by Ellis, Tim
She walked along the corridor to the squad room. On her desk was a message from Chief Kowalski: “Press briefing organised for nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Email me the details of the case tonight, so that we can agree what you’re going to say. Also, a DI Carter is arriving at ten o’clock in the morning, show her every courtesy.”
‘Fuck, and double fuck!’
She sat down at her desk and logged into the computer. This was the worst day she’d had in a long time. On the one hand, she was over the moon about running her own investigation. But on the other, she’d lost the man who had been keeping her out of the funny farm. She’d acquired the weirdest fucking partner in the whole police force, and the investigation she thought was hers was about to be taken over by someone who bottled water for a fucking living. God, life sucked.
***
Richards pulled into the driveway of 38 Puck Road at five past seven. The front door was wide open, and Digby was sitting on the hall mat wagging his tail and barking.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Parish said getting out of the car, and looking around for Angie.
The dog ran out to greet him.
‘Hello boy,’ he said rubbing his head. ‘Where’s mummy?’
Digby barked.
‘Why is the door open?’ Richards asked.
‘You should be a detective asking questions like that.’
They went inside and shut the door.
‘Angie?’ he called.
‘Mum?’
‘You look down here, I’ll look upstairs.’ He took the stairs two at a time. Jack was red-faced in his cot, and had clearly been crying for some time. He picked his son up and began rocking him.
‘Angie,’ he called as he went through into their bedroom and bathroom. The place was a mess.
‘Is mum up here?’ Richards asked as she came up the stairs.
‘No.’
‘It looked like she was lying on the sofa in the living room.’
‘Any evidence of a struggle?’
‘Not that I can see.’
‘Has she taken her coat, her bag, or her mobile?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And?’
She ran back downstairs.
Parish followed her carrying a snivelling Jack on his shoulder.
‘Everything’s here. Her coat is in the cupboard, and… God, he stinks.’
‘I know. He hasn’t been changed for a while.’
‘Her bag’s still on the side in the kitchen with her mobile and her keys. You don’t think…?’
‘What?’
‘…It’s something to do with that woman… your mum?’
‘Let’s just call her the murdered woman, shall we? Why would the killer snatch Angie? And why would they leave Jack? No, in my opinion the two events are unrelated. Let’s keep it simple for the time being.’
‘Where is she then? Why would she go out without her coat on? It’s freezing out there. Why would she leave her things if she weren’t abducted? Why…?’
‘All good questions.’ He thrust the baby at her. ‘Look after Jack. I’m going to take Digby and do a local search for her…’
She started gagging. ‘Oh God… wouldn’t you be better searching for her in the car?’
‘If she’s out there, she’s on foot – her keys and car are still here.’
‘She could be anywhere though. What about…?’
‘And ring Kristina… the Duty Sergeant, tell her what’s happened. Ask her to send a couple of squad cars to search the area.’
‘Okay. I’ll ring that midwife – Marveen Hollingsworth – as well, and see if she knows anything.’
‘Good idea. You want to change Jack first though, before you pass out from the noxious fumes.’
Her eyes creased up. ‘How come I’ve been left to change him? He’s your baby, and…’
‘Right, got to go. I’ll ring you if I find her, and you ring me with any news. Keep the doors locked… just in case your first suggestion was right.’
‘Oh, okay.’
He hurried out into the darkness fearing the worst. ‘Which way did mummy go, Digby old fella?’
The dog pulled him to the right.
He probably should have brought a torch, a rucksack, Angie’s coat, and a hoard of other things. What the hell was going on? He’d been right to be worried about her. Was he too late? Tears welled in his eyes. Had she simply walked out into the night as he thought? Was she just wandering aimlessly? Richards was right – it was bloody freezing. If she was outside, he needed to find her soon – she wouldn’t last long outside without a coat in this temperature.
***
She’d woken up and knew that she had to get out of the house. It wasn’t her home, it wasn’t her baby, and it wasn’t her life anymore. She was a fake, an impostor, somebody living a lie.
Outside the house she turned right and walked up Puck Road onto Vicarage Lane. There, she turned left. She kept on walking until she reached the A113, and turned left again.
If someone had stopped her and asked her where she was going she wouldn’t have been able to say, but she knew she was going somewhere. When she got there, she’d know – of that she was certain.
She walked past all the expensive houses with their swimming pools – houses that had names like Little Haylands, Hilltop, Haydens Cottage, Radley Cottage, and The Limes. There was the Village Stores on her right, the Church House, and the Rectory. She walked past all of them – unseeing. Before she reached Ye Olde Kings Head, she turned right into the grounds of St Mary the Virgin Church. She didn’t go inside the church – there was nothing for her in there. She took the path to the left, the one that led through the woods to High Road Cemetery.
Yes, that was where she should be. That Kincaid woman had killed her. Why was she walking around pretending to be alive? She wasn’t alive anymore – she was dead. She died in Wormley Wood – Angela Parish, RIP.
It took her some time, but eventually she found an empty grave – her grave. She knew that this was where she was meant to be. This time, they would leave her to rest in peace. Nobody would dig her up again – to be someone who was undead. Yes, that’s what she’d been since they’d brought her back to life – a corpse looking for a grave. Well, now she’d found one.
The dirt from the grave had been piled up on a tarpaulin at the side. She took hold of the far corners of the tarpaulin and jumped into the deep hole. It wrenched her shoulders and arms, but she held on tight. She pulled and pulled until eventually the dirt and the darkness cascaded down on top of her, and then it was done.
Now, she felt at home.
***
‘Are you still here, Sarge?’
She leaned back in her chair. ‘No, I’ve been abducted by aliens from the planet Zargon. You’re a fucking dork, Stick.’
‘Do you need any help?’
‘You’d be more of a hindrance than a help. Go home before I change my mind. Oh, there is one thing...’
‘Yes?’
‘What did you do in Special Ops?’
‘Goodnight, Sarge.’
‘Goodnight, Stick.’
All her insults seemed to bounce off him. It was like he was Teflon-coated, which only made her insult him more.
Where the fuck was the Chief? She’d sent him what she planned to say, which wasn’t a great deal. What could she say? We’ve found eleven bodies in the garden of 117 Hobbs Cross, which appear to have been buried there between 1997 and 2010. The current occupants of the house – Mr and Mrs David Rushforth – are in no way connected to this discovery. We’ve identified one of the bodies as eighteen year-old Belarus exchange student Petra Loyer, who went missing on 30th May 2002. As yet, we have no suspects, but investigations are ongoing. Now, fuck off and leave me alone. She smiled. She wouldn’t say the final bit, but it was a nice idea.
The Chief didn’t seem to be at the other end of the computer hanging on her every word, and she wasn’t going to sit there like a statue waiting for him to g
et back to her. If he wanted to comment she’d read it in the morning. She held her finger on the off button – bollocks to logging out, and then switched the monitor off.
Tomorrow was another day. She collected up her coat and bag and headed for the stairs.
No fucking suspects! That was a first. A million people connected with the house and no suspects. She’d have to sleep on that one. Who the hell had been burying bodies at 117 Hobbs Cross?
***
His phone started playing Crazy Frog.
Digby was dragging him along Vicarage Road. They weren’t far away from the roundabout on the A113.
‘Hello, Ray.’
‘Have you forgotten to tell me something?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just because I’m the Chief doesn’t mean we’re not mates anymore. If I thought that I’d give up the day job, and I know Jerry would back me.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Sergeant Jackson rang me.’
‘Ah.’
‘I’ve just arrived outside your house. Where are you?’
‘I’m on foot with Digby just coming up to the A113.’
‘I’m on my way.’
‘Can you check on Richards first? I’ll be walking along the A113 towards the town centre.’
‘Okay.’
Digby seemed to have Angie’s scent. He had his nose to the ground, kept sniffing and wagging his tail.
He’d been walking for over an hour now. Angie must be freezing. Where the hell had she gone? Apart from all the expensive houses and the Village Stores, there was only the church on the A113. Is that where she was going? Was she going anywhere? She wasn’t religious, why would she go to the church? God, if only he’d seen the signs earlier. Maybe he had, but ignored them. It was his fault. If he carried out a post mortem it would probably reveal that he’d been too wrapped up in his job to notice that his wife was falling into the abyss.
His phone rang again.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s me.’
‘And?’
‘What’s happening?’
‘You tell me?’
‘I changed Jack and fed him – he’s sleeping peacefully now. Chief Kowalski has just been, and he’s on his way to help you. Sergeant Jackson rang to tell me that they’ve picked up John Frankl, and he’s locked in a cell waiting to be interviewed.’
‘It doesn’t look as though we’re going to get a chance to interview him tonight.’
‘She also wants to know whether she should keep the two uniforms on his flat.’
‘I don’t see any alternative. Ring her back and tell her yes. She knows the situation we’re in.’
‘And I rang the midwife.’
‘Yes?’
‘She said she was worried about mum, and she could be suffering from post-natal depression.’
‘What the hell’s that?’
‘Well… I suppose it’s depression… I don’t know, but she’s coming to help as well.’
‘That’s good of her.’
‘Yes. What’s happening with you?’
‘Nothing. Digby seems to know where he’s going. We’re walking along the A113 towards… wait. I see a squad car with its lights flashing… I’ll call you back.’
He hurried on.
Chapter Eight
Constables Tom Holt and Dorothy Digby – Digger to everyone who knew her – were patrolling Chigwell in the Ford Mondeo as instructed by Sergeant Jackson. They’d been sent a photograph – via the onboard computer - of Mrs Parish, so they knew who they were looking for.
And it was only by chance that Digger turned the corner out of Roding Lane onto the A113 when they did and saw DI Parish’s wife disappear round the side of St Mary the Virgin Church.
‘Call it in,’ Tom Holt said. He’d been on the job six months more than Digger so he had the seniority to issue orders – up to a point. Digger was nobody’s fool, but in this instance she did as she was told. ‘Stop outside the church. I’ll follow on foot. Put the flashers on, lock the car, and follow me.’
She skidded to a halt. ‘Go, before you lose her,’ she said, pushing him out of the passenger door. She called it in and followed her partner, but he was nowhere to be found.
‘Tom,’ she hissed, but there was no answer. Tom, where the hell are you?’ There was still no response.
She wondered if this situation was more than it was meant to be, and took out her baton just in case. The stab vest gave her some comfort, as long as there were no guns involved. What was DI Parish’s wife doing in a graveyard in the middle of the night for goodness sake? Maybe she was a drug dealer, a kingpin, or an assassin. Was it a drug exchange? Where had Tom got to? Maybe the gang was using him as a hostage, a human shield. She’d have to choose between Tom and her strong sense of justice. What choice would she make? Would she sacrifice her partner to arrest the criminals? She’d get a commendation, maybe a bravery award…
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Tom said as he came up behind her.
‘Jesus fucking wept. Are you crazy? I nearly died then.’
‘Stop being a mard-arse.’
‘Well, where is she?’
‘Haven’t got a clue. One minute she was there, the next she was gone.’ He pointed with his torch. ‘I saw her over there.’
They wove their way through the gravestones.
‘Well?’ Digger asked, shining her torch around the area. ‘Traipsing around a graveyard in the dark is not my idea of fun, Tom.’
‘I don’t know. That’s what I was saying. One minute here, I blinked and she was gone.’
The only thing of any note was a half-filled grave. She shone her torch into the grave. ‘You don’t think…?’
‘Surely not…?’ but Tom Holt didn’t know for sure. He jumped into the grave and started scooping out dirt with his bare hands.
Digger kept the torch shining down on him, so that he could see what he was doing.
***
He reached the police car with its flashing lights and found it empty. Kowalski pulled up behind the squad car and got out.
‘I’ve just had a call from Sergeant Jackson. She said that Holt and Digby – not your dog – have followed Angie into the graveyard.’
‘What the hell is she doing in the graveyard?’
Kowalski pulled his collar up ‘The only way to find out is to follow them.’
Digby led. Kowalski brought up the rear. It took them about five minutes to navigate through the woods without a torch, which neither of them had thought to bring along.
‘Holt?’ Kowalski called once they were in the graveyard.
‘Over here,’ a female voice came out of the darkness.
They stumbled through the undergrowth and eventually found Holt and Digby hauling Angie out of the grave.
Digby barked and wagged his tail.
‘What…?’ Parish started to say, but he knew explanations could wait. Only Angie would be able to provide the answers to the questions that were ticker-taping through his mind.
‘I can’t find a pulse,’ Holt said gasping for air. ‘And she’s not breathing.’
Digger began doing mouth to mouth resuscitation and chest compressions.
Kowalski helped Tom Holt out of the grave, and then called for an ambulance.
‘She must have fallen into the grave, and then the dirt caved in on top of her. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I can’t think of any other explanation.’
Parish dropped to his knees in tears and took Angie’s hand in his own good one. ‘Oh Angie, what have you done?’ he said under his breath. He knew there was another explanation, but he didn’t want to voice it out loud.
Digger kept on trying to resuscitate Angie, and Holt took a turn once he’d brought his own breathing under control.
Digby didn’t bark, and his tail wasn’t wagging.
The paramedics arrived within ten minutes and took over. Digger explained what they had done so far.
‘You’ve probably
saved her life,’ the female paramedic said.
There were two of them, one either side, working like parts of the same machine. Within minutes they had an endotracheal tube inserted in her throat and an airbag attached to the end. They’d pulled Angie’s blouse apart, injected her heart with adrenaline, and used the mobile defibrillator to shock it back to life. An intravenous cannula attached to a bag of Hartmann’s Solution had opened up a line to the inside of her body through a vein in the back of her hand.
‘Okay,’ the female paramedic said. ‘She’s back in the land of the living, but still unconscious. I can’t say anything about what she’ll be like if she wakes up...’
Parish clambered up with Kowalski’s help. ‘What do you mean, “If she wakes up”?’
‘Hey, let’s not run before we can walk. We don’t know how long she wasn’t breathing for, and I don’t have to tell you what happens when the brain is starved of oxygen.’ She touched his arm. ‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we? The body’s a miracle of engineering, and it ain’t worth second-guessing God’s machine.’
‘Where are you taking her?’
‘King George Hospital.’
He passed Digby’s lead to Kowalski. ‘Can you take him home? I’ll go with Angie.’
‘Sure.’
He bent and stroked the dog’s head. ‘Good boy.’
Angie was all wrapped up and strapped onto a stretcher. He started to follow the paramedics as they threaded their way through the gravestones, and then turned back.
‘Thanks for your help,’ he said to Holt and Digger. ‘Your actions probably saved my wife’s life. I’ll make sure you get a commendation.’
‘All in a day’s work,’ Digger said.
Holt nudged her. ‘I hope she’s all right, Sir.’
Digger nudged him back. ‘Yeah, we both do.’
‘If she’s not, it won’t be through any fault of yours,’ he said.