The Wages of Sin (P&R2)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Not again, Parish?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Chief, we’re not going to cause any trouble at Redbridge Council.’

  ‘I certainly hope not. They’re still trying recover from the last time you popped in to see them.’

  ‘Do you want me to continue, Chief?’

  ‘Please do, Richards.’

  ‘As we were leaving the Estate Agents we got a call to go to the abandoned Valentine Lido where some boys had found the blue van and the body of Marie Langley.’

  ‘Don’t forget…’

  ‘Do you have to keep interrupting, Sir? I won’t forget to tell the Chief I puked up again, because if I do I know you’ll be sure to tell him.’

  ‘I’m sure if we advertise in the Police Gazette, Parish, we might get some interesting stories about your early days on the force.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Chief,’ Richards said sticking her tongue out at Parish.

  ‘Are you going to take all day briefing the Chief, Richards? We have places to see and people to go.’

  ‘Before we went home, we interviewed the three released prisoners and the two women beaters, but none of them were the one we’re looking for.’ She looked at Parish. ‘Is it all right to say about… you know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The Inspector asked Doc Michelin about DI Lewin’s death, and…’

  ‘He said it wasn’t suicide?’

  Richard’s eyes opened wide. ‘You know about it, Sir?’

  ‘I wasn’t here at the time, but I’ve heard the rumours that he was murdered by CI Naylor.’

  ‘It seems that everybody knew, but nobody did anything about it, Chief.’

  ‘There’s a little thing called evidence, Richards,’ Parish said. ‘Remember, we spoke about it last night?’

  ‘But what about the three things that Doc Michelin told us?’

  ‘None of which is evidence.’

  ‘Well, I think somebody should re-open the case.’

  ‘What else did we do, Richards?’ Parish said trying to steer her away from Lewin’s death.

  ‘You helped me to revise for my exam, Sir?’

  ‘I did more than that, Richards, I gave you the magic key to success.’

  ‘I hope so, Sir.’

  ‘Right, go and organise a car to pick up Dr Jeffers, collect a pool car because mine sounds a bit ropey, and then meet me in the squad room.’

  ‘What are you going to do, Sir?’

  ‘I’m going to talk to the Chief about you, Richards, and I want to do that while you’re not here.’

  ‘Oh!’ Richards sidled out.

  As the door closed Parish called, ‘And don’t listen at the door either.’

  ‘Who me, Sir?’

  The Chief waited for Parish to speak.

  ‘Should we re-open the Lewin case, Chief?’

  ‘I’m surprised you need to ask, Parish.’

  He stood up. ‘I just thought I’d check, because you know where it’s going to lead?’

  ‘I know. Leave it until after you’ve closed this case and the new financial year has started. I’ll speak to some people about getting you and Richards’ protection from outside the area.’

  ‘It might be best left until Richards is out of the way on her course, Chief?’

  ‘They’ll use her against you regardless.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Make the briefing five-thirty tonight, and bring me some good news this time.’

  ‘I’ll try, Chief.’

  ***

  Gabriel watched her walk out of Hoddesdon Police Station with her head down against the wind, and hands stuffed deep into her coat pockets. She trudged up the High Street, turned right and crossed over onto Brewery Road, and entered O’Flynn’s Garage. He was parked on the corner of Brewery Road and the High Street in his blue Toyota Aygo. She wore a predominantly pink and white striped woollen hat and matching scarf, a dark three-quarter-length coat, tight jeans and black leather boots. He had never felt like this about a woman before, and if he’d had a van he would have taken her. It would have been easy to park up, wait for her to pass, and then pull her into the van.

  He began to daydream about what he was going to do to her, about the young firm body beneath her winter clothes, and about how she would become his secret wife, and give him a son. He was sure he felt the monster between his legs tremble in its sleep.

  Mary Richards burst out from an underground car parking entrance driving a beige Ford Mondeo, drove back to the police station, and parked in the car park.

  He felt light-headed and ate one of the corned-beef sandwiches he’d made earlier, and drank from the plastic water bottle. His diabetes wasn’t a problem just as long as he kept a close eye on his blood sugar. He knew his own body and in-between the insulin injections he controlled it by eating and drinking – the trouble was that as soon as he took a drink, he needed to urinate.

  Taking the sleeping monster out of his trousers, he pushed it into the bottle he’d brought for the purpose and emptied his bladder. He opened the window slightly because he hated the sweet sickly smell of his own urine.

  Had Mary Richards collected an unmarked police car to drive during the day? He assumed she had, and he also assumed she would bring it back – in the dark. Then… she would have to walk back to the station. He nodded his head and pursed his lips. Yes, it was then that he would take her. In his mind, he saw it all, how easy it would be. Now, he needed to get a van and prepare the room beneath the bungalow.

  ***

  God, if Naylor knew he was planning to re-open the Lewin case there wouldn’t be a place to hide. Richards was right, they couldn’t just bury it. Spring-cleaning was long overdue. He didn’t much like cleaning, but he liked dirty cops – especially dirty murdering cops – even less. The law applied to everyone, and if the police couldn’t be trusted to play by the rules, then the game wasn’t worth playing.

  First though, he had to solve this conundrum, and he needed some clues to point him in the right direction. At the moment, he was bumbling around in the dark grasping at shadows. He had no leads, no evidence, and no suspects. If he didn’t get a break soon, he’d get a vote of no confidence from the Chief Constable.

  ‘As I live and breathe, Parish. Here’s me working my fingers to bloody stumps while you sit there at your desk with your feet up staring into space.’

  ‘Good morning, Kowalski. I hope that means you’re working up an appetite for Sunday?’

  ‘Can’t wait. The wife and kids are looking forward to it.’

  ‘Do you know who the dirty cops are here?’

  ‘That’s a hell of a thing to ask a guy at nine o’clock in the morning, Parish.’

  ‘Yeah, just thinking out loud. Ignore me. Listen, if anything happens to me, promise you’ll look after Richards?’

  ‘I don’t like where this conversation is going, Jed.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘You know I will, but nothing’s going to happen to you, so it’s a bit of a stupid request really.’

  ‘What is, Sir?’ Richards said throwing the pool car keys on her desk and sitting down.

  ‘Your boss has been pleading with me not to take you into the broom cupboard, because he knows that once you’re in there you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.’

  ‘I don’t care if you’re not going to tell me, but you should know I’ll find out eventually?’

  ‘While you’re conducting your investigation, go and make me a four-sugared coffee.’

  ‘I thought they banned slavery in the nineteenth Century, Sir?’

  ‘The police force has always been behind the times, Richards… Are you still here?’

  ***

  They walked up to forensics, but Toadstone was still at the crime scene, so they parked themselves in the easy chairs at Reception, and Parish phoned him.

  ‘I didn’t hear it myself, but someone said you referred to me by name on the television. Thanks very much, Sir, I’ve never had a mention befo
re.’

  ‘My pleasure, Toadstone. I haven’t seen it myself, but Richards tells me you do a good job. How’s it going?’

  ‘As well as can be expected, Inspector.’

  ‘You sound like a jobsworth at the hospital. Give me more detail, or do I have to come down there and wring it out of you?’

  ‘The condom is at the lab, and I’m waiting for the DNA and fingerprint analysis.’

  ‘ETA?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Sat in your lab stealing your coffee.’

  ‘Ask for Michelle at Reception, she’ll tell you how long.’

  He nudged Richards. ‘Go and ask for Michelle to come and talk to us.’ Richards went up to the Reception desk. ‘What else, Toadstone?’

  ‘A partial shoe print in the ground underneath the van. Size 11½, cheap trainers untraceable…’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘Anthropometry.’

  ‘Swearing at a senior officer could get you into serious trouble, Toadstone.’

  ‘The study of human body sizing ratios.’

  ‘Which takes me back to my original question.’

  ‘Someone who has an 11½ shoe size is between five foot eleven and six foot one.’

  ‘There’s a correlation between shoe size and height?’

  ‘A weak one, but the relationship is there.’

  ‘Good find. Is that it?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘That’ll do, Toadstone, that’ll do.’

  ‘Farmer Hoggett, Babe, 1995.’

  ‘You need a girlfriend, you know. Someone to take your mind off an unhealthy obsession with trying to beat me.’

  ‘I’d like Mary to be my girlfriend, but she’s too good for me, Sir.’

  ‘She’s not the only pickled egg in the jar, Toadstone.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  The call disconnected and Richards came back. ‘Michelle is on her way.’

  ‘You do know Mr Wonderful is a broken man because of you?’

  ‘What did he say, Sir?’

  ‘He said that he loves you…’

  ‘About the crime scene?’

  ‘He found a footprint. We’re now looking for a man between five-eleven and six-one. Average height is five-ten, so he’s slightly above average.’

  ‘There are lots of men out there between those heights. In fact, you’re one of them.’

  ‘I take it you’re not overjoyed at this scrap of new information, Richards?’

  ‘It doesn’t really help us, does it, Sir?’

  ‘Well, let’s see what Michelle has got for us.’

  Parish stood up, smiled, and held out his hand. Michelle was a woman in her late twenties with red hair and porcelain skin. She had on a white coat over an autumn green and brown tweed skirt. He couldn’t see a top, and wondered if she was naked above the waist. ‘Hello, Michelle?’ he said, but she didn’t take his hand.

  Her voice had a temperature of below freezing point. ‘We found DNA inside the condom, Inspector, but there’s no match on the database. We also discovered the print of an index finger from a male right hand on the external rolled-up portion of the latex, but once again we found no match on the database. If you ever find the killer, we’ll be able to tie him to this murder.’

  ‘Okay, thanks…’

  ‘Also, the DNA revealed he has diabetes, and because there was no evidence of erection-aiding drugs such as, Viagra, Cailis, or Levitra, he probably suffers from erectile dysfunction.’

  ‘That fits in with what Amanda Sprinkles said about sexual dysfunction, and what Doc Michelin found on the bodies, doesn’t it, Sir?’

  Parish’s brow furrowed. ‘Yes, it does. Thanks…’ He was about to thank Michelle for her help, but she was already walking back down the corridor to her lab.

  He looked at Richards. ‘Do I smell, Richards? Yesterday I probably smelled, but this morning I had a shower and didn’t hold back with the antiperspirant.’

  ‘All men smell, Sir, but I don’t think that’s it.’

  ‘You mean…?’

  ‘Yes, women can usually tell these things. She liked me more than she liked you.’

  ‘No wonder the world is falling apart, Richards.’ The clock above the Reception desk showed nine forty-five. ‘Come on, let’s go to the incident room and consolidate what we haven’t got before Dan Jeffers arrives. I’ll set things up while you sprint to the canteen and get me a triple chocolate muffin, and then on your way back make me a four-sugared coffee.’

  ‘Working for you, Sir, I understand sometimes why women don’t like men.’

  As he continued along the corridor to the incident room, and she hung a right to go up the stairs to the canteen, he called after her, ‘You say some harsh things sometimes, Richards.’

  ***

  Mr Harold Hatch from the Highfield International Detective Agency had phoned yesterday to tell him that he’d found Katie and the kids. In an ideal world he would simply go and take care of his family and walk away, but he had unfinished business with Parish. He needed time to disappear. What he didn’t want to do was trigger a manhunt, which would no doubt end with Chief Inspector Trevor Naylor cornered in an alley, lying in a heap of rubbish, and riddled with bullets. A little thought on his part would prevent such embarrassment and an early demise.

  He sat in his car on a side road off Great Owl Road in Chigwell facing away from the extended Victorian building, which housed the Women’s Refuge Shelter, and watched the comings and goings through his rear-view mirror.

  Noting the eight-foot galvanised palisade security fencing, the drawn curtains, and the preponderance of CCTV cameras, he realised that he would have to enter tonight.

  The building had four floors, which included the basement. Katie and the kids were on the third floor in Room 5. He had a plan, but he needed a can of petrol. By the time he’d finished, it would take the authorities at least a couple of weeks to realise that his family had been murdered, by which time Trevor Naylor would no longer exist.

  He’d teach the fucking bitch to leave him. No one betrayed Trevor Naylor and lived to brag about it. His wife would learn that the hard way, and then tomorrow he’d teach Parish the same lesson.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘What’s the point of my mum cooking you healthy meals at home if you’re going to eat rubbish at work?’

  ‘As much as I’d like to discuss the nutritional benefits of a triple chocolate muffin with you, it’s a conversation for another time, Richards.’ He stood at the incident board marker pen in hand. ‘Tell me what we know about the killer instead?’

  ‘He’s between five-eleven and six-one.’

  ‘Okay, let’s focus on his physical characteristics first.’ The marker pen was blue, and Parish drew a twelve-inch outline of a male on the board with a question mark inside the body. On the right-hand side, he put a line with an arrow at the top and bottom and 5:11 – 6:01 sideways along it.

  ‘I love the way you do that, Sir.’

  ‘What, draw little blue men?’

  Richards giggled. ‘No, break things down into manageable chunks. I would have jumbled everything together.’

  ‘I’m pleased you love me for my mind, Richards. What else?’

  ‘He has diabetes.’

  Parish wrote it down. ‘What do we know about diabetes?’

  ‘My mum would be able to answer that one.’

  ‘Then we’ll ask her tonight before she goes to work. What else?’

  ‘Erectile dysfunction.’

  He drew a little penis and testicles, a line with an arrow, and ED at the end of the line.’

  ‘My mum says that men never really grow up they just get bigger.’

  ‘Your mum’s a very wise woman, but if you don’t stay focused I’m going to sit on you, colour your nose blue, and draw cat’s whiskers on your face.’

  ‘He has size 11½ feet.’

  As he wrote the shoe size down and drew a line to the feet he said, ‘Do we know what he
looks like, his hair or eye colour, race, or weight?’

  ‘No except... can’t we estimate his weight from his height?’

  ‘Well, I’m six foot and an average type of guy, so let’s say he’s between 157 – 170 pounds.’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  ‘Has he got any distinguishing features such as tattoos, a limp, or a hunched back?’

  She laughed. ‘No.’

  ‘What about his speech?’

  ‘We haven’t heard him speak.’

  ‘Okay, I think we’ve exhausted the physical characteristics. Let’s move on to the psychological characteristics now.’ He drew another question mark inside the head.

  ‘Doc Michelin suggests that the killer’s motive is revenge against women…’ Richards scratched her head. ‘What does that mean exactly, Sir?’

  ‘Consider his family background. Most serial killers are abandoned by their Fathers, and raised by domineering Mothers. Each time he kills a woman, he is killing his Mother. Maybe, in this case, he was abandoned by his Mother, and raised by his Father. I have the feeling that when he removes the eyes and takes them with him, he believes that his Mother is watching over him again. There is a high possibility that he was physically and/or sexually abused as a child by one or more family member, which could have been his Father. Remember, Amanda Sprinkles said that he suffers from conflicts with his inner demons. He’s disconnected from his parents and his past, and is attempting to make sense out of a confused existence. This is a person who keeps himself to himself. He’s violent, sadistic, and has an explosive temper, but he also gives the appearance of normality by holding down a job. At work he is shy, timid and inadequate, and has no interest in social relationships.’