by Ellis, Tim
‘Raif Bonnard has already been reassigned, and I think I’ve been more than . . .’
‘Hear me out, Sir. I’m sure you’ve got someone else at Force HQ who needs some command experience. What about sitting them behind my desk to shuffle papers, and I’ll sign off on everything they do.’
‘If you’re running a case . . .’
‘It’s a cold case.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘In 1986 seven women were murdered. The last of them was Kim Jacobs.’
‘You do know I worked on that case, Ray?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’ He did, but he thought he’d err on the side of caution.
‘I was a newly promoted Detective Constable at the time. It was a baptism of fire and a blot on the landscape of my career. You know we never caught anyone for those murders?’
‘Yes, I do know that no one was ever charged.’ He wasn’t going to admit to anything else.
‘So, why that case, and why now?’
‘On my desk are three photographs of Kim Jacobs, a photocopy of her student identity card, and possibly a lock of her hair.’
‘You’ve got the files and evidence boxes from storage?’
‘No, Sir. They came in the post this morning.’
‘Christ! . . . Excuse my blasphemy.’
‘The photographs are of Kim Jacobs after death. The body in each one has been arranged slightly differently. I’ll have to get my forensic people to verify they’re genuine, but from an initial examination they look like the real thing to me. The only person who could have taken the photographs and cut a lock of her hair is the killer.’
‘You don’t think . . . ?’
‘I don’t know what to think at the moment, Sir.’
‘Solving the case wouldn’t erase the smudge on my CV, but it would be good to know the truth.’
Ray waited.
‘You want someone to do the mundane work while you have all the fun?’
‘I’d hardly call it fun – more therapeutic.’
‘All right, Ray. I do have someone who’s meant to be the next big thing, but I haven’t seen any sign of it myself. His name is Oliver Grimm – he’s an Acting Chief Inspector. I’ll send him over this morning, but he makes no command decisions without your approval.’
‘Thanks, Sir.’
‘Don’t thank me too soon – you haven’t met him yet. He’s one of the new breed of officers. As for the cold case, keep me informed. When you ring my secretary, use the codeword “SPARTAN” and she’ll put you right through.’
‘Will do, Sir.’
‘You’ve obviously heard about DS Gilbert?’
‘Yes. I can’t believe . . .’
‘Well, it’s out of our hands, thank goodness. We can’t investigate one of our own, so it’s been passed to Southend. They’ve made DI Nathan Banister Senior Investigating Officer. And from what my sources tell me, he’s dead in the water.’
‘In the meantime, I’m two detectives down.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.’
‘Thanks, Sir.’
The line went dead.
He buzzed for Carrie to come in.
The door opened. ‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Take a seat.’ He told her what was happening.
‘And this Acting CI Oliver Grimm, will he be in charge while you’re not here?’
‘No, you’ll be in charge.’
‘Me?’
‘You’ll be my eyes and ears. If he blinks, you ring me and tell me how many times he blinked, then I’ll come back and staple his eyelids open.’
‘I see. Is this a promotion?’
‘No.’
‘So there’s no more money involved?’
‘No.’
‘What if things go wrong?’
‘I’ll be held accountable.’
‘Not me?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. So, what will you be doing?’
‘Solving a murder.’
‘I thought that’s what Parish and Richards did?’
‘They’ve been assigned to the Jade Williams case.’
He brow furrowed. ‘Oh yes. It’s so sad that she’s turned up dead.’
‘Yes, it is. The murder I’m investigating is a cold case.’
‘I should be able to get you when I need you then?’
‘You should, but I’m not going anywhere for a couple of days. Can you contact the evidence warehouse at Rye and have them bring over the files and evidence boxes for the Red Spider murders.’
Her brow creased up.
‘The press called him that because he sent cards to a newspaper editor with messages in a red spidery scrawl.’
She stood up. ‘I’ll get right onto it.’
‘When they get here with the boxes, ask them to put everything in one of the empty incident rooms.’
‘Okay, Sir.’
Carrie left and shut the door.
He picked up the card that had also been in the envelope, and read what was written in a red spidery scrawl:
It’s time!
Time for what? What did the message mean? As he recalled, a card had been sent to a journalist before the killings started – other cards had followed. Was the Red Spider active again? Or, was he ready to come out of the shadows and own up to his crimes?
He should have mentioned the card to the Chief Constable, but he knew that if he had the case would probably have been taken off him – and still might.
Chapter Two
They walked into the Marin supermarket and Richards told the pot-bellied security guard to lock the doors.
‘Only let shoppers out, not in,’ Parish added.
‘Have you spoken to Mr Fotheringale?’
‘Yes I have, and if you don’t do as I say you’ll be looking for another job.’
The security guard shrugged. ‘Fine by me.’
A young female member of staff with red hair and a triangular body was passing.
‘Excuse me, who’s in charge besides Mr Fotheringale?’
She laughed. ‘Mr Fotheringale isn’t in charge. Oh, he’s the manager all right, and doesn’t he let everyone know about it, but he’s not in charge – Mrs Connell is the person who runs the store.’
‘Where can I find her?’
She pointed to a rosy-cheeked woman who looked just like Little Red Riding Hood’s grandma.
‘And your name is?’
‘Patti Boyd.’
‘Thanks for your help, Patti. One last thing – is there a tannoy system in . . . ?’
Just then, a female voice that sounded distinctly Welsh came over the tannoy system: ‘Good morning, shoppers! Can I draw your attention to the punnets of strawberries in the fruit and vegetable section. Remember, Wimbledon will soon be with us. Also, what could be better than to finish off those strawberries with our very own double whipped cream in the dairy products section? Enjoy your shopping, shoppers.’
‘. . . Could you ask the announcer to tell the shoppers that the store will be closing for thirty minutes while the police speak to the staff, and to leave the store in a quiet and orderly manner.’
‘They should leave their trolleys where they are unless they’ve paid for the goods in them,’ Richards added.
Parish nodded. ‘They’ll be required to produce a till receipt at the exit if they’re in possession of any shopping.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No, I think that’s it.’
‘Okay,’ Patti said, and waddled off towards the back of the store.
They went in search of Mrs Connell and found her organising one of the checkouts.
‘I believe you’re in charge,’ he said.
‘Me? No, you want the manager – Mr Fotheringale.’
‘We want you, Mrs . . .’
‘Rachel.’
He produced his warrant card. ‘You’ve heard about the dead body in the car?’
‘Yes. Is it that girl?’
‘It looks like i
t, but that’s confidential until the family have been informed.’
She nodded. ‘How absolutely awful. What can I do to help?’
‘I want to speak to all the staff on duty.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve told the security guard to only let shoppers out not in, and Patti Boyd is telling the tannoy operator to inform shoppers the store will be closed for thirty minutes and that they should make their way to the exit doors.’
‘That’s fine. Give me ten minutes to get them organised, and then the staff will be yours.’ She bounded off like a spring chicken, flapping her arms and crowing at the top of her voice.
Mr Fotheringale came at him like a missile on self-destruct and stopped inches from Parish’s face. ‘I’m going to sue you, the Chief Constable, the whole police force . . .’
‘Have you got a regional manager?’
‘Well, yes . . .’
‘Give me his number.’
‘I . . .’
‘Do you want me to ask Rachel Connell for the number?’
He stomped off.
‘Go and find Rachel Connell and ask her for the number of the regional manager,’ he said to Richards.
‘You’d think people would be only too pleased to co-operate,’ Richards mumbled as she wandered off.
She came back shortly afterwards with the number.
He rang it.
The regional manager – Barry Hutton – informed him that the Marin supermarket would co-operate in any way they could, and that he’d call Mr Fotheringale forthwith and tell him to wind his neck in.
Eventually, all the shoppers had departed, the doors were locked and the staff were gathered together in the electric goods section.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt your day . . .’ he began.
‘You can interrupt my day any time, lover,’ a woman with bottle-blonde hair, black eye-shadow and an anchor tattoo on her right forearm called out to a ripple of laughter.
‘You go, Mo,’ someone else said.
He acknowledged the quip with the shadow of a smile. ‘I’m sure you’re all aware of the dead body that was found in the boot of a blue Volkswagon Polo in the car park this morning.’
There were murmurings and head nodding.
‘I could have arranged to have you all interviewed individually, but that would have created chaos for the supermarket and drained a very shallow pool of police resources. Instead, I’m speaking to you all now. My partner and I are going to have coffee and a full English breakfast . . ‘
‘I’m not,’ Richards interrupted him.
‘Well, one of us at least will be taking advantage of the breakfast delights in your cafeteria. While we’re both there, feel free to come and speak to either of us if you have any information concerning the Volkswagon or the person who left the vehicle in the car park. We’re particularly interested in when you first noticed the car.’
They sat at different tables in the cafeteria, and Richards pulled faces at him while he was eating his breakfast.
‘It’ll stay like that one of these days,’ he warned her.
Only three members of staff had actually noticed the car during the past month. No one had seen it arrive, and no one knew anything about the driver.
He handed a few business cards to Rachel Connell with a request for her to speak to the staff who weren’t on duty and for them to contact him if they had any information about the Volkswagon Polo or the driver.
***
Acting Chief Inspector Oliver Grimm arrived.
Kowalski stared at the weasel-faced man with deep-set eyes, and had an idea what the Chief Constable was talking about when he said that Grimm was “the next big thing”. ‘The chief Constable has briefed you on . . . ?’ he started to say.
Grimm interrupted him. ‘Don’t you worry, Ray. As I said to Bill, you won’t even know I’m here.’
‘I already know you’re here, Ollie, and that bothers me.’ He stood up, towering over Grimm both in bulk and size. ‘Here, sit down in my chair.’
Ollie tried it out for size. ‘Very nice. Good-sized office, petty secretary, a bit quiet in the station. Maybe we need to stir things up . . .’
‘How long did it take you to drive here from Chelmsford, Ollie?’
‘Thirty-seven minutes.’
‘Another thirty-seven minutes to drive back. That’ll be an hour and fourteen minutes of your life that you’ll never see again.’
‘You’re sending me back?’
‘You heard that then?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My wife is in hospital in a coma, I can’t concentrate on my work, so I’m doing something a bit more involved to take my mind off my troubles. The Chief Constable is a friend, he’s sent you along to keep my job ticking over while I look into a cold case, but you think you’re here to “stir” things up, make a name for yourself . . .’
‘No, I understand . . .’
Kowalski grunted. ‘You don’t understand squat, Grimm. The only question running through your head is, “How can I take advantage of this amazing opportunity to further Oliver Grimm’s career?”’
‘No, that’s . . .’
‘That’s exactly how it is. Do you want to stay here and help me out?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you want the Chief Constable to think that he might just have a good officer in you when you return?’
‘Yes.’
Kowalski spread his shovel-like hands on the desk, leaned over and pushed his face inches from Grimm’s. ‘Then you’d better do as you’re fucking well told. That pretty secretary outside is in charge, not you. You’re here to learn, not to “stir” things up. If she tells me you’re stirring anything other than your tea, I’m going to come back in here, drag you over to the gym and show you what “stirring things up” really looks like. Any questions?’
Grimm swallowed with difficulty. ‘No, I think you’ve explained my role here very well, Ray.’
‘Excellent. Make the most of the opportunity I’ve given you, Ollie.’
While he’d been talking to Grimm, twelve evidence boxes had arrived from Rye. He made himself a coffee, and then went into the incident room.
Wearing plastic gloves, he began reading the files and ransacking the boxes. As he burrowed into the past, he created a timeline of events on the incident board.
At the top of the board he drew a red spider as a starting point.
The murders had begun on May 8, 1983 with a card addressed to the editor of the Hoddesdon Times – Tom Elder:
There is no happiness without tears,
no life without death.
Beware! I will give you cause to weep.
Mr Elder took it as a personal threat and asked for police protection, but nothing of any note occurred on that or the next day. Kowalski made a note to find out where Tom Elder was now.
Two days later – May 10 – Elder received a second card with a message written in the now familiar red spidery scrawl:
I picked a juicy flower in Hoddesdon and I shall do it again.
For there is no holiday without a funeral.
It didn’t take Elder long to connect both cards to the death of seventeen year-old Lia Armitage on May 8, and he called the police.
The Senior Investigating Officer appointed to the investigation was Detective Chief Inspector Andrew Pearson. Kowalski didn’t know Pearson and wondered if he was still around. He made another note to find out. It would be useful – he guessed – to get Pearson’s thoughts on the case.
Lia Armitage – a shop assistant in the town centre – never returned home from her evening dance classes on May 8, and her nude corpse was found concealed in shrubbery the following morning in Gunpowder Park by a gardener – Alfred Coates. She had been raped and disembowelled. If he was still alive, Alfred Coates was another person he needed to speak to.
The first time DNA evidence was used in a UK court of law was in January 1988 at the Old Bailey – Colin Pitchfork was convicted o
f two murders and sentenced to life imprisonment. The Red Spider task force was disbanded in December 1986 when it became clear that the killings had stopped, and the detectives on the case had run out of leads and ideas.
He checked the boxes, and they still contained an assortment of old evidence bags with samples taken at each crime scene. Knowing that Toady was at the local Marin supermarket with Parish and Richards, he rang forensics and asked to speak to Di Heffernan.
‘Yes, Chief?’
‘Are you busy?’
‘I watch television – I know that’s a leading question.’
‘Let me re-phrase. Can you come down to Incident Room 3, I have some work for you?’
‘Did I tell you how busy I am?’
‘I’ll see you in a minute then.’
He put the phone down.
At the time, it was found that the red ink on the cards was artist’s paint mixed with turpentine, but without samples of both products for comparison – they were untraceable. Was the killer an artist? Was he an art teacher? Or an art student? Why did he choose Lia Armitage? Was the selection random, or were the two connected in some way? Also, evidence taken from Lia’s corpse was useless without a suspect.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Come.’
‘Morning, Chief,’ Di said, her face clouding over when she saw the files stacked on the table and all the evidence boxes scattered around the floor. ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’
‘Take a seat.’
She sat in one of the hard-backed chairs facing him.
‘Have you ever heard of the Red Spider murders?’
‘No.’
‘There’s no reason why you should have done.’ He gave her a brief synopsis of the case.
‘1983 to 1986! Before my time, and before DNA profiling . . . Ah!’
‘Have you ever thought of becoming a detective?’
‘No.’
‘These boxes contain the evidence and samples that was collected at each crime scene.’
‘And this is where you say, “Di, I’d like you to work your magic on this old evidence and see what you can come up with,” isn’t it?’