The Murder Map

by Danny Miller

  Tobin and Minton glanced at each other, heads bobbing up and down in agreement. It was clear they liked the idea, that it really did sound like a fine plan.

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘In her room, of course,’ said Minton.

  McVale moved slowly into the hallway, as if not to disturb anyone, especially a scared little girl. He then pointed to a door, and mouthed the words, In here?

  Tobin and Minton gave the thumbs-up, to which McVale responded with the rounded thumb to forefinger sign of OK.

  McVale came back into the living room, all smiles. ‘Right, lads, follow me.’

  Tony and Eddie got up from the table and did as Jimmy McVale asked. They followed him out of the cottage into the thin silvery light of the cold January day, and watched as he sprang his car keys from the pocket of his artificially distressed, designer brown leather jacket. McVale went around to the rear of his BMW, twirled the key in the lock, and the boot opened without so much as a squeak. With a come-hither gesture he invited Tony and Eddie to take a look. They peered in.

  ‘Christ!’

  ‘What’s she doing …!’

  Both men reeled back in shock. Jimmy McVale wasn’t smiling now. His prominent brow was ridged in a vicious V, and everything about him that had been light and charming was now transformed into dark and menacing. He stopped Eddie and Tony scuttling away by grabbing the collars of their matching blue quilted ski jackets. He then forced their faces almost into the boot of the car, inches away from its terrified cargo.

  ‘Look! Take a good, hard look … Ruby.’

  Monday (4)

  ‘You really, really don’t look very well. It looks like you’ve got some kind of virus. I don’t want Ella catching anything.’

  Banes glanced in the rear-view mirror. Parker was right. The pallid had turned to white and waxy. He’d swallowed some paracetamol, but still his head throbbed. He could feel a permanent sheen of sweat over his body. Whilst driving he tried to rest his right hand off the steering wheel as much as possible because it throbbed with pain now, and when it didn’t, it was weirdly numb. The scratch he’d received from that vicious cat in Norwood was now livid and clearly septic, sticking to his shirt; his whole arm had turned a greenish-yellow colour. And his leg ached too. The leg that had been bitten by that brutal little bastard of a dog that belonged to Charles Wilkes. He’d always thought he liked animals, or certainly didn’t hate them like he hated most humans, but he was reconsidering that position now.

  ‘She won’t catch anything, we’re only picking her up and dropping her off, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then don’t complain. Not my idea. If I had my way we wouldn’t be bloody wasting time doing this. She should bloody well walk …’

  Banes carried on muttering his complaints – the aches and pains in his arm and leg, and the overall feeling of illness, darkened his mood. They were in the white van heading towards Ella Fielding’s school, and Banes wasn’t happy about it, not one little bit. But Parker had insisted, as he’d promised to pick Ella up. And as Parker had pointed out, they would only be waiting about anyway for Ralph Collins to do his work. So by the time they’d picked her up and dropped her off at home, the technician would have some conclusive news for them.

  On leaving Wilkes’ gallery, they had taken the painting to the university’s art department. Collins, a bluntly spoken and blunt-looking Yorkshireman, was initially curious as to why Parker wanted the new paint removed, and what they hoped to find. Parker spun him a tale, not too far from the truth, so as to make it believable. It was a piece of art created by a con with a hidden message. Parker said that he wanted it for an ongoing research project and then proceeded to waffle on about the project, until Collins, a technician and not an academic, cut him short by telling him he’d get straight on with it. Which was the desired effect.

  Collins had already cleaned off enough of the paint to start to reveal the image that lay beneath whilst they were still in the lab with him. It was another hill, or a mountain. But this one was bigger than the other two. And it had something on it: it was, by the looks of it, some kind of bird. A swan? A duck? A chicken? It was hard to determine. But Ralph Collins assured them that he would be able to clean the picture back to its original state.

  In the hour or so it would take, Parker and Banes could pick up Ella and drop her at home. Vanessa was due back from seeing her sister shortly, and would wait with Ella for Sally to return from London. Parker wanted to go on his own, and it was clear to Banes that he didn’t want him anywhere near his new family. But Banes insisted – at this stage of the game, this close to the prize, he didn’t want Parker out of his sight.

  And Parker could see the logic of this. He’d seen how these things could go badly wrong, men undone by greed. Of course, he’d seen this mainly in films, like The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. But he understood the logic.

  The white van pulled up at the school gates.

  Frost dropped the receiver into the cradle from enough of a height to make an exclamatory clatter, and then mouthed one of his lesser-used swear words.

  ‘No go?’ asked John Waters, sat opposite him at Frost’s desk.

  ‘The station at Peckham Rye where McVale was supposed to sign in today haven’t seen him. The address he’s registered at in Dulwich, he’s not at. He had a book reading at Goldsmiths College in New Cross last night, but he didn’t turn up for it.’

  ‘Which tells you?’

  ‘Well, he’s either on the run and out of the country because he knows we’re on to him … or he’s in Denton.’

  Frost and Waters both craned their necks to look out of the office door to discover the source of some frenzied yapping. Desk Sergeant Johnny Johnson had just escorted a man and his dog through to the incident room, and sat the man down at DC Arthur Hanlon’s desk.

  Frost then spotted something more interesting. DC Clarke was coming through with a young woman with long, shiny henna-red hair. Her entire face looked red and moist with tears.

  Frost leapt up from his chair. Waters again looked surprised at the new-found agility.

  ‘Good to see your back has completely cleared up. We were going to have a whip-round for a walking stick. When I saw you first thing, I couldn’t believe it.’

  ‘Never felt better, John. I might have to move house, but it was worth it.’

  Waters was about to question him further but the sprightly detective was out through his office door and bounding over to Clarke, who was taking the still-weeping girl to the interview room.

  As Frost made his way over, the dog, a wiry-haired Jack Russell, sprang out from under the chair his owner was sitting on and fired off a barrage of barks at him. The detective tried to stare him down. ‘Ssssit! Ssssit!’ he hissed out, just like that dog-training woman on the telly. To no avail – the terrier kept straining at its lead and yapping away.

  Arthur Hanlon said to the owner, ‘He recognizes a dog’s dinner when he sees one.’

  The owner laughed. Frost didn’t have time to muster a retort and carried on over to Clarke.

  ‘I take it this is Louisa Hamilton?’

  Clarke turned towards Frost, still keeping a firm guiding hand on the uncuffed Louisa Hamilton. ‘That’s right. She eventually contacted Richard Hanson at his work number, just like we thought. She wanted the £70,000 in used notes, or she was going to tell Gail Hanson the whole story.’

  ‘Shame Gail had already heard the story.’

  ‘I’m … I’m … sorry …’

  She burst into tears – again. Her face looked waterlogged. Any more and she’d drown.

  ‘I’m sure you are,’ said an impatient Frost. ‘But just for the record, tell me, Louisa, tell me you don’t have Ruby.’

  Louisa Hamilton shook her head so vigorously that she resembled a garden sprinkler. Frost and Clarke had to take a step back from her.

  ‘He made me … he made me do it.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘
Ryan Grayson, her new boyfriend,’ said Clarke when Louisa was unable to. ‘Apparently it was all his idea.’

  ‘Take a statement and nick her for blackmail, obstructing police business, going out with idiots, and anything else you see fit to throw at her.’

  DC Clarke took the busted drain away.

  Frost skirted the snappy Jack Russell whilst announcing to everyone in the incident room, ‘Right, listen up, we need to find Jimmy McVale. Let’s assume he’s in sunny Denton or its environs.’

  Everyone who wasn’t on the phone making enquiries, and even some that were, shouted back, ‘Yes, guv!’ or words to that effect.

  ‘So, I want coppers posted at—’

  ‘Hold on, Frost!’ called out Superintendent Mullett as he stalked into the incident room. ‘Just got confirmation through from the courts that the council planning department and Jarrett & Sons have won the appeal, and have permission to start stage one of clearing Denton Woods for the new development.’

  Groans went up from the entire room, even the dog barked. No one could deny there was a heavy bias amongst them in favour of keeping the woods and not building some Legoland housing estate. Most of the Eagle Lane coppers were local, and most knew the woods intimately and loved the trees almost as much as the dog did, which now aimed its barks at Mullett.

  ‘We’ve also received intelligence that there will be more protestors coming into the area, and the present ones at the site are actively blocking the way to the bulldozers. I need every available officer at the site immediately! I predict a riot.’

  Now Frost groaned, and swore. Loudly.

  ‘What have you got there, Ella?’

  ‘It’s for Granddad,’ said Ella Fielding, showing Stephen Parker what she had on her lap: a scroll of thick and fibrous grey paper.

  Ella was sat between Parker and Banes in the front of the white Bedford van, on their way to drop her off at home. Banes kept on nudging the scroll of paper out of the way with his hand every time he had to change gear. Not that it particularly impeded his driving, but it was just a way of registering his continued annoyance at having to do the school run. He was vexed. I just don’t have time for this bollocks, he told himself.

  ‘I’m sure he would have appreciated it, Ella, you know how much he loved art.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ muttered Banes, under his breath but loud enough for the ‘naughty’ swear word to register with the little girl. She screwed up her face and gave him a challenging look.

  Parker shot a look at Banes too, obviously wanting to prevent him from making any insensitive remarks. He turned his attention back to mollifying the little girl, who now looked upset.

  ‘Your grandmother told me you were taking the loss of your grandfather quite hard, Ella. I know that he was … at times like a father to you. Right?’

  She nodded. ‘My teacher said that I should celebrate Granddad, and try not to feel sad. Just remember all the happy times.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea, Ella.’

  ‘I never knew either of my granddads,’ said Banes.

  ‘That’s sad,’ said Ella, with genuine emotion in her voice.

  ‘Or my dad, for that matter.’

  Parker gave a loud warning cough and pulled a shut-up face, or certainly that’s how Clive interpreted it. Banes smiled slyly; he enjoyed winding the dopey academic up, it was so easy.

  ‘I don’t know my dad either,’ said the little girl.

  She then put her hand on Clive Banes’ hand as it idled on the gearstick. He flinched and moved it away, as if the sensation of being touched kindly was completely new to him.

  ‘Are you not well?’ asked Ella Fielding, suddenly looking concerned.

  Parker cleared his throat again and tapped Ella’s shoulder to draw her attention away from Banes, who clearly wasn’t enjoying it.

  ‘I’d love to have a look at your painting,’ encouraged Parker. ‘I know that you’ve been getting top marks at school for your art. That’s your granddad’s influence, that is, the same one that sent your mother to art school. Do you think you’ll go to art school when you’re older, study painting?’

  Ella nodded, and happily unrolled her work. ‘It’s not a painting, I used pastels and some crayons for this one. What do you think?’

  Parker’s eyes widened on the picture, he looked impressed. It showed a blue sky and fluffy white clouds, and the pastels were carefully smeared to make the clouds distended and wispy; there were also some well-proportioned little ticks to represent birds in flight. Parker’s gaze was soon drawn down to the main subject of the piece, a pirate in his tricorne hat, an eyepatch, pantaloons, a long brocaded jacket, and with a broad cutlass gripped in his hand. The pirate stood with his Jim Hawkins, as Parker scrolled back to his childhood reading of Treasure Island. But this Jim was also dressed as a pirate, and was obviously a girl, and obviously Ella. And even though the pirate, with his eyepatch and beard, was not a faithful representation of Ivan Fielding, it was safe to assume it was him.

  ‘Jesus bloody Christ!’

  ‘That’s rude, again, Mr Banes,’ chided Ella.

  Banes slowed the van, then, rather recklessly, swerved against the traffic and pulled over at a bus stop. They were just a street away from Ella’s home. Parker didn’t complain about the dangerous driving as he, like Banes, was fixated on the colourful drawing.

  ‘Is that … is that Conrad’s painting?’ asked Banes.

  ‘It’s not a painting, it’s pastels and crayons, and it’s mine. It’s Granddad and me,’ explained Ella.

  Parker nodded in agreement, with both parties.

  The two pirates stood on a mound with a smaller hill at either side. It was instantly clear to Parker and Banes that the mound in the middle was the centre panel of the triptych, the one Wilkes had painted over – it had to be. The composition was more realistic (and just better) than Conrad’s. There were fallen leaves and bracken on the ground, and the hills were more earthy and grassy, with a mossy tree stump at the base of the larger one, covered in foliage and roots. The scene was set in a clearing in the woods.

  ‘Where is that, Ella?’ asked Parker.

  ‘Granddad used to take me there. He said he used to take Mummy there when she was young, but she didn’t like the woods, so she doesn’t remember it. But I do.’

  ‘The woods – Denton Woods?’ prompted Banes.

  Ella shrugged. ‘Yes. But I don’t think it’s the part where they’re going to take all the trees, it’s nearer Granddad’s house.’

  Parker said to Banes, ‘The very north end of Denton Woods backs on to Ivan’s property.’

  Banes attempted some congeniality. ‘Please, Ella, we’d love to see it too, so can you show us where these hills are?’

  ‘They’re not hills. They’re islands. And that one in the middle is Treasure Island.’

  ‘Treasure Island!’ exclaimed Banes, looking at Parker meaningfully. Now they were certain they didn’t need to retrieve the painting from the university lab – the little girl had the golden ticket right in her hand.

  ‘That’s what Granddaddy called it. You see there?’ She pointed to the mossy tree stump at the base of the middle hill, which had red-capped toadstools sprouting out of it and was draped in rope-like roots. ‘That’s the ship, the ship that got wrecked on the island, and Granddad and his friend used to play there when they were my age.’

  ‘Who was Granddad’s friend?’ asked Parker.

  ‘He said when he grew up he became a real pirate and went off and sailed the seven seas and had lots of adventures.’

  ‘And then ended up in an insane asylum.’

  ‘You’re very mean, Mr Banes.’

  Parker hissed at him, ‘You’re not helping.’ He tapped Ella gently on the shoulder, as she now had her arms firmly crossed, with her mouth in a petulant pout and her eyes shooting arrows at Banes. ‘Ella, can you show us where Treasure Island is?’

  ‘You. Not him.’

  ‘Him’ put the van into gear, and released the
handbrake.

  Monday (5)

  ‘There’s only one thing for it. She’s left us no choice.’

  Eddie Tobin and Tony Minton knew what this meant. They knew exactly what this meant. And there was no disguising it, it made them sick to hear it. But still they asked in turn:

  ‘What are you talking about, Jimmy?’

  ‘What only thing?’

  ‘Why has she left us no choice, Jimmy?’

  But McVale remained impassive in the face of their questions. The three men were back at the pine kitchen table. There was a bottle of brandy being drunk from chipped teacups. Ruby was back in her room. Her hands and feet had been tied, and she wasn’t going anywhere. McVale was all for keeping her locked in the boot of the car, but Eddie and Tony, who both had daughters a little older than Ruby, vetoed the idea. Around the table, the mood was sombre, measured, maybe because they all knew it could easily tip over into excitable and uncontrollable violence at any moment.

  ‘You know what I mean. She’s seen us. She’s not stupid, she’ll recognize us all when the Old Bill show her the old mugshots.’

  ‘Well, whose fault’s that?’ said Tony Minton. ‘She didn’t have to see our faces. You made sure she did.’

  McVale shook his head. ‘No, you made sure she did. I told you to secure her, make sure she didn’t leave the room. Keep her blindfolded, tie her to the bed—’

  ‘Jesus, Jimmy, she’s a little kid,’ said Eddie Tobin. ‘She’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘That’s right, I’ve got two girls, you can’t do that—’

  ‘What the fuck are you two talking about? You used to do that, you used to do whatever was necessary to get your hands on the money. Now look at you, you’re soft and fat and fucking useless! Bit of luck it was me who found her, picked her up. But then again, you make your own luck. And I plan on keeping on being lucky. She can’t leave these woods. It’s simple. I put one in the back of her head. She’ll never know. Do it when she’s asleep. Slip her a Mickey. Pillow over her head, then pull the trigger.’

  Both Tobin and Minton straightened up from their miserable slouches over their mugs of supermarket brandy, and exchanged troubled looks.