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

by Tim Ellis

  ‘I’d normally seek the permission of the parents for something like this, but I understand that time is of the essence. As such, I can exercise my right as in loco parentis on this occasion. Just as long as there’s a responsible adult with each child when you question them.’

  ‘Of course,’ Parish said. ‘If we can find out exactly where she went missing – that will be a step towards finding her. Can you tell me what Lisa Cabot is like as a student?’

  ‘I’m very glad you used the present tense, Inspector. Lisa is a very curious child, but serious as well. She’s never in any trouble, which surprises me because she has a difficult home life.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be inappropriate for me to comment.’

  ‘I would say that under the circumstances it would be highly appropriate.’

  The Headteacher folded her hands in her lap. ‘All I know is that her stepfather – Mr Lassiter – has issues with his temper, and Mrs Lassiter has problems with her fidelity.’

  Richards took notes in her notebook.

  ‘What about Lisa’s friends?’

  ‘Jimmy Williams is her best friend. He doesn’t come to school in the same direction as Lisa, so he wouldn’t have seen her this morning.’

  ‘I’d still like to speak to him, if that’s all right?’

  ‘We’ll keep him behind in the assembly hall after the others have returned to their classes.’

  Sarah Smith – the Headteacher’s secretary knocked and stuck her head round the door. ‘Everybody’s ready for you, Mrs Draper.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarah.’ Melissa said, standing up. ‘Shall we?’ she aimed at Parish.

  They followed the Headteacher and her secretary along colourfully-decorated corridors to the opposite side of the school and into the assembly hall where over a hundred children were sitting cross-legged on the highly-polished parquet floor, curiously looking around.

  ‘Good morning, children,’ Melissa Draper said when she reached the front of the hall.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Draper,’ they chorused.

  ‘You know that Lisa Cabot went missing on her way to school this morning, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Draper.’

  ‘Well, it’s important that we find Lisa as quickly as possible. This is Inspector Parish and Constable Richards from Hoddesdon Police Station, and they’re here to ask you some questions.’

  ‘Good morning, Inspector Parish and Constable Richards.’

  Richards smiled and gave a little wave.

  Parish shifted to the spot the Headteacher had vacated. ‘Good morning, children.’ He thought about a preamble, but decided that getting to the point was the best course of action – he didn’t want to confuse them. ‘Who saw Lisa Cabot on their way to school this morning?’

  About thirty children put their hands up.

  ‘If you remain where you are, all the other children – except Jimmy Wilson – can stand up and go back to their classrooms.’

  There was some confusion and re-organisation at the assembly hall door, but eventually the children filed out one after the other and returned to their classrooms. Scheduled lessons were put on hold, and a slimmed-down curriculum had been instituted by the Headteacher to ensure teachers and support staff were free to act as responsible adults during any questioning.

  ‘Thank you for helping us,’ Parish said to the remaining children. ‘Is Jimmy Williams here?’

  A boy at the back with a mop of ginger hair and freckles put his hand up.

  ‘I know you didn’t see Lisa this morning, but you’re her best friend, so we’d like to talk to you afterwards, if that’s all right?’

  The boy nodded.

  ‘Right children,’ he said. ‘This might be a bit hectic to start with, but we’re going to try and recreate the walk you took to school this morning from where Lisa Cabot lived. Constable Richards – my partner, who you can call Mary – will pretend to be Lisa. Can you all stand up now, move over to the side of the hall and sit down again?’

  They did as they were asked under the expert shepherding of the adults, who were clearly used to child crowd control.

  Parish waved a map of the local area about. ‘I have a map of the route Lisa takes to school each morning, and we’re going to play a game by transferring that route onto the floor of this assembly hall.’

  The children looked at each other with confusion etched on their faces.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured them. ‘You’ll soon get the idea of this game once we start.’ He guided Richards to the far end of the hall . . . but then he had an idea and spoke to one of the adults: ‘Is there any chance of a blackboard on wheels and some chalk?’

  ‘We have mobile whiteboards and marker pens now.’

  ‘I’m old. They still had clay tablets and Poor Houses when I went to school.’

  The woman smiled and left, returning shortly afterwards with a whiteboard and a couple of marker pens.

  ‘Remember, Mary is playing the part of Lisa. Here she is now, walking out of her house, waving goodbye to her mother and walking up Hailey Avenue to the Main road – Bridle Way North. Did anyone see Lisa walking up the road where she lives?’

  He drew that part of the map on the whiteboard.

  Richards was now facing the hall doors.

  A boy and three girls put their hands up.

  ‘Okay, the three of you sit there.’ He positioned the four in front of the hall door facing inwards towards Richards, and then put four red dots opposite Hailey Avenue.

  Another girl put her hand up.

  ‘Yes?’ he said to her.

  ‘My name is Nicola Gosper and I live on Hailey Avenue as well.’

  ‘Okay. Did you see Lisa?’

  ‘No. I sometimes do, but my dad was a bit late getting up this morning, so I was a bit late leaving the house. My mum died of cancer three years ago and my dad has to bring me and my two younger brothers up on his own.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Nicola.’

  ‘That’s all right. My dad’s not very good at being mum, and sometimes he drinks a lot. He can’t cook for toffee, and I do the vacuuming and dusting.’

  ‘I see . . .’

  ‘Anyway, I didn’t see Lisa this morning, but I did see her mum.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She was standing in the doorway of her house wearing a black nightie and smoking.’

  Parish screwed up his face and wondered where all this was leading. ‘Do you know why she was standing there?’

  ‘Yes. She let a man inside her house.’

  ‘A man?’

  ‘In a blue suit.’

  ‘Really? Where did he come from?’

  ‘He had a nice black car that he parked further up the road. And then he walked up to Lisa’s house. I’ve seen him before.’

  ‘Is he there a lot?’

  ‘I don’t know, I only see him when I’m late . . .’

  ‘. . . Which is nearly every day,’ a boy called.

  ‘What do you know Ralph Basil?’

  ‘I know you’re late nearly every day – that’s what I know, Nicola-Picola.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘Children!’ the woman who’d brought in the whiteboard said. ‘You should know better than that, Ralph.’

  ‘She started it, Mrs Avery.’

  ‘As I recall – you started it, Ralph.’

  ‘Yeah well.’

  Parish cleared his throat. ‘Thank you Nicola. If you’d like to sit with the other four children. I’ll mark you as a star on the whiteboard.’

  ‘A star?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ralph Basil grunted.

  Parish turned back to the other children. ‘Right, if we can move on. Here’s Lisa turning left along Bridle Way North . . .’

  Richards turned left and began taking tiny paces to indicate a child walking. With each step she veered to the left until she was facing down the hall – where she stopped.

  ‘Lisa
is now at the left turn into Beyers Prospect. Did anyone see her turn into this road?’

  Seven girls and two boys put their hands up.

  ‘That’s good. If you all sit down there.’ He pointed to the right of Richards and put nine red dots on the map that he was creating on the whiteboard.

  They continued to recreate Lisa Cabot’s walk to school earlier that morning . . . Across Dymokes Way, where they discovered that a rather large lollipop lady called Mrs Bigby – who the children affectionately called “Biggy” – stopped the cars with her lollipop and guided them across the road.

  Once across Dymokes Way, they followed a path between a piece of waste ground and a row of houses into Lyttons Way, which curved round to the left into Champions Way at the end, but then they ran out of children.

  Half-way down the final stretch of Lytton’s Way, Lisa Cabot disappeared.

  ‘Did anyone see where she went?’

  The children looked at each other, but nobody said anything.

  A pretty girl with ponytails and a missing front tooth began crying. ‘I was the last person to see Lisa, wasn’t I?’

  In the blink of an eye – Lisa Cabot had disappeared.

  ***

  ‘Should we run?’ Stick said, looking in both directions for an escape route.

  ‘Run where, numpty?’

  ‘Into the field.’

  ‘What for? We’re innocent ramblers who have lost our way.’

  ‘Innocent? Ramblers? Lost?’

  ‘Do you have any better ideas?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  ‘Then shut the fuck up and play along.’

  ‘I knew we should never have come down here.’

  ‘You’re determined to ruin our anniversary, aren’t you?’

  The white truck came to a screeching halt directly in front of them. As well as IVECO written just below the windscreen, it also had the logo: EUROCARGO above the two vents in front of the radiator. In fact, the truck was so close to them that Xena could see a well-thumbed book – Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake – on the dashboard, which she knew was the book in the Gormenghast trilogy.

  There were two men sitting in the cab. The driver was clean shaven, in his early twenties with a crew cut and a gold earring in his left ear. The passenger was probably double the other man’s age with short grey/black straggly hair, stubble and a goatee beard.

  Both men threw open the doors and jumped out onto the tarmac.

  ‘Who’re you?’ the older man said.

  ‘Ramblers,’ Xena said. ‘We seem to be lost.’

  The younger man with the crew cut stood so close to her that she could smell his rancid breath when he bent his head to talk to her. ‘Fucking ramblers?’ He looked her up and down. ‘You don’t look like a rambler to me. Where’s your backpack, hat, stick and boots?’

  ‘What the fuck’s it got to do with you?’ Xena said to him. ‘Who do you think you are?’

  The man raised his hand as if to strike her. ‘I’ll show you who the fuck I am,’ he said.

  ‘Jack!’ the older man hissed. ‘They could be ramblers.’

  Jack lowered his hand. ‘If they’re fucking ramblers, then I’m a contestant on the X Factor, Reggie.’

  Reggie stuck his hand out towards Stick. ‘Wallet?’

  ‘Wallet?’ Stick repeated. ‘Why?’

  Jack pushed Xena out of the way, grabbed Stick by the lapels of his jacket and said, ‘Are you thick? Give him your wallet, arsehole,’ but he didn’t wait for Stick to retrieve the wallet, he began searching him and found it in the inside pocket of Stick’s jacket.

  Stick glanced at Xena and said to the man, ‘Hey, that’s mine.’ He tried to grab it, but he was too late.

  Just then, a white Ford transit van came round the corner and parked up behind the IVECO truck. Three men got out of the cab and walked over to where Xena and Stick were being interrogated.

  ‘Who’s this, Reggie?’ a bald-headed man said. He wore a white t-shirt with GOLD’S GYM on the front that was stretched to its limit by impressive chest and arm muscles. He looked as though he was in his late thirties; had a scar on the left side of his face that started at the corner of his eye, ran along his jawline, down his neck and disappeared into the collar of his t-shirt. He seemed to be the man in charge.

  Jack held Stick’s wallet out towards the man. ‘Ramblers, so they say, Harry. But I don’t believe a fucking word of it.’

  Harry took the wallet.

  Jack interlocked his fingers and cracked his knuckles. ‘We were just about to find out who they are and what they’re really doing here.’

  ‘Have you two swapped names?’ he aimed at Jack. ‘I was speaking to the organ-grinder, not the monkey.’

  ‘Sorry, Harry.’

  ‘Can I ask what’s going on here?’ Xena said. She had a feeling things were getting out of hand, and she guessed that as soon as Harry opened up Stick’s wallet he’d find a warrant card in there belonging to DS Rowley Gilbert and that would be the end of the matter. Mind you, she was no better – a warrant card was exactly what she had in her back pocket if they cared to look. Maybe Stick had been right. Maybe they should have stayed in the car and waited like they’d been told to do. She hadn’t done undercover work since . . . In fact, she’d never done undercover work. She wondered if Stick had done any. She’d have to ask him if they got out of this alive.

  Jack grabbed her round the neck and squeezed. ‘No, you fucking well can’t.’

  Harry gripped Jack’s arm until he grimaced and released Xena’s throat. ‘Since when do you make the decisions?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s twice. If you can’t control your temper, I’ll find someone who can – understood?’

  ‘Understood.’

  Harry opened up the wallet, rifled through the contents and stared at Stick. ‘Well, what do you do besides rambling around on private property, Rowley Gilbert?’

  The young man sniggered. ‘Rowley! What type of fucking name is that?’

  ‘I’m a chartered accountant,’ Stick said.

  ‘Is that right?’ He turned to Jack and said, ‘Watch them, and keep your hands to yourself.’

  ‘Sure thing, Harry.’

  Harry moved away and made a phone call. When he came back he said, ‘Lock them up in one of the storerooms in the unit.’ He looked at the other man. ‘Go with him, Reggie.’

  ‘You can’t lock us up,’ Xena said.

  Harry smacked her across the face with the back of his hand and sent her staggering backwards.

  ‘You’ll pay for that,’ Xena aimed at Harry.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, lady,’ Jack said.

  Stick jumped forward, but Reggie tripped him up. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  Harry grabbed Stick by the scruff of the neck, pulled him up, stuffed the wallet back into the inside pocket of his jacket and said, ‘Behave yourself Rowley Gilbert, and you might get out of this in one piece.’

  Jack shoved Stick and Xena towards the middle industrial unit, unlocked a door and propelled them inside.

  Xena pretended to trip.

  Stick bent down to help her up.

  Jack kicked her up the arse. ‘Get up you stupid bitch.’

  In the confusion, she transferred the warrant card from her back pocket to the inside of her bra, and dropped the business card that DCI Ridge had given her on the ground.

  ‘Keep moving,’ Jack spat at them.

  They reached a door on the left-hand side of the large empty unit and Reggie said, ‘Empty their pockets, Jack.’

  ‘Good idea, Reggie.’ He made them empty their pockets – Stick’s wallet, from which Jack helped himself to the money inside; mobile phones; keys and other rubbish, which he threw in a heap next to the door, and then pushed them inside the storeroom.

  Once the door was locked, it was pitch black inside the room and they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces.

  ‘I didn’t give them my plastic gloves,’ Stick said.

/>   ‘You’re my hero. Didn’t you bring your warrant card with you?’

  ‘Yes – it’s in my wallet.’

  ‘Harry must have seen it then,’ Xena said.

  ‘Couldn’t have missed it.’

  ‘Then why . . . ? Crap! He must be an undercover cop.’

  ‘Uh oh! If he is, we’re in big trouble. We’ve jeopardised the operation, and now we’ve put an undercover cop in danger.’

  ‘Well, DCI Ridge should have fucking told us that they had an undercover officer in the gang. I mean, for fuck’s sake – it’s like the blind leading the blind. And anyway, what do you mean “We”? You.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘It was your idea to come down here.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can possibly say that. I tried to stop you.’

  ‘A likely story. All you wanted was the QPM and to shake hands with the Queen.’

  ‘That was your idea as well.’

  ‘Who do you think they’re going to believe – a brainless numpty such as yourself, or an intelligent attractive DI like me?’

  ‘Who should have known better than to listen to a brainless numpty like me.’

  ‘That’s true . . . Well, how are we going to get out of here?’

  ‘You heard the undercover cop. He said we should behave ourselves and we might get out of here in one piece. He was giving us a warning not to interfere.’

  ‘That’s your interpretation of what he said, is it?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘What if you’re wrong? What if Harry isn’t an undercover cop at all. What if he just can’t read, but pretends that he can because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his drug-smuggling mates?’

  ‘He could obviously read my name. And even if he couldn’t read, there was a good-looking picture – if I do say so myself – of a smiling Detective Sergeant dressed in his uniform on my warrant card and a police badge tucked in the other side of the folder.’

  ‘Well, what if he knows we’re coppers, but he didn’t say anything because he knows that the others would kill us? He doesn’t mind getting involved with drugs, but murder is a different game of marbles.’