by Ellis, Tim
Toadstone sighed. ‘Do you want the information, or not?’
‘Well?’
‘Squiggle’s name is Brent Poelman. He’s thirty-nine, married with two teenage children – a boy and a girl . . .’
Richards made a noise with her mouth. ‘Jade Williams was only seventeen. The filthy . . .’
‘I don’t think we need any expletives, Richards.’
‘Well . . .’
‘He lives in the Netteswell area of Harlow at 97 Marston Road.’
‘Do you think it could be this easy, Sir?’
‘When have we ever had an easy case, Richards?’
‘And he drives a seven year-old white Mazda 3.’
‘Work?’ Parish asked.
‘You didn’t ask me to find that out but . . . He works at “MattressUniverse”, which is a mattress clearance warehouse on the Pinnacles Industrial Estate in Parndon.’
Parish checked his watch. It was quarter past five. ‘Mmmm! We have three options, Richards. Option one is that we drive over to Harlow now and interview Poelman. We’ll end up bringing him back here, but after completing all the paperwork booking him in, the medical checks, waiting for and confiding in his solicitor and so on . . .we’d be lucky to get away much before midnight.’
‘I’m not very keen on option one.’
‘Okay. The second option is that you phone Inspector Threadneedle and ask her to send a squad car over to Harlow to pick up Poelman. We sit here twiddling our thumbs until he’s available for interview. I can’t imagine we’ll get home before the morning.’
‘Isn’t it your turn to phone Inspector Threadneedle.’
‘You’re delusional if you think that who does what in our working relationship is based on turns. It’s your turn all the time.’
‘Keep going – the Court of Human Rights will take you to the cleaners.’
‘You haven’t even contacted them, have you?’
‘I have too. They’ve given me an emergency number. I can ring them anytime I want. At the moment I’m compiling a gigantic folder containing indisputable evidence about how you mistreat me.’
‘Good luck with that. The third option is that you phone Inspector Threadneedle, she brings back Poelman and puts him in a cell overnight. We then interview him early in the morning.’
‘I like that option, but what about all the evidence at his house?’
‘Do you want to answer that query, Toadstone?’
‘A team of forensic specialists go over to Harlow now and search Poelman’s house for any incriminating evidence.’
‘Don’t forget his car.’
‘And his computer,’ Richards added.
‘I’m sure I won’t remember everything – you’d both better come with me.’
‘We’re going home, Toadstone. I’ll expect a comprehensive report from you at eight o’clock tomorrow morning in the incident room before I interview Mr Poelman at nine o’clock.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘Richards – haven’t you got a phone call to make?’
‘Oh yes, they’re just waiting for my call in Strasbourg.’
‘To Inspector Threadneedle.’
‘Oh!’
Chapter Seven
Xena was standing in front of the whiteboard making notes. First, she made a list of all the evidence stacked up against Stick:
The murder weapon (an Uzi 9mm machine gun) found in his house with his fingerprints on the trigger and on a bullet in the magazine;
The statement by Leonid Yurkov who says that Stick bought the Uzi and a full magazine of 40-rounds;
The three passports and other identity documents under different names;
The £100,000 in various currencies;
The camcorder and recording of the murders of Chief Inspector Ezra Pine, Detective Inspector Tony Wentworth, Inspector Adam Pincher and Sergeant Gerry Chalker;
The Glock-19 linked to three other murders;
A clear motive; and
The opportunity with no alibi.
That was a hell of a lot of evidence, she thought. What chance did Stick have of being found innocent with all of that sitting in the corner of the courtroom like a white elephant? Charlie Baxter was right – he was a monkey’s fucking uncle. And maybe she was as well for agreeing to get involved in a lost cause.
What had Stick been doing at the station on Sunday morning? There was CCTV in the car park and all over the station – surely that would prove he was there. People who were on duty must have seen him loping about.
She made a note on the board. Charlie would have to get copies of the CCTV recordings. If they could prove he was somewhere else when the murders took place, then that would be an end to it. It would then just be a matter of finding out who had gone to an inordinate amount of trouble to set Stick up.
Was Cookie any good? Was Charlie Baxter any good? Had he had a shower and changed his clothes yet? Would Jennifer be able to work as an undercover cop without any training? Would she get herself caught?
Stick would be angry with her if he knew she was using Jennifer to help. Well, he’d just have to be angry. Jennifer was in an ideal position to find out what Banister was up to.
She looked at the clock on the wall. Tom Dougall would arrive soon. Would he help her? He had his own work – didn’t he? It dawned on her that she had no idea what he was doing, whether he had any cases on the go, or who his partner was now. She should ask him, show some interest.
‘You got your own way after all then?’ Staff Nurse James said, standing in the doorway.
‘Clearly not, you’re still here pretending to be a nurse.’
‘If they got rid of me, the place would fall down around their ears.’
‘That wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. Have you ever tasted the food in this place?’
‘Immigrants.’
‘That’s certainly one way to keep the numbers down. They don’t taste very nice, though.’
‘They’re doing the cooking.’
‘So the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding is really beef stroganoff?’
‘Something like that. It’s not just about following a recipe and shovelling it onto a plate, it’s about being English. I could cook an Indian curry or a Vietnamese stir-fry, but they wouldn’t be the real thing. Immigrants cook English food, but it’s just slops on a plate. I have no doubt they can cook their own recipes, but they can’t cook ours. I used to eat in the canteen, but now I bring sandwiches.’
‘All very interesting, but why are you here annoying me?’
‘Just checking that you’re still alive before I go off shift.’
‘Still here in spite of your incompetence. I’m going to be one of the ones who gets out of here if it kills me.’
‘Good night then.’
‘Good riddance. When you’re not here we have raves with sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll, you know.’
‘I know everything that happens on this ward in my absence. So, just think about that when you’re spreading your legs for Tom Dougall.’
‘You’re jealous, aren’t you? You have no one, so you want to spoil everybody else’s fun – especially mine.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Should my ears be burning?’ Tom Dougall said as he strode into the room.
‘Burning ears are no fucking good. I hope something else between your legs is burning red hot.’
‘Good night,’ Staff Nurse James said.
‘Are you still here, bitch?’ Once she’d gone Xena said, ‘Shut the door.’
‘You’re not serious about having sex, are you?’
‘Do you think I’m fucking crazy? You heard what James said, it’d tear my insides up and probably kill me.’
‘You’re the bitch.’
‘And don’t you forget it. So, Tom Dougall, do I get a kiss, or what?’
He sat on the bed and kissed her.
‘Are you working any cases at the moment?’
‘A couple.’
‘Anyth
ing interesting?’
‘No. I won’t be missed.’
‘Who’s your partner now?’
‘Why are you so interested in what I’m doing all of a sudden?’
‘Just curious what my boyfriend is getting up to.’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I do.’
‘DS Annie Colberg.’
‘That fucking bitch has been after you from day one.’
‘See – that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.’
‘You’re shagging her, aren’t you?’
‘You know very well that having sex with work colleagues is frowned upon and fraught with difficulties.’
‘That didn’t stop you shagging me.’
‘I think you’ll find it was the other way round.’
‘So, are you?’
‘No. You’re the one for me. Butcher is shagging Colberg.’
‘He’s a Chief Superintendent for fuck’s sake.’
‘And twice her age.’
‘And you don’t fancy her?’
‘I fancy all members of the opposite sex.’
‘That’s true.’
‘So, let’s talk about your partner instead.’ He got up and examined what she’d written on the board. ‘Or, maybe we should just forget about your partner and talk about the weather instead.’
‘I know – he’s dead in the water.’
‘Are you sure he didn’t kill Pine and the other three?’
‘Before – I would have said definitely not, but now . . .’ She shrugged.
‘I don’t know what you expect me to do. This is Banister’s case. I can’t go waltzing into Southend offering to provide him with a second opinion. I know what I’d say – and you for that matter – if someone tried to do that to me.’
‘You don’t have to worry about Southend, I have that covered.’
‘Oh?’
‘Jennifer D’Arcy.’
‘Sounds like one of the can-can dancers.’
‘How do you know about can-can dancers?’
‘Misspent youth.’
‘Jennifer works in Missing Persons, and just happens to be Stick’s girlfriend.’
‘Surely Banister knows about her?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘So, you’ve got her working undercover for you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What am I doing here?’
‘Banister has got his man. Even you think Stick’s guilty. In fact, someone would have to be crazy to even consider he might be innocent in the face of all that evidence.’
‘I always knew you were crazy.’
‘I’d be crazy to think Stick was guilty. I know him. There’s no way he would ever do something like that.’
‘The one thing I’ve learnt during my time as a copper, is that you can never truly know anybody.’
‘Except Stick. Stick’s an open book.’
‘Okay, so we’re still left with – what am I doing here?’
‘You came to see the woman you love, didn’t you?’
‘Besides that?’
‘As I said, Banister’s got his man. He’s not looking for anyone else, but we know that if Stick didn’t commit the murders then someone else did.’
‘Shrub End?’
‘Pine and his cronies must have had their grubby little fingers in a number of pies . . .’
‘. . . And collected a mixed bag of enemies in the process.’
‘Exactly. My guess is that it was payback for whatever reason.’
‘Or, they were silenced. Friends can quickly become enemies, especially if their livelihood is threatened.’
‘See – that’s why you’re here.’
‘So, you want me to investigate Pine and the others?’
‘It’s the only way. You won’t be stepping on Banister’s toes, because he’s got himself an open and shut case to add to his résumé.’
‘Seems logical.’
‘We’ve also got two other people on our side.’
‘Oh?’
‘Stick’s solicitor – Charlie Baxter. He seems to know what he’s doing. I’ve given him the keys to my flat because he had nowhere to live.’
‘Very generous.’
‘You don’t think I’m letting him stay there for free, do you?’
‘I should have guessed.’
‘He’s meeting me here at two tomorrow afternoon to give me an update.’
‘I can’t imagine I’ll be able to make it then.’
‘No, we’ll stick to evenings. If there’s anything important, we’ll phone each other.’
‘Okay – and the other person?’
‘A hacker called Cookie.’
‘I hope she’s not the Cookie who gave all our national secrets to the world.’
‘The very same.’
‘Consorting with a known traitor! You’ll get us both arrested and they’ll throw away the key.’
‘Key? You think they’ll put us in the same cell?’
He laughed. ‘Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen.’
‘Anyway, we won’t be consorting with her, that’s Charlie Baxter’s job. You never know, she may be useful. If she can dip into the government’s filing cabinet and help herself to their hobnobs, who knows what’s she’s capable of?’
‘Well, I suppose I’d better go before they throw me out.’
‘And stay away from those can-can girls, and Annie Colberg, and . . .’
‘It’s just like old times.’ He kissed her on the lips, slipped his hand inside her nightdress and caressed her breast. ‘You could go out in a blaze of glory?’
‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, but that would leave Stick up a gum tree without a koala bear.’
‘I’ll love you and leave you then, and see you tomorrow night.’
‘Be careful, Tom. Whoever did kill Pine and the other three has no compunction about killing coppers.’
‘I’ll be careful.’
***
Kowalski handed Doc Paine the brown paper bag containing a chicken korma, a chicken madras, one plain rice and one pilau rice, two helpings of Bombay potatoes, a couple of poppadoms, a naan bread, relish of mango chutney, spicy onion and lime pickle, a diet coke and a banana ice cream.
She put the bag down on one of the three stainless steel operating tables, found two plates and two sets of cutlery in a cupboard and said, ‘Pull up a stool.’
Sandra Paine was in her late twenties with shoulder-length dark hair pinned back from her forehead with a dozen silver clips. She had a pleasant face, which was adorned with slim oblong glasses and dimples in her cheeks. She wore green scrubs over a podgy body, and her five foot four was dwarfed by Kowalski’s six foot two.
‘We’re going to eat here?’ he asked, looking around for a proper dining table and the wine waiter.
‘Why – are you squeamish?’
‘No, it’s just . . . I bet five minutes ago you had a dead body on here.’
‘Half an hour.’ She smiled, showing off her dimples. ‘An old man with testicular cancer.’
He pulled up a stool and sat down. ‘As long as it wasn’t anything serious.’
She took all the cartons out of the bag and spooned the food out onto the plates. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’
‘I hope it was worth the wait.’
‘Okay, I’m listening.’
As they devoured the food, Kowalski told her about the Red Spider murders.
‘He was never caught?’
‘No.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Not to his victims.’
She ignored the dig. ‘So, you’re hoping to catch him after all this time?’
‘That’s the plan. I also think that he’s hoping I catch him as well.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m sure there are complicated psychological reasons why, but I expect it just boils down to the simple fact that he doesn’t want to die a nobody. He wants people to know what
he did, and then he’ll be inducted into the serial killer hall of fame.’
‘Most of them want to get caught, don’t they?’
‘Yes, and we try to oblige.’
‘You’ve brought the PM reports?’
‘Of course.’ He picked them up off the floor where he’d propped them up against a leg of the stool, and passed them to her.
She began leafing through them one at a time as she ate. ‘Mmmm!’
He’d finished the main course and had started on the banana ice cream. It wasn’t doing his cholesterol levels any favours, but he’d already figured out that he wasn’t going to live forever anyway. He could have eaten all the right foods, followed an exercise program at the gym and taken up yoga, but it wouldn’t have made the slightest bit of difference. Maybe he could have eked out a couple more years, but that wasn’t who he was.
Sitting in the mortuary, surrounded by freezer compartments stuffed with corpses and a potpourri of bodily specimens staring at him from shelves in glass jars full of formaldehyde, seemed to reinforce the fragility of what he used to think was an immovable force of nature. He’d felt vulnerable since the second heart attack. His mind and body were the same, but they weren’t the same. His aura of invincibility had been damaged beyond repair. The pills he popped morning and night were keeping him from collapsing in an untidy heap on the floor, but it was merely a stop-gap. Sooner, rather than later, the arteries in his heart would become grid-locked, and that would be it – Ray Kowalski would be spoken of in the past tense.
‘I’ll take them home with me and have a proper look tonight, but one thing I’ve noticed is that four of the post mortems were carried out by different pathologists, so something could quite easily have been missed.’
‘Someone as beautiful as you should be out being wined and dined, not stuck in reading old post mortem reports for excitement.’
‘I agree. Unfortunately, most men are pigs. I don’t suppose, you’re interested?’
‘If I was ten years younger, unmarried and my wife wasn’t in a coma upstairs . . . I’d be the first in the queue.’
‘Nice of you to say so. I was sorry to hear about your wife. I hope she recovers soon.’
‘Thank you, and on that note I’ll take my leave. I want to go up and see Jerry while there’s still time, and then get home to say goodnight to my children.’