by Ellis, Tim
‘If he is, it won’t do us much good unless we can find out who she named each god for.’
As Richards started the car up and keyed in Katey Lees’ postcode, Parish’s phone rang.
‘Parish.’
‘You have to help me.’
‘Who is this?’
‘I’m your mother...’
The line went dead.
His heart was doing the tango.
‘Who was that?’
‘Someone who thought I was her son.’
Chapter Four
‘Thanks, Stick,’ Xena said, as they left the Rose and Crown in Pilgrims Hatch and walked across the road to 15 Larchwood Gardens.
‘You’re welcome, Sarge.’
She let out a laugh. ‘I doubt that. So, where do you stash all your money?’
‘Are you going to marry me?’
‘If you propose to me one more time, I’m going to cut your dick off and shove it in your mouth.’
‘Well, don’t ask me about my money then. I’ll only tell my wife where I keep my money.’
‘That’s the worst possible person you could tell. She’d kill you while you slept, and then run off with the proceeds.’
‘Is that what you’d do?’
‘You remind me of one of those persistent fucking vultures hopping from branch to branch in a dead tree on a desolate landscape waiting for someone to die. You’ve even got the long neck and protruding Adam’s apple just like them. Stop thinking about me as in any way connected to your situation. If you’re lying in bed I wouldn’t be anywhere fucking near you.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’
The door opened. A tall grey-haired man wearing green corduroy trousers, a checked shirt and a cardigan filled the opening.
‘Detective Sergeant Blake and partner to see yourself and the Judge, please,’ Xena said showing her warrant card.
‘About the bodies?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’d better come in then.’
He led them through a long hallway into a spacious living room. The far wall was made up of five floor to ceiling Georgian doors, which Xena guessed folded together to open up the whole wall. There was a brown leather sofa; a floral upholstered chair, and another leather chair with a pouf that must have come from a different suite. None of the wooden furniture matched either. She wondered how the rich people got away with it. The whole room looked like a junk shop.
‘Refreshments?’ Mr Boyd asked.
‘Thanks all the same, but we stopped off at the Rose and Crown to fill up.’
He nodded. ‘Good choice. The food in there is edible.’
The Judge was standing by the window looking out at her wind buffeted roses. ‘I don’t see how we can help you, Detective. We brought all our skeletons with us when we left that house.’
‘This house is a bit smaller,’ Xena observed.
‘We’re both retired now. We decided that we didn’t need something that big anymore, so we downsized. We’re happy here. This house is a lot more manageable.’
‘You sold your previous house in 1999. The pathologist has informed us that some of the bodies date from around 1997.’
The Boyds glanced at each other, and the judge shrugged. ‘There wasn’t a patio there then, you know...’ Her eyes opened wide. ‘Wait... We have some photographs... Remember, Luke?’
‘I think you’re right, dear. The question is, where are they?’ He stood up rubbing his chin, then wandered out of the room like a man on a mission.
‘Luke will find them. He should have been a detective, he’s good at finding lost objects.’
‘He didn’t find the bodies,’ Stick pointed out.
‘Neither did a lot of other people, Detective.’
‘And we do a bit more than find lost objects,’ Xena said. ‘What cases did you deal with, Judge?’
‘I was a High Court Judge sitting in the Crown Court. I dealt with the more serious criminal cases our society had to offer.’
Xena’s brow furrowed. ‘Do you think these bodies are anything to do with your work?’
‘You think someone buried all their dirty washing in my rose garden? Why? What possible reason could anyone have for doing that, and then keeping quiet about it?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s another dark alleyway we’ll have to explore. I suppose what I’ll need from you now is a complete list of the cases you dealt with between 1995 and 2000, then we’ll examine whether any of the bodies are connected to them.’
‘That’s a simple matter.’
Xena passed her card over. ‘Disregard the address and telephone number, I’m at Hoddesdon now, but I’m still using the same email. Can you send the list to that email address?’
‘I can do that, Detective.’
Luke Boyd came back into the room carrying a photograph album. ‘In one of the boxes under the stairs, dear,’ he said to his wife. He waved the album at Xena and sat down on the sofa. ‘In the days before digital cameras,’ e explained. Opening up the album, he showed her four pictures of a rose garden at the back of the house. In one picture was a man in a pair of blue coveralls leaning on a hoe who was the spitting image of the actor Charles Bronson. ‘That’s the gardener Ignacio.’
Stick’s eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t mention a gardener.’
‘I’d forgotten all about him,’ the Judge said. ‘Yes, he used to come and look after my roses three times a week. Remember, at that time, we were both working long exhausting hours. Neither of us had much time – even at the weekends.’
‘What did you do, Mr Boyd?’ Stick asked.
‘An accountant, I’m afraid.’
‘If we could stick with the gardener,’ Xena said. ‘Any idea where this Ignacio is now?’
Judge Boyd shook her head. ‘No idea. It’s not as if we frequented the same social circles, and since we moved away… Well, he could be anywhere. I do recall he was Mexican, and I believe he ran his own business. Do you remember what it was called, dear?’
Luke Boyd rolled his eyes. ‘I can see the monthly payments on the bank statement in my mind’s eye... Romero & Son – Ignacio Romero – that was it.’
‘Do you mind if we take the photographs with us?’ Stick said.
‘We’ll get them back once you’ve finished with them?’ Mr Boyd asked.
‘Of course.’
After pulling the photographs out of their plastic envelopes, Mr Boyd passed them to Stick.
‘Thank you. I have one more question…’
‘Come on DC Gilbert, I think we’ve bothered the Judge and her husband enough for one day.’
‘Where’s the conservatory?’
***
‘Oh God, Sir! Your mother?’
‘Let’s not get carried away, Richards. It could have been a hoax, a mistake, or even a joke.’ He rang forensics.
‘Hoddesdon...’
‘It’s DI Parish. Can I speak to someone in computers... it’s urgent.’
‘Erin Donnelly.’
‘Erin, it’s DI Parish. Someone just rang my mobile. I need to find out who it was?’
‘One moment, Sir.’
He heard click clacking.
‘An unregistered number. I have a location.’
‘Where?’
‘Redbridge Council Offices.’
His heart skipped a beat. That’s where it had all begun. ‘Thanks, Erin. Can you connect me to the Duty Sergeant?’
He told Richards to head towards Redbridge.
The extension rang twice.
‘Sergeant Jackson.’
‘Kristina, it’s Parish. I’ve just had a phone call on my mobile from a woman who could be in trouble at Redbridge Council Offices. Have you got a patrol car nearby?’
‘Wait...’
He waited less than a minute.
‘Constables Kathy Proudfoot and Steve Hart are on their way.’
‘Richards and I are about thirty minutes away. When they get there can one of them ring me and let me know what’s going on
? It might very well be a bee in a bottle.’
‘Will do.’
The call ended.
‘Do you think it was...’
‘I don’t think anything.’
‘How did the woman get your number?’
‘That wouldn’t be too hard.’
‘What did she say exactly?’
‘That I had to help her, and then the line went dead.’
‘Who else would know about your mother?’
‘Stop talking, Richards.’
He needed to think. No one else would know about his mother. She would probably know who he was, but he had no idea about her. Maybe she’d been in the shadows, watching him his whole life. Maybe... It was all speculation. The woman who’d rung him was probably a crazy person, an escapee from a secure unit, someone who hadn’t taken her medication. He’d get to Redbridge and find that it had been a wasted journey. What was taking Proudfoot and Hart so long? Why hadn’t they rung him? How far away had they been? Should he ring Kristina again and find out...
His phone rang.
‘Parish.’
‘It’s Constable Proudfoot, Sir.’
‘What’s going on, Constable?’
‘There’s a dead woman... in a stairwell. She’s had her throat cut... there’s blood everywhere.’
‘You’re securing the scene?’
‘Of course.’
‘Let Sergeant Jackson know. Ask her to inform forensics. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.’
‘Okay, Sir.’
The call ended.
‘Put your foot down.’
‘Will it make a difference if we get there two minutes earlier?’
‘Your annoying habit of being right is going to get you into trouble one day, Richards.’
***
DS Blake peered at the photographs. ‘My partner raises a good point... Where is the conservatory?’
‘I assume it was built after we’d moved. You’ll have to ask the people who bought the house from us.’
‘Thank you for your time, Judge.’
Outside, Xena said, ‘Well-spotted, Stick. What it means now is that the conservatory has got to come down. This is turning into a case and a half. And in future when I say, “Let’s go” you shut the fuck up and open the door for me – you’re not Columbo, you know.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You know who Columbo was?’
‘The American police Lieutenant?’
‘That’s right. Well, on his way out of the door he used to say, “Oh, one last thing”.’
‘I see.’
‘That was meant to be a fucking joke, and you made me explain my own joke. I hate explaining jokes. If you have to explain jokes, they’re no longer funny.’
‘Like you’re doing now, you mean?’
Xena’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not as gormless as you fucking make out, are you? I can see I’m gonna have to watch the hell out of you.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
She phoned Di Heffernan.
‘Have you got nothing else better to do than annoy decent hard-working people, DS Blake?’
Hmmm, maybe she’d misjudged her. ‘Pull the conservatory down and start digging.’
‘I just knew you were bad news as soon as I saw you.’
‘It was built sometime after the first body was planted. I don’t know when it was built yet, but I’ll find out.’
‘Any other good news?’
‘No, that’s it for now, but I reserve the right to communicate more droplets of joy should circumstances dictate.’
‘I’ll let you know what we find.’
‘I look forward to it.’
The call ended.
‘Why are we still sitting here like fucking petrified monoliths when we should be on our way to King George Hospital?’
Stick turned the engine on. ‘I was waiting for you to...’
‘Waiting for me to what? I’m still waiting for your initiative to make a fucking cameo appearance. Drive for fuck’s sake before you miss your own post mortem.’
He headed out of Pilgrims Hatch on the A128 – Ongar Road, and then took the A12 to Goodmayes.
‘I don’t see how any of the owners of the house could be considered suspects, Sarge. I mean, if the bodies are spread over thirteen years, and none of the owners occupied the house for the whole period, then I don’t see how any of them could be the killer. It’s a possibility that the gardener and his son might be responsible, but then you have to ask why. Maybe, once Doc Paine identifies one or more of the victims, we might be able to make some sense out of it all.’
Xena released the catch at the side of her seat and eased it back. ‘Will you shut the fuck up, I’m trying to catch up on my beauty sleep here.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’
***
They parked in the underground car park at Redbridge Council.
‘This brings back some memories,’ Richards said as they walked up to the main reception.
‘I remember them not liking me here.’
‘Only because the building is full of criminals.’
‘I hope the obese ginger-haired woman isn’t on the reception desk anymore – she particularly didn’t like me.’
‘There’s lots of people who don’t like you, why are you bothered about one person?’
‘What do you mean, “lots of people”? You have a bad habit of exaggerating, Richards.’
‘It seems like a lot...’
When they exited the stairwell into reception Parish expected to see Proudfoot and Hart, but all he saw were old aged pensioners and a fat ginger-haired woman behind the reception desk.
‘Have you seen two police officers and a dead body?’ he asked her.
‘You’re like death – ugly and unwanted.’
‘I see you remember me.’
‘There’s a picture of you in the staff room – we throw darts and other sharp objects at it. Someone has even deposited a nugget of snot on it.’
‘As welcoming and helpful as ever, Astrid.’
‘We have a list of people who we never welcome and help...’
‘Don’t tell me, I’m at the top of the list.’
‘You’re the only one on the list, Inspector Parish.’
She turned away to help an old aged pensioner.
‘You were right, she doesn’t like you.’
‘A combination of bad habits – understating the obvious.’
‘Maybe we should just carry on walking up the stairs?’
‘Yes, maybe we should. Proudfoot did say the body was in a stairwell.’
‘You should have asked her which floor, Sir.’
‘Making helpful comments like that demonstrates how good you’d be as a receptionist. You should see if they have any openings while you’re here.’
‘Its no wonder people don’t like you when you’re so mean.’
They found Proudfoot and Hart in the stairwell on the second floor.
‘You could have put some signs out, Proudfoot. Or told the receptionist where you were.’
‘Sorry, Sir. But there are only two of us. Constable Hart is stopping people coming down the stairs. I’m here stopping people coming up.’
‘No forensics yet?’
Proudfoot made a show of looking about the stairwell. ‘Not unless they’ve discovered the secret of invisibility, Sir.’
‘Sorry, stupid question. Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here?’
Avoiding the river of blood that had pooled in the stairwell beneath the body and ran down four steps, he moved past Proudfoot. As he took out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and put them on he said, ‘What do you see, Richards?’
‘We’re in a stairwell. I don’t see any CCTV cameras.’
‘Good point.’
‘A woman, probably in her early fifties, has had her throat cut. She’s wearing a red dress, a thick coat, stockings, and... I don’t see a handbag.’
‘Another good point. Also, I think she
was phoning me when this happened...’
‘I don’t see a mobile phone either.’
‘No.’ Parish squatted, and began feeling in the woman’s coat pockets. He found one of his business cards.’
‘What’s that, Sir?’
‘My business card. Pass me an evidence bag.’
She did as she was told. ‘Now we know how she found your number.’
‘Yes, but there are a number of things we don’t know. Why did she have my business card? Where did she get it? I didn’t give her the card, so she must have got it from someone that I did give it to – who was that? What else do you see?’
‘Her clothes and high-heel shoes are expensive. Her nail varnish and lipstick match her dress. The motive is unlikely to have been robbery, because she’s wearing an engagement ring with a large diamond, and a gold wedding ring. Also, isn’t that a gold chain around her neck?’
The gaping wound in the woman’s neck welled with blood. The chain was hardly noticeable beneath the copious amounts of coagulating blood that had been absorbed by her red dress.
Parish gently pulled the chain from beneath the victim’s dress. Dangling on the end of the chain was a locket. He pressed the catch and the locket sprung open. Inside were a lock of black hair and a faded black and white photograph of a young woman holding a baby with dark hair.
‘What is it, Sir?’
‘Something that could prove who this woman is. Pass me a tissue and another evidence bag.’
He closed the locket, unhooked the chain from around the woman’s neck and wiped the blood off it with the tissue, and then slipped the chain and locket into the evidence bag.
‘A photograph of a woman with a baby, and possibly a lock of baby hair.’
‘Oh God, Sir! A DNA test would prove whether this woman was your mother or not. And the photograph could be of you and your mum.’
‘Let’s not start jumping to conclusions just yet, Richards.’ He slipped the evidence bag in his pocket. ‘Anything else you’d like to get off your chest about this crime scene?’
‘There doesn’t seem to be a murder weapon.’
‘Okay.’
‘Aren’t you excited about finding out?’