into the squad room.

  Richards was sitting at her desk.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’ she asked.

  ‘Why, what have you done?’

  ‘I haven’t done anything except make you a coffee. I was wondering if you were angry because of what I said in the car.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw me angry?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you angry.’

  ‘There’s your answer then. I’m tired, and we have more work than you can shake a dirty stick at.’

  ‘Why are you tired?’

  ‘Stay focused on your work, Richards. I’m going to leave you here this morning.’

  ‘Because you’re angry with me?’

  ‘Because your time will be better spent going through Rattinger’s cases. As soon as Toadstone lets you know who the victim is, you can hobble up to Hornby’s and try to find the killer.’

  ‘I see. And what will you be doing?’

  ‘I’ll be taking a computer technician to Tilbury Power Station to interrogate their staff database. We’ll both be attempting to find a killer.’

  ‘Is it a race?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  She smiled. ‘You’re just pretending that it isn’t a race, but I know you’ll be trying to beat me.’

  On another day – if he’d had the energy – maybe, but not today. He picked up the phone, called Hornby’s and asked to speak to Michelle Benton.

  ‘Hello, Inspector.’

  He told her about the second victim. ‘Do I need a search warrant?’

  ‘I’d like one in retrospect just to cover me from a legal perspective, but Constable Richards can come and look through the case files whenever she’s ready.’

  ‘With the help of your junior . . . ?’

  ‘Lauren Parry – yes.’

  ‘Excellent. As soon as we find out the name of the second victim, she’ll be along.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘While you’re waiting for Toadstone to call, you can arrange for a search warrant to access Rattin
ger’s files, but you don’t need to wait for it – Mrs Benton has agreed to let you look through them without it. Also, phone Doc Riley and ask her what’s happened to the toxicology report for Sally Bowker.’

  ‘What about speaking to Rattinger’s wife?’

  ‘I don’t think we need to impose on her grief. The murders are clearly about his work, not his personal life.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘More work for me?’

  ‘The database search should have finished. Check to see what we’ve got and then let me know.’

  ‘Oh yes! I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘Right, I’m off. Behave yourself while I’m gone.’

  ‘You’ll be lost without me, you know.’

  ‘That goes without saying.’

  ***

  He was on his way to the Alpha Bank in Chelmsford. Judy Moody would fax the search warrant for Pitt’s account through when she’d received it.

  He’d waited for Chief Inspector Tina Marzocca and her CEOP people to arrive, during which time he’d made inroads into the food mountain that Sonia Nesbitt had stacked on the table in front of him, and then he’d grabbed a couple of hours sleep in one of Sonia Nesbitt’s spare rooms.

  Marzocca arrived at four-thirty with two surveillance specialists and a Slavic language interpreter. The special ops team from CO19 had been positioned in a disused factory on the other side of the village to await orders. Once the big house inside the metal fence had been located, orders would be given to move in.

  They had no idea what they’d find, but they knew whatever it was it would be illegal.

  At eight-thirty, Stick left them to it. He’d been invited to the party, but special ops wasn’t new to him. As much as he liked the adrenalin rush, he had a different life now. Not only that, he was tired, and tired people made mistakes.

  Sonia Nesbitt cooked him a three-egg omelette with chopped tomatoes, mushrooms and avocado slices to keep his strength up. ‘And put some weight on,’ she said as he walked down her front path to his car. ‘You look like a stick insect.’

  ‘I will,’ he called over his shoulder, but he knew he wouldn’t. He had been this thin since he’d been born. It didn’t matter what he ate or drank, he stayed exactly the same weight – ten stone three pounds. Some people only had to look at a fried egg and they put on a stone in weight. He didn’t know whether he was glad to be so thin or not, but he was the way he was, so it didn’t really matter one way or the other what he liked or didn’t like.

  Before he set off he rang Xena.

  ‘You’ve not got yourself killed then?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Were you worried about me?’

  ‘I was worried about all the paperwork the Chief would bring me – I’m a sick woman. Go on then, numpty, tell me how your stakeout went?’

  ‘Very well, actually.’

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘Anyway, I was just settling down for the night when a woman from the Neighbourhood Watch nearly frightened me to death by knocking on the car window.’

  ‘Those busybodies should be strung up on lampposts as a warning to others.’

  ‘No, she turned out to be a godsend.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  He told her about the surveillance equipment, how she’d captured the three blond-haired children on CCTV, how he’d rung Chief Inspector Marzocca from CEOP and had left them to it.’

  ‘You’re not going with them?’

  ‘I don’t want to die today.’

  ‘There’ll be real men abseiling out of helicopters, fire-fights from room to room, hand-to-hand combat . . . think of all the glory?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘You’re a wimp.’

  ‘And the Neighbourhood Watch woman fed me and let me sleep . . .’

  ‘You’re a whore.’

  ‘. . . in a spare bedroom for a couple of hours.’

  ‘So, I’ve solved another case.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Without my leadership, guidance and unbelievable intelligence fitting all the pieces together you’d still be scrabbling about in the dark bumping into things.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. I’m exceedingly grateful.’

  ‘So you should be, considering how I clawed myself out of Lucifer’s clutches against my doctor’s orders to help you. What are you going to do now?’

  ‘Well, as you very well know – as the font of all knowledge – the case isn’t actually solved yet.’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘I’m on my way to the Alpha Bank in Chelmsford. If you really want to get to the truth, you need to follow the money.’

  ‘You think I don’t know where that comes from, don’t you?’

  ‘I think you think that I think you don’t know where it comes from.’

  ‘I think I’m having another prolapse. Are those CEOP people going to let you know what they find?’

  ‘I expect so, seeing as I did all the work.’

  ‘We did all the work.’

  ‘Of course. I’m a bit tired.’

  ‘You’re a bit useless, you mean. Call me when you have more news.’

  ‘And you’ll call if . . . ?’ but she’d already ended the call.

  He parked in the multi-storey car park at High Chelmer Shopping Centre, walked through the town centre and crossed over the Parkway into New Writtle Street – the Alpha Bank was located half-way down.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He opened his eyes. Gabe was standing by the side of the bed staring down at him in a pair of boxers and a red t-shirt with “I’m probably not listening to you” printed on the front.

  ‘You’ve not started sleep-walking, have you?’

  Gabe grinned. ‘I was just wondering where mum is.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering that for a week, son.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll find her?’

  He sat up, signalled for Gabe to sit on the bed, and was surprised at how tall and muscular his son had become. ‘You know I’m using all my resources. If there’s a way to find her – I will.’

  ‘Who’s the chick downstairs in the conservatory?’

  ‘What do you know about chicks at twelve years old?’

  ‘Things.’

  ‘Apart from having her own problems, she’s helping me find your mum.’

  ‘You’ve not brought her here to . . . you know – replace mum, have you?’

  ‘No one could ever replace your mother. She helped us get you kids back when social services took you away. Last night she rang me needing my help – I couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘Do you think she’s got a boyfriend?’

  ‘I think she’s a bit old for you, Gabe. And don’t you have school today?’

  ‘Half-term.’

  ‘Well, I need to get up and get ready. Maybe today’s the day I find your mother.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Gabe said as he headed for the door. ‘Grandma can’t cook for shit.’

  Kowalski laughed loud and long, and then he cried.

  After he’d got ready he went downstairs and knocked on the conservatory door.

  ‘Your son’s a pervert,’ Cookie said.

  ‘You’re a hot chick according to him. Gabe wants to know if you have a boyfriend.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Twelve – nearly.’

  ‘And I’m twenty-something. Tell him thanks, but no thanks.’

  ‘Did you sleep okay?’

  ‘Until your son began staring at me like a voyeur through the glass doors.’

  ‘Grab your stuff, you can use the en suite to get ready.’

  ‘Is there a lock on the door?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He showed her where the bedroom was and left her to it.

  Matilda was busy in the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t go getting in my way. Do you want coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Sit.’

  He sat at the kitchen table as instructed.
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  ‘I see you brought a guest.’

  ‘That’s right, and I expect she’ll be starving after a night spent with me.’

  ‘You don’t need to be facetious, Raymond Kowalski. I know nothing went on.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you do. Her name’s Cookie . . .’

  ‘That’s a funny name.’

  ‘A nickname. She’s good with computers and she’s helping me search for Jerry.’

  ‘Where is she, Raymond?’

  ‘In the bedroom . . .’

  Tears welled in her eyes. ‘No – Jerry?’

  He stood up and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m getting close, Matty.’

  She shrugged him off. ‘You’d better find her, Kowalski.’

  Cookie came in. ‘I’m starving, what’s for breakfast?’

  While Matilda fed Cookie, he took his coffee into the living room and phoned Maureen Threadneedle at the station.

  ‘You’ve got a nerve.’

  ‘Good morning, Maureen. I hope you slept well?’

  ‘I’ve seen the papers, DCI Kowalski?’

  ‘I thought we were on a first name basis again.’

  ‘That was yesterday, before you messed up my life again.’

  ‘You’ll ring me if . . . ?’

  ‘You’re in negative equity now, you know?’

  ‘I know.’

  He went back into the kitchen and said to Cookie, ‘What’s this stuff you found out?’

  ‘You don’t mind if I carry on stuffing my face while I talk, do you?’

  Matilda had made her a full English with doorstop toast, and she was eating it as if she’d never tasted food before. Gabe was pretending to eat cereal, but he was obviously smitten with Cookie.

  ‘Feel free.’

  ‘You asked me to run a check on those five women, which is exactly what I did.’

  ‘And?’

  Tabitha and Gabi came in.

  ‘Hello, who are you?’ Gabi asked Cookie.

  ‘She’s Gabe’s girlfriend,’ Kowalski said.

  Gabe’s face lit up like a Roman Candle. ‘DAD!’

  Tabitha pulled a face. ‘Does she know about the disgusting things he does?’

  Cookie swivelled on her chair. ‘No! What disgusting things are these?’

  Matilda said, ‘Tabitha! I don’t think we need any of that at the breakfast table.’