Silent in the Grave (9781311028495)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘Are you going to pick this Pylster up?’

  ‘Not yet. I have one final piece of the jigsaw to complete. My train guy is investigating which trains those four ticket numbers were issued for . . .’

  ‘. . . And whether Pylster was a ticket inspector on those trains?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If he was?’

  ‘I’ll pick him up, match a DNA sample to what we’ve now got on the database and lock him up.’

  ‘And then it’ll all come out. Don’t do anything until I speak to the Commissioner and get back to you. There’s enough people from outside taking pot-shots at the police without us shooting ourselves in the foot.’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  ‘And then, of course, there’s the inside man – what a disaster. We should have left it gathering dust in the cold case pile.’

  ‘You don’t believe that, Sir.’

  ‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow, Ray.’

  ‘Goodnight, Sir.’

  The line went dead.

  What he feared had happened. He’d opened up a can of worms, and it would be difficult stuffing those worms back in the can now. He screwed up his face. He’d just have to see what happened tomorrow. Getting involved in a cover-up wasn’t something he relished, but if it came from the top – what choice did he have? The Red Spider case had served its purpose and taken his mind off his troubles, but now he also wanted justice for Pylster’s victims.

  An inquest would be conducted by the media. So-called experts would dissect the case and identify the mistakes that were made. As a newly appointed detective William Orde probably wouldn’t come out of it looking too bad, but Andrew Pearson and the other senior detectives would be made to look like incompetents, and the police force would get another public flogging.

  Maybe the Chief Constable was right. Maybe he should put all the worms back in the can and send the evidence boxes back to Rye.

  He skimmed his messages. Most had been answered by Carrie, and the others were unimportant. He signed what needed to be signed, left the reading until the morning and headed to the hospital.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was five past nine when Richards phoned him. Angie had gone to work, Jack was asleep upstairs and Digby was sprawled out on the sofa next to him. He’d put the television sound on mute while he took the call. He was worn out, and didn’t know whether he’d stay up much longer – the case was wearing him down. He really hoped Richards would bring something useful back with her.

  ‘What time do you call this?’

  ‘I haven’t given it a name yet.’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, young lady.’

  ‘Well, stop asking stupid questions. As per your instructions I had to travel home, pack my sequined mini dress and sexy lingerie, get to the station, travel into London, get the underground to Euston, hop on a train to Warrington, change at Crewe, and now I’m whacked.’

  ‘Where are you phoning from? Can I hear music?’

  ‘I’m in a nightclub in the middle of . . .’

  ‘You’d better not . . .’

  ‘I’m in my room at the hotel. The news is on the television.’

  ‘Are they doing the news to disco music now?’

  ‘You’re showing your age. There hasn’t been disco music since dinosaurs roamed the earth.’

  ‘I’ll ignore that. Are you booked into a hotel near Risley?’

  ‘Five miles away. The Orchard Hotel. I’m in Room 27. It’s a four star hotel.’

  ‘A four-star? Are you crazy? The Chief will go ballistic. You’re there to work, not take a weekend break.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m worth four stars?’

  ‘I think you’re worth . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve booked you in to see the Governor at HMP Risley at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.’

  ‘We were talking about stars.’

  ‘No. You were talking about stars. I was talking about the accountability of public money and police officers travelling to Warrington on expensive jollies.’

  ‘So, how many stars do you think I’m worth?’

  ‘Did you mention sexy lingerie before?’

  ‘You’re so easy to wind up.’

  ‘Get your notebook out.’

  ‘It’s here.’

  ‘We want to know everything there is to know about Philip Newey. Ask if you can have a copy of his file. They probably won’t let you, but it won’t do any harm to ask. If they won’t give you a copy, find out who visited him during the time he was on remand. Also, did he share his cell with anyone? Did he make any friends in there? Was there anything unusual about his stay in there? Remember, we want to know about his daughter, which means we’re looking for the mother – we need a name for the second victim.’

  ‘I’ll get you a name.’

  ‘Also, visit Newey’s last known address: 3a Thorn Road, Paddington WA1 3HQ – have you got that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Knock on doors, ask questions and be careful.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

  ‘I do worry, Richards. This will be your last assignment before I sign off on your promotion to Detective Constable.’

  ‘You never said anything about that.’

  ‘I’m saying it now.’

  ‘What if I meet a man tonight?’

  ‘That would be like pressing the self-destruct button on your career as a detective. And anyway, how could you meet a man if you’ve locked yourself in your room alone.’

  ‘It was a hypothetical question.’

  ‘I hope that’s all it was. We’ve talked about one-night stands before. Maybe now would be a good time to get you into rehab’ for some much-needed therapy.’

  She laughed. ‘As if.’

  ‘How was the journey?’

  ‘Boring. I slept most of the way.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you can go out dancing all night just because you’re wide awake.’

  ‘You have a strange imagination. How did the post mortem and the press briefing go?’

  ‘Nothing new on the post mortem. The Chief was late for his own briefing. He attended the press briefing instead, and got an update that way.’

  ‘I bet he wasn’t impressed.’

  ‘He knows that this is how it goes sometimes – that’s why there are lots of unsolved cold cases in the basement gathering dust.’

  ‘In the basement?’

  ‘Keep your mind focused on the active case we’re working at the moment, Richards.’

  ‘There are so many cases . . .’

  ‘The Chief gave the go ahead for a forensic anthropologist, but if you can bring back a name . . .’

  ‘I’ve said I’ll bring you a name, and I will. Does he need my help with the Red Spider case yet.’

  ‘No. He said he’s nearly solved it.’

  ‘Without me?’

  ‘Yes, Richards. Without you.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Right, do you want to ask me any questions?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘If the prison governor gives you any problems – ring me. After you’ve spoken with him – ring me. If you’re unsure of anything – ring me. If . . .’

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Good. I’m going to sleep now – I have an early start in the morning.’

  ‘Did you take your nose band with you?’

  ‘I’m going now – goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Richards.’

  The line went dead.

  Had he made the right decision sending Richards to Warrington on her own? What if something happened to her? Maybe he should call the babysitter and drive up there. Or, maybe Angie was right – maybe he should let her spread her wings.

  He switched the television off.

  ‘Come on, Digby. Let’s go to bed.’

  ***

  Scylla, Chloe and Poppy were sitting in Lizard’s basement waiting for him t
o pull his thumb out of the plum pudding.

  On the way, they’d stopped off at a drive-in MacDonald’s to feed Poppy. Scylla and Chloe had also taken the opportunity to fill themselves up as well. Afterwards, Scylla guided them to the train station photo booth for the passport-sized photographs they needed for their new identities.

  She handed Alice Kellogg’s passport and documents back. ‘Can I get a refund?’

  ‘I don’t do refunds.’

  She wanted to fucking swear at him, but Poppy was standing behind her. ‘I see,’ she said instead.

  ‘Who’s paying?’ he asked.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Have you got the cash on you?’

  ‘No, I’ll do a bank transfer.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘How does that work?’

  ‘As you’d imagine. I transfer the money from my account into your account.’

  ‘I’m not giving you the details of my account.’

  ‘I already have them.’

  ‘Nobody has those details except me.’

  ‘And me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘How would you like me to prove it? I could pay you – less the refund for the documents I’ve returned, of course – or I could empty your account and donate all the money in there to my favourite charity - me. Any preference?’

  ‘I prefer the first option.’

  ‘I thought you might. How much for two adults and a five year-old?’

  ‘That’ll be two thousand each for the adults and a thousand for the girl.’

  ‘Let’s round it down to three thousand, shall we?’

  ‘Five was a nice round number.’

  ‘Yes, but a three is much more pleasing to the eye.’

  ‘I only charged you one-five in the first place.’

  ‘Let’s call the difference a returning customer bonus.’

  ‘I should report you to the authorities.’

  ‘Yes, you should.’

  ‘But I’m not going to.’

  ‘Very kind.’

  Chloe and Poppy agreed on Beverly and Kylie Culbert, and – after a lot of wrangling – she chose the name Jessie Gibbs.

  While they waited, she used her tablet to check her emails. When she read the one from Xena, she knew she had to go. First though, she needed to take care of some things. She deleted all the emails, closed down the email account, and opened up another one with a different provider under the online name of Bronwyn. Next, she transferred three thousand pounds into Lizard’s account. Then, she opened an account in the name of Beverly Culbert and dropped fifty thousand pounds into it. Finally, she transferred the rest of her money into a newly opened account in the name of Jessie Gibbs, and deleted the Jane Lee account.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said to Chloe.

  ‘What about us?’

  ‘Lizard will give you all the documents you need to begin a new life. Get on a train and go somewhere.’ She handed Chloe a piece of paper with the bank account details written on it. ‘There’s fifty thousand pounds in that account to get you going . . .’

  ‘Fifty . . . ?’

  ‘It was spare.’

  ‘I can’t take it.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll transfer it back into my account and let you get on with your life.’

  ‘Maybe I was a bit hasty.’

  ‘Don’t worry I borrowed it from the government, and they owe you. Also, here’s five hundred pounds in cash to help you get to where you’re going. My new email address is on the back of the piece of paper – use it as a last resort.’

  They hugged.

  She hugged Poppy.

  ‘I’ll be back for my documents,’ she told Lizard.

  ‘You’re not worried that I’ll cheat you?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I know everything about you, Michael Snyder. The press of a single computer key will turn your life into spaghetti. And, you want to pray that I don’t die tonight, because much the same thing will happen.’

  ‘Wonderful. I pray you stay alive long enough to fuck off and leave me alone.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  She hurried out of Lizard’s basement emporium and jumped into the Audi TT, glad now that she’d borrowed it. The in-built satnav wanted to take her along the A13, but she chose the more direct A118 instead. It was going to take her thirty minutes to reach King George Hospital if there were no obstacles on route. The time displayed in bright green on the dashboard clock was 23:55.

  ***

  Friday, May 27

  As soon as she arrived at the hospital, the hairs on the back of her neck sprang up like meerkats sensing danger. The bastards were already in the hospital – she just knew it. She emptied her rucksack of clutter and filled it with the weapons and magazines. She had a feeling she was going to need them before the night was done.

  Had they found Xena yet? What the fuck was she doing getting involved in something that didn’t involve her? Xena was a cop for God’s sake. She hated cops. Dead cops were good cops. She should turn around and let nature take its course – but she didn’t. If there was one thing she hated more than cops it was government secret agents – they were the grubby skin on a snake’s belly.

  The reception appeared normal – drunks, the homeless and a smattering of crazy people filled up the seats. There were a couple of nurses with an old man on a gurney standing outside the lifts.

  She shot through the door for the stairs and took the steps two at a time up to the third floor.

  No sooner had she reached the first floor landing than the lights went out.

  Hospitals had back-up generators, didn’t they?

  She waited, but no back-up kicked in. She reached into her rucksack for the small torch she always had stashed in there, and carried on up the stairs.

  Beech Ward was like the black hole of Calcutta. Nurses were running round with penlights like confused automatons. She reached Xena’s room and found her still in bed snoring like a volcano.

  ‘Hey?’ she said, shaking her.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘It’s me, Scylla.’

  ‘Haven’t you got a bed of your own?’

  ‘Come on, we have to go.’

  ‘Why is it still dark?’

  ‘They’ve knocked out the lights and the back-up generator.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘Will you get your arse moving? I’ll tell you on the way.’

  ‘Tell me now.’

  ‘You sent me an email with those two names in it?’

  ‘Oh, you got it then?’

  ‘Yes, but so did they.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘Somebody’s been watching me since I agreed to look into the murders, but I didn’t know. Now, they’re tying up loose ends, and you’ve become one of those. I caught the bastards trying to snatch Chloe and her daughter Poppy, but managed to save them. Now, I’m here to save you, but it looks like you don’t want to be saved.’

  ‘They’re here . . . in the hospital?’

  ‘I didn’t realise coppers were so intelligent.’

  ‘And they’re after me?’

  ‘And me, but they always seem to be after me.’

  ‘I’m a cop for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘You’ll be a dead cop soon unless you get out of that fucking bed.’ Scylla grabbed her arm and pulled. ‘Come on.’

  ‘I’m in my night dress.’

  ‘This is a hospital – nobody’s going to give a shit.’

  Scylla was dragging her towards the door, but Xena pulled her arm away. ‘I need my shoes if I’m running round the hospital – slippers are no fucking good.’

  ‘Hurry, for fuck’s sake.’ She took the Uzi out of the rucksack, pushed in a magazine and stuck her head into the corridor.

  ‘Have you got a gun?’

  ‘Only a little one.’

  ‘Guns are illegal in this country. I think I’ll have to arrest you.’

/>   She pulled Xena by the arm as she headed down the corridor towards the back stairs. ‘You can arrest me later. Now though, we have to get the fuck out of here.’

  ‘Are you sure . . .’

  ‘I’m sure. Why do you think the lights are off?’

  ‘A power cut?’

  ‘Back-up generator?’

  ‘Broken?’

  ‘Like you, you mean? Up or down?’

  Xena stopped. ‘Up or down what?’

  ‘Do you want go up the stairs or down the stairs to get away from the guys who are going to kill you if they catch you?’

  ‘Up’s no good. Stupid people always go up in the movies.’

  ‘Down it is then, but they could be waiting for us.’

  ‘What’s this all about?’

  Scylla barged through the door. ‘Keep moving.’ She linked Xena’s arm to give her some support. ‘Are you gonna make it?’

  ‘You worry about yourself. So, are you going to tell me?’

  ‘Chloe heard something she wasn’t meant to hear.’

  ‘This is the woman in the photograph at Stick’s house?’

  ‘Yes, and she has a five year-old daughter called Poppy.’

  ‘Stick’s daughter?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Okay. What did she hear?’

  They froze as a door opened and closed above them, but there were no sounds of anyone following them.

  ‘She was a parliamentary researcher. One night, she was working late in an alcove of the library when she overheard a conversation between a senior police officer and Stephen Harradine . . .’

  ‘Four years ago?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The same Stephen Harradine who’s now the Deputy Prime Minister?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘What did she hear?’

  A door crashed open above them.

  ‘There they are,’ a man’s voice ricocheted down the stairwell.

  ‘Fuck,’ Scylla said, not seeing any lights shining down at them. ‘They’re wearing night goggles.’

  The sound of heavy boots smacking on marble stairs came towards them.

  ‘Where to?’ Scylla asked.