by Ellis, Tim
Richards began clearing her throat.
Parish glanced at her. ‘Are you coming down with something?’
‘No,’ she said, cocking her head towards Christie.
He turned back to the bodybuilder and saw what Richards was making a scene about. ‘Do you want to put that away, Mr Christie? You’re making my partner laugh.’
Christie peered down between his open legs. ‘Oops!’ He stood up and tucked his penis inside his shorts. ‘Sorry about that. I’ll go and put my tracksuit bottoms on.’ He left the room.
‘Trust you to spot that, Richards.’
‘It’s not my fault. It was just dangling there like a dead snake. Did you see the size of it?’
‘Size is irrelevant. It’s what you can do with it that matters.’
‘Someone with a tiny one would say that.’
‘Excuse me! How...?’
Christie came back in wearing tracksuit bottoms. ‘Yeah, sorry again. I was working out, and you surprised me.’ He sat back down in the chair he’d been sitting in. ‘Nadine comes from Torquay. I phoned her mum earlier – her father’s dead – but her mum is catching the train here. I said there was no rush, it’s not as if anyone can do anything, is it?’
‘Someone needs to identify the body.’
‘I’ll do that, if it’s okay with you?’
Parish nodded. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Is she bad? I mean, did the killer touch her face?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘She was obsessed with her looks, especially her eyes. Her eyes were insured, you know.’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘Half a million pounds. And before you start investigating me, I’m not even mentioned in her will. Neither is her mum. I think it all goes to some charity.’
‘Her mum gets nothing?’
‘No. They never spoke. Something about her childhood, but I don’t know what. Nadine and I have only been together for about two months. I suppose I’ll have to pack my stuff and find somewhere else to live now.’
‘What about Nadine’s friends?’
‘She didn’t have many. People used to call her the marmite girl – you either liked her or hated her. Sadly, many chose to hate her. If I’m being honest, she wasn’t a very pleasant person. She used to look down her nose at everyone – including me.’
‘Why did you stay with her?’
He shrugged. ‘It was mainly physical. She was certainly good in bed, and she supported me financially when I couldn’t get modelling work, but she made me pay her back with interest though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I had to be at her beck and call twenty-four hours a day. Whatever she wanted, I had to provide. I was her slave, and she milked it for everything it was worth.’
‘Did she have many enemies?’
He let out a laugh. ‘Oh yes. The people who chose to hate her far exceeded the people who liked her. Nadine would trample over anybody to get to where she was going. She had no time for the little people. Listen, if you want to know about Nadine Chryst, you should speak to her one and only friend – Katey Lees. They were like sisters, texting each other all the time, going on shopping trips together, sharing boyfriends in bed...’
‘You mean...?’
‘Yes. There were occasions when I had to satisfy them both... Katey’s got her own Spanish footballer as well. To be brutally honest again, neither of them were very nice people.’
‘I see. So, you were in Bedford last night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nadine was here alone?’
‘As far as I know.’
Parish said, ‘We’ll check her telephone records.’
Richards wrote it in her notebook.
‘Do you know anything about her past boyfriends?’
‘She didn’t keep them long.’
‘No names?’
‘No.’
‘What about over-zealous fans or stalkers?’
‘She didn’t tell me if there were, but... she received a letter the other day. I have no idea what it said. She tore it up into tiny little pieces, and threw it in the bin underneath the sink in the kitchen. Whether it’s relevant, I don’t know.’
‘Can you think of anyone who would want to kill her?’
‘I think there were a lot of people who wanted to see her dead, but I don’t think any of them would go as far as to have killed her.’
‘Did you know she’d had an abortion recently?’
Christie’s face drained of colour. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘Did she have a diary, or an appointments/address book?’
Christie nodded. ‘Both. Certainly a diary – she was already planning her autobiography.’
‘Could you get them for us? And we’ll also need the addresses of her insurers and Katey Lees.’
‘I think I can find them.’
‘Thank you.’
Christie left the room.
‘What do you think, Sir?’
‘I think I’m in the wrong profession.’
‘Maybe we could play ourselves in a television series. Something like: Murder, They Solved, or Hoddesdon Five-O, or Richards and Parish, or....’
Parish laughed. ‘I think you’ve made a slight mistake there.’
‘I don’t think so. As the better looking and more photogenic of the two of us my name should appear first.’
‘You’d just be eye candy, window dressing, someone for the male viewers to fantasise about. Whereas, not only would I be the hunk to cater for the female viewers, but I’d also be running the investigations and coming up with the breakthroughs that would lead to us solving the cases.’
‘As if. Not only would I be a worldwide pin-up, but I’d also be the brains behind our partnership. People would see that I let you take the credit for all my hard work and brilliant deductions...’
‘I think this TV show idea is already in trouble.’
‘You’re just jealous because people like me better than they like...’
Christie returned carrying two small books and passed them to Parish. ‘Her current diary and appointments/address book. There are other diaries in the study. Both the addresses you wanted are in the address book.’
Parish stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Christie. I’ll get the mortuary at King George Hospital to contact you about identifying the body.’
‘I’ll get back to my workout then,’ Christie said wandering out of the room. ‘The people in white suits are in the bedroom,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Thanks.’
He passed the diary and address book to Richards. ‘Come on, Little Miss Pin-up, let’s go and talk to forensics.’
‘I’m more than just a beautiful body, you know.’
‘So you keep telling me. Now, I’m waiting for the evidence to back that statement up.’
***
‘You can drive, Stick.’ She threw the keys in the air, but they fell through his fingers, and he had to pick them up from the muddy ground.
‘Can’t you do anything right?’
‘I make birds and animals.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘When I’m not being a detective, I carve animals out of wood. Do you want to see some photographs?’
‘Are you crazy? No I don’t want to see any fucking photographs! Just drive the car. We’ll go and see the Judge first. May as well keep to the timeline.’
Stick checked the address in his notebook, and then keyed the postcode into the onboard satnav. ‘It’ll take us about twenty-five minutes to get there,’ he said.
‘It’ll take us a lot fucking longer if you don’t put the car into gear and get going.’
He headed towards the A414 along Bobbingworth Mill. As he drove he pulled half a dozen Polaroid photographs out of his inside jacket pocket and passed them to her. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to look, but if you change your mind...’
‘As that bitch Thatcher once said, “The
lady’s not for...” Hey, these are pretty fucking good. You didn’t do these.’
‘All my own work.’
‘Where were you before you came here?’
‘The Met.’
‘As a detective?’
‘Yes, but in Special Ops.’
She swivelled her head to stare at him. ‘Special Ops! Doing what?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘You can’t fucking tell me? I’m your partner for fuck’s sake. I’ll get it out of you, Stick.’
‘Only if you marry me.’
‘What? Are you fucking proposing to me on our first day of working together?’
‘No, that’s not what I meant. If we were married I could tell you, because spouses can’t be made to testify against their other half.’
‘Your mind works in mysterious ways, Stick.’
‘So, you like the animals?’
‘I hate to boost your already inflated ego, but I think they’re fucking brilliant. What do you do with them once you’ve finished them?’
‘You’re not working undercover for the Inland Revenue, are you?’
‘Am I fuck. Why?’
‘I sell them. Most of the animals are made to order.’
‘You mean people actually buy them off you?’
‘They send me pictures of their favourite pets, and I re-create them in wood.’
‘Go on, tell me how much?’
‘The bigger ones – like the eagle – I charge a thousand pounds. The smaller ones – like the tortoise – I charge five hundred pounds. It also depends on the degree of difficulty as well.’
‘A couple a year?’
‘A couple of hundred a year.’
‘What the hell are you doing working as a stupid detective?’
‘I like being a stupid detective.’
‘You’re a fucking masochist, Stick.’
‘They say it takes all types.’
‘And I guess they’re right. So, why did you transfer from the Met?’
‘I don’t think they appreciated my finer qualities.’
‘You’ll be telling me next that you actually have some finer qualities. So, stop messing about, and tell me what you did in Special Ops?’
‘Sorry. I had to sign the Official Secrets Act.’
‘I hate secrets being kept from me. I’m going to make your life a living hell until you tell me, Stick.’
‘I know, Sarge.’
They arrived at 15 Larchwood Gardens in Pilgrims Hatch at twelve fifteen. The house overlooked the village green and close by was the Rose and Crown.
‘Let’s eat before we go and see Judge Boyd. And seeing as you’re a fucking multi-millionaire, you can pay. In fact, you can pay for all my lunches from now on. I’d hate Her Majesty’s Inspector of Taxes to find out about your little scam on the side.’
‘If we were married, you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about that either.’
‘Will you stop proposing to me, you pervert. There’s more chance of me being abducted by aliens than of you and I ever getting hitched. Christ! You are one crazy bastard if you think I’d look at you once, never mind twice. Get in that fucking pub and get your wallet out.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
***
Yasmin Milford-Connor didn’t usually attend crime scenes. She had eighteen months left until she retired, and then she could focus on her painting. Everyone who saw her watercolours said she could have been a contender – a painter of renown, exhibited at the Royal Academy, been another LS Lowrie. Instead, she’d devoted her life to science, and painting was merely a hobby.
‘We don’t often see you out of the lab, Yasmin,’ Parish said.
They were in the bedroom. The decor was white. The bedding was white. The floor was parquet. There was a stanchion in the middle of the room, but whether it was needed to hold up the roof – Parish had no idea.
‘They came to me, caps in hand like urchins. “Please, Yasmin”, they said. Everyone knows I don’t go out in the field anymore, yet here I am – out in the field.’
‘Not a bad field to be in though.’
‘I’ve been in worse.’
‘You’ve met Constable Richards?’
‘Not had the pleasure.’
They nodded at each other. There was no hand shaking at a crime scene.
‘So, cutting through the pleasantries, have you found anything I can use?’
‘Here we go. This is why I don’t go out into the field anymore. You need me to find forensic evidence, I can’t find any, you look at me as if it’s my fault, I’m riddled with guilt, have trouble sleeping at night, start getting migraines, palpitations and stomach cramps...’
‘I’m sorry I asked.’
‘You’re not. All you want is for me to tell you I’ve found something useful.’
‘And have you?’
‘Yes.’
‘All’s well that end’s well then.’
‘There was a struggle...’
‘Can we start from the beginning? How did he get in?’
‘Forced entry through the patio doors.’
‘Isn’t there an alarm system?’
‘A sophisticated one.’
‘And?’
‘It was activated at three twenty seven, and deactivated at three thirty.’
‘He knew the code number?’
‘It would appear so. There is another explanation though... He made the victim deactivate the alarm. I’ve had some people try to do that, but they can’t realistically get below five minutes.’
‘It’s a past boyfriend, isn’t it Sir?’ Richards said.
‘We need to find out who knew the code for the alarm. I take it that was the “something useful”, Yasmin?’
‘Oh, you want more? That’s right heap the guilt on me because I could only find you one thing. God, you detectives make me cringe – I’ll be glad when I don’t have to pretend I like doing this anymore.’
‘So, there was a struggle...?’
‘The alarm is a silent alarm. It activates at the security company’s premises. If it’s turned off shortly after activation they ignore it. They probably figured the lady had been out on the town, and returned in the middle of the night.’
‘The struggle...?’
‘I’m getting there. You said you wanted me to start at the beginning. So, the lady was in bed. She wouldn’t have heard the break-in, or the alarm. He makes his way up to her bedroom. She wakes up and there’s a struggle. He hits her, and there are a few spots of blood on the bottom sheet to support that conclusion. She’s now unconscious. The nightdress she’s wearing is ripped off and thrown on the floor next to the bed where we found it. He then dresses her in clothes that he finds hanging up in her wardrobe – the door of which he leaves open. Then, he throws her over his shoulder and carries her off into the night.’
‘The left side of her face was bruised and swollen suggesting that she had been hit. She also wasn’t wearing shoes, knickers, or a coat. Have you found her handbag and mobile?’
‘Yes, we’ve taken the mobile into custody.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Yasmin. You’ve been most helpful. We’ll be downstairs if you find anything else.’
‘You always want more. It’s no wonder my ulcers are playing up.’
They made their way down the stairs, and found a sweating and grunting Christie pumping iron in the gym.
‘Mr Christie, do you know the security code number?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Besides Nadine and yourself, did anyone else know it?’
‘I think Katey knew it.’
‘What about past boyfriends?’
‘Well, I assume that if I know the code the others did as well.’
‘Surely she must have changed it after parting with each boyfriend?’ Richards said.
Christie shrugged. ‘She didn’t change it in the two months I’ve been living here.’
‘I don’t suppose you know any of her past boyfriends?’
‘They’re in her diaries. I know I’m in the latest one... Except... she used the names of Greek and Roman gods to disguise who she was talking about. I’m Cratos by the way – god of strength and power.’
‘I don’t suppose she has a legend somewhere that tells us the real name of each god?’
He shrugged again. ‘Diaries, and what was in them, was not a topic of conversation. One time, she just told me the name she’d used for me, and that was as far as it went.’
‘You never looked in her diaries?’
‘What do you take me for? And apart from that, she made it crystal clear that they were off limits.’
‘We’ll need the rest of her diaries.’
‘All of them?’
‘How many are there?’
‘One for each year since she was eight years old.’
‘Probably the last five years then.’
They followed him into a room fitted out like a library. He scooped up five identical black books from a shelf and offered them to Parish.
‘You haven’t got a bag, have you?’
He left them standing there. After a handful of minutes he came back with the diaries in a plastic supermarket bag and passed them to Richards.
‘Am I finished?’
‘I think so,’ Parish said. ‘Thanks, you’ve been very helpful.’
He left them to return to his workout.
‘Go back upstairs and tell Yasmin that I want the diaries taken into custody. I’d also like the whole house searched for a list of Greek/Roman gods and men’s names written against them. Lastly, tell her about the letter torn to shreds in the bin under the kitchen sink.’
‘I’ve got the feeling she’s not going to be happy.’
‘Yasmin has never been happy. Don’t worry about her.’
He wandered into the hallway and waited for Richards to return. Without knowing who the god’s names referred to, the diaries wouldn’t be much help. He wondered whether Katey Lees might know – that would have to be their next stop.
‘I was right, she hates us both now.’
‘We’ll grab some lunch, and then go and visit Katey Lees.’
‘You think the killer is named in the diaries?’ Richards asked as they made their way out to the car.