Silent in the Grave (9781311028495)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘Yes. They warned me about you, Miss Xena Blake. Well, let me be clear right from the start. This is not a police station – it’s a hospital. Me and my nurses don’t work for you – we work for the NHS Trust. You’re recovering from a major operation, and we’ll do everything in our power to make sure you do exactly that. Printing services does not fall within our duties.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that it does. You see, if you don’t print this picture off for me, I’ll have to go wandering through the corridors trying find someone who will. God knows what will happen to me beyond the confines of this pigsty. My wound might burst open, I could get a vaginal discharge, I might start bleeding inside . . . and how much will it cost the hospital to repair me? And, of course, you’ll lose your job, because it’ll be your fault . . . Do you want to hear some more of my counter-argument?’

  She came all the way into the room, pulled the power lead out of Xena’s laptop and took the computer away.

  ‘Very kind,’ Xena said.

  Charlie shook his head in disbelief. ‘You have a gift for making friends.’

  She smiled. ‘I know.’

  Sister Taylor sent a nurse back in with her laptop and the picture.

  She yawned and passed the picture to Charlie. ‘Isn’t it time you bogged off?’

  ‘I guess it must be.’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘Get Gilbert to ring you?’

  ‘Tell him I’ll let him rot in there if he doesn’t.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Tom Dougall was sitting outside Wivenhoe Sailing Club waiting for the Admiral – Raymond Leek – to appear.

  He’d doffed his metaphorical cap to Inspector Derek Healey – who was acting up until the Chief Constable decided whether to replace Chief Inspector Ezra Pine and the others or not.

  From what Healey was telling him, the Deficit Reduction Programme Committee (DPRC) at Chelmsford in Essex were talking about downgrading the station to a nine-to-five neighbourhood policing team made up of a Sergeant, a Constable and a PCSO.

  He accepted the snifter of whisky Healey offered him and shook his head in sympathy. What could he say? What was there to say? Each time they closed or downgraded a station, it was like the death of an old friend.

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder whether it’s worth it anymore,’ he said to Healey. He didn’t think he’d ever say that out loud. He’d always wanted to be a copper. His mother and father had both been coppers. At the first sign of pregnancy his mum had been given her marching orders, but his father had stayed and become a twenty-five-year Sergeant. Of course, that was in the days when you knew that if you’d reached your level of incompetence you could hunker down and stay where you were. Nowadays, you were expected to keep moving upwards, or get the hell out of the way so that those coming up behind you could get past. There was no such thing as a twenty-five-year Sergeant in a climate of austerity. Five years was all the time you were given before being expected to apply for the Inspectors’ program.

  ‘I think most of us are feeling like that. What with the DPRC, those stupid bastards who’ve been charged with misconduct in public office, the corruption here at Shrub End and all the other things that are happening . . . it’s depressing. Makes you feel unappreciated. Surely they must know that we’re the last line of defence before the fucking zombies take over the world. And yet . . .’ He offered the whisky bottle again. ‘Another one?’

  Tom held the snifter out.

  Healey filled it up. ‘It’s one of Pine’s. I thought I may as well drink it. Seemed a shame to throw away good whisky.’

  ‘That would be like taking a leak in church.’

  ‘Exactly my point. So, what can I do for you?’

  ‘You’ve obviously heard about DS Gilbert from Hoddesdon who’s been arrested for killing Pine and the others?’

  ‘They should give him a medal.’

  ‘If he did it.’

  ‘I thought it was open and shut.’

  ‘Yeah. The trouble is – life’s never that simple.’

  ‘You think he’s been set up?’

  Dougall’s face creased up. ‘It’s complicated, but Gilbert’s partner is my girlfriend . . .’

  ‘Say no more. She thinks he’s innocent, you’ve got to prove it and you’re not getting any sex until you do.’

  He laughed. ‘Women eh! Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.’

  ‘You said it.’ He threw back his whisky and poured another one for both of them. ‘Do I know her?’

  ‘DI at Hoddesdon – Xena Blake.’

  Healey laughed. ‘The warrior princess? Is it true that she once bit a man’s dick off?’

  ‘That’s the rumour.’

  ‘It wasn’t yours, was it?’

  He double checked. ‘Happily – no.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with being out in the sticks – nothing exciting like that ever happens.’

  ‘Apart from Ezra Pine?’

  ‘Yeah – he thought he’d make his own excitement.’

  ‘I’m looking for options. If Gilbert didn’t kill those four – who did?’

  ‘Pine had lots of enemies.’

  ‘Give me names?’

  Healey pressed a button on the phone, which also acted as an intercom system. ‘Nancy, can you print off three criminal records for me please – Raymond Leek, Colin Hargrave and David Potter?’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  He took his finger off the button. ‘Constable Barth is one of the good ones.’

  Shortly after, the door opened to reveal a dour-faced woman in her late twenties with short black hair, a twisted nose and sloping shoulders that forced her hands nearly down to her knees. She put the criminal records on the desk.

  ‘Thanks, Nancy.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘She represents the force at boxing,’ he said once the door had closed. ‘Calls herself “The Mauler”. Hasn’t lost a match in two years. No one can get near her.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d climb in the ring with her.’

  Healey grinned. ‘A wise decision. Okay,’ he said, picking up the records. ‘These three were untouchable when Pine was here. I’d say Raymond Leek should be at the top of your list of suspects. A nasty piece of work – targets women and children to force people to do what he wants them to do. He calls himself “The Admiral”, but he was never in the navy. Always wears a white jacket and a navy officer’s hat with lots of gold braid on the peak. Owns a Quicksilver Cruiser moored at Wivenhoe Sailing Club – that’s about the limit of his sailing experience. His main activity is drugs, which he brings up the River Colne.’

  Tom took the proffered rap sheet from Healey and placed it on the desk in front of him.

  ‘Number two on your list would be Colin Hargrave. His business activities include extortion, prostitution, high-end escort services, human trafficking, betting rings . . . he dips his wick in a number of shitholes.’

  He slipped that rap sheet beneath Leek’s.

  ‘Last, but by no means least, is David Potter who’s head of a family-run business, which includes his wife and two crazy sons. They’ve made their money through fraud, forgery, hijacking, smuggling and theft.’

  Tom took the final criminal record, put it on the bottom and began skimming each one in turn. ‘Pillars of the community.’

  ‘The sea air seems to attract them.’

  He stood up. ‘Thanks for these,’ he said, patting the records. ‘They’re somewhere to start at least.’

  Healey shook the last of the light-brown liquid in the bottle. ‘Be a shame to leave this.’

  Tom sat back down again. ‘In all the furore surrounding Pine and the others, DC Isolde Koll seems to have been forgotten – any thoughts on what might have happened to her?’

  He shrugged. ‘She was attached to Hoddesdon as Gilbert’s partner as far as we found out afterwards. It’s my understanding that whoever took her did so from under Gilbert’s nose. It was hardly surprising that he thought it was Pine who
snatched her. Koll disappears, and they get released through lack of evidence – two and two equals four.’

  ‘Except, that sometimes two and two don’t always add up to four.’ He threw back the whisky and stood up again. ‘Thanks for your help, Derek. I’ll be around for a couple of days.’

  ‘No partner?’

  ‘She’s back at Barking & Dangenham covering for me.’

  ‘I could lend you Barth, if you want?’

  ‘I’m tempted. If I need her, I’ll ring the bell.’

  Healey looked confused for a moment and then said, ‘The bell! Yeah, I get it. One last thing – with Pine and the others out of the way, those three sleazebags don’t have anyone protecting them now.’

  ‘And you’re wondering why any of the three would want to kill Pine?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘The same thing was running through my head, but as I said earlier – it’s a place to start.’

  DC Koll’s decision to give evidence against her superiors had started the whole chain of events off, which had led to Gilbert’s arrest for the murder of four police officers. He didn’t know Gilbert that well, but he trusted Xena’s judgement. If she said he didn’t do it, then that was good enough for him. The trouble was, if Gilbert was innocent – who the hell was guilty?

  He decided that he wasn’t really a waiting type of guy, so he climbed out of his new Nissan Qashqai and walked across the road.

  ***

  ‘What’s going on, Inspector?’ the ginger-haired female reporter with the upturned nose asked.

  He stopped at the crime scene tape outside Hoddesdon Cemetery and turned round to face the press. ‘Yes, I’d like to know what’s going on as well. Didn’t I say there would be a press briefing at four o’clock this afternoon in the station?’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ a man at the back with fish eyes answered.

  ‘And yet, here you are asking me questions. Not only that, am I arriving or leaving?’

  ‘Arriving,’ fish eyes said again..

  ‘And as such, I haven’t had a chance to ascertain what’s going on yet myself, have I?’

  ‘No you have not,’ fish eyes said one more time, as if Parish had planted him in the audience as part of a double act.

  ‘Does that mean you’re not answering any questions?’ a woman with protruding front teeth and ears like an Indian elephant asked.

  ‘That’s exactly what it means.’

  ‘Will you pose for a few photographs, Constable Richards?’

  Parish’s eyes narrowed and he looked over the sea of inquisitive faces. ‘Who said that?’

  No one answered.

  He grabbed Richards by the elbow. ‘Come on, before they ask you to start taking your clothes off.’

  ‘They wouldn’t.’

  ‘Isn’t there a photograph doing the rounds on the internet of you in a white shirt flashing . . . ?’

  ‘I was taken by surprise.’

  ‘Regulations clearly stipulate – no open collars, and yet you have three buttons undone. I can nearly see your tonsils.’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting.’

  ‘Me? You’re the one who undid those three buttons. If I hadn’t intervened when I did, I dread to think how many buttons you would have undone. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I should have been stricter, less magnanimous. Maybe you have a strange pathological desire to take your clothes off in front of cameras. Maybe it’s a cry for help. Maybe it’s something so submerged in your subconscious mind that a diver with a spare oxygen tank couldn’t find it.’

  ‘Maybe I need a new partner.’

  ‘Promises, promises.’

  Toadstone was already in situ with his team.

  They donned the forensic suits and other paraphernalia outside the blue and white tent that had been erected over an old grave:

  In Loving Memory of:

  Ida Hyde

  B: 13 Aug 1823

  D: 18 Jul 1894

  RIP

  Standing over the freshly excavated top layer of earth, they stared down at the young woman in the shallow grave wrapped in cling film.

  ‘Doc Riley?’ he asked Toadstone.

  ‘I’m here,’ she said, entering the tent behind him. ‘Some of us can’t just drop everything and come running. Some of us have a backlog of post mortems to carry out. Didn’t I say no more bodies, Inspector Parish?’

  ‘I wish I had some control over the flow of bodies,’ he replied.

  ‘Looks like the same killer,’ she said, kneeling down on the aluminium squares that had been placed on the ground in order to preserve the crime scene. ‘Do you want me to cut the cling film here?’ she asked.

  ‘Have you found any trace evidence on the other one?’

  ‘Nothing yet, but we haven’t given up hope.’

  ‘I’m not confident that you’ll find anything. The killer seems to know what he’s doing – we haven’t found anything that could be considered useful yet.’ He nodded. ‘Yes. I think we both know there’s something carved on her body beneath the cling film wrapping. Cut enough, so that we can see what the clue is, and then transport the body back to the lab.’

  ‘Okay, let me do a preliminary examination first.’ She carefully inspected the ground surrounding the body, even though Toadstone’s minions had removed twelve inches of earth and stacked it neatly to one side for sifting.

  ‘You’ve checked for drag marks and footprints?’ she directed at Toadstone.

  He nodded. ‘Nothing. We don’t know how long the body has been here, and there’s been considerable rain lately.’

  ‘Photographs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She spoke into a hand-held Dictaphone as she made her examination, shining a small flashlight directly and obliquely at the ground, over the cling film and the ravaged head. ‘No evidence of stains.’

  Her visual examination of the body was extremely limited. Like Jade Williams, the head and neck had been left exposed and due to the body being buried in a damp, shallow grave, putrefaction had been fairly rapid. Her face was unrecognisable, and unless they found an identifying mark, or there was a DNA or dental match, putting a name to the victim would take some considerable effort – would the Chief sanction expenditure on a forensic anthropologist?

  Doc Riley rubbed a few strands of the woman’s hair between gloved thumb and forefinger. ‘Her hair has been died black. By the roots, I’d say her original colour was a mousy brown. The throat has been cut just like Jade Williams, and I’d estimate her age to be between sixteen and twenty years old. Any idea who she is?’

  ‘No,’ Parish responded.

  ‘It’s sad that, in this day and age, young women can still disappear and nobody even misses them.’

  ‘She could be a runaway,’ Richards said. ‘I was reading an article the other night that said 84,000 under 16-year-olds run away every year, and of those only seventeen percent are reported missing.’

  ‘That’s barbaric.’

  ‘But not the worst thing,’ Richards continued. ‘A child runs away from home or care every five minutes, and only five percent ask for help from agencies such as the police or social services.’

  ‘We live in strange times,’ Doc Riley said.

  ‘How long has she been here, Doc?’ Parish asked.

  ‘Mmmm! I’d say between six and eight weeks.’

  Richards butted in. ‘So this woman was killed after Jade Williams.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that statement, Richards?’ Parish asked her.

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, thank you very much. Jade Williams has been dead for three months, this woman has been dead for two months. You don’t need a calculator to work that out.’

  ‘We have a date of reference for Jade Williams, but not for this victim. Is it at all feasible that this woman could have been killed first and kept in a freezer?’

  ‘You said that the simplest answer is usually the right one.’

  ‘Occam’s Razor does not mean that you should choos
e the simplest answer to the exclusion of all the other evidence.’

  ‘What other evidence? We haven’t got any other evidence.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s too early to make any bold statement like that.’

  Doc Riley interrupted them. ‘Okay, are we ready?’ She looked around at the photographer who nodded.

  Using a pair of bandage scissors, she began cutting from the feet up to the breasts until the layers of cling film peeled away from the torso and revealed the killer’s latest clue carved into the victim’s skin before the abdomen began collapsing:

  NEEDLE

  IN A

  HAYSTACK

  ‘Oh!’ Richards said.

  Doc Riley’s brow furrowed. ‘What?’

  ‘I was hoping for another postcode.’

  ‘All right,’ Doc Riley said to her two technicians, ignoring Richards. ‘Let’s get the body in the bag and back to the mortuary.’ She stood up and moved out of the way to let them work unhindered. ‘I’ll do the PM tomorrow afternoon at two,’ she said to Parish.

  ‘Thanks, Doc. Any ideas, Toadstone?’

  ‘Doesn’t mean anything to me apart from the obvious – it’s a figure of speech used to refer to something that is difficult to locate in a much larger space.’

  ‘Huh! And I thought you were a genius.’

  ‘Leave him alone, Sir.’

  ‘Stop protecting him, Richards. Not only is he not yours to protect, but he doesn’t need your protection . . . Unless you know something I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t know anything.’

  ‘I’ve suspected as much for some time now.’

  Richards sighed.

  ‘What about you, Toadstone – have you got anything for us?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Evidence. I know it’s a concept that’s strangely alien to you, but still – I live in hope that one day . . .’

  ‘No, no evidence today.’

  ‘You sound like a fish-seller at the market with no fish. It’s not good enough, Toadstone. I need evidence, and I need it now.’