The Wages of Sin (P&R2)

by Tim Ellis

‘There is that, Parish, being on your own is not much fun. I can vouch for that.’

  ‘Next Sunday, Sir,’ Richards said.

  The Chief scratched his new head of hair. ‘What’s happening next Sunday, Richards?’

  ‘Roast dinner, Sir. You’re invited to our house.’

  ‘Thank you, Richards, very kind of you.’

  ‘I’m free on Sunday as well, Richards,’ Kowalski said.

  ‘Only if you bring your wife and children, Sir?’

  ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘I am, Sir. I can’t be helping my mum, and watching where you’ve got your hands as well.’

  ‘Okay, they’ll like that, thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Sir.’

  ‘In the meantime, Richards,’ Parish said. ‘We’ve got work to do. You know how I like my coffee?’

  ‘Two sugars, Sir, not four?’

  ‘You’ll only tell your mum if I have four, so I suppose I’d better have two.’

  Richards wandered off to the kitchen.

  ‘Has she briefed you on the case, Parish?’ the Chief asked.

  ‘I finally got it out of her. A bit gruesome.’

  ‘I know, but it’ll take your mind off everything else.’

  ‘I’m okay, Sir, I’m coming to terms with what happened. I still get the nightmares, but they’re becoming less frequent. Angie and Mary Richards found me just in time. I think I would have been lost if I’d still been on my own.’

  ‘Yes, Richards is a lifesaver that’s for sure. She likes to spread happiness wherever she goes. While you were on the sick she was at a loose end, so she’s been organising me. Making sure I’m taking my medication and putting all of my outpatient’s appointments in her diary, so that she can remind me to attend. She’s been coming to my house and checking up on what food I’ve got in, and what I’ve been eating. Its like living in a warden-controlled house.’

  They both smiled.

  ‘Yeah, she’s great isn’t she, Sir?’ Parish said.

  ‘You found a diamond when you found Richards, Parish.’

  Richards came back with two mugs of coffee. ‘Where are we going to sit, Sir?’

  ‘I’ll let you get on with it then, Parish. Come in at four-thirty and brief me. Oh, and you’d better arrange a press briefing for tomorrow morning, they’re already out for blood.’

  ‘Okay, Sir, see you later.’ He took the steaming mug of coffee Richards held out to him and said, ‘I see you’ve made yourself comfortable?’

  ‘I was beginning to feel like a squatter, Sir. The Chief told Kowalski to sort something out for me.’

  ‘You’re getting a bit too close to Kowalski, Richards. Next, you’ll be telling me he loves you, and that he’ll leave his wife and kids. You’ll run away to Cornwall, spend the summer making love on the beach, and then it’ll all turn to a bag of onions. His wife will take him back, then you’ll find out you’re pregnant. Sometimes Richards, the future can be a scary place.’

  ‘You tell a good story, Sir.’

  He turned serious. ‘Make sure it is a story, Richards. If I get even a hint that your relationship with Kowalski is anything more than verbal sparring, you will be going back to Cheshunt. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘If you married my mum you could be my dad for real, Sir.’

  ‘Do I make myself clear, Richards?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Good, let’s sit here,’ he said indicating the two desks. ‘You can start a database search for prisoners released in the last three months. While that’s running, start making some phone calls. Phone the Press Officer and ask her to organise a briefing for nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Give Doc Michelin a call, and ask him if he can make himself available for a twelve o’clock working lunch in the hospital cafeteria – I’ll pay tell him. Ring GCHQ and see if they can help us with the messages. Then, after lunch, we’ll come back and visit Toadstone in forensics.’

  ‘What are you going to do while I’m doing all the work, Sir?’

  ‘You don’t want me to do myself a mischief on my first day back, do you, Richards? I’m going to delete my emails and make inroads into my intray.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘You have done well.’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’

  He sat in front of the television watching the blank screen dressed ready for work. The bowl of Cornflakes balancing on a tray on his knees had turned soggy, and they had no taste. He spooned the cereal into his mouth and chewed mechanically.

  ‘But there is still much work to do.’

  Tears ran down his face. ‘Must I, Father?’

  We share a solemn covenant. You have been chosen to be the instrument of God’s will, to punish those who defy His laws. He loves you as a son and has given you the name Gabriel. No one could be loved more by Him, and His presence will go with you.’

  ‘I know, Father. It’s just that…’

  ‘I understand, Gabriel. You’re tired, but soon it will all be over.’

  Gabriel’s mouth smiled. He sat back and closed his eyes with a deep feeling of contentment. ‘I will look forward to that day, Father.’

  ‘You are God’s wrath and anger, Gabriel. Once His work is finished you will have everlasting life, and will sit at the left hand of God.’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’

  ‘I have chosen the next sinner to suffer God’s judgement, Gabriel.’

  ‘Tell me who she is, Father?’

  ***

  His inbox was full. There were a thousand seven hundred and twenty-two emails waiting for him, and another fifty-three languishing in the Spam box. It was ten-thirty by the time he had deleted the last of the emails.

  Parish stood and rubbed his eyes. ‘Do you want anything from the cafeteria, Richards?’

  ‘No, Sir, and I expect you don’t either.’

  ‘If we’re going to continue to work together successfully, Richards, you have to leave the fact that I’m “shacking up” with your Mother at home. Acting as your mum’s spy will only result in me hiding things from you. We have to be able to separate our work and home life, do you think you can do that?’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  ‘Good, I’m going to have a chocolate muffin and a tea with four sugars.’

  ‘Sirrr.’

  ‘Walk along with me and tell me what you’ve arranged.’

  As they strode along the corridor and down the stairs to the cafeteria, she told him what she’d been doing.

  ‘The press briefing is organised for nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What’s been in the newspapers about the case? I need to know what they already know before I get in there.’ While he’d been recuperating, Angie and Mary had hidden the papers from him as soon as the paperboys pushed them through the letterbox.

  ‘I’ve made up a file of press clippings, its on your desk. In summary, they know what we know. The two boys who found the first victim in 2003 took photographs of her hanging there before the police arrived, and then sold them to the press after they’d been interviewed. They even know about the message because the folded piece of paper is still pinned to the woman’s breast in the photographs. What they don’t know is the content of the message. When the boys’ took the photographs, they didn’t open up the paper to reveal what was on it.’

  ‘That’s one thing,’ Parish said. ‘At least we’ll know if the second murder is a copycat or not.’

  ‘From what I’ve seen, Sir, the messages appear to have come from the same source.’

  ‘What did GCHQ say?’

  ‘They’ll send someone to help us for two days, but we’ve got to pay his fees and expenses.’

  ‘Did…’

  ‘Yes, the Chief has approved it, Sir.’

  ‘I hate “know-it-all’s,” Richards.’

  ‘I know, Sir. A Mr Daniel Jeffers is arriving at two o’clock this afternoon.’

  ‘I hope he appreciates your efforts in helping him, Richards.’

  �
��What do you mean, Sir?’

  ‘All the work you’ve put into deciphering the messages. I hope you’ve kept a log of the algorithms you’ve tried?’

  ‘A log? Algorithms?’

  ‘What were you doing when you had the messages spread out on the bed in front of you, Richards?’

  ‘Well, I just tried a few things.’

  ‘A few things? Like what?’

  ‘Well, I played around with the characters to see if I could make up some words.’

  ‘And did you?’

  She blushed. ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t mention your foray into cryptography then.’

  ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t, Sir.’

  There were a few people in the cafeteria when they arrived, but it was mostly quiet. Nancy was behind the counter. The powers that be had refurbished the place by getting rid of the cockroaches, replacing the mishmash of tables and chairs with matching blue plastic furniture, and swapping the catering contractors for a high-profile company that offered value-for-money, but Nancy remained standing behind the stainless steel counter through it all. Nancy had been serving in the canteen at Hoddesdon Police Station since the end of the Second World War. Her age, although she would never confirm it, was estimated as late-eighties/early-nineties, but nobody really knew.

  ‘Hello, lovey,’ she said to Parish. ‘I hope you’re feeling better? Your beautiful Mary told me what happened.’ She touched his hand. ‘I was thinking of you.’

  ‘Thank you, Nancy. I feel much better.’

  ‘I’m glad. Going to solve the awful murders of those women now, I hear?’

  Parish smiled. Nancy seemed to know more about what was going on in the station than the Chief did. ‘That’s certainly my intention, Nancy.’

  ‘You’ll need a chocolate muffin and a mug of tea with four sugars then?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  She laughed like a walrus. ‘My solicitor has advised me to say nothing, Inspector.’

  ‘A wise precaution.’

  He glanced at Richards as Nancy put a triple chocolate muffin on a plate and made his tea. ‘Did you ring and tell her what I was going to have?’

  Richards looked offended. ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘And you’ll have a small bottle of water, won’t you, Mary?’ Nancy asked putting Parish’s order in front of him.

  ‘Yes please, Nancy.’

  ‘I’m sure Mary gets more beautiful every time I see her,’ Nancy said.

  ‘She’ll make someone a good wife one day, Nancy,’ Parish agreed.

  Richards’ face turned bright red. ‘Will you two stop embarrassing me.’

  Parish paid. ‘Thanks, Nancy.’

  ‘You’re welcome, lovey.’

  They sat down at a table by the wall.

  Before Parish took a bite of his chocolate muffin he said, ‘Is Doc Michelin okay for lunch?’

  ‘He said twelve-thirty, and he’ll meet us in the cafeteria.’

  Parish nodded because his mouth was stuck up with chocolate muffin. He took a slurp of tea. It had been ages since he’d had a good dose of chocolate. In the Richards’ house his diet was strictly controlled. Chocolate was considered a vice of the highest order.

  ‘You just totter from saturated fat meal to saturated fat meal don’t you, Sir? I’m surprised that you’re not twenty stone and using a crane to drive around.’

  Spitting triple chocolate crumbs all over the table he said, ‘Shut up Richards, and drink your water.’

  His mobile activated. It was Angie.

  ‘Hello, darling?’ he said.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Of course, Mary and I are sat in the cafeteria having a cup of tea.’

  ‘With four sugars and a chocolate muffin, I bet?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Your silence tells me everything I need to know. Anyway, I was going to make jacket potato, prawns, and salad for evening meal, is that okay with you?’

  ‘Yummy.’

  ‘You shouldn’t take up lying as an occupation, Jed Parish.’

  He smiled. ‘I hadn’t planned to.’

  ‘Give my love to Mary.’

  ‘I will. See you later, Angie.’ Although he loved Angela Richards and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, public displays of affection embarrassed him.

  He ended the call. ‘Your mum sends her love.’

  ‘She knew what you were having, didn’t she? I don’t know how she does it, but she always knew what I was doing as well. I think she’s a psychic.’

  ‘If that’s true, maybe she can help us with the case?’

  ‘Maybe you should ask her in bed tonight, Sir.’

  ‘I’ve got better things to do in bed with your Mother than talk about murder, Richards.’

  ‘Sirrr!’

  ***

  They were back at their desks in the squad room. According to the wall clock it was ten forty-five. Parish estimated that they would have to leave for the hospital by quarter to twelve.

  ‘We’ve got an hour, Richards,’ he said standing up and scooping up the case files. ‘Let’s go and co-opt an incident room and start putting the jigsaw pieces together on a board.’

  Richards followed him along the corridor at a run.

  He found an empty room behind the third door he opened. ‘This one’s ours, Richards. Put my name on it in big letters, together with a warning of dire consequences should anybody try to steal it from us.’

  Once they were settled, Parish stood at the board. ‘Let’s construct the victim profiles first. Give me a normal photograph of each woman.’

  Richards rummaged in both files and passed him two photographs.

  He separated the board with a line down the middle, and then stuck a photograph of each woman in the centre of the two halves with Blu-tack. At the top-centre of the left side he wrote Tanya Mathews, and Susan Reeves at the top-centre of the right side.

  ‘What date was Tanya Mathews abducted?’

  ‘First of October 2003.’

  ‘And found?’

  ‘The 10th December.’

  He wrote the two dates under Tanya Mathews’ name. ‘Estimated date of death?’

  ‘Between the first and the fifth of October, but the second victim was killed on day two or three.’

  Parish wrote EDOD and the date in brackets under the abducted and found dates. He saw Richards looking at what he’d written with her eyes scrunched to slits and lines of concentration on her forehead. ‘Estimated Date of Death, Richards.’

  ‘I knew that, Sir.’

  ‘Of course you did. What about Susan Reeves?’

  ‘She was taken on Monday 22nd February, and found at eleven-thirty on Wednesday morning. The estimated time of death was between six p.m. on Tuesday and ten a.m. on Wednesday.’

  He wrote the date/times in brackets underneath Susan Reeves’ name.

  ‘Okay, what do we know about each victim?’

  ‘Tanya Mathews was forty-three years old, short brown hair dyed blonde, yellow-flecked green eyes, ten stone seven pounds, five feet seven inches tall.’

  Parish knew it was more than mere looks that made up a person. Behind the cold green eyes was a woman with a past. A Social Worker whose clients relied on her, a friend to meet for coffee and scones, or a sister to share secrets with. Every life mattered, but her life had ended in the most horrific of circumstances. He wrote the description of Tanya Mathews between her name and her photograph. In brackets he put ‘Mental Health’ next to Social Worker, and shuffled to the right side of the board with his marker pen poised waiting.

  ‘Susan Reeves was twenty-nine years old, an Estate Agent, shoulder-length black hair, amber eyes, nine stone five pounds, five feet ten inches tall.’

  ‘The killer hasn’t got a particular profile in mind then,’ he said as he wrote the description on the board. ‘There’s no similarity at all between the victims, so he’s probably not picking women that remind him of someone.’

 
Richards grinned. ‘That’s brilliant how you worked that out. I love this part of the job. Trying to fit the pieces together, and looking for connections.’

  ‘You say that every time we do this, Richards.’

  ‘It must be true then, Sir.’

  ‘Right, let’s move on, we haven’t got time for chit-chat. What about the eyes?’

  ‘Oh God, I’d forgotten about the eyes.’

  ‘Did the killer take each victim’s eyes because they were the same colour?’

  No, Sir, Tanya Mathews had yellow-flecked green eyes, and Susan Reeves had amber eyes.’

  ‘What does that tell us?’

  ‘That he’s not choosing his victims because they have the same eye colour.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He might be choosing them because he wants to collect different coloured eyes, a bit like a butterfly collector.’

  ‘You’re starting to think like a detective now, Richards. Well done.’

  Richards beamed.

  ‘Tell me about their home lives?’

  ‘Tanya Mathews lived at 45 Canterbury Avenue in Redbridge, married but separated in 1988. Her husband moved to New Zealand with another woman. There were no children, and she shared a flat with another middle-aged woman called Beatrice Nosworthy.’

  ‘When you say, “shared a flat with” do you mean…’

  ‘Yes, Sir, they also shared a bed.’

  ‘This is no time to be polite, Richards. If Tanya Mathews was a lesbian then say so.’

  ‘She was a lesbian, Sir.’

  ‘Okay, good.’ He wrote that down on the board as well. ‘What about Susan Reeves?’

  ‘As far as I know she wasn’t a lesbian. She was married with a daughter of nine months called Libby, and lived at 17 Fairview Road in Grange Hill. Her husband is an Independent Financial Consultant.’

  ‘Should we look at her husband as a suspect?’

  ‘No, Sir. He has a cast-iron alibi. He was attending a conference in Liverpool overnight.’

  ‘Too convenient, Richards. Either the husband arranged his wife’s death and made sure he had an alibi, or the killer knew that the husband would be away that night.’

  ‘Or it might just be a coincidence, Sir?’