The Wages of Sin (P&R2)

by Tim Ellis

‘Do you want to put some clothes on, Richards, you’re making me blush?’

  Richards began shaking and burst into tears. Parish wrapped his arms about her and held her tight. ‘It’s all right, you’re safe now,’ he whispered.

  ‘What happened?’ Toadstone asked as he came round.

  ‘What happened, Toadstone is that you saved my life and will probably get a medal for doing so. Now, have a look around and see if you can find Richards’ clothes, and while you’re doing that keep your eyes to yourself.’

  ‘I wouldn’t…’

  ‘Yes you would, Toadstone. Any man with eyes that work would.’

  Toadstone found her clothes, and the two of them turned their backs as Richards got dressed.

  ‘Can we go now, Sir?’ Richards said.

  Parish held onto her and led her out of the tunnel, up the steps, and out through the shed into the rain of another grey day. He took her into the house and sat her at the table in the kitchen and made her a hot tea. He then called an ambulance, the Chief, and Doc Michelin.

  ‘I don’t need an ambulance, Sir.’

  ‘You’ll follow orders and go to the hospital to be checked out, is that clear Constable Richards?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  To stop her dwelling on what had happened to her, he told her what had happened to him, Angie, and Kowalski.

  ‘Oh God, my mum’s been shot?’

  ‘Saving me. The operation went well, and she’s in the ICU recovering.’

  ‘Oh God, Inspector Kowalski had a heart attack?’

  ‘Trying to find you. I was hovering between life and death, so Kowalski and Ed Gorman did the business.’

  ‘They’re good friends, Sir.’

  ‘They certainly are, and let’s not forget the hero of the hour, Paul Toadstone.’

  ‘Yes, if it wasn’t for him, we’d all probably be dead.’

  Then he told her about Ruben Millhaven being the Archivist in the Planning Department.

  ‘Do you think everybody at Redbridge Council is a killer, Sir? We’ve discovered two who have worked there now – maybe when we get another murder we should just go there and see which one of them is the killer?’

  ‘I see you’ve not lost your sense of humour, Richards.’

  The Chief arrived. ‘Good to see you in one piece, Richards.’

  She looked at him with surprise etched on her face. ‘What are you doing here, Chief?’

  ‘I was passing and saw the lights on.’

  ‘The Chief stepped in when Kowalski was taken to hospital.’

  Richards burst into tears again.

  ‘Anybody call for an ambulance?’ reverberated down the hall.

  ‘Come on, Richards,’ Parish said. ‘I think you’ve spent enough time at 7 Lodge Close.’ He took her outside, helped her into the back of the ambulance, and climbed in with her. The press was there in force, but he didn’t respond to any of their questions. All he said was, ‘It’s over.’

  ***

  Kowalski was still in A & E. Richards wanted to see him, but Parish wouldn’t let her until she agreed to attend counselling starting first thing on Monday morning.

  ‘I’m fine, Sir.’

  ‘Self-diagnosis is of no help whatsoever. The mind is a sneaky little organ, it hides things that jump out and ambush us when we least expect it – I’m a testament to that. I want a psychotherapist to tell me you’re okay.’

  ‘If I must.’

  ‘You must, Richards.’

  They travelled three cubicles along and visited Kowalski who was still connected to the cardiac monitor. His wife, Gerri, sat there holding his hand.

  ‘Thanks, Sir,’ Richards said leaning over to kiss him on the forehead.

  ‘I won’t even ask what that was for, Richards.’ Kowalski turned to his wife. ‘This is the woman I spend most of my time in the broom cupboard with.’

  A worried look came over Richards’ face. ‘I’ve never been…’

  ‘Don’t worry, love,’ Gerri said. ‘Ray Kowalski knows very well that he’d be investigating his own death if he was unfaithful to me.’

  ‘There, you see, Richards, nothing to worry about…’

  Kowalski’s monitor flatlined, nurses came running, and they were shifted outside the cubicle. After he’d been shocked back to life, he was taken away.

  ‘Do you think he’ll be all right, Sir?’ Richards said biting her lip.

  ‘Of course he will, Richards, he’ll be back behind his desk by Monday.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  They took the lift up to the ICU and sat in silence either side of Angie’s bed. Much later Parish said, ‘You should go home and have a shower, get changed, eat something.’

  ‘Are you saying I smell?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘I don’t want to be on my own, Sir.’

  Parish nodded. She was still in shock. It would take time for her to put the pieces of her life back together. The counselling would help her come to terms with what had happened. He’d seen Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in coppers before.

  ‘We’ll go together, your mum’s not going anywhere. Digby will be glad to see you.’

  ‘He hasn’t been…’

  ‘No, I sent Constable Palgrave round to the house this morning.’

  ***

  On the way out of the ward they met Father Rosario who had come to perform the Last Rites for one of his parishioners.

  ‘I hear on the news you found your killer, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, and thanks again for your help.’

  ‘It was the least I could do. Ruben and his father were part of my flock.’

  ‘I thought you were the Priest at Our Lady of Sorrows Church in Hoddesdon?’

  ‘I am, but ten years ago Rome decided to rationalise its assets and sold off a number of outlying churches, which increased my flock threefold. Now, it’s a full-time job trying to keep the sinning within manageable proportions.’

  ‘I wish you luck with that, Father,’ Parish said.

  ‘Thank you, Inspector. I’m glad you managed to escape from him, Constable.’

  ‘So am I, Father.’

  Standing outside the lift Richards said, ‘When I was locked in the cage I thought I heard two voices, you know?’

  ‘Thought…?’

  ‘Well, he could have been talking to himself.’

  ‘I guess we’ll never know, Richards.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Aftermath

  Toadstone’s search of 7 Lodge Close turned up hundreds of videotapes of a whole string of men abusing a young boy called Ruben. It appeared that Derek Millhaven made money from pimping out his son from the age of three years old to paedophiles.

  There was no reason to excavate the rear garden, but a part of the underground tunnel collapsed revealing two skeletons. After further excavation of the complete rear garden and the patio to a depth of twelve feet, nine more skeletons were discovered – three more near the shed and six under the crazy paving on the patio. Seven of those skeletons belonged to adult males, one to an adult female, and three to male children. To date, only Deirdre Millhaven – Ruben’s mother – has been identified, and Doc Michelin’s team has been left with the task of trying to identify the remaining bodies.

  Following the fire investigation of Chigwell’s Women’s Refuge Shelter, Trevor Naylor became the UK’s most wanted criminal, but although Interpol was notified no trace of him was ever found.

  ***

  Sunday, 28th March

  Parish sauntered into Barrington Ward, which housed the female surgical patients. Angie sat in a wheelchair by the bed she had occupied for three weeks. The doctors were pleased with her ongoing recovery, and had agreed to her early release on the understanding that she was not to exert herself under any circumstances.

  Parish was taking three weeks leave with effect from Monday to look after her while Richards was attending the six-week full-time Phase Two course of her Initial Crime Investigators Development Programme –
ICIDP for short – in Gloucestershire. She’d received the results of her National Investigators Examination a week ago and was disappointed that she hadn’t beaten Parish’s ninety-nine percent – she obtained ninety-five percent, which was the top candidate score in her cohort.

  ‘Where’s Mary, I thought the least she could do would be to come and collect her own mother from the hospital?’

  ‘You’ll see her when you get home. She’s packing, you know she’s leaving for the station later.’

  ‘I’m not…’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told, Angela Richards. For the next three weeks I give the orders.’

  She smiled. ‘I like a man who knows what he wants.’

  He went behind the wheelchair, took the brakes off, and began pushing her through the ward towards the door. ‘Oh, I know exactly what I want all right, but the doctor says I’m not aloud to until you’re fully recovered.’

  ‘You’re a sex-maniac, Jed Parish.’

  He gently caressed her shoulder. ‘One who loves you.’

  Patients, nurses and doctors called goodbye as she passed, and by the time they reached the lift she was in tears. ‘They’ve all been so wonderful,’ she said.

  ***

  He opened the front door and held onto her as she stepped inside.

  ‘Right,’ he said putting her case down in the hall. ‘Let’s get you into the living room. You can put your feet up and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘Are you sure Mary hasn’t left already?’

  ‘She’ll be somewhere around.’

  He deposited her in the living room, and then went into the kitchen.

  ‘Does she suspect anything, Sir?’ Richards whispered. On the outside, his partner appeared to have recovered, but he knew that she had been having nightmares since her ordeal, and the tears came too easily, but she was attending the counselling each day.

  ‘No, she has no idea.’

  Everyone was hiding in the dining room. Parish crept in and opened up the partitioning glass doors between the two rooms. Angie sat back on the sofa with her eyes closed. People moved in.

  He sat down beside her, and took her hand. ‘Some people have come to welcome you home,’ he said.

  Angie opened her eyes and saw everyone. Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘I’m never going to speak to you again, Jed Parish.’

  ‘I should be so lucky,’ he said and grinned.

  The Chief was there with his work wife, Debbie Shinwell. He passed Angie an evelope.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I’m sure that if you open it you’ll find out,’ he responded.

  She did as she was told. ‘It’s an invitation.’

  ‘Not just any old invitation, Angela Richards. It’s an invitation to Buckingham Palace where you’ll be the 597th recipient of the Queen’s Gallantry Medal for your act of bravery in standing between a gunman and Detective Inspector Parish. You will receive the award from Queen Elizabeth the Second, and afterwards attend a garden party with the other five recipients.’

  ‘Oh!’ She burst into tears.

  All those crowded in the room clapped.

  ‘My job is done,’ the Chief said with a smile. ‘I like nothing better than reducing a woman to tears of happiness.’

  Doc Michelin was there, Nurse Rhodes, Doctor Murray, and a dozen of Angie’s other friends from the hospital had come. Kowalski – who had been out of the hospital for two weeks – was there with his wife Gerri and four children.

  ‘Also,’ the Chief raised his voice for attention again, and a hush came over the gathering again. ‘I know it’s Angie’s day, but I have something here for Mr Paul Toadstone.’

  ‘Me?’ Toadstone said stepping forward.

  The Chief passed him an envelope.

  ‘You want me to open it, Sir?’

  ‘Unless you’re a clairvoyant, Toadstone?’

  He blushed. ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Well, open it then,’ Parish coaxed him.

  He did and then said, ‘It’s an invitation.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder about you, Toadstone,’ Parish said raising a laugh from those present.

  ‘DI Parish concluded his report of the events in the underground room at 7 Lodge Close by recommending Mr Paul Toadstone for a Queen’s Commendation for Bravery, and I supported that recommendation.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have, Sir,’ Toadstone said.

  ‘I know, but I did.’ He addressed everyone. ‘Shall we eat?’

  People began moving into small groups, helping themselves to the food and drink, and waiting for the opportunity to congratulate Angie and Paul.

  Richards sidled up next to him. ‘It seems that the only people who didn’t get recommended for a medal was us, Sir.’

  ‘I didn’t get a medal either,’ Kowalski said from behind them, ‘and I blame you for that, Parish.’

  ‘The job is its own reward,’ Parish said.

  ‘That heroin has seriously damaged your brain, Parish,’ Kowalski said slurping his lemonade shandy.

  They laughed.

  ***

  Tom Peters – also known as Trevor Naylor – sat by the pearl-shaped pool in the villa he had hired in the western town of Al Wasmiyah on Bahrain Island in his Union Jack shorts drinking a bottle of brewskis beer.

  Beyond the twelve-foot wall he heard shouting, but he couldn’t understand what the rioters were saying. The metal gates were beginning to buckle under the weight of people. Why they were targeting foreign nationals no one knew, but they’d already killed a dozen or more.

  He had a Glock 21 he’d bought on the black market, and he’d kill as many of them as he could before they got to him, but he knew his time was over.

  Fucking sod’s law, he thought. After years of peace and bliss, the bastards decide they want democracy as soon as he steps off the plane. Well, fuck ‘em.

  The gates burst open and a horde of gun-wielding anti-government anti-foreigner rioters entered his courtyard uninvited. He finished his beer and began shooting the bastards as they came towards him.

  The Arabic papers reported that eight people died in the courtyard, and that one of them was an English national called Thomas Peters. He had been shot five times, and the rioters had hacked his head off and mounted it on a spike at the gate.

  ####

  Thank you for choosing and reading my book. If you enjoyed it, I would be grateful if you could write a review and post it on Amazon.co.uk and/or Amazon.com.

  The Flesh is Weak

  Tim Ellis

  Watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit is indeed willing, but the flesh is weak.

  Mathew 26:41

  Chapter One

  Monday, 9th May

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to give this one to Kowalski and Gorman, Chief? I mean, this is Richards’ first day back at work, I wanted to ease her in gently, you know…’

  ‘Kowalski and Gorman both have children, you and Richards don’t. It’s yours – live with it.’

  Parish had been back at work for three weeks tidying up loose ends, writing reports, keeping on top of his emails and intray, filling in the blank spaces on some cold cases where he could, and generally twiddling his thumbs. What he’d really been doing was waiting for Richards to return from her six-week Initial Crime Investigators Development Programme course in Gloucestershire. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was lost without her. Angie was self-sufficient now and attending physiotherapy daily, but she wasn’t happy that the consultant had said she couldn’t return to work until the beginning of June.

  On Friday night the two of them had collected Mary from Chigwell train station at nine-thirty, but even though she’d passed her course in the top five of the cohort by achieving an exceptional score she had a face like a bag of onions.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Richards?’ he’d asked her on Saturday morning while they were sat at the breakfast table eating toast with butter and lime marmalade.

  She had her chin in her hands st
aring into a mug of herbal tea. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘It can’t be the Crime Channel, because you’ve got full access again.’ A light came on in his head. ‘You’ve met someone, haven’t you?’

  She began sobbing, which wasn’t really the response he expected.

  ‘He finished with me when the course ended. He said he was married with a child. He used me. Men are so horrible.’

  ‘Tell me his name, I know some people.’

  She forced a smile. ‘That won’t make me feel better, will it? I’ll still have a broken heart.’

  ‘You’ll get over it, Richards. I hear that Paul Toadstone, the dashing hero who saved your boss’s life, is still looking for a beautiful woman to wine and dine.’

  ‘Stop trying to palm me off with an ugly person, Sir. If you remember I was there, and he fainted after he shot Ruben Millhaven.’

  ‘He still had the balls to pick up the gun, aim and fire it, and save my life into the bargain, so in my book he’s a hero. When the time came he stood up to be counted. What more could you ask of a man?’

  ‘Paul’s a dear friend, but that’s all. Stop trying to fix me up with him.’

  ‘Just trying to be helpful, Richards.’

  ‘I’m going back to bed,’ she said, and spent most of the weekend in her room nursing a broken heart.

  He’d also noticed that she was still having the nightmares, but she refused to talk about it either with him or her mother, Angie, and he made a mental note to talk to the psychotherapist today about getting her back into counselling.

  He returned to the present and took a slurp of his four-sugared coffee. ‘I hate child cases, Chief.’