The Fragments That Remain

by Tim Ellis

  ‘It was dark,’ Newton said. ‘You were misled into believing the girl had seen the woman’s face clearly – she hadn’t.’

  ‘I ought to sue.’

  ‘And you’d probably have a valid case.’

  ‘Can you print me off a couple of copies – somebody might recognise a resemblance to a person still living?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He printed off ten copies and handed them to her.

  ‘Thanks for nothing.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  In the car park, she climbed in the passenger seat and handed Stick one of the copies.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘If we were looking for a zombie . . .’

  ‘I’ve been through all that with Marcus Newton in forensics. Get going, will you?’

  ‘Are you in a bad mood?’

  ‘Are you tired of living?’

  It didn’t take them long to drive the short distance up the High Street, and along Brockett Lane to the County Dry Cleaners.

  Stick had plotted the routes taken to work and back by each of the victims, and County Dry Cleaners was the only one that intersected with each victims’ route. It was also centrally located between all four addresses. And, what was worse, it was more or less on Hoddesdon Police Station’s doorstep. They’d travelled half-way round the country to discover that the killer could be within shouting distance of the fucking cells.

  The doorbell jangled.

  An attractive woman standing behind the counter with corkscrew shoulder-length blonde hair, freckles and a cleavage that would have brought in the male customers from miles around looked up and smiled. ‘Good morning.’

  Stick smiled back and said, ‘Good morning.’

  Xena flashed her warrant card. ‘DI Blake and DS Gilbert.’

  ‘We dry-clean a lot of your colleagues’ uniforms at cost. Would you like us to take care of you as well, DI Blake?’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Alex Howe – I own the County Dry Cleaners.’

  ‘You’re not trying to bribe me, are you?’

  ‘Bribe you! For what reason?’

  ‘That’s a very good question. I wonder what the Fraud Squad would find if they came over here and began looking under a few stones.’

  ‘They’d find worms, earwigs and beetles. It would be fabulous if they could find some money – I barely break even.’

  ‘Maybe you’re dealing drugs and running a human trafficking enterprise in-between washing and ironing shirts.’

  ‘Have you come in here to tell me fairy stories, or is there something I can actually do for you?’

  ‘Somebody called the station about the dry-cleaning tags.’

  ‘In the newspaper?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I called you. They looked like ours, and I like to help the police when I can.’

  ‘Show her,’ Xena said to Stick.

  ‘Show her what?’

  ‘The E-fit, numpty.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Stick put the E-fit picture down on the counter. ‘Have you seen this woman?’

  Alex Howe stared at the picture. ‘It’s not a very good likeness, but it could be Paula – my assistant.’

  ‘Paula who?’ Xena asked.

  ‘Paula Milburn.’

  ‘Address?’

  ‘What’s she meant to have done?’

  ‘Address?’

  ‘Surely you don’t think she’s involved in the murders of those couples, do you?’

  ‘Address?’

  ‘She lives in Broxbourne – 20 Grenville Avenue.’

  ‘Do you keep the names and addresses of all your customers on computer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you look them up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Reel them off,’ Xena said to Stick.

  Stick read the list of victims and their addresses from his notebook: ‘Peter Lloyd – 50 Trinity Road, Hertford Heath . . .’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘. . . Ian Porter – 19 Orchard Gardens, Waltham Abbey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘. . . Oscar Donald – 14 Mosaic Road, Hailey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘. . . Martin Lundy – 44 Marsh Lane, Stanstead Abbotts?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is Paula in today?’ Xena asked.

  ‘No, she only works on Mondays, Wednesday mornings and Fridays.’

  ‘What can you tell us about her?’

  ‘I inherited her when I bought the business. What else do you want to know?’

  ‘Does she have a lot of boyfriends?’

  Alex Howe laughed. ‘Paula?’ She looked down at the E-fit picture. ‘You’ve seen this picture of her, haven’t you?’

  ‘She’s not very pretty, is she?’

  ‘This picture flatters her. I hate to say it, but she’s ugly. I would have replaced her with someone as attractive as myself, but employment law prevents me from sacking people on the grounds of ugliness.’

  Xena turned her head to look at Stick. ‘See how lucky you are?’

  Stick nodded his head. ‘Employment law certainly has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘Not only that,’ Alex Howe continued. ‘Her husband has recently traded her in for a younger, prettier model, so I could hardly take her job away from her as well.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. How do you think she’s been over the past week or so?’

  ‘Losing her husband, I think has affected her more than she’d like to admit. Sometimes, she’s not all here. I have no idea where she is, but she’s definitely somewhere else. I don’t pry too much into her private life. She only works for me. It’s not as if we’re close friends or anything like that.’

  ‘Thanks for your help, Mrs Howe.’

  ‘You’re welcome. And, as I said, if you want your clothes dry-cleaning at cost, you know where to come.’

  ‘Come on, Stickamundo. Let’s get out of here before she has the clothes off your back.’

  ***

  ‘That’s not like you, Sir,’ Richards said after Toadstone had left.

  ‘I thought you weren’t talking to me?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘At some point, I had the idea that the killer wanted to be caught, but that’s not why she’s doing the song-and-dance routines on camera.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She’s showing us that we’ll never catch her.’

  Richards’ phone jangled. She put it on loudspeaker.

  ‘DC Mary Richards?’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Deborah West on secondment at Europol in The Hague.’

  ‘Good morning, Ma’am. I’ve put you on loudspeaker because DI Jed Parish is here as well.’

  ‘Good Morning, DI West,’ Parish said.

  ‘Goedemorgen, as they say here in Holland.’

  ‘I hope you’ve got some good news for us, Deborah?’

  ‘So do I, Jed. We put the profile you sent us through our meatgrinder and something – or should I say someone – interesting was spewed out at the other end.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Zara Roche.’

  ‘Sorry, never heard of her.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. She’s one of these people who avoids the cameras and the limelight. There are very few photographs of her. She’s a world-class mountaineer who’s climbed some of the toughest mountains in the world – Kilimanjaro, Everest, the Matterhorn – to name just three. She’s also a qualified doctor, and has licenses to fly light aircraft and helicopters, and she lives in Italy.’

  ‘I don’t understand why she’s on Europol’s database,’ Parish said.

  ‘Whenever she’s around, people go missing.’

  ‘People?’

  ‘There’s no victim profile – males, females, the old and the young.’

  ‘Are they ever found?’

  ‘No, and eyewitnesses have never identified her.’

&
nbsp; ‘Then why do you think she’s responsible?’

  ‘My normal place of work is the Missing Persons Bureau of the National Crime Agency . . .’

  ‘I’ve just come back from Bramshill, Ma’am,’ Richards interrupted. ‘I was seconded to SCAS.’

  Parish screwed up his face and gave her a look.

  ‘Hampshire is a lovely place, Detective. Anyway, in August of this year one of our undercover officers – a DCI Will Shepherd – was murdered in Lungomare di Ponente in Freganae, Italy. He was tortured, shot in the head with his own gun and then thrown over the balcony of his fifteenth floor room.’

  ‘And you think this Zara Roche killed him?’

  ‘He was watching her in her villa opposite the hotel, had been for a week. And the killer torched his room before they left. When the police were finally able to examine the room, there was no evidence that he had ever been watching her. His mobile phones, tablet, memory cards for the camera, and the hard disc for his laptop had all been removed prior to the room being set alight.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain why you think it was Zara Roche.’

  ‘There was an old crone of a woman seen leaving his room. Of course, it was a disguise.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Can I ask?’ Richards said. ‘Have you ever heard of Israel Voss, Ma’am?’

  ‘Now, that’s very interesting. I’m well aware of what happened at Butterfield Spires, and Mr Voss’ subsequent demise. Did you know that he had a daughter?’

  ‘We’ve just been informed that he had a daughter by a Kommisar Erik Klein from Wuppertal in Germany. He was telling us about three murders involving exsanguination that occurred in the area between 1990 and 2000, and his only viable suspect was Israel Voss. He couldn’t prove it though. For each murder, Voss had an alibi.’

  ‘Did Klein tell you that Zara Roche wasn’t really Voss’ daughter?’

  ‘No, he knew very little about the girl.’

  ‘She was adopted.’

  ‘Yes, I can see how you might consider what we have here as interesting,’ Parish said.

  ‘She was the sole beneficiary of Israel Voss’ fortune.’

  ‘So she’s a multi-millionaire?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What in God’s name would she be doing in freezing England killing people in Hoddesdon then?’

  ‘Well, that’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’ve been very helpful, Deborah.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Yes, thank you very much, Ma’am,’ Richards added.

  ‘You’re welcome, Detective.’

  The call ended.

  ‘Well, what do you think of that, Richards?’

  ‘I have a theory . . .’

  Parish’s phone vibrated.

  ‘Hello, Doc.’

  ‘We have a problem, Inspector Parish.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I’ve found your DNA on this victim as well.’

  ‘No, that’s not possible.’

  ‘And yet it’s an objective fact. I have the two DNA profiles in front of me. Yours, which is on the database for elimination purposes, and the other profile that was taken from the penis of the victim.’

  He pulled a face. ‘What? Now I know you’re crazy, Doc. Why would I be leaving my DNA on the victim’s penis? You were there, I never touched the victim.’

  ‘I’m only telling you what I’ve found, and you understand that I can no longer keep this to myself.’

  ‘What I understand is that there must be some contamination at your end of the food chain.’

  ‘We’ve eliminated any possibility of contamination.’

  He wasn’t happy – not happy at all. ‘Is there any more bad news?’

  ‘The number 88 was found in his heart.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Richards asked him.

  ‘She says she found my DNA on the victim’s penis.’

  ‘That’s disgusting.’

  ‘I’ll say. She also found my DNA on the foot of the previous victim – Penny Sanderson.’

  ‘Did she tell you what the number in his heart was?’

  ‘Eighty-eight.’

  ‘Remember the paper I was scribbling on before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She held it up and pointed to the number 88.

  ‘It’s one of those magic tricks, isn’t it? I have to think of a number, treble it . . .’

  ‘It’s not a magic trick. Do you remember Günter Kappel?’

  ‘Never heard of him.’ He knew exactly who Günter Kappel was. He was the German translator he’d hired to decipher the unbroken four rotor Enigma M4 message contained in the SS file that had come into his possession. Kappel had used two people from the M4 project – Steven Davies and Sandra Hegarty – to decipher the document, which they discovered referred to the transportation of five samples of sperm belonging to Josef Mengele.

  ‘Don’t lie.’

  ‘What about him?’

  Richards threw a folded-over newspaper down on the table. ‘He hanged himself.’

  Parish read the obituary and then said, ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘I think he was murdered.’

  ‘You think everybody’s been murdered. There’s nothing in that obituary to suggest it was anything but a suicide.’

  ‘As I said before, I have a theory.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Who the killer is?’

  ‘And you’d like to share that theory with the outgoing Senior Investigating Officer?’

  ‘You’re not going to like it.’

  ‘I don’t like a lot of your theories, but I don’t suppose I have anything to lose by listening to the ramblings of a psychic.’

  She turned over one of the whiteboards and wiped it clean. In the centre she wrote the word KILLER. Around it, she began writing the clues that she’d discovered:

  SS3177885

  Zara Roche was adopted by Israel Voss

  Israel Voss is German

  24 Faubourg perfume is expensive

  Günter Kappel and his helpers were murdered

  Zara Roche is a mountaineer, rich, a doctor and lives in Italy

  DI Parish’s DNA was found on two of the three victims

  ‘Is this going anywhere, Richards?’

  ‘I’ll start with the last clue first. That’s not your DNA, is it?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘But if it’s not yours, whose is it?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Now, if we go to the first clue . . .’

  ‘How did you know that 88 would be the next number?’

  ‘That’s Joseph Mengele’s SS Number. If she kills again, she’ll use SS5, because it’s all that’s left.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Zara Roche was adopted . . .’

  His forehead creased up. ‘You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?’

  She took out her phone, called Doc Riley and put it on loudspeaker.

  ‘Yes, Mary?’

  ‘Let’s say that the DNA on the victims doesn’t belong to DI Parish . . .’

  ‘I’ve already discussed . . .’

  ‘Hear me out, Doc. Who else could it belong to?’

  ‘There are two possibilities. First, it could have been planted on the victims, which is extremely difficult to do without contaminating it, but not impossible. Second, it could belong to a monozygotic twin.’

  ‘Is it possible to identify one twin from another through their DNA?’

  ‘Not really – they share the same DNA.’

  ‘But . . . ?’

  ‘If they were separated at birth, then they could have had different biological experiences, which might . . .’

  ‘And, if you knew what you were looking for, you could differentiate between two samples of bodily fluid?’

  ‘I suppose . . .’

  Richards shuffled forward on her chair.
‘Can you do that, Doc?’

  ‘Can I do what?’

  ‘Test the two samples until you find a difference?’

  ‘The cost involved . . .’

  ‘DI Parish’s career is on the line here, Doc. Also, we absolutely know he has an identical twin.’

  ‘But the killer is female.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘Monozygotic twins are always of the same sex.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know how it happened, but the killer is his twin sister. I don’t know if you’re aware, but genetic experiments – sanctioned by the government – were carried out on five pairs of twins in the early 1980s, and DI Parish was one half of one such experimental pairing.’

  ‘The Epsilon Experiments?’

  Richards’ eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve heard of them?’

  ‘Nothing of any note. Merely that the experiments took place. Limited details were released onto the internet under the Freedom of Information Act, or something like that.’

  ‘Look, deep down you know that the DNA on the victims doesn’t belong to DI Parish. And if it doesn’t, then it must belong to someone else who has the same DNA as him – such as a monozygotic twin. All you have to do is prove it. If you can’t, then the only conclusion to be drawn is that DI Parish murdered those three people, and we know that isn’t possible.’

  ‘I’ll need a sample of bodily fluid from DI Parish. All I have is his DNA profile on the database.’

  ‘I’ll bring him to the hospital. And . . . don’t talk to anyone about what I’ve told you. Lots of people have died because of those experiments.’

  ‘I won’t say anything.’

  The call ended.

  ‘You’ll take me to the hospital?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Was Richards right? Could the killer be his twin sister Zara? What other possible explanation was there?

  ‘I think Israel Voss knew Dr Orvil Lorenz. He adopted Zara and took her to Germany. You, on the other hand, went to live with a childless couple in Goff’s Oak, and were then abandoned to the care system. I know it sounds crazy, but Joseph Mengele’s daughter was smuggled back into Germany by Israel Voss.’

  ‘You have no proof for any of this, Richards.’

  ‘That’s why we need the Doc’s help. No one else would believe it.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’