Silent in the Grave (9781311028495)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘You’ve played this game before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Many times. I do all the work, you get all the credit.’

  ‘I’m glad I don’t have to waste time explaining the rules of the game to you.’

  ‘I’ll go and get some help,’ she said, standing up.

  She left and returned minutes later with two male technicians to help her catalogue the evidence contained in each box and transfer it all up to forensics.

  He passed her an evidence bag with the photographs, card and lock of hair. ‘They came in the post this morning.’

  ‘And you want me to look at these first?’

  ‘Thanks, Di.’

  She pulled a face. ‘Mmmm!’

  Maybe he’d get lucky and Di would be able to make a match.

  On January 17, 1984 – eight months after the first murder – sixteen year-old Kirsten McHugh was given a lift home from her job at Tye Green Care Home on the outskirts of Broxbourne by a local van driver – Colin Huber – who dropped her off within sight of her house at seven-fifteen that night, but she never made it to the front door.

  The following day – while her friends and family were out scouring Hoddesdon – a third red-inked card arrived at the newspaper offices directing searchers to where the killer had discarded her body, which was an abandoned cold meat storage warehouse on the industrial park not far from her home. The killer had apparently lain in wait for Kirsten, ambushing her within sight of her house and strangling her with a wire garrotte. When she was dead, he took her to the warehouse, and left her with a six-inch metal spike protruding from her vagina.

  The day after that – January 19 – the Hoddesdon Times received another red-inked card:

  Happiness would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.

  On November 1, 1984 Maria Janson – an eighteen year-old hotel receptionist – went to Rye House train station with a view to catching the 18:47 train to Bishop’s Stortford to visit her boyfriend. What she found instead was a madman who chloroformed her and dragged her behind a stack of railway sleepers on a disused track. There, he stripped her from the waist down, raped her and then stabbed her in the abdomen and genital area with a long-bladed knife until she bled out. He left Maria’s body behind the sleepers, where it was found the following day by a man picking up litter.

  Kowalski shuffled through the photographs of the crime scene and Maria’s horrifically mutilated body. The killer was likened to Jack the Ripper, but these young women weren’t prostitutes.

  The police searched trains and buses for anyone with blood-stained clothing, but found no suspects. The next day – November 2 – the Hoddesdon Times received another red-inked card:

  Only tears of sorrow can wash out the stain of shame;

  only pangs of suffering can blot out the fires of lust.

  The investigating team discovered that it was a quote from a 1902-03 novel by Polish writer Stefan Żeromski called Popioly (Ashes), but other than the quote, they found the book had no other relevance to the case.

  On May 12, 1985 seventeen year-old Anna Hassler – a clerical assistant at the local council offices – went out looking for her cat in the evening. Her father became concerned when she didn’t return home, and went out searching for her. He eventually found the grossly mutilated body of his daughter in the tool shed behind the house. She had been stabbed over fifty times in the abdomen and genitals.

  The following day, the Hoddesdon Times received a sixth red-inked card:

  My invisible tears are the hardest to wipe away.

  On October 24, 1985 three young partygoers were catching the last train home from Cheshunt – the 23:17 to Liverpool Street. They decided to travel in – what they thought was – an empty first class carriage, but were shocked to discover the mutilated body of fourteen year-old Claudia Olsson on the floor of the carriage. Her abdominal and genital wounds were too numerous to count. The last train was cancelled and the police were called, but again no suspects were found.

  A seventh card was received by Mr Elder at the Times the following day:

  Sadness is always a legacy of the past;

  regrets are pains of the memory evermore.

  The last victim, that the investigating team knew about, was found on May 13, 1986. Eighteen year-old Kim Jacobs – a student at the local college. Inside an enclosed bus shelter the killer knocked her out, cut off her skirt and panties with a knife, stabbed her in the abdomen and genitals over thirty times, and then left her to bleed to death on the floor of the bus shelter.

  A final red-inked card had been sent to the Hoddesdon Times:

  All good things must come to an end;

  but all bad things can continue forever.

  Why the killer had stopped killing – nobody knew. After nearly three years the investigating team had no leads, no suspects and were disbanded.

  He found a photograph of each victim when they’d been alive and happy that the previous investigating team had used on their incident board. He stuck the pictures up on his own board and began creating a victim profile:

  Physical traits: All single; all aged between fourteen and eighteen; all were blonde – even though Anna Hassler had dyed her hair black; all were thin and attractive.

  What was the reason that the victims all had similar physical traits? Could it be that something had happened to the killer’s daughter who had been of a similar age and appearance? Maybe he was rejected by a similar-looking girlfriend, or she had died.

  Personal lifestyle: Although all lived at home, they had different lifestyles.

  The only specific lead he had was the artist’s red paint mixed with turpentine on the cards, and he wondered whether it was a lead, or a red herring. If it was a lead, how was it connected to the victims? Had the women posed as models for extra money? Or, had they been students in the same art class as the killer? He made a note to check if the previous team had examined whether the women had any hobbies or pastimes.

  Occupation: Some had jobs, others were still at school.

  He thought it was unlikely that what the women did during the day was relevant to the killer selecting them as victims. Four had been in low-paid service-sector jobs, one was still at school and the sixth was a student at the local college.

  Education: Similar.

  Medical history: Nothing specific.

  Criminal justice system history: None.

  Last known activities, including a timeline of events.

  All the murders had occurred in the evenings, and the places chosen to attack or abduct the women appeared to be random. However, it was more likely that the killer had selected each victim, and then followed them until he had identified an isolated location to make his move.

  Personal diaries: Not known.

  Drug and alcohol history: None.

  Friends and enemies: Not relevant. None of the victims knew each other, and therefore did not have the same friends.

  Family background: All similar.

  Employment history: Not relevant.

  He went through the photographs taken at the crime scenes, selected a couple of pictures from each murder, and stuck them to the incident board. Next, he made a note of the date of each murder. The killer had referred to a holiday in his second note for the first murder – were the dates significant?

  There was a knock at the door.

  Carrie came in. ‘I’m going to lunch.’

  ‘How’s our friend doing?’

  ‘He wants to change how we do things here in the station, but his real plan is to rule the world.’

  ‘A megalomaniac – I thought as much. You’re keeping him under control?’

  ‘Of course. He’s met his match with me. I have plans of my own for the world.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Walking round meeting people.’

  ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘I’ve told him that if there are any consequences he’ll have to pay for them out of his own pocket.’

&nbs
p; ‘Good idea.’ He looked at his watch – it was twelve-thirty. ‘Have a good lunch, and thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’ She turned to go. ‘I’m getting used to being in charge. The danger, of course, is that I might get to like it too much.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘You’re not really going to take his money, are you?’ Jennifer D’Arcy said, standing in the doorway looking like a plus size model with her long black hair, cherry-red lipstick and a few extra pounds that just wouldn’t leave of their own accord.

  ‘Do you know how much weight I’ve lost being in hospital?’ Xena said, putting a spoonful of watery soup into her mouth. ‘. . . No? Well, I’ll tell you – two and a half stone. Of course, the half stone could very well be my uterus – you want to try it sometime.’

  ‘He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met, and he thinks the world of you. I don’t know why, but he won’t hear a bad word said against you. I’ve told him you’re not worth it, but it’s like talking to a brick wall.’

  ‘I think it’s the hospital food. You can’t appreciate bad food until you’ve been a long-stay patient in a hospital – especially this fucking hospital.’

  ‘It was Rowley who saved your life, you know. If it hadn’t been for him you’d just be a horrible memory now. Anyway, I just came in to tell you that you’re a nasty old hag and I don’t like you, but I want you to help Rowley.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to keep his money, but now I think I just might. And correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you a constable and I’m a detective inspector?’

  ‘But you said . . .’

  ‘Do you think it’s easy lying in a hospital bed day after day? Well, I can tell you it’s not. I have to keep finding new ways to amuse myself.’

  ‘You’re not going to keep his money?’

  ‘Didn’t I just say that?’

  Jennifer came into the room proper, and sat on a plastic chair. ‘Maybe I was a bit hasty . . .’

  ‘Don’t start going sentimental on me, Jennifer. I was beginning to warm to you.’

  ‘He cried, you know. When Isolde Koll was taken from under his nose. He blamed himself, he thought he should have seen that the person wasn’t a real CPS solicitor. That’s why he resigned – he didn’t want to put your life at risk.’

  ‘Stick’s a numpty – we both know that.’

  ‘So, you’re going to help him?’

  ‘No – we’re going to help him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m lying in a hospital bed with knots and bows in my vertical bikini line. You, on the other hand, have two weeks holiday with nowhere to go, nothing to do and no one to do it with.’

  ‘You want me to help you?’

  ‘It would be helpful if you could ask your brain to move a bit faster.’

  ‘I can’t imagine it would be very pleasant working with you.’

  ‘Sometimes, we all have to do things that we don’t like. And – just so there’s no misunderstanding on your part – you’ll be working for me, not with me.’

  ‘Won’t it be dangerous.’

  ‘I’m sure it will.’

  ‘There’s not a lot of danger in missing persons.’

  ‘Of course, you work at Southend, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘You must know DI Nathan Banister who’s in charge of Stick’s case?’

  ‘I don’t know him personally, but I know he works there.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Some of the girls like him.’

  ‘But you don’t?’

  ‘He has trouble getting his head through doorways, he drives a flashy sports car and he likes thin blondes.’

  ‘Which you’re definitely not. Mmmm. Do the people at Southend know you’re living with Stick?’

  ‘A couple of the girls know I have a boyfriend, but they’ve never met him.’

  ‘You have to cancel your holidays and go back to work.’

  ‘I thought you wanted me to help you?’

  ‘I do – that’s why you’re going back to work.’

  ‘I don’t . . . You want me to be the inside man?’

  ‘You can dress up as a man if you want to, but I don’t think that’s really necessary. Banister will probably have an incident room, inside that incident room will be a whiteboard with the details of the investigation scribbled on it, maybe the case files will be in there as well, or they might be on his desk – you can find out what he knows.’

  ‘If I get caught . . .’

  ‘You haven’t even done anything yet and you’ve already been caught.’

  ‘. . . I’ll get the sack.’

  ‘We should just leave Stick in prison then?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Make your mind up. You’re a police officer. You work in Southend police station. You have a right to be there. Nobody’s going to think you’re the fifth man . . .’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Never mind. You walk into the incident room when there’s nobody about, take a quick photograph of the board with your mobile phone, skim through the files and photograph anything of interest, and then send the pictures to me. Although . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a bit of an open and shut case from what Stick was saying.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They found the murder weapon and other incriminating evidence in Stick’s house, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did it get there?’

  ‘I don’t know. We stayed in a hotel close to Heathrow on Sunday night before we were due to fly to the Maldives early yesterday morning, so they had loads of time to plant things in the house.’

  ‘Was he with you on Sunday morning when Pine and his cronies were killed?’

  ‘He said he had to finish a few things off at the station before we left at about one o’clock.’

  ‘So, you can’t give him an alibi?’

  ‘No, but I will if you think it’ll help.’

  ‘Then you’ll go to prison as well. No, we need to find out who’s trying to set Stick up for murder, and there’s still the issue of Isolde Koll. Give me your number.’

  They swapped mobile numbers.

  ‘Get back to work. Find out what Banister has got on Stick, and what his plan is.’

  ‘Okay.’ Jennifer stood up to go, but then leaned over the bed and hugged Xena.

  ‘Will you put me down? You have absolutely no idea where I’ve been.’

  ‘Thanks for helping him.’

  ‘Get out of here? I have calls to make.’

  Jennifer left and she rang Tom Dougall.

  ‘Are you bored?’

  ‘I could do with some sex.’

  Staff Nurse Louise James walked into the room just then. ‘You won’t be having any sex in here while I’m in charge, Xena Blake.’

  ‘Just a minute, Tom.’ She put a finger over the mouthpiece and spoke to James. ‘Don’t you know what a private telephone conversation is?’

  James thrust a thermometer in Xena’s mouth. ‘No sex. Not only is sex not permitted in this hospital, but it could set your recovery back months.’

  ‘I’m willing to pay the price.’

  ‘No sex.’ She wrestled the phone out of Xena’s hand and said into the mouthpiece. ‘I know that’s you, Tom Dougall . . .’

  ‘I heard you - no sex.’

  ‘You could cause some serious damage if you did.’ She threw the phone back onto the bed.

  ‘You hate me, don’t you?’ Xena said.

  Staff Nurse James smiled as she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Xena’s arm. ‘Of course I do.’

  Xena picked up the phone again. ‘It doesn’t look as though we’re going to have a private conversation.’

  ‘Or sex.’

  ‘She’s a fucking bitch.’

  ‘Is she still there?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t care. Anyway, I need to see you. Stick’
s in trouble.’

  ‘Again? He seems to stumble from one disaster to another.’

  ‘Have you not heard about Pine and the others?’

  ‘No, What?’

  ‘They were released on Sunday morning and somebody shot them outside the prison.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘And they’ve arrested Stick.’

  ‘Did he do it?’

  ‘Of course he didn’t, but he has no alibi, and they found the weapon and other evidence in his house.’

  ‘And you want me to drop everything and come running?’

  ‘No wonder you’re a detective.’

  ‘I can’t get there until tonight.’

  ‘That’s okay. I should have all the details by then.’

  ‘And no sex,’ James said.

  She ended the call. ‘Haven’t you got other patients you can torture?’

  ‘Lots, but you scream the best.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ***

  The press were camped outside the Williams’ family home at 34 Norris Road in Woollensbrook.

  As they climbed out of the pool car Richards said, ‘They’re like vultures.’

  ‘Do you turn on the news when a child goes missing?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then it’s you who’s the vulture. They’re simply the animal feeders throwing you the scraps the police give to them. What do you think would happen if, when you turned on the television or picked up a newspaper, there was no news about the missing child?’

  ‘People would go about their business in an orderly manner, and wait patiently for the authorities to inform them of recent events.’