The Flesh is Weak (P&R3)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘No I’m not. So, what’s your proposition?’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything I know, and you let me go. I’ll become someone else somewhere else, but as far as Sir Charles and MI6 will know – I died in this fire.’

  He certainly wanted to know about his parents, why their files were Top Secret, and why MI6 would kill to stop him finding out about them. She had tried to murder him, but she hadn’t actually succeeded. Yes, she had given him a shove in the back at Pimlico train station, but no one had seen her do it. In a court of law, it would be his word against hers. All the CCTV footage revealed was a woman walking away – hardly incriminating. Also, the modified photograph was hardly evidence. In effect, he had nothing apart from her confession, which again wouldn’t stand up in a court of law even though he had witnesses.

  ‘So, after trying to kill me you now want me to lie for you so that you can disappear?’

  ‘Yes, but I have a file, and I can tell you about Sir Charles Lathbury and where we meet in the MI6 building.’

  He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. ‘Okay, but make sure you don’t disappear until you’ve told me everything.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Ow!’ Doc Michelin yelled as his head hit the floor.

  ‘Never mind about a little bump on the head, Doc, it’s getting a bit warm in here.’

  Doc unbuckled the strap at Richards’ feet. ‘I’m going as fast as I can, Parish.’

  Richards released his hands and feet then moved to Gabe Kowalski, who was still paralysed from the Rohypnol injection. Doc Michelin released Alex Knight.

  Parish slung the dead weight of Gabe Kowalski over his shoulder. Doc Michelin led the way and threaded a path through the conflagration towards the door. The fire had engulfed every bit of combustible material and closed off their escape route. There was a plastic-coated metal framework above them that held lights and wiring, but it clearly wasn’t fire resistant because not only were pieces breaking off and falling around them, but the heat had also liquefied the plastic and it had begun dripping on them like volcanic larva.

  ‘We’re going to burn to death in here unless we find a way out soon,’ Parish shouted above the noise from the fire and collapsing stacks of combustibles.

  ‘Over here,’ Richards said. She led them to a shutter door, but the metal chain to open it was close to the fire and parts of it were glowing.

  Doc Michelin tore off his shirt, ripped it in half, and Richards helped him wrap it around his hands.

  ‘Be careful, Doc,’ Richards said.

  He nodded and moved nearer to the chain, but before he could reach it a stream of liquid plastic gouged a hole in his naked back and forced him to his knees.

  Richards moved to help him, but he held up his hand to stop her, then pushed himself up again and carried on. He reached the hanging chain and began pulling it downwards, but it was one of those that would fall back down again unless you held onto the chain, or wedged it into metal locking device. The binding round his hands burst into flames and disintegrated as he pulled the chain downwards hand-over-hand five or six times, holding onto it with one hand and pulling with the other. It was enough for Parish to roll Gabe out, and then he pushed Alex and Richards out.

  ‘Come on, Doc, let’s go,’ he shouted.

  But the Doc was on his knees, and the flesh was falling from his hands.

  Parish dragged him to the door and rolled him out, then he squeezed through the gap himself.

  It was dark, and he had no idea of time.

  ‘I’ve called the fire brigade and ambulances, Sir,’ Richards said.

  ‘We need water for the Doc,’ Parish said dragging Gabe and then the Doc further away from the building. Flames had begun to spit through the opening, windows exploded outwards, and the metal warehouse began to buckle.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Alex said and ran off in the direction of the car park.

  Within minutes they heard car alarms wailing and she was back with a large plastic container full of water. ‘Radiators,’ she explained.

  Parish took off his shirt, soaked it in water and wrapped it around Doc Michelin’s hands. He was unconscious and Parish wondered whether the Doc was going to make it.

  ‘Is everyone else okay?’ he asked.

  Alex and Richards nodded, and Gabe was regaining consciousness. ‘What happened, Mr Parish?’

  ‘Have you phoned Kowalski, Richards?’

  ‘No, I forgot.’ She pulled out her phone and made the call. When it ended she said, ‘He’ll be waiting at the hospital.’

  He thought of the chaos at King George Hospital. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Oh crap... Sorry. I don’t know.’

  ‘Where are the ambulances coming from?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Phone him back, tell him to wait until we phone him and let him know where the ambulances are taking us.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m going to disappear before the ambulances and fire brigade arrive,’ Alex said.

  ‘What have you got to tell me?’ Parish said pouring more water over Doc Michelin.

  ‘My car is in the King George Hospital car park and your file is on the passenger seat.’ She told him the registration number and passed him the keys. ‘My boss is called Sir Charles Lathbury, and I meet him underneath the main levels of the MI6 building. They’ll deny it, but there are places deep underground and a tunnel that goes under the Thames.’

  ‘And you have no idea why they wanted me dead?’

  ‘No. They never tell you why just in case you’re captured.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Somewhere warm. I’ll open up a small shop selling my own clothes designs. Nothing grand, just small stuff to keep me alive and anonymous. I hope your friend makes it, he did a brave thing tell him.’

  ‘I will,’ he said, but she had already disappeared into the night.

  An ambulance arrived from the West Middlesex Hospital in Edmonton and the driver had to accelerate against the metal gate to break the lock and gain access.

  After insisting that neither he nor Richards required treatment, Parish made the paramedics take Doc Michelin and Gabe Kowalski on a blue light. As the medics were putting an intravenous canula into Doc Michelin’s neck, Parish saw a look pass between the two of them and one shook his head.

  Shit, he thought. This whole case had been a disaster from day one. In a week he’d lost the Chief, Richards had been assaulted, he’d nearly been killed, and now Doc Michelin was probably going to die.

  ‘Are you all tight, Sir?’ Richards said sitting on a low wall next to him.

  ‘I’m feeling a bit defeated at the moment, Richards.’

  ‘But we solved the case.’

  ‘No we didn’t. If it hadn’t been for John Linton following us, we’d be dead by now.’

  ‘We would have solved it though, we were getting close.’

  ‘No, Richards. We were never going to solve it. We had no idea it was about cannibalism, we’d never heard of Tantalus Industries, and although we’d discovered the name of Tubal Cain, we knew absolutely nothing about the Clan. In the end, we’re lucky to be alive.’

  ‘What about Doc Michelin?’

  ‘If he does survive, he’ll be crippled for life and never be able to work with his hands.’

  Richards began crying as the second ambulance arrived.

  He put his arm around her, but he had no words of comfort. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever felt so bad.

  ***

  Kowalski clasped him in a bear grip as soon as he stepped out of the ambulance. ‘You’re a fucking hero, Parish.’

  ‘As usual, you’re hugging the wrong man, Kowalski. Doc Michelin’s the hero not me.’

  ‘Was...’ Kowalski said.

  ‘Oh God,’ Richards cried and burst into tears again.

  ‘I didn’t think he’d make it,’ Parish said. ‘Come on, Richards, let’s get you checked over.’

  ‘I want to d
ie, Sir.’

  ‘No you don’t. Tomorrow, you’ll be glad to be alive.’

  ‘I will not.’

  Kowalski and Jerry came up to thank him again, and then they disappeared up to the children’s ward. Gabe was being kept in overnight for observation.

  Chief Powers arrived. ‘That must hurt?’ she said touching the left side of his face, which had begun to swell and discolour. ‘You and Richards look like twins.’

  ‘Compliments of the entomologist Rick Murcer.’ He described what had happened since the early morning phone call about the explosion at King George Hospital. ‘We knew Murcer, of course, and I heard two other names: Lord Peter Kinsey of Rotherhithe and someone who had travelled from America for the occasion – Mayor Arnold Hoffmier from Lake Webster in Massachusetts.’

  ‘You mean there were people from other countries sat at this table eating Masterson?’

  ‘Yes. From the way some of them were speaking I don’t think they were English.’

  ‘And John Linton killed all of them?’

  ‘Including the security guards, waiters, chefs, and drivers – I’d say about fifty in total. The only people he didn’t kill was us... Well, except Doc Michelin, but I don’t think that was intended. The fire spread a bit too quickly and blocked our way out.’

  ‘And you have no idea where Linton is?’

  ‘None at all.’ He decided not to say anything about Alex Knight, MI6, and his parents being labelled Top Secret.

  ‘Okay, I’ll get... I have no idea what team cannibalism falls under, but I’ll get someone onto it. In the meantime, come into the station tomorrow morning about nine o’clock before the press briefing, and we’ll talk about what you can tell them.’

  ‘That’ll be the truth, won’t it?’

  She stood up to leave. ‘We’ll see,’ she said over her shoulder.

  Parish phoned Angie who was really annoyed at him because he’d missed her scan, but then wished she hadn’t said anything when she found out what had happened. When Angie did arrive at the hospital, she proudly thrust the picture of the baby at him.

  He turned the postcard-sized x-ray every which way, but couldn’t see anything that resembled a baby. In the end she had to point it out to him. He nodded and said, ‘Oh yeah,’ but he still couldn’t see his heir. And although a tiny part of him was excited at being a father, a large part of him was deeply saddened at the loss of the Chief and Doc Michelin.

  When he told her about Doc Michelin she burst into tears and put the picture away.

  ‘It’s the wrong time for baby pictures. That’s two friends we’ve lost this week, Jed Parish.’

  ‘I know.’

  He decided to tell her about Alex Knight, MI6, and his parents at a more opportune time over the weekend.

  After waiting three hours, they were eventually seen by a nurse, and told to leave and stop clogging up the waiting room.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Aftermath

  Saturday, 14th May

  As directed, he arrived in the station at nine o’clock. He’d ordered Richards to stay in bed and catch up with her beauty sleep.

  ‘Are you insinuating something?’ she’d said, but he could see that recent events had taken their toll on her – the light had dimmed in her eyes.

  ‘Yes, you’ll never get yourself a man if he has to wake up to that bag of onions every morning.’

  ‘I know,’ she said pulling the quilt over her head.

  A week ago she would never have agreed.

  Chief Powers was waiting for him when he walked into the squad room. They went into her office, and after asking if he could, he made himself a four-sugared coffee like he used to. The Chief’s office remained the same. Walter Day’s pictures and awards were still on the walls. Debbie would probably take them down when she had the time.

  She paced about the office while he made his coffee and sat down. ‘You’ve opened a can of worms, Inspector.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘From what we’ve been able to ascertain so far, the members of that cannibal club reads like an international Who’s Who. Besides the three you mentioned, we also know about Senator Judith Abrams from Australia, Deputy Commissioner of Police Michael Loe from New Zealand, and there are others from South Africa, Russia, and Canada.’

  ‘So, what are you saying?’

  ‘You can’t tell the press anything about these people.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There’d be serious international fallout. This incident has gone past the Police Commissioner up to ministerial level, and they’re pulling the strings now.’

  ‘John Linton said there’d be no justice, that’s why he killed them all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Everyone’s covering it up because of who these people were. If they’d still been alive they would have got away with it. As Linton said, the law is made by the rich and powerful – it isn’t meant for them.’

  ‘You don’t believe that?’

  ‘You’ve just confirmed it.’

  ‘Let’s not argue semantics, you know how these things work.’

  He knew he wasn’t going to win, if there was any winning to be had. ‘So, what do you want me to tell the press? If these international celebrities didn’t kill and eat all those children, who the hell did?’

  ‘We found a dead body in the car park at King George Hospital that we can’t identify. He was shot in the head and his face is unrecognisable. We have no match for his fingerprints or DNA, so we can blame everything on him. You can tell the press that you’ve found the murderer, but as yet you’re unable to identify him. Also, Doctor Michelin and the researcher from Sheffield University didn’t die in vain. We checked the database and found that pictures of all the reconstructed faces were uploaded. Eighteen of the twenty-two have now been identified, and we’re asking the public for help with the other four. Say nothing about the cannibalism; we don’t want to upset the parents of those children. Make no references to the Clan of Tubal Cain or Tantalus Industries, the press would simply try to sensationalise the whole thing as human sacrifices by Satanists.’

  ‘Seems like you’ve got it all worked out, Chief?’

  ‘As I said, it’s been discussed at the highest level. The truth is what we say it is.’

  ‘So it would appear.’ He wasn’t happy. He was being used as a mouthpiece to cover up the truth. What could he do? Refusal to participate would end his career. Oh, they wouldn’t say as much, but gradually he’d be shunted sideways and downwards like a forgotten piece of a game. It wasn’t good enough simply to solve murders anymore; you also had to be a politician. The more he thought about it, the more he knew she was right. What good would the truth do anybody? If the world knew the truth, a lot of shit would hit a very large fan. And in the end, what proof did he have that any of it was true? Gabe Kowalski had been drugged, Doc Michelin was dead, John Linton and Alex Knight had disappeared, which left him and Richards up the proverbial creek without a paddle. The skeletons had been destroyed, although Toadstone did still have one, but one skeleton with the Clan symbol etched into the sternum was hardly proof of an international dining club that ate children. What was the saying? Discretion is the better part of valour.

  ‘Has Jenny Weber written something down?’

  She passed him a sheet of paper.

  ‘Short and brief?’

  ‘Exactly how the people who pay our wages like it, Inspector.’

  He checked his watch. It was quarter to ten.

  ‘A couple of things before you go. The Chief Constable has given you and Richards next week off after your ordeal. Holmes and Watson will cover for you, and then they’ll go back to Potter’s Bar.’

  ‘Good, I know Richards could use some recovery time.’ He stood up thinking she’d finished.

  ‘Also, I won’t be here when you get back, so I’ll say goodbye now. It was good working with you, and I hope you and Richards go from strength to strength.’

  ‘Oh, I thought y
ou were here to stay?’

  ‘Sorry, no. I was always going to be short-term. The Chief Constable will appoint someone next week.’

  ‘I hate breaking in new Detective Chief Inspectors.’

  ‘Yes, it’s not easy.’

  Again, he thought she’d finished, and took a step towards the door.

  ‘Finally, someone from the hospital rang called Dr Marie Rafferty. She said you’re in the last chance saloon, and that you’d better attend the new appointment at nine-thirty on Tuesday morning, or else.’

  ‘Counselling,’ Parish clarified. He’d give that jumped-up receptionist what for when he saw her.

  They shook hands and said goodbye. He made his way to the Raglan Hotel, read out what Jenny Weber had written on the sheet of paper, and left. He was on the A10 travelling towards King George Hospital by ten-thirty and arrived at eleven forty-five.

  After finding Alex Knight’s car, which had a front offside flat tyre, he helped himself to Jed Parish’s file and put the keys in the ignition. He then went and had lunch in the hospital cafeteria to say his own goodbye to Doc Michelin.

  He selected the stew and dumplings with two bread rolls for dunking. As he read about himself on the two sheets of paper that were inside the beige folder, and talked to Doc Michelin who was eating a large chocolate muffin opposite him, people gave him the strangest of looks.

  ‘You won’t believe this, Doc.’

  ‘You’re right I probably won’t, but tell me anyway?’

  ‘They’ve described me as late thirties, I’m only thirty-one.’

  ‘Yes, I can see how that might rankle.’

  ‘So listen, Doc, it says here that my parents are Top Secret. You know about these things, what does that mean exactly?’

  ‘Such material would cause exceptionally grave damage to national security if made publicly available.’

  ‘You’re a genius, Doc.’

  ‘I’m a dead genius, Parish’

  ‘Yeah, and I feel you’ve let me down a bit getting yourself killed.’