by Ellis, Tim
‘I doubt you’ll find anything, but I wish you luck.’
‘Thanks.’
Andrew peered at the card. ‘What does he mean: “It’s time”? Time for what?’
‘I don’t know, but I have an idea he wants people to know what he did. He wants his name to appear in the serial killer hall of fame.’
‘And you’re going to oblige him?’
‘I have to catch him first. And to be honest, he’s already in the hall of fame, but instead of his name – it’s “person or persons unknown”.’
‘True. He’s more famous now because we didn’t catch him. Putting a name to his deeds will make him ordinary – just one more sick psychopath.’
‘I have a couple of questions.’
‘Okay. I’ll just check my appointments diary, but I’m sure today is clear.’
‘That’s good to hear.’ Kowalski grunted. ‘In fact, I was sitting outside wondering if it was worth it.’
‘Coming in here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Life’s worth it. If you ever reach my age, you’ll find that out. Lucifer had better send the heavy mob when it’s my turn, because I won’t go easy. And then, of course, I get to feel-up the young nurses and get away with it.’ He gave a belly laugh. ‘If I was twenty years younger, they’d lock me up and throw away the key.’
‘They should do that now, you dirty old bugger,’ a white-haired woman three chairs down with no teeth said.
‘Thank you for your valuable contribution to the conversation, Mavis. You’re just jealous because I’m not rolling about in the hay with you.’
‘That’ll be the day, Andrew Pearson.’
‘So, a couple of questions,’ Kowalski tried to redirect the conversation back to why he was there. ‘Did you look at the possibility that the killer might have been a British Rail employee?’
‘You’re talking about the murders at Rye House and Cheshunt train stations?’
‘Yes.’
‘We interviewed and ran background checks on all the staff at both stations, but none of them were considered suspects.’
‘I can’t find any information about the trains that were in either station at the time of each murder, or in the hour preceding those times.’
‘No, there wouldn’t be. We didn’t consider the two train station murders to be connected in any way. Not least because the four other murders had been carried out in a number of other locations.’
‘But the killer could have been a passenger or an employee of British Rail on any of those trains.’
‘Yeah, it’s easy in hindsight to point the finger of blame.’
‘I’m not pointing any fingers, Andrew. I’m merely trying to find out which leads you followed, and which ones you didn’t. I don’t propose to tread over old ground.’
‘Yeah well.’
‘What did you make of the messages?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Well, did you have anybody take a look at them?’
‘Like who? Why?’
‘You took them at face value?’
‘How else were we to take them?’
‘Don’t get all defensive, Andrew.’
‘I get the feeling that you think we sat around with our fingers up our arses smoking, drinking and playing poker.’
‘I don’t think anything of the sort. Look, let’s move past this. I’m here to pick your brains, that’s all. In the end, I might have as much luck as you, and let’s face it – luck plays a big part.’
‘That’s true. Okay, I’ll take you at face value as well, shall I?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, we didn’t get anybody to “look” at the messages. You mean like a code-breaker or someone like that?’
‘Exactly.’
‘As far as we were concerned they were messages about happiness and sadness, life and death, that type of thing. We interpreted them to mean that he had been happy, but was consumed with sadness because he’d lost the woman he loved.’
‘Not a daughter?’
‘The mutilation didn’t suggest that. He destroyed their genitals and reproductive organs. Now, I’m no Cracker, but it wasn’t hard to work out that he hated women.’
‘Women? One victim was fourteen and another sixteen.’
‘Yes, but they all had blonde hair and looked very similar. We checked the physical features of every woman with blonde hair between the ages of fifteen and thirty who had died in Essex in the previous year – nothing.’
‘Maybe she didn’t die, maybe she just left him.’
‘You’ve seen the media coverage we gave these murders. The faces of those six women were plastered all over the television and in the newspapers. If the woman they resembled had still been alive, she would have seen her likeness and come forward.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Anyway, it didn’t get us anywhere.’
‘The other possibility is that she was his first victim.’
‘We considered that as well, looked through all the reports of missing women – nothing.’
‘What about the date of each murder?’
‘Three of them were on Mother’s Day, the other dates were local holidays – it’s all in the files, but again it didn’t lead us anywhere.’
‘I wondered about the red paint mixed with turpentine, and whether there was any connection . . .’
‘Look in the files. We hawked our wares round every art studio, class, school, college . . . anywhere that even smelled of a paintbrush – another dead end.’
‘Okay. Did you know he was a trophy taker?’
‘No he wasn’t. We . . .’
‘As well as the card, he sent two photographs of the last victim – Kim Jacobs – and a lock of her hair. There’s no mention that her hair had been cut.’
‘Well, bugger me.’
‘I think he sent it to me as proof he’s the killer. If he hadn’t sent it, we still wouldn’t know.’
‘Yeah. Sorry about being an arsehole earlier. Even after all this time, it’s like a raw nerve. I still see their faces, you know.’
‘Comes with the job, Andrew.’
Nurse Vicky returned. ‘Are you ready to leave, Chief Inspector?’
He stood up and offered his hand. ‘Thanks for your time, Andrew.’
‘I’ve got more time than I know what to do with. It was good to see one of the old crowd again, even if you did bring some ghosts in with you. You’ll let me know how it goes?’
‘Of course.’
He followed Nurse Vicky out, and if he was being honest – he was glad to escape and breathe in fresh air again. If he had to go, he hoped he went in his sleep. Sitting in a care home waiting for the grim reaper to shuffle in wasn’t his idea of fun.
***
The smell hit them like the blast wave from an explosion as they opened the swing doors into the mortuary.
‘You could have warned us, Doc,’ Parish said, trying not to breathe as he smeared a swathe of Vicks VapoRub under his nose, and then offered the small pot to Richards.
Doc Riley – dressed in blue scrubs, hat and mask – looked up from the task of cutting up the centre of the cling film wrapping around the body of seventeen year-old Jade Williams with a pair of scissors. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, stopping at the knees. ‘When you work here, you don’t notice the smell after a while.’
‘Haven’t you got any air freshener?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Richards,’ Parish said. ‘Tell me why they couldn’t use air freshener in a mortuary.’
‘It costs too much?’
‘Keep going.’
‘The can might explode due to the pressure of the mortuary being underground?’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
‘Ah! The chemicals in the spray would land on the bodies and contaminate them.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘And there’s something else.’
‘There is?’
‘Yes.’ He rubb
ed his nose to give her a clue.
‘The fragrance makes people sneeze?’
‘Yes, you have it.’
‘I do?’
‘No.’
‘Oh!’
‘When we walked in here what did that smell tell us?’
‘We were in the wrong place?’
‘We were in the right place.’
‘There was a decomposing body on the table?’
‘That’s right – so?’
‘So . . .’
‘So, do you think that smell is important in the forensic analysis of dead bodies?’
‘I suppose that could be the answer, if you say so. Which is probably why they don’t use air fresheners in mortuaries.’
‘I knew you’d get there in the end. Right, pay attention to what Doc Riley is doing.’
A technician was hovering over her with a camera.
‘Within seconds of cutting this cling film the body will collapse inwards,’ Doc Riley revealed. ‘Maggots have been busy devouring the flesh from the inside out, so we’ll only have one chance at this.’ She turned to the technician. ‘Ready?’
He nodded.
She continued slicing through the layers of cling film with one easy movement, and it peeled away from the body like the petals of a rose opening in spring.
A series of flashes blinded them.
Without the support of the cling film wrapping, the chest and torso noticeably collapsed inwards like an ancient relic exposed to air for the first time in millennia.
The technician hurried away.
‘It’ll take him a few minutes to produce the photographs,’ Doc Riley said.
‘I saw some writing on her stomach,’ Richards said.
Doc Riley nodded. ‘Yes, I saw it as well.’
Two other technicians carefully removed the compacted layers of cling film from beneath the body.
‘It will take some time to examine every inch of the cling film,’ the Doc said. ‘We’ve created a sterile room so that each layer can be peeled off and inspected for hair, fibres, fingerprints and fluids.’
Once the technicians had carried the cling film cocoon out, Doc Riley moved back to the table and stood over the body.
Richards put her hand over her mouth. ‘It’s moving.’
‘I hope you’re not going to . . . ?’ Parish began.
She moved backwards a couple of steps. ‘No, I’ll be all right.’
‘Maggots,’ Doc Riley said. ‘Because we couldn’t open up the cling film and access the body until we were completely ready, the maggots continued doing what they do so well. We slowed them down slightly by storing the body in the freezer, but still . . . Now we have to remove them before we can begin.’
A technician came back in and helped her transfer all the maggots into a tall jar . . .
‘There’s a lot of them,’ Richards whispered.
‘Do you know that maggots in rotten cheese are a delicacy in Sardinia?’
‘Don’t be disgusting.’
‘Okay,’ Doc Riley said. ‘Let’s see . . .’
The second technician came back in and whispered something to her.
‘Excuse me a minute,’ she said, and left the room.
‘What do you think has happened?’ Richards asked.
Parish rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘A meteor has probably landed in the car park, and everybody . . .’
‘All right – don’t engage in conversation like normal people.’
Doc Riley returned and stood in front of them with her mask down under her chin. ‘The technicians found something on the cling film.’
They waited.
‘We obviously have to confirm the finding, but it looks as though the victim was subjected to anal intercourse. There are fluid stains where she was lying . . .’
‘She was sodomised?’ Richards asked.
The Doc screwed her face up. ‘Worse than that, I’m afraid. There was no evidence of blood in the fluid. With a woman this young, I would expect anal bleeding.’
Richards’ brow furrowed. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Necrophilia,’ Parish said.
‘You mean he had anal intercourse with her after she was dead?’
‘Yes,’ Doc Riley answered. ‘Of course, it’s a preliminary finding until we complete the PM, but it certainly looks that way.’
‘That’s really . . . She was only seventeen . . .’ Richards began to cry. ‘Sometimes, this job is the worst job in the world.’
Parish put his arm around her. ‘I know.’
The photographic technician came in handing out ten-by-eight photographs like a leaflet distributor in a crowded marketplace.
‘I knew there was something written on her stomach,’ Richards said, staring at the colour pictures.
135
EN11 9AE
HYDE
Parish looked closer. ‘Carved into her flesh by the looks of it.’
‘After death,’ Doc Riley added.
Richards looked at him. ‘What does it mean?’
Doc Riley went to her office and then returned shortly afterwards. ‘I thought so, EN11 9AE is the postcode for Ware Road in Hoddesdon, and 135 is the location.’
‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ Parish said.
‘It’s the cemetery,’ Doc Riley said.
‘Then “Hyde” must be the name on a gravestone,’ Richards suggested. ‘Don’t you just love this job, Sir?’
‘It was the worst job in the world a minute ago.’
‘Sometimes it is. I get really sad for the victims, but then I realise that it’s up to me to bring their killers to justice, so that they can rest in peace.’
‘I didn’t realise you were the Lone Ranger.’
‘You help a bit, but most of the time I get the feeling you’re not pulling your weight.’
‘Is that so?’
‘That’s so.’
‘In which case, you’ll be able to tell me what to do with the clue we’ve just received.’
‘Yes, I will. We’re going to the cemetery to find the grave belonging to Hyde.’
‘Uh huh. You don’t think that maybe we should ask Toadstone to go there first and check that the killer hasn’t left any forensic evidence?’
‘You spoil all my fun.’
Doc Riley interrupted. ‘So, I can imagine that this PM is going to take the rest of the day, and then some. Please don’t find any more bodies, I have quite enough work to keep me occupied for some considerable time.’
‘I don’t suppose you have a cause of death, do you, Doc?’ Parish asked.
‘He cut her throat with a sharp instrument, which is yet to be determined. That’s how organisms have entered the body, and why putrefaction has been so rapid.’
He was about to thank her, but she had already moved back to the rotting corpse of Jade Williams and begun the post mortem.
‘The body is that of a seventeen year-old well-developed, well-nourished female with no significant medical history. She was discovered . . .’
Leaving Doc Riley talking into a microphone dangling from the ceiling, they headed for the swing doors.
Parish phoned Toadstone.
‘Get yourself over to Hoddesdon Cemetery.’
‘Anything in particular I’m looking for?’
‘A grave with the name H-Y-D-E on it.’
‘I see, and then what?’
‘It’s my guess there’s a body in that grave.’
‘It’s a cemetery. That’s what graves are for.’
‘Don’t be a smartarse, Toadstone. It’ll be freshly dug, and the body will be close to the surface.’
‘What if the ground hasn’t been disturbed?’
It wasn’t an option he’d considered. He couldn’t have Toadstone digging up graves willy-nilly – he’d need a court order for that. ‘Call me, and I’ll make another decision.’
‘Two decisions in one day, Sir! You’ll give yourself a nosebleed if you’re not careful.’
‘Mmmm!’
‘What?’
‘They say that familiarity breeds contempt.’
‘Who do?’
‘They.’
‘They who?’
‘You don’t need to know who. What you do need to know is that Toadstone might be conducting illegal experiments in his laboratory.’
‘What type of experiments?’
‘He’s growing a backbone.’
‘Maybe you should report him.’
‘I might just do that.’
They caught the lift up to Foxglove Ward to see Jerry.
Matilda and Bert took a half-hour for lunch while they had the chance.
Parish sat down and told Jerry what was happening at home with Angie, Jack and Digby. Richards then took over and described the case they were working on.
‘Any news when they’re going to bring her out of the coma?’ Parish asked Matilda and Bert when they returned from the restaurant.
‘Soon,’ Matilda said. ‘The doctors say that barbiturate-induced comas can cause other complications if the patient is kept on them too long. They’re talking about the end of this week, or the beginning of next, but the drug has to be withdrawn gradually.’
‘We’ll keep our fingers and toes crossed for her,’ Richards said.
Chapter Ten
She woke up sweating, wide-eyed and staring into the space between waking and sleeping. Her heart was still jitterbugging around the grand ballroom of a daydream she couldn’t recall. There was a vague feeling that a faceless man had been chasing her, and no matter how fast she ran it wasn’t fast enough. ‘Fucking bastard,’ she said out loud, and swung her feet off the bed.
She’d have to get her own stuff. And sooner rather than later. The pillowcases had reeked of hairspray, and there were stains on the bottom sheet. God knows what she’d been lying in.
After putting her clothes back on, and making herself a coffee she sat at the kitchen table and got back to work.
First, she sent a photograph of the woman watching Gilbert being arrested at the Mali booking-in desk in Heathrow’s Terminal One to Xena Blake’s email account.
Next, she began moving the security recording backwards in time to identify where the woman had come from and discovered that she’d been dropped off at the entrance by a man driving a silver Mercedes – she wrote down the registration number: EK64 SLX. The man was in shadow, and she couldn’t get a picture of him.