Josiah Dark Thrillers Box Set

by Tim Ellis

  Dark and Lake edged closer.

  ‘Injection site?’ Dark suggested.

  ‘That would my guess, but we’ll know more in twenty-four hours after the toxicology evaluation and report.’ He excised the puncture wound and dropped the cone-shaped sample of tissue into a kidney dish that Morbid held out for him, and then continued with his external examination, turning the body over and then back again. ‘No scars, areas of keloid formation, tattoos, prominent moles, areas of increased or decreased pigmentation, and no birthmarks. No evidence of sexual assault.’ He picked up a scalpel from a stainless-steel tray on a stand and swiftly made a Y-incision from neck to pubis.

  Dark wondered how many times the professor had made that same incision in a corpse.

  Morbid floated around the table and the confines of the mortuary like a wraith, accepting the blood and tissue samples, the dissected organs and so forth from the Professor, writing details on the labels, and taking copious amounts of digital photographs.

  ‘Now, for the main event,’ the professor said. ‘But before I remove the stake, I’m going to take a series of digital x-rays.’

  Morbid wheeled the machine over, and between her and the professor they positioned the detectors and took the x-rays.

  At last, the professor said, ‘Okay, let’s see what we have.’

  It wasn’t an easy matter removing the stake from the cadaver. Not only was the wood held in place by suction, but also by the vice-like grip of the ribs that had been fractured when the stake was hammered in. In the end, the professor had to ask Morbid to push the stake up from inside the thoracic cavity while he pulled it out from above. Eventually, the body gave up the murder weapon with a slurping sound and the snap-crackle of two ribs.

  The professor wiped the blood from the wood and laid it down in a kidney dish sitting on the steel table behind him.

  Morbid removed her bloody gloves, and then shuffled round to the table with her camera where she took a dozen photographs from all angles.

  Dark and Lake craned their necks to look at the stake.

  ‘Is that something carved into the wood, Professor?’ Dark asked.

  ‘So, it would seem.’ The professor picked up the stake and peered at the carving more closely. ‘It looks like the numbers 794.’ He turned the wood around and held it towards Dark and Lake. ‘What do you think?’

  They both peered at the hand-engraved numbers running sideways along the shaft of the stake. ‘Looks like 794,’ Lake said. ‘Doesn’t it, Sir?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Dark glanced up at the professor. ‘Can you magnify it and send the picture to my phone?’

  ‘Of course. We’ll do a full forensic analysis of the stake, which will include magnification of the marks.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The professor stared at him. ‘Any idea what it might mean?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Nor me.’ He stared at Lake and then at Morbid, but neither of them offered any insight or suggestions. ‘Oh well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait for the gods to reveal their divine plan to us mere mortals.’

  The professor and Morbid concluded the post-mortem and Joe Bloggs was put back together again.

  ‘I’ll be in touch, Dark. I’ll send the picture of the numbers to your phone within a couple of hours. Preliminary report in twelve hours. Toxicology report in twenty-four hours. Final report in thirty-six hours.’

  ‘I’ll wait to hear from you then.’

  Morbid bumped into him as she moved about the mortuary, but she didn’t apologise.

  ‘Right, come on, Lake. We’re obviously in the way here.’

  They made their way out and headed towards the main entrance.

  ‘The professor seems nice,’ Lake said. ‘But Morbid is a bit weird looking.’

  ‘Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?’

  ‘No wonder people don’t like you.’

  He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black cashmere overcoat as they stepped out into the freezing cold, and felt something that hadn’t been there before. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and stared at it. He was expecting to find a receipt, or something along those lines, although he hadn’t bought anything recently, but it was a handwritten message:

  Call me

  0798 6752108

  Maud

  His lip quivered. It wasn’t the first time he’d been propositioned by a beautiful young woman, and he guessed it wouldn’t be the last either. He was about to screw the note up, and drop it in the next waste bin he came to, when he noticed more writing beneath the fold:

  Don’t flatter yourself.

  He slipped the paper back into his pocket.

  ‘What’s that?’ Lake asked.

  ‘Focus your enquiring mind on solving the case, not on what’s in my pockets. We’ll go back to Bootle Street now.’

  ‘And knock off?’

  ‘That’s certainly one option.’

  ***

  It was quarter to seven by the time they reached Bootle Street. He decided to let Lake go home. Not because he was feeling generous, but simply because she’d be out of place in a lap-dancing club with her clothes on.

  ‘Don’t think I’m complaining about being sent home,’ she said. ‘I could sleep for the Olympic team, but why are you going to the Satin Club?’

  ‘You’re not local, so you wouldn’t know, but it’s owned and controlled by a Romanian called Filip Ghenosu, one of four brothers who run the Ghenosu clan.’

  ‘Ah! And these brothers are all vampire killers from Transylvania, and you think they followed the victim here to kill him?’

  ‘The Ghenosu clan have their hands in every kind of criminal activity going from human trafficking to murder.’

  ‘And the corpse is one of their murder victims, because he has a stake through the heart, which is the main way of killing vampires, and vampires come from Romania the same place as this Ghenosu clan? Yes, I can see your impeccable logic.’

  He ignored her flippancy. ‘And he was also seen getting into Leah Rice’s car on Monday afternoon, who just happens to work as a stripper in the Satin Club. It’s entirely possible that our victim worked for them, or ignored warnings to stay away from Leah Rice, or any number of other things.’

  ‘Are the Ghenosu clan well known for killing their victims with wooden stakes through the heart?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And what about the number 794 engraved on the stake – how is that connected?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll admit, there are a few inconsistencies, but it’s the best lead we have at the moment.’

  ‘And it also gets you into the club as an excuse to take Leah Rice up on her invitation of a personal performance.’

  ‘Maybe you should come with me to make sure I’m not tempted by her invitation?’

  Lake grabbed her coat and bag and began walking up the stairs. ‘Enjoy your night out,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘I did think about sending you in there undercover, you know.’

  She stopped. ‘As a stripper?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think anybody would believe that, do you?’

  Lake carried on up the stairs.

  ‘Eight o’clock,’ he shouted after her. ‘Don’t be late.’

  Earlier, Dixie had sent him the names of the seven old people she was investigating:

  Olga Bloch

  Colin Baskerville

  Christine Feltham

  Bernice Church

  Audrey Tomlinson

  Vera Rees

  William Porter

  He input a query into Crimint for each name, but Olga Bloch was the only one that produced any output. The officer in charge of the case – Detective Sergeant Eric Mosely from Buxton Police Station in Derbyshire – had done the bare minimum and closed the case after two days with: “No further action until new information becomes available”. He shook his head and thought of Sir Stanley Mathews’ work ethic again. Although, in a way, he could understand t
he reasons why the case had been closed, and he didn’t necessarily blame Sergeant Mosely. Police forces didn’t possess the manpower anymore for chasing after wild geese, fishing for red herrings, or championing lost causes. Once the active leads had dried up and the trail had gone cold, the case was moved to the tottering unsolved pile. There were more than a thousand unsolved murders in the UK now, and despite the regular Cold Case Reviews, the pile wasn’t getting any lower. He emailed what he had on Olga Bloch to Dixie.

  Next, he called the number on the piece of paper that Morbid Maud had stuffed into his overcoat pocket.

  ‘Hello?’ She had the voice of a church mouse.

  ‘It’s DI Dark. You wanted me to call.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m confused. First, I didn’t realise you could speak. And second, the professor said you didn’t speak to strangers, men or the police. I fall into all of those categories, so what’s going on?’

  ‘Alicia – my six-year-old sister – went missing from Blackpool beach . . .’

  ‘I suggest you fill in a Missing Person report.’

  ‘Nearly three years ago, on May 10, 2014.’

  ‘I’d say it was a bit late for that report.’

  ‘We gave the detective all the details at the time. There was a massive search, which involved the police and hundreds of volunteers, but they never found her.’

  ‘And what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Find out what happened to her.’

  ‘I don’t know if you’re aware of how the police service works, but everything has to go through the proper channels. We don’t take on individual cases like private detectives, you know. Also, Blackpool is in Lancashire, not Greater Manchester. I have no jurisdiction there. Added to the fact, it’s someone else’s case. I can’t simply help myself to another detective’s case from a police force I don’t actually work for without authority. And besides that, it’ll be a cold case, which will be subject to regular reviews by the Cold Case Review Team.’

  He could hear her crying.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he offered.

  ‘The professor said you’d be able to help.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Nobody seems to care about what happened to Alicia.’

  ‘I’m sure that isn’t true.’

  ‘Then why haven’t they found her? Why aren’t they still looking for her?’

  ‘Sometimes, people disappear never to be found again. There’s a long list of . . .’

  ‘So, the professor was wrong – you can’t help me?’

  ‘I . . .’ Of course, he could help her. He was a detective. That’s what he did. But there were rules, procedures, regulations . . . ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m not promising anything, but I’ll take a look.’

  ‘I haven’t got much money.’

  ‘I don’t want your money, Morbid.’

  ‘I’m not much to look at, but . . .’

  ‘I don’t want or need any payment. Just tell me what happened.’

  ‘My mum, my dad, me and Alicia went to Blackpool beach on May 10, 2014. It was a Saturday. The sun was shining. It was forecast to be the hottest day so far that year. We set off early to avoid the traffic queues, but that didn’t work. We still arrived by ten-thirty though, found a parking space and walked down to the beach with all our beach clobber that we’d dug out of the shed . . . I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been out as a family, or the last time I’d been to the beach. It’s not really my kind of day out. I have sensitive skin and burn easily, so I mostly stayed under the umbrella . . .’

  He cleared his throat. He had other things to do besides listening to holiday stories.

  ‘Sorry. I was trying to put what happened into context. Anyway, the tide was out, so we made ourselves comfortable on the sand. Alicia was loving it, and I went with her to the sea . . . So, the beach soon began filling up. It seemed like everybody in the North West had come to Blackpool. The donkeys were there, and Alicia wanted to go for a ride on one, but first she had to have an ice cream. I went with her to the ice cream van parked on the seafront. We ordered, I paid for the ice creams and when I turned around she was gone . . .’

  He heard her sobbing again.

  ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘She was my responsibility. I should have kept an eye on her, held her hand . . . She was only six-years-old.’

  ‘You can blame yourself if you want to, but it’s not helpful. It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘My parents blame me. They don’t talk to me anymore. They lost two daughters that day. I took Alicia to the ice cream van and I lost her. It was my fault. All I had to do was look after my little sister, but I couldn’t even do that.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘I looked for her, called her name, asked people if they’d seen her, but it was as if she’d disappeared into thin air.’

  He was familiar with the speed with which children were snatched. There one minute, gone the next. He didn’t hold out much hope for Alicia Glover. If she was still alive, then she’d be seriously damaged – physically and psychologically.

  ‘How long was it before you informed someone in authority she was missing?’

  ‘I thought I’d be able to find her. I thought that she couldn’t have gone far. I was afraid to leave the ice cream van in case she came back and found nobody there, and like an idiot I’d left my phone with my things on the beach, so I couldn’t call anybody for help . . .’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘I suppose it must have been at least half an hour before I ran back to where my parents were and told them what had happened. We all went back to the ice cream van and searched for Alicia up and down the promenade, and then we called the police.’

  ‘At least an hour then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was already too late.’

  ‘I know that now, but at the time . . . The police said that someone had probably taken her.’

  ‘I think we can rule out “probably”.’

  She began crying again. ‘Men are such evil bastards. I hate men.’

  He didn’t disagree with her.

  ‘Who was the officer in charge of the case?’

  ‘Superintendent Julian Lloyd, but we mostly spoke to Detective Sergeant Brendan Letherby.’

  ‘I’ll take a look.’

  ‘You’re not just saying that, are you?’

  ‘No. I said I’ll take a look, and I will. I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.’

  ‘Thank you. Not knowing what happened to her is worse than knowing she’s dead. At the moment, we’re in limbo.’

  He ended the call.

  Of course, he could only call her if he was still a copper. As soon as he accessed the case files and tripped the flag, he knew that it would set in motion a well-oiled machine consisting of wheels, cogs, gears, pinions and differentials that would culminate in Henn calling him and asking him to explain exactly what the hell he was doing. And, of course, he wouldn’t tell Henn the truth.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Dark.’

  ‘It’s Chief Superintendent Henn, Dark. What the hell are you playing at accessing case files belonging to another police force?’

  He’d timed it from the moment he’d accessed Alicia Glover’s files – thirty-eight minutes – that’s how long it had taken before the phone jangled on his desk. News of his heinous crime had travelled up the Lancashire greasy pole to the Chief Constable, scrambled over the Lancashire-Cheshire border to the Greater Manchester Chief Constable, and slid down the Cheshire greasy pole to Henn who had licked his lips and picked up the phone – slick, well-oiled and very slippery. If only everything was as efficient, some of the unsolved cases might actually get solved.

  ‘I thought there might be a connection to the case Lake and I are working on . . .’ He nearly said “Sir”, but he stopped himself at the last second. Although he kn
ew that he’d probably have to say the word once during the exchange if he was to appease Henn.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I was mistaken.’

  ‘What led you to the Alicia Glover case anyway?’

  It got a bit shaky here, but he’d fooled better people than Henn before. ‘I’ve found a connection between my victim and Filip Ghenosu who runs the Satin Club.’

  ‘I’m still not seeing how that links to the Glover case.’

  ‘Ice cream vans, Sir’ There, he’d said it. ‘Besides importing drugs, the Ghenosu clan also peddle them to children through their ice cream vans. Alicia Glover was abducted buying ice cream from one of those vans.’

  ‘In Blackpool.’

  ‘I know that, but I’m following all the leads until I hit a wall. You’ll be pleased to learn that I’ve hit a wall on that lead – it’s not connected, but I had to check. That’s what I do, I look under every stone until I find the creatures I’m looking for.’

  ‘And you’re not looking into the Glover case anymore?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Why are you so concerned anyway?’

  ‘Because it’s not your case. And it also belongs to another police force.’

  ‘I thought we were all one big happy police force.’

  ‘You know very well there are protocols, etiquette and formalities, Dark. Make sure you follow them in future.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  The call ended.

  There was something seriously wrong with a system that provided a child with the opportunity to tell a grown man off.

  At least he had everything he needed. Once he’d found the records for Alicia Glover, he’d saved them all onto a spare memory stick. He’d read them later after he’d been to the Satin Club. Of course, there was no way he could conduct an investigation into her abduction, but he knew two people who could.