Silent in the Grave (9781311028495)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘I don’t have to prove anything. You, on the other hand, can make the coffee while I think about the lies I’m going to tell the press. What am I going to say?’

  ‘We’ve found a second body, and now we have no clues and no suspects.’

  ‘Very helpful. We have a clue.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s a clue that will lead to another body – not the killer.’

  As they climbed out of the car and headed towards the door, the Chief opened the boot of his car and took out a box.

  ‘The Chief’s got a box.’

  ‘I can see that, Richards.’

  ‘Yoo-hoo!’ Richards called and waved.

  The Chief saw them and quickened his pace.

  ‘What do you think he’s got in that box, Sir.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Come on,’ she said, gripping his elbow. ‘Let’s catch him up.’

  They put a spurt on and caught up with the Chief as he reached the door.

  ‘Hello, Chief,’ Richards said. ‘Let me get the door for you.’ She held the door open as he shuffled through with the box.

  ‘Thanks,’ the Chief mumbled.

  ‘I could carry that box for you, if you want.’

  ‘I don’t want, Richards.’

  ‘Mmmm! Inspector Parish has to prepare for a press briefing, but I’m free if you need me to help you empty that box.’

  ‘Very kind, but no help is required.’

  ‘Those boxes in particular – with their flappy lids – need at least two people to empty them. I could hold the lids open while you remove the contents . . . what exactly is inside that box, Sir?’

  ‘I think I’ll be able to cope on my own.’

  They reached the squad room.

  The Chief carried on towards his office.

  ‘Coffee, Richards,’ Parish reminded her.

  ‘I’m right here if you change your mind, Sir,’ Richards called after the Chief. She turned back to Parish. ‘Did you see that box? It didn’t come from the evidence store at Rye – it wasn’t that type of box. Where do you think it came from? Why has the Chief taken it to his office? What do you think is in the box? Do you think it’s something to do with the Red Spider case he’s working on?’

  ‘Pandora had a box, you know.’

  ‘Did she? Who’s Pandora?’

  ‘You don’t know the story of Pandora and her box?’

  ‘It’s not going to be a long story, is it?’

  ‘Pandora was told by Zeus – the father of the gods – not to open the box he’d given her as a gift under any circumstance, but her curiosity got the better of her. Do you know what was in that box, Richards?’

  ‘Boredom?’

  ‘All the evils of mankind.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. The evils escaped and spread over the earth – except for one thing that lay at the bottom . . .’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Elpis - the Spirit of Hope – and I hope I’m going to get my coffee soon.’

  ‘You’re a pig.’

  ***

  Tom Dougall showed his warrant card to the rather large doorman standing outside the Wivenhoe Sailing Club. ‘I’d like to see the Admiral, please.’

  ‘Is the Admiral expecting you, Sir?’

  ‘No, but I’d still like to see him.’

  ‘Can I tell him what it’s about?’

  ‘Yes, you can tell him it’s about police business.’

  ‘Please wait here, Sir.’

  ‘Outside – on the steps? Haven’t you got a lobby? A chair? A glass of champers?’

  ‘I won’t be long, Sir.’

  ‘Fucking arsehole,’ he mumbled as the door closed. He hated people who thought that they were above the law. He was a senior policeman, had proof of identity that should have been an access card to anywhere in the world – anywhere in Britain at least – and yet, here he was, shuffling his feet outside a crummy sailing club like a fucking skivvy. Well, he wasn’t having any of it – not at all. He moved forward and thrust his arm out to open the door. As he did so, the door opened and nearly broke all the bones in his left hand.

  ‘You fucking . . .’

  ‘The Admiral will allow you five minutes to make an idiot of yourself, Sir.’

  He flexed his fingers a few times. It didn’t appear as though anything was broken. ‘I should arrest you for assaulting a police officer.’

  ‘Please feel free, Sir.’ He held the door open. ‘I hear Shrub End is lovely at this time of year.’

  He stepped inside. The entrance was more like the lobby of the Savoy Hotel than a local sailing club funded through subscriptions and donations.

  ‘Please follow me, Sir.’

  Raymond Leek was in his late fifties, balding on top like a friar, and had the edge on Tom’s six foot one by an inch or so. The Admiral stepped forward and offered his hand.

  Tom ignored it. He made a point of not shaking hands with criminals. Of course, half the time he had no idea who the criminals were, but when he did – hand-shaking was definitely something he didn’t do.

  ‘Detective Inspector Thomas Dougall – I’m not familiar with the name, but rest assured that I’ll have you checked out. Can I offer you a drink, or something else?’

  He wondered what the “something else” was. ‘I’m not here to make friends, Leek.’

  ‘That’s a shame, Inspector. What are you here for?’

  ‘I want to know who killed Chief Inspector Ezra Pine and the other police officers.’

  ‘It’s my understanding that it was one of your own.’

  ‘We both know it wasn’t him – he was set up.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting that I had anything to do with the death of four police officers, are you? Do I need to call my lawyer?’

  ‘If you didn’t, you know who did.’

  ‘You would think so, but that’s not the case. I’m sure you know that Chief Inspector Pine and I had a mutually beneficial arrangement?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I can assure you that I had no reason to kill Pine and the others. They were worth more to me alive than dead.’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t know who killed them?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, Inspector. And believe me, I’ve tried to find out, because whoever did kill them did so without my knowledge or permission and has left me in a slightly precarious position. What I can tell you – in the spirit of co-operation, of course – is that Detective Sergeant Rowley Gilbert did not kill them. Who did though – is a bit of a mystery.’

  ‘And you expect me to believe that?’

  The corner of Leek’s mouth creased upwards. ‘Believe what you want, Inspector.’

  ‘What do you know about Detective Constable Isolde Koll?’

  ‘Ah, the lovely Isolde. Sadly, she is no more.’

  ‘She’s dead?’

  ‘You should speak to a Mr Colin Hargrave. Not only does he traffic beautiful women into Britain from Eastern Europe to keep up with the insatiable male demand in this country, but – in line with European Union guidelines – it is a two-way supply line. I’ve been led to believe that the lovely Isolde Koll is keeping a criminal tsar’s bed warm somewhere in Bulgaria.

  ‘She’s still alive then?’

  Leek shrugged. ‘That’s as much as I know.’

  ‘I suppose that was Pine’s doing?’

  ‘You suppose right.’ He nodded at a man standing in the shadows – who stepped into the light. ‘Now, I’ve been more than helpful, Inspector. My hope is that I never see you again. If I do, you can be sure that I will not be as welcoming as I have been today.’

  ‘You’re threatening me?’

  ‘Nothing so crass. Merely a friendly warning to keep to your side of the playground. Today, I’ve given you the information that I thought was in my best interests to tell you, but I am not a police informer, and I don’t appreciate you coming round here treating me like I am. Goodbye, Inspector Thomas Dougall.�
� He swivelled in his captain’s chair and stared out of the window at the boats bobbing about on the River Colne.

  He walked across the road and climbed into his four-by-four. Was the Admiral telling the truth? Leek certainly had the resources and the desire to find out who had killed Pine, but he’d been unable to. It must rankle if someone had destroyed his insurance policy without his knowledge. He also seemed sure that Gilbert hadn’t killed Pine either. If Leek and Gilbert hadn’t killed Pine and the others – who had? Leek was right – it was a bit of a mystery.

  Then there was Isolde Koll – what was he going to do about her? Fucking Bulgaria! They’d only just joined the European Union, and already there was co-operation between the criminal fraternity. The government could learn a lesson or two from them.

  He phoned his boss – Chief Inspector Karen Cowan.

  ‘Cowan.’

  ‘It’s Dougall.’

  ‘I thought you were on a couple of days’ leave.’

  ‘Busman’s holiday.’

  ‘I probably don’t want to hear it, do I?’

  ‘No. I have a question.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Remember DC Koll that went missing from Hoddesdon?’

  ‘So that’s where you are? Are you angling for a transfer.’

  ‘I’m fine where I am, thanks.’

  ‘Yes, I remember her.’

  ‘I think she might be in Bulgaria.’

  ‘What’s she doing there?’

  ‘You probably don’t want to know that either.’

  ‘Something not very nice?’

  ‘So I believe. Anyway, who should I ring to get her back?’

  ‘You’re thinking the Foreign Office, MI6, the SAS, something along those lines?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  ‘Why.’

  ‘As soon as her name is brought up in conversation she’ll disappear.’

  ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘Do you know who spirited her away?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Persuade him – I assume it was a man – to bring her back, but you never heard that from me.’

  ‘I’m a police officer.’

  ‘Sometimes you have to jump in the snake pit and get your hands dirty.’

  ‘Thanks, Karen.’

  ‘This phone call will self-destruct in five seconds.’

  He ended the call

  An idea began to mushroom in his mind.

  ***

  ‘It’s Jenifer.’

  ‘Why are you whispering?’

  ‘I’m in the toilet.’

  ‘I don’t want to listen to you peeing. Go outside where no one can hear you, and then call me back.’

  She ended the call.

  It rang again.

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘Quick’s my middle name.’

  ‘I do seem to remember that you couldn’t keep it up for long, Dougall.’

  ‘That’s a monstrous thing to say. I have the staying power of a rhinoceros.’

  ‘And the smell and looks. Listen, I’d love to swap foreplay with you, but I’m waiting for Jenifer to ring me back. Let me talk to her, and then I’ll call you.’

  ‘Okay . . .’

  She ended the call.

  It rang again.

  ‘It’s Jenifer.’

  ‘Are you outside now.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t ring me from a toilet again – you can easily be overheard, which puts you at risk. Also, it’s unhygienic.’

  ‘Okay. Sorry.’

  ‘So, what did you ring me for?’

  ‘I’m a gopher.’

  ‘All constables are gophers.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘When you’re at the bottom of the pile – you’re a gopher.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Well anyway, it means I can wander about in the station . . .’

  ‘I’m familiar with the remit of a gopher.’

  ‘DI Banister asked me to photocopy all his files.’

  ‘Did he now? And you happened to read everything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘It would have taken me forever to read everything – I’m a slow reader. But . . . I took photographs of every page with my phone camera – you know, like a secret agent.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t do this photography in the toilet?’

  Jenifer didn’t answer.

  ‘I understand that you’re new to this undercover work, but you need to find a place where there’s no chance of you being discovered.’

  ‘Ooh! I know just the place.’

  ‘Good. So, what are you planning to do with all the photographs you’ve taken?’

  ‘Send them to you. Tonight, I’ll connect my phone up to the computer, zip them up and attach them to an email. You have most of the information already, but I cross-referenced the files with what DI Banister has stored on computer and there’s one piece of evidence you don’t have.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘A photograph of Rowley from a speed camera . . .’

  ‘Stick breaking the law? I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘It was taken on Sunday, ten minutes before the murders.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Sandford Road.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be the Sandford Road outside HMP Chelmsford, would it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Stick certainly gets around. He rang me earlier, you know.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Have I got an echo on my phone?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘He said he didn’t want you to sleep with DI Banister.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’

  ‘He said he couldn’t tell me where he was on Sunday morning when he lied to you and said that he was going to Hoddesdon Police Station. Did you know he was in Special Ops at the Met?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s never spoken about it.’

  ‘I’m discovering a whole new side to Stickamundo.’

  ‘And me.’

  ‘He wasn’t prepared to tell me anything about the four passports and other documents, which we now know he applied for. Neither would he tell me about the Glock-19 and the three murders between 2009 and 2012; the £100,000 obtained from the London branch of the Montepio Geral Bank on March 17, 2012; or the colour photograph of a woman in a blue dress called Chloe dated April, 2009.’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t know.’

  ‘He knows all right.’

  ‘There’s so much evidence against him . . .’ She began to cry.

  ‘Stop crying. I hate women who cry.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘And stop saying you’re sorry.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Stick’s innocent – remember that, Jenifer. We just have to turn over a few stones and see what crawls out.’

  ‘I know, but I miss him.’

  ‘And you’ll miss him a lot longer unless you pull yourself together and find something that will prove Stick is innocent.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Good. Send me the photographs tonight, and get back on the horse tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t have a horse.’

  She ended the call and rang Tom Dougall.

  ‘You took your time.’

  Her arse had gone numb, so she got up and paced around the bed. ‘I didn’t realise I was working to a deadline.’

  ‘I think I’ve found DC Koll.’

  ‘You – Tom Dougall – are fucking brilliant. Alive I hope?’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Not dead?’

  ‘In Bulgaria apparently.’

  ‘Bulgaria! Didn’t you use to have an uncle called that who lived in Wimbledon?’

  He laughed. ‘You’re crazy! It’s a country in Eastern Europe.’

  ‘They hid her in another country?’

  ‘That’s how Pine got rid of her. One of the undesirables
here – Colin Hargrave – brings in women and children from Eastern Europe – mainly to feed his prostitution and escort activities – and sometimes sends them the other way. Instead of killing Koll, they sent her to Bulgaria . . .’

  ‘What’s she doing over there?’

  ‘I’d have expected a bit more imagination from a detective inspector.’

  ‘You don’t mean . . . ?’

  ‘A dash of heroin to keep her pliable . . . If I recall, she was a bit of a looker.’

  ‘That fucking bastard Pine deserved to die. How are we going to . . . ?’

  ‘I spoke to my boss about that.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘It’s all right, she’s one of the good ones.’

  ‘You want your head feeling.’

  ‘If we make it official, Koll will disappear.’

  ‘Okay, so you’re putting a team together, calling in an old marker to obtain a helicopter, parachuting into Bulgaria with bazookas and night goggles, and . . . ?’

  ‘I could see myself doing that. Rippling muscles, a cigar to chew, some camouflage cream . . . Of course, I’d have to resolve a few medical issues first . . .’

  ‘Medical issues!’ She pulled a face. ‘You never mentioned any medical issues when I agreed to take you back.’

  ‘I do have a plan though.’

  ‘Go on, make my day?’

  ‘I’m going to encourage Hargrave to bring her back.’

  ‘Encourage?’

  ‘I have a secret weapon. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.’

  ‘Be careful, Tom. I wouldn’t want you aggravating those medical issues. What about Stick?’

  ‘There are three undesirables here who had the wherewithal to get rid of four police officers. All three of them were being protected by Pine and his cronies, and had no desire to see him dead. I spoke to one of them this afternoon – the Admiral. As well as telling me about Koll, he also said that he’d looked into the four deaths, because they hadn’t been sanctioned by him. He said that – even with his unlimited resources and unfettered methods – he didn’t find out who was behind the murders, but he did know that it definitely wasn’t Gilbert.’

  ‘We already knew that.’

  ‘Yes, but from what I can make out, it wasn’t any of the people Pine had climbed into bed with either.’

  ‘Which means . . .’

  ‘If it wasn’t any of them, and it wasn’t Gilbert – there’s a third player in the game who we know nothing about.’