The Kisses of an Enemy: (Parish & Richards 17)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘We?’

  ‘As you quite rightly said – I have a wife and three children to look after. It’s part of my fatherly duties.’

  ‘When I said “children” I didn’t really mean me.’

  ‘Are you my adopted daughter?’

  ‘Well yes, but . . .’

  ‘That’s it then. I’m looking forward to watching you venture out into the e-dating world.’

  They arrived at Forrest Primary School and parked up in a side street.

  Parish retrieved the map from the car and spread it out on the boot of the pool car. ‘As DI Pollard said earlier: Everyone is to be questioned, everywhere is to be searched and everything needs to be recorded. Have you all got the photograph of Lisa Cabot?’

  They nodded.

  ‘This is what I suggest: Richards and I will go into the school and talk to the staff and pupils; Arkell and Stephens can walk back to the roundabout at Danemead, and then come back this way until you reach the roundabout on Stanstead Road where you’ll turn right and come into the school through that way; Hill and Caldecott can work out from the school into Stoneleigh Drive and up to the main road; last but not least, Martin and Vincent can focus on Glenester Close. Any questions?’

  ‘What if there’s no one at home, Sir?’ Constable Stephens asked.

  ‘I’m sure there will be. Record the fact they’re not at home, but take a look round. I know we don’t have a search warrant, but if the garage or shed doors are unlocked – open them and look inside. I’ll take full responsibility if anybody makes a complaint. I know some of you have probably got children of your own. Keep them in mind as you’re walking round.’

  They conducted a radio check and each team set off to their allocated search area.

  ***

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘I don’t know anybody by that name,’ Jerry Kowalski replied.

  When the doctor had asked her if there was anyone who could change her dressings if she went back to the squat, she’d realised that she really did have no one. She’d kept everybody at arm’s length for as long as she could remember, so that they couldn’t hurt her. Oh, she had her mum and two younger sisters, but she wasn’t part of that family anymore. Her mum had let that bastard who had called himself her father sexually and physically abuse her, and she could never forgive her for that. And her sisters were better off without her, they just reminded her of her own cowardice when she’d run away and left them in the house with him. There was Jerry’s husband – DCI Ray Kowalski – who she could call on if she needed some muscle, but this wasn’t one of those times. There was Charlie Baxter, but she hadn’t heard from him for ages. There were the people in the squat: Yoda, Hawk, Sushi and Poo. But although she lived under the same roof as them, she didn’t really know them. So, when it had come time to tell Nurse Beverley Wills who her next-of-kin was – should something happen to her during the surgery – the only person she could think of was Jerry Kowalski.

  ‘I’m in hospital.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘It’s a plastic surgery clinic.’

  ‘You’re having your boobs done?’

  ‘Why is everyone fixated on my tits?’

  ‘You’re not having your boobs done?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Liposuction?’

  ‘Will you shut the fuck up?’

  ‘Did you call to swear at me?’

  ‘Not particularly, but if that’s what you want, I’m happy to oblige.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’ve put you down as my next-of-kin.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I know it’s a bit out of the blue, but I had no one else.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Where are you?’

  ‘The Beautiful You Cosmetic Surgery Clinic on Lower Wimpole Street in London.’

  ‘I can come and see you later after classes have finished.’

  She didn’t really want visitors, but she could hardly refuse her new next-of-kin. ‘That would be nice. I’m using the name Jessie Gibbs.’

  ‘I won’t ask why.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What are you having done?’

  ‘The gunshot wound left a right mess, especially where the bullet exited my lower back. Even if I wanted to wear a bikini, which I don’t, I couldn’t.’ She didn’t mention the other scars on her back – that was her personal business. ‘So I’m having it repaired.’

  ‘And the sex?’

  ‘No, I don’t think sex comes as part of the treatment program, but I’ll certainly ask.’

  ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘When’s your surgery?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning at nine.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see you about four o’clock this afternoon.’

  ‘See you.’

  She ended the call and turned her phone off – she wasn’t expecting anyone to ring her.

  After unpacking, she wandered out into the corridor. There didn’t seem to be any nurses or patients about. Was she the only patient they had? She tried a few doors, but besides a toilet and a linen room, there were only empty private rooms. No wonder Dr Thompson was trying to drum up business, she thought.

  An old nurse with a waddle, a uniform straining at the seams and bright red lipstick came towards her like a salivating bulldog along the corridor. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello. How are you . . .’ She looked at the woman’s name badge. ‘. . . Nurse Dimbleby?’

  ‘Can I help you, Miss Gibbs?’

  ‘I was wondering where everyone was.’

  ‘You’re the only patient on this floor.’

  ‘There are other floors?’

  ‘Yes – another two, not counting the cellar.’

  ‘And there are patients on those floors?’

  ‘Yes. Those floors are full up though. That’s why you’re on this floor on your own.’

  ‘Is there a sitting room?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about a cafe?’

  ‘No.’ Nurse Dimbleby began ushering her back to her room. ‘If you’d like a drink or something to eat, simply dial ‘O’ on the phone in your room. You’re not nil-by-mouth until eight o’clock tonight, so you still have time.’

  ‘So I can’t wander round the hospital?’

  ‘We’d prefer it if you didn’t. You have everything you need in your room. If you do require anything else – as I said, please . . .’

  ‘. . . Dial ‘0’?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Okay.’ She had the feeling it was going to be a long boring day and wished she’d arrived later. ‘Can I go sightseeing around the local area?’

  ‘We’d . . .’

  ‘. . . Prefer it if I didn’t?’

  ‘That’s it exactly.’

  She lay on the bed when she was back in her room, turned on the television and flicked through the channels until she fell asleep.

  ***

  ‘Come on,’ Xena said, opening the passenger door and swinging a leg out.

  ‘No.’ Stick shook his head like a battery-operated toy robot. ‘I know exactly what you’re going to do, you’re going down there, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’ll be there and back in five minutes. Look through the windows, confirm the buildings are empty, hot-foot it back here – job done.’

  ‘You must think I’m stupid.’

  ‘You are stupid.’

  ‘That’s beside the point.’

  She pointed towards the farm units. ‘We can’t see anything from up here. We’re too far away. All we’ve been told is to wait until something happens. What? What exactly is going to happen? You’d have thought they would have told us. Maybe they’re deliberately keeping us in the dark. Maybe they don’t trust us. Maybe they’re all dirty cops and taking a slice of the pie. We could crack open a drugs ring inside the police force . . .’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, they’
re working on a tip-off. What if the tip-off is wrong? We have no idea what’s in those industrial units. We have no idea if they’re empty, or if they’re full of straw for the pigs. My bet is that they’re empty, and this is all a ruse to keep us busy. Imagine how grateful DCI Ridge will be if we find out what’s going on.’

  ‘Cows eat straw.’

  ‘See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Why do they have straw in those industrial units when they’re rearing pigs?’

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Look – we’re undercover. No one will think we’re coppers. Especially not you. No one in their right mind would ever think you were a copper. I mean, even I have trouble with the whole idea of that myself.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You know you want to.’

  He picked up the binoculars and scanned the industrial units again. The buildings were at least fifteen feet high, and constructed of half-brick and half-corrugated metal. There was an opening to one side that had a metal roller door, which was high enough for a truck to drive through. CCTV cameras were positioned on the corners of the corrugated roof. ‘What if they’ve got machine guns, grenades, surface-to-air missiles . . . ?’ Stick said.

  ‘And you call me crazy. If there are drugs down there, how come there are no guards? As I’ve said, the place is probably empty. How many people are staking this place out besides us?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Probably half a dozen teams. And let’s not forget the top-heavy chain-of-command. Imagine the waste of money if those units are empty. Someone needs to find out what’s going on. Imagine the thanks we’ll get for saving upwards of half a million pounds. Imagine . . .’

  ‘No. Nothing you can say will convince me to go down there.’

  ‘You’d let me go on my own?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You promised the Chief that you’d stop me getting into trouble, but I don’t see how you can live up to that promise if you’re up here and I’m down there.’

  ‘The Chief will understand.’

  ‘No he won’t. He’ll think you shirked your duty. He’ll think you’re a jobsworth; that you have no imagination; that you weren’t there to watch your partner’s back . . . Also, you’ve forgotten something else as well.’

  ‘Oh! What’s that?’

  ‘The Queen’s Police Medal.’

  ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘I hear the Queen gives them out to exceptionally brave and gallant officers.’

  ‘I thought you said I was an idiot?’

  ‘You are, but in a survey of a hundred police officers it was found that they’re the ones who are more likely to be awarded the QPM.’

  ‘I always wanted to meet the Queen.’

  ‘And think how proud Jenifer would be of you when you’re both hobnobbing with the gentry at the palace . . .‘

  ‘A QPM would definitely look good on my uniform.’

  ‘Bring the radio, numpty.’

  ‘What if it goes off while we’re creeping about?’

  ‘Turn the sound down.’

  ‘What if they want us, but we can’t hear them?’

  ‘Right, let’s go.’

  ‘What . . . ?’

  She crawled under the barbed-wire fence, crouched down in the long grass and waited for Stick.

  ‘My knees are killing me,’ Stick said when he caught up with her.

  ‘You haven’t done anything yet.’

  ‘I expect they’ll loosen up once I get going.’

  ‘They’d better.’ She crouched down and shuffled forward, stopping at intervals to let Stick catch up. There were two fields between the parked car and the industrial units that sloped down to the farm. The fallow field where the grass had been left to grow long, and the ploughed field that would be difficult to cross because of the furrows. Also, if there were any armed guards watching from the units, they’d be spotted and picked off like ducks at a turkey shoot.

  She reached the edge of the overgrown field and waited.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ Stick said from behind her. He was puffing and panting like a marathon runner trying to beat his personal best time.

  ‘You sound like an asthmatic.’

  ‘I’m a bit out of shape. I’ve let things slide since I left Special Ops. I’ll have to go down to the gym.’

  ‘How you got into Special Ops in the first place is beyond me.’

  ‘So, can you see anything?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m telling you, those units are empty. Two days we’ve been here wasting our time . . .’

  ‘Actually, it’s not even been one day yet, because we got here yesterday afternoon, and . . .’

  ‘Right,’ Xena whispered. ‘Keep low, zigzag, sing Dixie and make for that fence.’

  ‘Sing Dixie! How does that go?’

  She was a bit out-of-shape herself. Keeping low, she zigzagged over the peaks and troughs. It was hard work trying to keep her balance, but she made it to the fence. Her legs felt like jelly, and her breathing wasn’t much better than Stick’s. She sat down with her back to the fence and brought her breathing under control. God, she hoped the units were empty. Surely, if they weren’t they’d have seen someone by now.

  ‘I’m not used to this,’ Stick said, sitting down next to her. ‘If there are drug smugglers here, they can shoot me now.’

  ‘I’ll shoot you myself if you don’t shut up.’

  ‘You haven’t got a gun.’

  ‘Anything on the radio?’

  Stick looked back across the field and shuffled his arse from side to side. ‘It’s cold and damp.’

  ‘Where’s the radio?’

  ‘I thought it would be more trouble than it was worth.’

  ‘You didn’t bring the radio after I said to bring it?’

  ‘Well, I thought . . .’

  ‘Fucking hell, Stick. We’re on our own. We can’t call for back-up. We have no . . .’

  ‘Well you said the units were empty. If they are, then we don’t need the radio anyway. We just have to go and look through the windows and . . .’

  She was worried. What if she was wrong? What if the units were stuffed to the gunnels with drug smugglers? ‘We should go back to the car.’

  ‘After we’ve come all this way?’

  ‘You should have brought the radio like I told you to.’

  ‘We’ve got our phones.’

  That was true – they did have their phones. In fact, hadn’t mobile phones mostly replaced radios? Weren’t radios yesterday’s technology? If there was any trouble, they could simply phone someone. Who? She wriggled her hand into the back pocket of her jeans and found DCI Ridge’s business card that he’d given her. Yes, there was his mobile number. ‘Okay, but you and I will be having words when we get back to the car, numpty.

  ‘I’ll bet the other teams are watching us through binoculars now and wondering what we’re up to,’ Stick said. ‘They’ll know that we won’t have brought the radio with us because it’d be a liability. They’re willing us to succeed, to confirm those units are empty, to grasp the Queen’s Police Medal with both hands before the Queen gives it to somebody else.’

  ‘They should have thrown you out and kept the afterbirth,’ Xena said.

  ‘Are we ready? I can already taste that QPM.’

  Xena clambered over the fence first.

  Stick followed her.

  As they were half-way between the fence and the industrial units. A dirty four-wheel IVECO truck screeched round the corner of the end unit towards them. They were caught – like petrified rabbits – in the headlights of the Polar Express.

  ‘It’s a good job I didn’t bring the radio,’ Stick said.

  Chapter Three

  Forrest Primary School was located inside a Victorian brick and slate building surrounded by palisade fencing and CCTV cameras on poles. It looked as though it might have two floors, but it didn’t. The high windows were simply positioned to let in more sunlight, which the Victorians belie
ved had healing properties.

  Richards rang the doorbell.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Police.’

  The door clicked open and they walked inside.

  Parish showed his warrant card to the receptionist – a middle-aged woman with greying black hair and a lazy left eye called Minette Saayman – standing behind the counter and asked if they could see the Headteacher.

  ‘Just one moment, Sir,’ she said, and dialled an internal number.

  Shortly afterwards, an overweight woman with pasty skin and double chins appeared. ‘I’m the Headteacher’s Secretary Sarah Smith, please follow me.’

  She took them along a corridor – with framed children’s art on the walls – to a green door at the end, knocked and ushered them into a large office with a forest green carpet. ‘Detective Inspector Parish and Detective Constable Richards,’ the secretary announced.

  A fragile-looking woman with thinning blonde hair cut into a page-boy style, nice teeth and gold jewellery stood up, walked round her desk and shook their hands. ‘Melissa Draper,’ she said, and directed them to a cluster of four easy chairs around what looked like an art-deco brown plastic coffee table. ‘Would you like a drink of tea or coffee?’

  They sat down and Parish said, ‘No, we’re fine thank you.’

  ‘A terrible business,’ she said. ‘Have you any idea what happened to Lisa Cabot yet?’

  ‘No, none at all. She left home and disappeared en route to the school – that’s all we know’

  ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘I think it’s important to identify and talk to anyone who saw or spoke to Lisa this morning. Would it be possible to arrange for all members of staff and pupils to assemble in the hall? I assume you do have an assembly hall?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s also used for many other activities, but assemblies are one of those activities.’ She stood up, went to the door and issued instructions to her secretary. ‘It’ll be about fifteen minutes. Sarah will come back and let us know when everybody is in the hall.’

  ‘I apologise for the disruption.’

  ‘The only thing that matters is that Lisa Cabot is found safe and sound.’

  Parish nodded. ‘If it’s all right with you, I plan to ask the children if they saw or spoke to Lisa this morning to stay behind in the hall. Everyone else can go back to their classrooms. After that, I’d like to speak to them as a group and then individually to find out if any of them saw or heard anything.’