by Tim Ellis
Greg Reeves sat in her place on the sofa next to Richards. Parish thought that if he was involved in his wife’s murder, he should get an Oscar for Best Actor.
‘You were away on the day your wife went missing?’ Parish probed.
Greg Reeves nodded. ‘A conference in Liverpool on Lifetime Mortgages and Home Reversion.’
‘Who knew you were going to the conference?’
‘My family, Susan’s family, my work colleagues. I’d also posted it on Facebook and Twitter. You don’t think…?’
‘We don’t think anything at the moment, Mr Reeves. We’re merely trying to piece together all of the information.’
‘I couldn’t live with myself if I thought it was my fault. I should have been here. Maybe…’
‘If you hadn’t been in Liverpool, would things have been any different?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Would your wife have gone to work?’
‘Well, yes?’
‘Would your wife’s Mother still have looked after your daughter, Libby?’
‘Yes.’
Parish shrugged. ‘Then nothing you did or didn’t do would have changed the outcome, and if you had been here your wife would still have been abducted. The killer targeted your wife at work, what we don’t know is why.’
‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’
‘Did she receive any threatening letters or telephone calls?’
‘Greg shook his head. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘Can you tell me a little about her past. What about an old boyfriend?’
‘No, Susan and I have been married for eight years. We delayed having Libby until we were financially comfortable, and were established in our careers.’
Mrs Fairchild came back with a tray full of teapot, cups, saucers, milk, sugar, spoons, and a plate of custard creams. Richards moved a newspaper and a child’s rag doll to one side of the coffee table in front of the sofa to make room for the tray.
Parish had a tea with two sugars and two custard creams. He didn’t mind tea now and again, but he preferred coffee if he was given the choice. He did like custard creams though, and was feeling particularly peckish. A gold clock on the ornate mantelpiece indicated that it was two-fifteen, and he wondered what Angie was cooking for dinner. Then he remembered that she was on night duty, and he wouldn’t see much of her tonight. Probably a good job seeing as he was helping Richards with her studying for the National Investigator’s Examination next Wednesday and looking at the evidence in the John Lewin case.
‘What about her work colleagues?’ he asked.
‘They’re a good lot,’ Greg said. ‘They’ve been great to me, and Libby.’
‘Please don’t be offended by the next question, Mr Reeves, but were you and your wife on good terms?’
‘I’m not offended, Inspector, I know you have to ask these questions, but Susan and I were never stronger. Like most couples we’d had our problems, but since Libby was born we were rock solid.’
‘We promise…’ Richards began.
‘…to do our very best to find the killer,’ Parish finished for her. He upended his cup of tea, set it down, and stood up. ‘If there’s anything else we can do, please ring Hoddesdon Police Station, and…’
‘We want to bury Susan. Is there anything you can do to get her body released?’ Mrs Fairchild said.
‘I think you’ll hear something in the next few days.’
‘Thank you, Inspector, and I’m sorry…’
Parish held up his hand again. ‘There’s no need to apologise, Mrs Fairchild, I understand your frustration.’
In the car Parish said, ‘Never use the word “promise”, Richards. You were going to promise them we’d find the killer, weren’t you?’
‘Well, we are, aren’t we?’
‘What if we don’t?’
‘But we will.’
‘But what if we don’t? How will you keep your promise?’
‘Well, I…’
‘So, you’re working on your own now? You don’t need a partner anymore?’
‘I’m sorry, Sir. I won’t use the P-word again.’
‘That’s more like it, Richards. Admit when you’re wrong, don’t waffle, bluff, or prevaricate. Hold your hand up and say, “It was me, Sir. I was wrong”.’
‘Yes, Sir. What are we doing now?’
‘Now, we’ll go and speak to her work colleagues at the Estate Agents.’
‘The family weren’t much help were they?’
‘Help? Were you expecting them to give you the killer’s name and address, or…?’
‘Sometimes I hate you, Sir, and I wonder if I’d be better off working with DI Kowalski.’
‘Starting tomorrow, DI Kowalski and I will swap partners for a week. Ed Gorman can work with me, and you can work with Kowalski. We’ll see whether you think the grass is greener in Kowalski’s garden.’ He took his phone out, found Kowalski’s number in his phonebook, and dialled.
Richards tried to stop him phoning, but he kept her away with his left arm.
‘Hi Ray, Jed here.’
‘Yeah I’m fine. Listen, do you want to swap partners for a week starting from tomorrow?’
‘That’s great. It was Richards who suggested it, she thinks the sun shines out of your arse, and I think it would be a good training exercise for her to work with another DI. Yeah, I’ll see you later.’
‘That’s it, all arranged. From tomorrow you’re DI Kowalski’s partner.’
‘I’m going to take the week off sick. You know I can’t work with DI Kowalski.’
‘Then why did you say you wanted to?’
‘I didn’t mean it.’
‘Well, it’s a good job I only pretended to phone Kowalski then, isn’t it?’
‘Did I tell you how much I hate you, Sir?’
‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to.’
***
They arrived at Boynton’s Estate Agents at five past three. Richards stopped to look at the houses for sale in the window.
‘Are you thinking of moving out?’
‘A girl can dream, Sir.’
‘We’re not here to daydream, Richards, get your arse in gear.’
Two of the four members of staff were in the office – the Manager, Helen Yenshall, and a spotty junior agent called Ronald Pilgrim. The two other agents – Polly Towler and Ruth Ennis – were out showing clients around houses. The fifth member of staff – Susan Reeves – was dead. Parish asked the Manager to close the shop while he asked her some questions. There was one large dowdy room with five desks, and a small storeroom that contained the photocopier, fridge, stationery, a microwave, and the kettle.
‘Yes Inspector,’ Helen Yenshall said. ‘I was here when Sally received the call from Mr Simpson.’
The manager was a tall brown-haired woman in her late forties wearing a dark green pants suit, and although she tried to look younger the creased leather of her neck betrayed her.
‘Is it normal practise to allow female estate agents to show clients around properties unaccompanied?’ Parish said. ‘Has nothing been learned from the Suzie Lamplugh and Stephanie Slater cases?’
‘We have Lone Worker Rules for all staff whether they’re male or female.’
‘Which clearly didn’t work.’
‘Susan, like all the staff, knew the safety guidelines. I don’t ask them each time they go out whether they’ve followed the rules. It would be impractical, and I’m not always here. Qualified agents are expected to follow good practise. All my staff are familiar with both the cases you mentioned, and the lessons learned from them.’
‘Have you got a copy of the rules?’
Helen opened a drawer and withdrew a one page typed document, which she passed to Parish. He began reading the list of rules. ‘Did she record anything in the Property Viewing Book?’
‘Yes, as I explained to the Constable who came to see us last week, as well as the man’s name, the address and telephone number are false.
Ronald, show the Inspector the entry Susan made.’
The spike-haired effeminate junior agent brought an A3 landscaped book over designed specifically for the purpose, and pointed to a line dated Tuesday 23rd February. The agent was Susan Reeves, and the phone call was timed at twenty past two. Parish took out his notebook and wrote down, Mr A. Simpson, 37 Grove Lane, Grange Hill, Tel No: 01992 459762.
‘I take it she didn’t call Mr Simpson back to confirm the appointment?’
‘It would appear that she didn’t, because she went straight out to meet him, and that was the last we saw of her.’
He said to Richards: ‘Ring Mr Wonderful and ask him to check the calls into and out of this office on 23rd February an hour either side of twenty past two.’
Helen Yemshall raised an eyebrow.
‘Don’t ask,’ Parish said. He put his card on her desk and stood up. ‘If you, or the two agents that aren’t here, think of anything that might help us, please ring me at Hoddesdon Police Station.’
As they were walking to the car, Parish’s mobile rang. ‘Shit.’
‘What is it, Sir?’
‘A group of boys have found the van, and Marie Langley.’
‘Is she…?’
‘The same as the others.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder whether I want to be a detective, Sir.’
‘We all feel like that sometimes, Richards.’
***
They raced down the A123 to Gants Hill roundabout with the blue light flashing on the roof of the car. Not that the speed with which they arrived at the crime scene would make any difference to Marie Langley. Daylight was beginning to fade, and it was promising to be another cold night.
Parish pulled into the overgrown car park of the Valentine Lido, parked next to Doc Michelin’s bright yellow Mercedes, and wondered if he was in the wrong job.
‘How does he know, Sir?’
‘How does who know what, Richards? When I took you on as a charity case, I said I wanted someone to bounce ideas off. I did not say I wanted someone to confuse me.’
‘Sorry, Sir, I was thinking aloud. How does he know about all the abandoned buildings? I mean, you’d have to be an explorer to find this place.’
‘Good point, Richards, make a note so that we can give it some thought later.’
Richards smiled and pulled out her notebook. ‘Okay, Sir.’
‘Are you ready for this?’
‘I suppose so, Sir.’
They climbed out of the car and walked across the car park to the dark blue van parked under a tree. Paul Toadstone was directing two of his forensic team. The side door was open and blood ran in rivulets down the insides of the van and lay coagulating on the metal ribbed floor.
‘It’s about time you earned your money and found me something I can use, Toadstone.’
‘Hello, Inspector, hello, Mary,’ he said smiling at Richards. ‘You might be in luck. We found a condom in the well at the bottom of the back door.’
‘A used condom?’
‘There was no semen in it, but it has been used.’
‘DNA?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping for.’
‘Fingerprints?’
‘Let’s not get carried away, Inspector.’
‘You could redeem yourself in my eyes if you found some DNA and the odd fingerprint, Toadstone. Especially if that DNA and fingerprint led to a name and the name pointed me in the direction of a suspect, and that suspect turned out to be the very person we’re looking for. No pressure, but we could really do with a break.’
‘My name’s Paul Toadstone, not Merlin the Magician, Inspector. We will find what we find – nothing more, and nothing less.’
‘Don’t start getting philosophical on me, Toadstone. Where’s his signature?’
Toadstone slid the side door closed and there, in light blue paint, was the Tetragrammaton.
Parish grunted. ‘At least we know it’s the same killer.’
‘Your suggestion about the killer using a van was right then, Paul?’ Richards said.
‘Don’t start telling him he was right, Richards, we’ll never hear the last of it.’
‘I take no pleasure in being right, Mary. I would preferred to have been wrong, and that this woman was still alive.’
‘Yes, I’d have preferred you were wrong as well, Toadstone. Anything else you can tell me?’
‘We’ve not been here very long ourselves. It’ll be some time before we complete our inspection of the van and surrounding area. You’ll just have to be patient, Inspector. Come up and see me in the morning.’
‘Come on Richards, he’s beginning to sound like a poor version of Mae West in the 1933 version of She Done Him Wrong. Let’s go and find more helpful people such as Doc Michelin.’
‘Don’t be so mean to Paul, Sir, he’s doing the best he can.’
‘It’s all right, Mary, I’m used to the Inspector’s low opinion of me. If he said good things about me, I’d think there was something wrong with him.’
‘There you are then, Richards, Toadstone likes me being horrible to him. Now, will you get your arse moving.’ He headed toward the Lido entrance where a uniformed policeman was on guard.
‘No wonder you didn’t have a partner before you found me, Sir?’
‘I didn’t have one, because I didn’t want one, Richards. In my experience, partners are overrated. They’re either self-motivated and can’t be trusted to watch your back, too stupid to see what’s in front of them, or lazy workshy bastards.’
‘Which category do I fall in?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Well, I don’t really like any of them.’
‘That’s because you don’t fall into any of the aforementioned categories, and why I decided to keep you as my partner. You’re not self-motivated, I can trust you to watch my back, most of the time you’re unusually intelligent, and you’re a good worker.’
‘Most of the time?’
‘We all have our off days, Richards.’
‘Oh God,’ Richards said and vomited into her left hand, the tea-coloured liquid spraying through her fingers onto the concrete walkway by the Lido entrance.
‘Richards!’ Parish said moving away from her.
‘Sorry, Sir, it took me by surprise.’
‘Go and get yourself cleaned up. While you’re out there, make sure a house-to-house is being done, and then come back.’
Parish looked up at Marie Langley. The mutilated woman was at the end of a thick black chain hanging upside down from the 20-metre diving board with a meat hook through the soft flesh of her ankle. Blood had oozed from the multitude of wounds on her torso, and gravity had taken it in runnels over the face with its empty eye sockets, and made her look like something out of a Hammer Horror movie. The blood continued downwards, dripping from her forehead and small globules floated on the filthy dark green water in the swimming pool.
‘Hi, Doc.’
‘Hello, Parish. Are you any nearer catching this madman?’
‘The pieces are slowly coming together, but the lack of evidence isn’t helping. Did you check whether Susan Reeves had been sexually assaulted, or not?’
‘I’ll confirm my conclusion when I examine this body, but I think you were right and I was wrong, which is a first. I assumed the killer had sexually assaulted her because I found evidence of condom lubricant in the vaginal passage, but when I carried out a microscopic examination of the vaginal cells I discovered that no penetration had actually taken place.’
Parish glanced around, but couldn’t see any effort to get Marie Langley down. ‘What’s the hold-up, Doc?’
‘Do you want to climb up those metal steps, totter along the diving board, lean over the edge, and haul the body up by the chain?’
‘Mmm, I see what you mean.’
‘And then when you’ve hauled the body up you’d have to sling it over your shoulder, and climb back down again.’
‘What about… No, that wouldn’t work.’
‘Not only that, there might be evidence on the steps, the diving board, the chain, the body, and in the bloody water.’
‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘I’d go home if I were you, we’re going to be here all night with this one. We’ve called in specialists with the right equipment.’
Richards returned. ‘Sorry about that, Sir.’
‘It’s becoming a habit, Richards.’
‘No it’s not. I’ve done it twice that’s all. Didn’t you ever do it?’
‘We’re not talking about me.’
‘I bet you did do it?’
‘Hello Constable, good to see you, but not under these circumstances.’
‘Hello Doc. Did you ever do it?’
‘I assume we’re talking about vomiting?’
‘Yes.’
‘Everybody does it. Don’t believe DI Parish if he tells you he’s never done it.’
‘There you are, Sir.’
‘Stop whining, Richards. Right, we’ll leave you to it, Doc and go and tell Mark Wozcniak his girlfriend is dead.’
‘I think I’d rather stay here, Sir.’
‘So would I, Richards.’
Outside, he phoned the Chief to say he’d probably be late for their meeting, but the Chief wasn’t there. He rang his mobile, and after providing him with a quick summary of the day they agreed instead to meet in the morning at eight o’clock.
Beyond the Lido car park, the press blocked the road and wouldn’t let his car pass until he gave them a statement.
‘I could say something to them if you want, Sir?’
‘Yeah, like that’s going to happen.’
He stood on the bottom of the doorframe and held up his hands for quiet. ‘Sadly, we have found the body of Marie Langley, and a forensic team led by Paul Toadstone is searching the crime scene for evidence.’
‘Have you any suspects, Inspector?’
‘We’re still narrowing the field of potential suspects down.’
‘That’s a “no” then?’ someone shouted to a ripple of laughter.
‘Do you know why the killer is targeting these women?’
‘Not yet, but we are close to finding that out.’