by Ellis, Tim
‘You’re funny, Mr Cole Randall. I rang to tell you I’ve done some of your work. Can you check it to see if it’s okay before I carry on.'
‘I’m not near my computer at the moment, but in about an hour I’ll check it.’
‘Okay. Put my number in your address book and ring me back, will ya?’
‘I can do that.’ He ended the call and returned to the waiting room, but the receptionist signalled to him.
‘I thought you’d left, so someone else took your place. Take a seat again, it shouldn’t be too long.’
He had to wait another twenty minutes before he was shown into a small consulting room with a desk, two chairs, a covered trolley, an examination table behind the door, and a sink in the corner. Dr Nagappa Suresh, a small jolly looking Indian with thinning hair who spoke perfect English introduced himself. Randall shook the proffered hand.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Randall?’ Dr Suresh asked signalling for him to sit down in the chair next to the desk.
‘You know who I am?’
‘Yes.’
‘I need something to help me sleep.’
‘What were you prescribed in Springfield?’
‘God knows, but they turned me into a zombie.’
‘Anti-psychotics probably. What medication are you on now?’
‘None, they sent me out with nothing.’
‘Shameful. And now you’re having trouble sleeping?’
Putting his face in his hands he began to cry. ‘God, I’m sorry, Doctor.’
‘Understandable after what you’ve been through, Mr Randall.’ He swivelled in his chair to face his desk and began to write on a prescription pad. ‘Five milligrams of Valium, one in the morning and one in the evening, and ten milligrams of Eszopiclone, one tablet an hour before going to bed. You don’t have a history of alcohol or drug abuse, do you?’
He shook his head.
‘No lung disease?’
Randall shook his head again. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
‘These are short-term only, Mr Randall, to ease you back into normality. Take your jacket and top off, let me examine you.'
Randall stood up and peeled the layers of clothing off.
Dr Suresh looked in his ears with an otoscope, inside his mouth using a wooden spatula, and in his eyes with a penlight. The doctor then listened to his lungs front and back using a cold stethoscope, and after he had lain down on the examination table, prodded his stomach.
‘Physically, you seem to be in good shape. Some lack of muscle tone, but I don’t suppose you took much exercise in that place?’
‘No, not really.’
‘You might want to join a gym. Start off slowly, and increase the exercises until you feel you’ve returned to your normal physique. All right, you can get dressed again. Apart from the lack of sleep, any other problems?’
He put his clothes back on. ‘No, Doctor.’
‘I want you to come back and see me in three weeks time. Can you do that?’
He had no idea where he’d be in three weeks. It would probably be all over by then. He’d be lying next to Sarah and the kids with a ventilation hole in the side of his head. ‘I guess so, Doctor.’
Dr Suresh passed him the prescription. ‘Those should sort you out, Mr Randall, but if they don’t work, or you have any other problems, come back and see me.’
They shook hands.
‘Thanks for seeing me, Doctor.’
‘Look after yourself, Mr Randall, make an appointment for three weeks time with Jenny in reception.’
Randall let himself out of the consulting room and walked along the corridor back to the reception. He booked an appointment with the mousy Jenny in reception, and she gave him a card that he put in his pocket.
Outside, he gulped in the cold air. The drizzle had continued. He couldn’t believe he’d cried in front of the doctor. God, what the hell was wrong with him?
He found a chemist, waited ten minutes for his prescription to be made up, and then had to pay £14.40 for the privilege. The country was going to the dogs.
At twenty past twelve he found himself walking into the Pepper Pot café without any recollection of the journey. He was sitting in his usual seat and stared out of the window.
‘What did the doctor say?’ Kiri asked sitting down opposite him. She looked as fresh as a summer breeze, and he found it hard to believe he’d kept her up half the night.
‘He said he’d never seen a finer specimen of humanity in all his years of practising medicine.’
She smiled, took his hand and interlocked her fingers with his. ‘I’m sure. And…?’
‘And he gave me a prescription for some pills to get me through the day, and to help me sleep at night.’
‘Have you…’
‘If the waitresses were any good in here, I’d have a mug of tea by now to chase down my little yellow pill.’
Kiri’s eyes lit up. ‘Rolling Stones, Mother’s Little Helper?’
‘We’re not playing Name That Tune. Any chance of something to eat and drink? I came in here believing it was a café.’
‘You remind me of Daniel Quilp,’ she said.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘The hunched hook-nosed dwarf from The Old Curiosity Shop, I’m flattered.’
‘If you’d like, I could get you some whole boiled eggs with the shells still on to eat?’
‘I’m tempted, but if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll have that blue cheese thingy I had yesterday.’
She stood, leant over, took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. ‘I’ll see what the cook can rustle up.’
‘And a mug of tea would be good,’ he called after her.
His phone vibrated.
‘Yes?’
‘Have you checked my work yet?’
‘At the moment I’m having my lunch, but lets not forget who’s working for whom.’
He heard giggling. ‘Yeah, sorry. I have issues.’
‘We all have issues… What’s your real name? I feel stupid calling you TANGLE_ICEWIND in a public place.’
‘Ruby – It sucks.’
‘I’ll call you soon, Ruby.’ He disconnected the call. Yes, we all have issues.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
After he’d eaten, he went back to his flat. He had swilled down the tiny 5mg Valium tablet with his tea in the café, and by the time he’d walked up the stairs and opened the door he felt as though someone had robbed him of all his energy. He lay on the bed to take the edge off his tiredness, and the next thing he knew his phone was vibrating in the pocket of his trousers. The display on the phone showed it was three thirty, that he had lost two hours, and that Ruby was calling him again.
‘I thought this was urgent?’
‘It is.’
‘Then why haven’t you phoned me?’
‘You’ll make somebody a lovely wife one day.’
‘I told you I have issues, and I’m never going to get married – men suck.’
‘I’ll have a look at the files now.’
‘You mean you haven’t even looked at what I sent you yet? Fucking H Christ, I don’t know why I bother sometimes. What have you been doing instead of looking at the files?’
‘Sleeping.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Cole Randall. I suppose that’s what wrinklies do all the time isn’t it – sleep a lot?’
‘So now I’m a wrinkly?’
She giggled. ‘I saw you on the TV you know, you have more wrinkles than a wrinkle factory.’
‘Thanks very much. How old are you, Ruby?’
‘Twenty in three months time. I’m not going to get into trouble for helping you am I?’
‘I’m not a copper anymore.’
‘That’s okay then, the plod suck.’
‘Is there anything that doesn’t suck?’
‘Not much.’
‘Right, I’ve opened the… It’s a good job I’m not a copper anymore, Ruby. Where in Christ’s name did you get all this information from?�
��
‘So you like it?’
‘I love it.’
‘Will you ring RHINO and tell him to give me three hundred of the five you’ve paid him?’
‘I haven’t paid him anything yet, Ruby. But what if I pay RHINO two hundred, and I give you four hundred?’
‘You’re fucking ace, Cole Randall. I’ll send you a bill through Google Checkout. You’ve got an account?’
‘I will have.’
‘I’ll send you the rest of the information.’
‘Thanks, Ruby.’
The phone went dead. His mouth felt as though he’d been cleaning the toilet bowl with his tongue. He trudged to the kitchenette and made himself a coffee, then returned to his laptop. Open on the screen was a detailed analysis of one of the three-page credit card statements. Ruby had grouped income and expenditure under companies. For example, under Tesco there were three transactions detailing the Reference Number, Transaction Date, Post Date, Description of the Transaction or Credit, and the Amount. These details were listed in a normal Credit Card Statement, but Ruby had then expanded on the information usually provided by identifying exactly what was purchased on each transaction. He surmised that the only way she could have obtained that level of detail was to have hacked into the Tesco computer system. It seemed that Malachi Pike liked Stonebaked Ham and Pineapple Pizzas, a varied selection of frozen meals for one, and Massolino Barolo Piedmont at £35 a bottle. To the right of each line was a movie camera icon – he pressed the top one and Windows Media Player activated. Malachi Pike was standing in the checkout queue at Tescos with a full shopping basket looking annoyed.
‘Bloody marvellous,’ he said out loud.
While he’d been looking at the initial email attachment, Ruby had sent the remaining reports and a link to Google Checkout. He opened an account, keyed in his credit card details, and sent her £500. He’d decided he wasn’t going to pay RHINO a damned thing.
Immediately, he received another email from Ruby: I LOVE YOU, COLE RANDALL with a smiley underneath.
Smiling, he wondered if Ruby was as quirky in the real world as she was in the virtual world. It also crossed his mind how she had known so quickly that he had paid her £500.
He began opening the attachments. At the top of each report she had written a summary identifying anything unusual. He read each one in turn, but nothing had been highlighted. Turning his attention to the telephone statements, he opened the report of the calls made from Pike’s house phone. Ruby identified a number on one line, and the calls made to that number beneath it with the date, time, duration and cost. What he was specifically interested in was the icons Ruby had put next to the number on the first line. There was a text icon, a picture icon, a movie camera icon, and a money icon.
His mobile pinged, but he ignored it. He clicked on the text icon of the first telephone number. Notepad opened, which revealed a profile of the person whose number it was: A Mr Ashok Kantamani who lived at 23 Didsbury Road in Manchester. Ruby had detailed his whole life (his background and family history); wife (her maiden name, family history, education, job, health); children (names, schools attended, school reports, health); job (he was a stockbroker); basically everything about him and those around him. The picture icon had pictures of him, his wife, their children, the house where he lived, and so on. The movie camera icon opened up a guided tour of 23 Didsbury Road obviously obtained from an estate agent; and the money icon revealed the Kantamani’s financial situation. He wondered if Ruby had rattled the skeletons in his cupboards before she’d agreed to do the work for him.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so impressed with somebody’s work. Ruby certainly knew what she was doing, and was worth every penny and more. He began to move down the list of numbers Malachi Pike had called from his home telephone, opening the text icon to find out who owned each phone. As far as he could see, there was no one that might be connected to the murders.
He opened the final report on Pike’s mobile that Ruby had attached to the email. It took him until ten past six to finish reading the profiles of those people Pike had called on his mobile. He found no one of interest.
Before he closed his laptop he emailed Ruby and said he’d pay her three hundred pounds if she would find out everything she could about Malachi Pike.
She emailed back two smilies kissing.
As he walked down the stairs, he wondered whether he should just kill Pike. Wasn’t he the killer? What the hell was he doing searching for evidence like the copper that he used to be? Did it really matter whether he had proof or not? He should just go round to Pike’s flat when he came back from Israel and blow his brains out, then turn the gun on himself. The longer he delayed it, the more he had time to think about it, and the harder it was going to be.
Chapter Forty
At ten to four Abby pulled up outside Café 161 on the High Street in Crowthorne. It was wedged between a pet shop and a hairdressing salon. There were only two other customers in the café when they entered – an old woman with twisted and wrinkled tights crocheting a yellow baby jacket and a bearded businessman who didn’t look up from his hot drink. The gingham-covered tables were all against the left-hand wall. They chose a table towards the back of the oblong room. When an unshaven waiter wearing a Union Jack apron approached, they both ordered the Caesar salad and a coffee. While they waited, Molly went back outside, lit a cigarette and phoned Frank.
‘DS Lowen?’
‘It’s me, Frank.’
‘Oh hello, Gov, I didn’t know they permitted the inmates to keep their mobile phones?’
‘You’re in the wrong job, Frank.’ She heard him chuckle.
‘How’s it gone?’
‘The journey here was a friggin’ nightmare, but we’ve heard an interesting tale about Jacob Hansen, which I’ll tell you tomorrow. In the meantime, get a pen and paper.’
She heard rustling.
‘Go?’
‘Ask Lucy to carry out a database search for Lizzie Hansen, Angel Hansen, and George Hansen. George and Lizzie are the parents, and Angel is Jacob’s elder sister. Also, cross-reference any aliases that George Hansen has used in the past with births, deaths and marriages. Apparently, he was a bigamist and had children with his other wives. I’ve sent you a photograph of Jacob Hansen, open it and tell me what you think.’
There was a long silence while she waited for Frank to navigate to the photograph and examine it. She heard him showing the others.
‘Gov?’
‘Yes, Frank?’
‘It looks as though we were a bit premature in taking Pike off our suspect board.’
‘We?’ Molly challenged him.
‘Yeah, okay me. I apologise, Gov, but we still have the problem of the restraining order.’
‘We need to lodge an appeal against that. I’ll leave you to find out from the CPS first thing tomorrow how we can overturn it.’
‘Thanks, Gov.’
‘The least I can do, Frank.’
She heard him grunt.
‘Although Jacob Hansen looks like Pike,’ Frank said. ‘I don’t understand how?’
‘The only explanation I can think of is that Malachi Pike was adopted.’
‘Of course, you’re suggesting that Pike is one of George Hansen’s other children?’
‘The likeness between Pike and Jacob Hansen is too weird to be a coincidence.’
‘Your idea about there being two killers working together is beginning to look plausible after all, Gov, especially if they’re half-brothers.’
‘We have no evidence linking Hansen to the murders, and the only evidence we have on Pike are the pubic hairs, which would be laughed out of court after the Randall fiasco. We also have nothing to prove that Pike was adopted, that he and Hansen are related, or that they even know of each other’s existence. We need to find Jacob Hansen, Frank. Get the photograph up to forensics and ask them to age him ten years. Also, contact Dr Grady and ask her to analyse the interviews Dr Maslow from Broad
moor has emailed to her. Forensics could also look at Hansen on one of the later interviews to get an idea of how he’s aged. Once forensics has finished manipulating Hansen’s photograph, get it out to all uniforms and tell them to keep their eyes open. Finding him is obviously a priority.’
‘Leave it with me, Gov. Are you going to make it back to the station tonight?’
‘Not a chance, we’re still in Crowthorne. By the time we set off we’ll be joining the rush hour traffic. We’ll be lucky to get back by seven.’
‘We’ll see you tomorrow then?’
She thought about asking Frank to see what he could find out about Malachi Pike’s childhood, but she knew that if Stratham Pike knew of their enquiries, whispered in some influential ears, the investigation would grind to a halt and she’d be out of a job. ‘Eight-thirty sharp. Goodnight, Frank.’
Molly returned to the café. The salads and pots of tea were on the table. Abby had poured out two cups, and was tucking into her own salad.
‘Come on, Gov, your salad’s getting cold.’
She opened her mouth to respond, but Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield began playing on her mobile – it was Andrew. She now had a different tune attached to each person in her address book – Randall was Dirge by Bob Dylan, the Chief was Red Light Spells Danger by Billy Ocean, and Tony was Run Around Sue by Dion and the Belmonts.
‘Hello, Andrew?’ She shrugged in Abby’s direction and went outside again.
‘Hello, Princess.’
She lit up another cigarette. ‘It’s late in the day for you to be ringing?’
‘Forgive me, I’ve had meetings all day, couldn’t find an opportunity to ring the girl of my dreams.’
She wished she was with him, lying naked in his arms, his warm breath on her cheek. ‘I’ve been busy myself, Andrew.’
‘Where do you want to eat tonight, Princess?’
‘I’m going to disappoint you tonight. Remember I said I was visiting Broadmoor Hospital today? Well, I’m still in Crowthorne. I’ll be lucky to get back by seven…’
‘But…’
‘…And when I do get back I won’t feel much like going out. Let’s make it tomorrow night. Is that all right with you, Andrew?’