by Karen Long
“Hey!” Eleanor shook him but Muntjack was confused. Monster, several feet behind him was snarling aggressively, the wound on his head bleeding profusely now, despite Laurence stopping and applying a handkerchief to it.
“I hate dogs!” shrieked Muntjack, regaining some of the plot.
“I’m guessing it’s mutual,” Eleanor replied, pulling him towards the bridge where Timms was in mid rant to someone on his cell phone. “See that officer?” she pushed her chin in Timms direction. “He’s in charge of this case and he loves the dog you just stoned.” Muntjack peered balefully at Timms. “Want to tell him or me?” There was a pause as he mulled over his options.
“You,” he said with finality.
“Good. So you saw the woman, whose body’s in the water under the bridge and…?”
His lips curled and eyes narrowed, as if trying to express what he’d witnessed. “She was pissy… Kinda demanding. Like she wanted some’at.”
“What do you think she wanted?”
“I dunno,” he answered mystified. “Guess what we all want,” he smirked.
“Can you describe the man at all? Fat, thin, young…?”
“Heavy. He had a cap on, that’s all I can think of. I couldn’t hear what they said it was too far away. I need one of them things that goes in your ears…”
“Focus!” she hissed, poking him sharply in the chest with her fingers.
“Je-sus… I heard a splash. When I looked no one was there. I waited and then I saw him drop some’at big into the water. Then he went.”
“How? On foot?”
He shook his head. “Bike. He was on a bike.”
“Did he arrive on the bike or was it hers?”
Muntjack shrugged and lapsed into silence.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Yeah, you takin’ these cuffs off ’cos I’ve…”
“What happened to the puppy?” snarled Timms, barging past and wrapping his hands round Monster’s head. “Did you do this?” he turned slowly to face Muntjack. Suddenly, the smell of urine became intoxicatingly strong.
Toby was going to be late for work. This was unusual and he knew it was likely to draw attention from Isabel and unwanted comment from Enda but he had been so busy that the hours had just slid past without him noticing, or eating for that matter. He grabbed his linen jacket off the hook on the door and swung it over his shoulders, casting a final satisfied glance around his workroom. He’d been absolutely right about the headrest. Despite the attendant risks of appropriating it, it gave the room a sense of cultural heritage.
The antique table had been acquired by his father in the early nineteen fifties and he had gone to considerable lengths to have it shipped over from Italy, where it had been dragged from the bombed out rubble of a university. Toby had made various adjustments to it; covering the wooden top with a metal plate, to stop blood and fluids accumulating and creating a hole at the end, complete with a metal overflow tube to allow for drainage. The table could be tipped either to the head or foot end, with the aid of a cogged metal rod on a ratchet. At some point in its history someone had replaced a broken lever with a cast iron death’s head, much to Toby’s continuing delight. Up to today he had been forced to use a standard metal headrest, the type purchased easily on medical supply websites and it had always been a source of friction. Its hygienic galvanized surface and ergonomic design, sat at odds with the hand crafted memento mori that was his dissecting table.
He gave the room a final visual sweep and smiled to himself. It was spotlessly clean, despite the fact that Monty, his Irish setter had been spending a great deal of time down there recently, due to Toby’s continued allergic reaction to the animal. The carboys had been carefully positioned below the sink in the corner and the necessary tubes, trocar and buckets had been cleaned and arranged in order of usage. As he flipped the light switch, he became dimly aware of the hammering sound coming from the soundproofed room at the other end of the corridor. He held his breath anxiously, wondering if the sound would permeate the building and draw attention but it hadn’t on any other occasion, so why should now be different? He felt a little frisson of pleasure as he thought about the events of the last few days and his plans for the evening.
Eleanor sat in the car and felt a bead of sweat break from her hairline and trickle down her back. All the windows had been opened but the car felt like the inside of an oven, slowly cooking her from the top down. She wondered why she didn’t seal herself in and start the air con but no good reason came to her. “Whoa, you trying to kill us?” asked Wadesky, jumping into the passenger seat. Eleanor started the engine and pulled into the traffic. “Ok, as of now, Parminder Kaur’s father has just confirmed her ID and Timms is wrapping up at the morgue. He’s going to city hall to get permission for phone and bank account access and should be back in a couple of hours. How about we go to…” Wadesky consulted her notepad, “… The Orient Express and then check out her apartment?”
“Sounds like a plan,” replied Eleanor, thoughtfully.
“What you thinking?”
“I can’t see the connection between Giselle and Parminder.”
“They lived together, maybe she knew who the killer was?” suggested Wadesky.
Eleanor nodded. “But Giselle was murdered about eighteen months ago and she didn’t call the disappearance in. She packed up her stuff, put it neatly in the attic and got another room-mate moved in.”
“Uh-huh. But she was murdered twenty-four hours after you and Whitefoot spoke to her. That’s not a coincidence.”
“She lied about something,” mused Eleanor. Wadesky glanced at her, waiting for her thoughts to clarify. “It was something to do with a couple of skulls I think. She said that Giselle had a pair of babies’ skulls that she’d secured in a box soon after Giselle’s disappearance and left in the basement. The boxes were rummaged through, and the skulls taken.”
“She make any suggestions as to who took ’em?” asked Wadesky curiously.
“She said raccoons but then countered that saying that, ‘raccoons don’t take the boxes’.”
“She was implying that someone had stolen them?”
Eleanor nodded and thought for a moment or two. “Because she knew who took them and why and I think that’s what got her killed.”
“What was so important about the skulls, apart from them being in bad taste?”
“They could identify who gave them to Giselle and who murdered her.”
“So why’d this all blow up now?” asked Wadesky.
“Because Parminder Kaur saw an opportunity to make a little bit of extra cash. She hadn’t known Giselle had been murdered until we came round the other day and started asking questions. The skulls were either stolen or, more likely, she gave them or sold them back to the guy and when she realised that he’d murdered Giselle, she contacted him to meet her by the bridge in Tommy Thompson Park.”
“To blackmail him?”
Eleanor nodded. “I imagine so.”
Wadesky raised her eyebrows and thought for a moment or two. “Then Parminder would have had to contact him in some way wouldn’t she?”
“So, you’re saying that she met up with a guy and got herself murdered?” said Amrit Chandry, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief, outrage and a whiff of theatrics, thought Eleanor, as she explained the facts to Parminder’s boss. “I cannot believe that!” he said, slapping a hand to his forehead.
“Mr Chandry, perhaps you’d like to explain exactly what happened yesterday with Ms Kaur,” asked Eleanor.
“Well… she came to work at about ten in the morning. Prepared the vegetables for the evening staff, set off a couple of dishes that needed a long cook and then left at about six, when the chef and the evening team arrived.”
“Were you aware of anything being different about her yesterday? Did she leave for any reason or receive any calls or visitors perhaps?” Eleanor watched as he scratched his head and then pinched the top of his nose.
; “I don’t remember but I spend most of the day in my office, not in the kitchen. Maybe Jaden can help. Please come with me.”
Eleanor and Wadesky followed Amrit Chandry past the set tables in the main restaurant, through a swing door, along a heavily-scented corridor and into the kitchen. The back door had been propped open, due to the intense steamy heat generated by several hobs. Two white-clad kitchen staff were in the midst of frying, chopping and stirring. Both were heavily sweat stained and appeared to be in less than affable moods.
“Jaden, these are police officers and they need to know about Parminder yesterday.”
Jaden scowled but nodded his head as he stirred a huge pot of spiced chicken. “What d’ya wanna know?” he killed the flame and wiped his hands on a tea cloth. “She was here yesterday but didn’t show today. There a problem?”
“She’s dead. Murdered,” said Eleanor bluntly.
“Shit. Big problem then,” replied Jaden, his scowl softening. “You know who did it?”
“Not yet, hence the importance of getting all of the facts straight.”
Jaden nodded. “I got here about ten minutes before Parminder yesterday. She worked a single shift but I stayed on for the double. So, she left about sixish, I guess. Can’t be more accurate I’m afraid.”
“When did your shift end?”
“Round about midnight I think.”
“Can you remember whether Parminder was on foot or bike?”
Jaden shook his head. “She usually biked here but I can’t say for certain if she did yesterday, as I can’t see the bike rack from here.” He made a step towards the door and gestured round the doorway. “There’s a bike rack round the corner.”
“Can you show me?” asked Eleanor moving towards him.
“Sure.”
The bike rack was a rusted metal support consisting of eight ports, which currently supported three bikes, each secured with various locking mechanisms.
“Is Parminder’s bike here?” Wadesky asked Jaden, who was lighting a cigarette. “No, she had a black and silver racer.” He waved his hand along the bikes. “Dunno whose these are but that one’s mine.” He pointed and inhaled deeply, holding onto the fix for several moments before letting the smoke creep slowly out from his nostrils.
“There’s an extra bike lock there.” Eleanor pointed to a plastic sleeved chain and lock wrapped twice around the metal and secured with a small brass padlock. “This hers?”
Jaden looked at it and shook his head. “Dunno. Might be.”
“Did she use her phone here or speak about meeting someone?” Wadesky continued, wafting away the smoke from her face. Picking up the cue, Jaden turned his head away and blew the remaining lungful away from them. “Sorry… I really didn’t pick up on anything like that. No one came to the kitchen, apart from the girl who delivers the veg. I didn’t see Parminder go and don’t think I really said anything of any interest to her.” He shrugged, took a final drag before crushing the cigarette against the wall and putting the remains into a nearby trashcan. He started back to the kitchen. “One thing’s for sure she won’t have called anyone from her cell ’cos we’re in a dead spot. Never any effing signal here. Middle of the city and all… go figure!”
Eleanor pulled her cell phone from her pocket and checked her signal strength. There was none.
“You’re not far from TTP here. Did Parminder ever go there? Maybe during her break?”
“When the weather’s good we all pop over with our lunch.”
Chapter Eight
Sergeant Andy Harrison stood behind the desk that served as a barrier between those trespassed upon; those who trespassed on others, and himself. He sighed deeply. “Have you called Child Services?” he ventured cautiously, to the woman glaring at him.
“You’re trying to fob me off!” the woman shrieked, jiggling a bemused toddler violently in her arms. Andy Harrison watched sympathetically as the child’s head bounced around and a large bubble of snot appeared below his red nose. “She said one night that’s all! One frikken night and that was three nights ago! How the hell am I supposed to go to work with a sodding kid in tow?”
Andy Harrison rubbed his dyspeptic abdomen and stifled a burp. “Has she done this before? Disappeared and left you with…?”
“Justin.” She turned and looked at the boy, tutted, and using the grimy bib looped over his head she attacked the runny nose enthusiastically, causing little Justin to screw up his face miserably. “Don’t you start!” This seemed to have a less than salutary effect and within seconds Justin was roaring fit to wake the dead.
“Holy mother of God!” bellowed a drunk handcuffed to a bench several feet away from the desk. “Shut him up!”
“You shut the fuck up!” screamed the woman.
Andy Harrison reached below the desk for a couple of antacids and a lollipop. He smiled at Justin as he handed the sweet to him, who turned off the misery as if it were controlled by a tap. “Now, let me get this right,” he said carefully. “Your friend Tara; a working girl like yourself…” he added wearily. The woman scowled at him. “Left Justin with you on Sunday night. She informed you that she was going to ‘work’ for a couple of hours and then she’d be back to collect him. Is that correct?”
The woman rolled her eyes and nodded, “That’s what I said.”
“But she didn’t return, didn’t call you and has been missing from her workplace…” Andy consulted the sheet of notes in front of him, “… the Costco car park off Dundas. And none of her friends or colleagues have seen her either. Can you give me a description of Tara?”
“Look her up under Mother of the Year Awards,” proffered the drunk.
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself!” screamed the woman, shaking a fist menacingly.
“Tara…? What’s her surname?” Andy raised his voice over the chaos.
“Huh?” said the woman still glaring at the drunk.
“Tara what?” barked Andy, irritated and indigested.
“Don’t get fucking snippy with me!” she snapped back. “She’s in your files. Tara Rocks.”
“Rocks? That her real name?” asked Andy.
“That’s what she said.”
He typed ‘Tara Rocks’ into the computer on his desk and smiled as ‘Tara Roques’ was offered as a possible match. He turned the screen round so the woman could look at the mug shot. “Yeah! That’s her.” Andy pressed the print icon and reached over to retrieve the sheet.
“So, what are you gonna do to find her?” snarled the woman, leaning across the barrier and poking a finger in Andy’s direction.
“I’m going to send this up to the detectives on the second floor and stress the importance of finding Justin’s mom.”
“The fuck he will!” snorted the drunk. “Yeah… DEFCON one, for you and Mizz Rocks.”
“You shit for brains!” screamed the woman, dumping Justin on the floor, as she prepared for battle.
“Look!” bellowed Andy. “Here is Detective Inspector Raven and I am handing her the papers, as we speak.
Eleanor had adopted a low profile, as she headed past reception to the stairs, but apparently not low enough. Reluctant to get involved with the saga, she grabbed the print-out and report sheet from Andy Harrison. “I shall give this my full consideration,” she said firmly and put on a spurt towards the stairs. She could hear Andy Harrison’s mollifying tones fade below her, as she sped up the stairs. Making her way along the second floor corridor towards her office, she glanced at the papers in her hand and stopped dead.
“What you got there?” asked Laurence as he stepped out of their office, his cheek conspicuously bandaged. Eleanor turned the sheet containing the mug shot of Tara Roques around and held it up to him. “Who’d you see?” she asked.
“It’s Giselle…” began Laurence but Eleanor was already half-way down the stairs. “Isn’t it?”
Lula-Bell Martin lolled in the chair and exhaled two giant funnels of smoke, whilst keeping the cigarette firmly clamped between her bron
ze coloured teeth. “I told him downstairs it was fucking important!” she raised her tattooed eyebrows and snorted.
“Did Tara say that she was going to meet anyone in particular?” asked Eleanor.
Lula-Bell shrugged, “I dunno. I don’t remember her sayin’.”
“Did she have any regular customers?”
“Well who don’t?” responded Lula-Bell, with a coy smile. “Some clients get very attached.” She winked knowingly but then her face turned stony. “But most are just douchebags!”
“Is it possible that Tara could have decided to move on. Leave Justin behind?”
“No, that’s one thing she wouldn’t of done. She wouldn’t of asked me to look after him but there was no-one else,” she shrugged. “I ain’t no good with kids. Not that I’d hurt ’em or nothing. I just ain’t the motherly type.” Laurence struggled to keep his eyebrows from lifting judgmentally. The effort wasn’t lost on Lula-Bell, who curled her lip contemptuously. “We ain’t all Mother fucking Teresa!” she snarled.
“Did Tara have a boyfriend?” said Eleanor quickly.
“I never saw him but there was one guy who was interested in her.”
“Interested how?” asked Eleanor curiously.
“Well he gave her presents and stuff. Weird shit mostly.”
“Like what?” asked Eleanor, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.
Lula-Bell sucked her teeth noisily as she thought. “Old shit. A comb and some hair stuff.” She was getting bored and began to pick at a red, crusted patch on her cheek. Laurence winced.
“What?” she snapped.
“That sore,” He pointed at her face. “Have you got them anywhere else?”
“What the fuck’s it to do with you?” she asked, outraged.
“You have non-bullous impetigo and it’s highly contagious.” His voice trailed off as he saw Eleanor’s face cloud with irritation.
“It’s what?” asked Lula-Bell, studying her fingers for evidence of contamination.
