by Ellis, Tim
It was near lunchtime. He was feeling a bit peckish, and thinking about taking a break. He’d interviewed seventy-three staff and guests so far. There was still a hundred and thirty-seven to go. It wasn’t hard, just boring. He had to go through the motions, eliminate them from his enquiries.
‘Do you know anything about the murders that took place in Room 13 at the Waterbury Hotel in the early hours of Tuesday July 5?’
‘No.’
‘Complete the form with your name, address, and telephone number, and then sign it.’
He’d been ticking the interviewees off one of the two lists as they came and went. He reckoned that he’d be finished by midday tomorrow. In the meantime, he’d go and have some lunch before he became a role model for anorexics.
His phone rang.
‘Yes?’
‘Where are you, Sir?’
‘Hello, Perkins. I’m in the hotel interviewing, but I’m just about to go and have some lunch. Why?’
‘I have some bad news.’
‘I see. And are you going to tell me about this bad news, or will you be keeping it to yourself?’
‘The DNA has gone?’
‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘Disappeared.’
‘You’re not making much sense, Perkins.’
‘Everything has gone.’
‘Keep going.’
‘I took over from Debbie Chan at eight this morning. About half an hour ago I went into the fridge to get the samples out and they’ve gone. I woke Debbie up. The last time she saw them was around one o’clock this morning.’
‘She’s mislaid them.’
‘We’ve searched everywhere.’
‘They’ve been posted to Buttock Point by mistake.’
‘Nothing has been sent by post since we arrived.’
‘Someone’s cooked and eaten them instead of the noodles.’
‘That’s disgusting, Sir. No one eats in this forensics truck anyway. Someone has taken them.’
‘Define “someone”.’
‘I wish I could.’
‘Have you looked at the CCTV?’
‘No coverage of the trucks.’
‘Well, you still have . . .’
‘Nothing. That’s what I’m saying . . . it’s all gone.’
‘You mean all the samples and the written records have gone?’
‘Everything.’
‘But you can get more, can’t you?’
‘No.’
‘NO? Where’s all the sludge from the room?’
‘Incinerated. There seemed to be no point in keeping bags of sludge, so we used the hotel incinerator to dispose of it before it began to go off.’
‘I should have signed off on that.’
‘If it had been bodies I would have consulted you, but with sludge . . .’
‘You still should have run it past me.’
‘Anyway, it wasn’t going to be a problem because we had the samples, but now we don’t have the samples, the records or the sludge.’
‘I’m still confused, Perkins. How did this mysterious “someone” get into the truck and take everything? And . . . weren’t the records on computer?’
‘About three this morning, Debbie stepped out to get some fresh air and had a coffee with the reception night staff. She was gone for about three quarters of an hour.’
‘And she locked the truck.’
‘No.’
‘She left a colleague in the truck.’
‘No.’
‘Bloody hell, Perkins.’
‘I know.’
‘What about the chain of evidence?’
‘She feels bad.’
‘Bad! . . . She’ll lose her job.’
‘Possibly.’
‘You’ve dusted for fingerprints?’
‘Yes. The whole place was wiped clean, but we’ve found a partial. We’re running it now.’
‘“We!” You’ve sent Debbie home, haven’t you?’
‘Nearly.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘No, I haven’t sent her home yet.’
‘Get her out of there, Perkins. Not only is she facing disciplinary procedures, and the possibility of losing her job, but she’s also a suspect.’
‘I know.’
‘So, let me wrap my head around all of this . . . You’re saying that the physical evidence relating to the murders in Room 13 is all gone?’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m speechless, Perkins. I’ve never heard of anything like this before.’
‘Oh, it’s happened before, Sir. There was . . .’
‘I don’t think you telling me about previous occurrences of forensic incompetence is going to help.’
‘No . . .’
‘What about the computer records?’
‘Wiped.’
‘Just those records, or the complete database?’
‘Just those records.’
‘Don’t we have passwords and things?’
‘A double layer.’
‘Then how . . . ?’
‘I have no answers. Whoever removed the computer evidence had password access.’
‘Aren’t there logs, back-ups and other measures to make sure we don’t lose data . . .’
‘By accident – yes, but they don’t protect against deliberate deletion. The logs have been wiped and the back-up tape was removed from the drawer.’
‘Who would or could do something like that, Perkins?’
‘One of us.’
‘Keep going.’
‘When I say one of us, I don’t mean one of the people I have here. I’ve accounted for their movements. I mean either a forensic officer at the station, or someone above me.’
‘Above you?’
‘The Home Office are responsible for overseeing the National DNA Database. Between the Home Secretary and me there are a number of people who have different levels of password access.’
‘Do you know who can delete records?’
‘No, but I’m going to try and find out. You remember that the government broke up the Forensic Science Service last year?’
‘I vaguely recall reading something about that.’
‘Well, my people and I work for QED Forensics now – a private company based in Aldermaston, Berkshire . . .’
‘You must be raking it in.’
‘My pay is not up for discussion. So, as I was saying, there used to be the head of the FSS and three civil servants above me, but that’s changed . . .’
‘Is it lower than a 100K, or higher?’
‘We have the Forensic Science Regulator who reports directly to the Home Secretary, the Home Office Chief Scientific Adviser, and three Heads of Section within QED.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘It must be one of the three Heads of Section.’
‘If you’re not careful you’ll lose your humungous salary – What is it again?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.’
‘What about Room 13? Surely there’s still evidence in the room?’
‘They pleaded with me, said it was costing them money, and could I release it as soon as . . . ?’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I said they could move the cleaners into the room . . .’
‘This just gets better and better, Perkins. Where are you?’
‘In the forensic truck.’
‘Meet me in reception with two of your men . . . and make sure you lock the door this time.’
He heard a strangled laugh as he ended the call.
All the physical evidence gone! What the hell was going on? Who would know how to do something like that? What to take? Where to find it all? Could it have been the killer? What the hell was Debbie Chan thinking of?
Perkins was waiting for him with two white-suited men. They walked down the stairs to Room 13. There was an industrial cleaning team in there.
‘Get out,’ Quigg said
to them.
‘The Assistant Manager . . .’ a man began to say.
‘Yeah well, I’m now telling you to get out.’ He produced his warrant card. ‘We’ve changed our mind.’
‘Wind it up, people,’ the man said to his cleaning team. ‘As usual, the police have no idea what they’re doing.’
They had to wait nearly ten minutes for the room to be emptied of people and machinery.
‘You checked for another entrance/exit?’
Perkins shook his head. ‘We didn’t find one.’
‘What about under the carpet?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Did you check under the carpet?’
‘Well . . . no. Was I meant to?’
‘I thought you’d have done it as a matter of course.’
‘If the carpet had been drenched in blood – maybe, but it wasn’t. If it wasn’t secured to the floor – maybe, but it is. If . . .’
‘Get your men to take it up.’
‘All of it?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about the furniture?’
‘I’m not an expert by any means, Perkins, but I don’t think you can take a carpet up if the furniture is still on top of it.’
Perkins gave a weak smile, and signalled for his men to start moving the furniture into the corridor.
Caroline Griffies – the Assistant Manager – arrived. ‘I thought you’d given the room back to us, Inspector?’
‘We’ve changed our mind.’
‘I might have to submit a complaint.’
‘Please do. In the meantime, can you leave us to get on with our work?’
She turned on her heel and stomped off.
He felt that the investigation was slipping through his fingers like spaghetti, and he was in no mood to pander to people’s demands. Where the hell was Kline? Shouldn’t she be back by now? Or, at least have called him?
He pressed her number in his phonebook, but it diverted to voicemail. ‘Call me,’ he said. Why was her phone on voicemail? Nothing seemed to be going right this morning.
It took Perkins’ men a while to shift all of the furniture out of the room, but eventually they did. They were breathing hard, and if he looked closely he could see various negative emotions in their eyes, which were directed at him. He didn’t bother looking too closely. Being unpopular was something he was used to. He thought of Monica and DS Mervyn Jones, and wondered what they were doing with their time now. He hoped they were happy together.
Perkins had helped his men pull up the carpet, and was breathing heavily as well.
‘Okay, Sir.’
‘No, not okay, Perkins. Let’s get the whole carpet out of the room and into the corridor.’
Perkins went back into the room, and soon the carpet and underlay was being dragged and manhandled into the corridor. When the three forensic officers had the carpet and underlay against the wall, they sat down to get their breath back.
Quigg walked into the room.
‘Crap!’ he said out loud.
On the concrete floor, right of centre, was the dark silhouette of a head and torso.
Kline was going to go crazy on him. She would want to assign the murders to some supernatural event relating to the dark past of the asylum. Make the killer an inter-dimensional traveller, or at least a vampire who was a hundred and fifty years old. He could hear the conversation playing out in his head.
‘Well, that’s it then,’ she would say.
‘What is?’
‘You’ll have to get Buffy the Vampire Slayer in. She knows how to kill vampires.’
‘Doesn’t she live in America?’
‘We can fly her over.’
‘The Chief would never go for it.’
***
Avery Malpass realised that the map he’d found didn’t really give him an appreciation of the enormity of the theme park. After traipsing round all morning, he hadn’t actually got anywhere. Oh, he’d walked a long way, but he hadn’t found what he’d been looking for.
He diverted into a Blood & Gore eating station like a racing driver pulling into the pit for a wheel change. The prices for food and drink were inflated threefold, so he helped himself to a half-eaten hamburger, chips and diet cola off one of the tables when a family of four rushed off to experience another attraction.
How any mother and father could bring their children to a place like this was beyond him? Even adults would have nightmares and ongoing psychological problems after visiting some of the attractions in the park.
Prowling around, frightening both the young and old alike, were a host of horror characters interacting with visitors and posing for photographs: Count Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, Wolfman, the Mummy, Leatherface, Michael Myers, Chucky, Pinhead, the Thing, Pennywise, Hannibal Lector, Candyman, and a whole host of vampires, zombies and ghouls. He’d seen them all as he’d walked round. It brought back memories of the nightmares he’d had as a child, and the places where the monsters used to hide – under the bed, in the closet, behind the curtains. As he’d grown to adulthood, he soon learnt that monsters also hide in plain sight.
As he took his time devouring the hamburger and chips with a sachet of barbecue sauce he’d found, a young blonde girl caught his attention. He wasn’t here for the attractions, the nightmare characters or the food – he was watching the people, looking for his daughter Willow, Hugo Twelvetrees, or anybody else who might be able to help him find either of those two people, and he thought he might just have identified the very person.
She was helping herself to a man’s mobile phone, his wallet and his Rolex watch. Avery smiled. She was good. He double-checked he still had everything. The girl moved on to a woman’s handbag and pulled out a purse, an iPad and a gold compact.
He followed her as she moved off, but he hadn’t noticed she had accomplices who distracted him long enough for her to disappear. His wallet had also gone with his only picture of Willow inside. He kept searching and found the blonde girl near the House of Usher, but the two boys diverted his attention, and he lost sight of her once again.
‘Why you trying to follow me, Mister?’ came from behind him.
He turned. It was the blonde girl, and the two boys were behind her. ‘I’m looking for my daughter, and I want my wallet back.’
‘Ain’t taken your wallet.’
‘No, but one of those two did,’ he said pointing to the boys.
The tall boy with a mop of hair held his wallet up. ‘If we give you your wallet back, will you stop trying to follow us?’
‘If you also help me find my daughter.’
‘We ain’t lost property, ya know. How would we know where she is?’
‘There’s a picture of her in my wallet.’
The boy holding the wallet took the picture of Willow out and showed it to the girl and the other boy.
‘She ain’t one of us, Mister,’ the blonde girl said.
‘I don’t know who you are, but I’ve been told that she joined the Cult of Bugarach.’
‘Ah, you want the Clown’s Revenge,’ the smaller of the two boys with the big flappy ears said. ‘There’s some people in there who are waiting for the end of the world.’
His heart began thrashing about. Had he finally found Willow? ‘That’s where she is.’
They pointed the way he was facing and to his right.
‘It’s behind a fence,’ the tall boy said. ‘You can’t actually see it from the park, but it’s there. You want to stand on some high ground and then search for the clown’s face.’
The flappy eared boy tossed his wallet high in the air. When he’d caught it the three children were gone.
Chapter Eight
‘What’s that, Sir?’ Perkins asked, bending over and peering at the stain on the floor.
He told Perkins the story of the dead female asylum patient from 1973, and of the original Cora Jiggins from 1903.
‘If I wasn’t so fed up about the missing evidence, that might have excited me.’
‘Get your men back in here. Rip the skirting boards off, take out the light fittings, pull everything off the ceiling and walls. Strip the place bare. Find some more evidence, Perkins. Also, do you think you can obtain a DNA sample from that stain?’
Perkins pulled a face and shrugged. ‘I can try.’
‘Check the underneath of the carpet as well and the underlay. Something might have seeped through. If you can find more evidence you might be able to save Debbie Chan’s job.’
‘That’s an incentive. Debbie’s really good, and I’d hate to lose her.’
‘Also, keep back-ups of everything and don’t put anything else on the database until we’ve found out what the hell is going on.’
Perkins nodded.
His phone rang.
‘Yes?’
‘Is that anyway to speak to the mother of your soon-to-be-born-son?’
‘Hello, Ruth. How are you?’
‘I feel like a double elephant and I can’t stop eating. Are you coming home, we miss you?’
‘I’m hoping I’ll be home tonight. Was there anything urgent?’
‘Does it have to be urgent for you to come home?’
‘Of course not. Did you enjoy the builders last night?’
‘What builders?’
‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Bye.’
It was good to hear from Ruth, but he was hoping it had been Kline. Where was she? He was getting worried. She should have rung. He called her number again, but was diverted to voicemail a second time, so he left another ‘Ring me’ message.
Caroline Griffies was in the restaurant when he entered, but she didn’t invite him to join her. He had fish, chips and peas, two slices of buttered bread and a mug of tea. He didn’t usually drink tea, but could almost guarantee that the coffee would taste like old dishwater, whereas tea tended to taste the same regardless of where it came from.
Now what? There was so much to do he was spoilt for choice. Instead of directing traffic, he was stuck in the middle of the jam. He wanted to find out where Kline had got to, and was really annoyed that she hadn’t phoned and that he couldn’t get through to her. There was still a long list of guests and staff who needed interviewing, but maybe he could delegate that task to Constable Coveney and her team. She wouldn’t like it, because they were all involved in searching out information for him, but it had reached the stage where he had to prioritise. There was Perkins and the evidential disaster. He’d done all he could think of to rectify that situation. It was up to Perkins now. The Chief should really be informed, but he thought he’d wait and see if Perkins could recover any DNA from Room 13.