Dead Know Not (9781476316253)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘Well, he was there at the right time. He’ll have a lot of explaining to do.’

  ‘Do you think a half-decent lawyer would be able to offer an alternative explanation for his presence there?’

  ‘Possibly...’

  ‘Have we got CCTV evidence that he killed the woman?’

  ‘Well no, but...’

  ‘Can we see what he’s putting in his jacket?’

  Richards’ eyes narrowed. ‘Are you his defence lawyer?’

  ‘Not yet, but if I was a betting man I could make a killing on his innocence based on the chronic lack of evidence you have.’

  ‘He’ll confess.’

  ‘You’ll present him with the overwhelming evidence against him. He’ll then see that confessing his crime is the only course of action open to him.’

  She pulled into the next layby on the A10. ‘We need to search his flat before we interview him, don’t we?’

  ‘You got there in the end.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just tell me to go straight there?’

  ‘You want me to do your thinking for you? One day, after my walking frame has arrived, you’ll have your very own trainee. Being a detective is more than just collecting clues until the answer becomes obvious, you know. You’re not a player in a game of Cluedo. A brilliant detective – that would be me by the way – thinks through his cases, and navigates a way past the red herrings, down the alleyways, and out of the cul-de-sacs. What I’m doing now is acting as your guide, but that doesn’t mean...’

  ‘...Doing it for me.’

  ‘So, are we going to sit here all morning watching the rain bounce off the windscreen?’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Ah, something else you want me to do for you. Is it me, or have you become a second-rate detective in the last twenty-four hours?’

  ‘Have you got the address, or not?’

  ‘I had the forethought to ring the Duty Sergeant this morning to enquire after Mr Frankl’s wellbeing, and to ascertain his address.’

  ‘You’re my hero.’

  She keyed the address into the satnav as he read it from his notebook.

  ‘Before you go...’

  ‘You want me to ring Paul, don’t you?’

  ‘Why would I want you to do that?’

  ‘Because there are some things we need to find out about both cases before we do other things.’

  ‘Go on then, but put the loudspeaker on.’

  She rang Paul’s mobile number.

  ‘Hello, Mary. How’s your mother?’

  She looked at Parish, and he indicated with a nod of his head for her to tell him.

  ‘I hope she gets better soon,’ he said once she’d told him most of what had happened.

  ‘Right, can we get on, Toadstone?’

  ‘Hello, Sir. I thought you might be there listening.’

  ‘Does it give you a warm glow inside to know that you were right?’

  ‘Do you want to know what I’ve found out?’

  ‘Are eggs, eggs?’

  ‘The lock of black hair matches your DNA profile, but the woman is unrelated to you.’

  ‘Can’t you do anything right, Toadstone?’

  ‘Sorry. But at least you now have evidence you were a baby.’

  ‘Are you sure you have a degree in forensics?’

  They heard laughter at the other end.

  ‘I’ve got my people doing magical things with the photograph that was in the locket. The woman in the picture was not the dead woman, so I’m assuming that she was your mother and that the sweet innocent little cherub...’

  ‘Yes, all right, get to the point.’

  ‘Once we’ve got a workable picture, we’ll run it through the database.’

  ‘Inspector Parish said good work, Paul,’ Richards said. ‘He would have thanked you personally, but he’s overcome by emotion.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘What about the woman’s killer?’ Richards asked.

  ‘Frankl’s clothes have blood and hair on them that match the woman. If that were not enough, his DNA was found on the dead woman. There’s no doubt that he was there, but as I’ve explained before – it’s not actually evidence that he killed the woman.’

  Parish intervened. ‘You’re obviously sitting there counting flies, Toadstone. We’re going over to Frankl’s flat to see what we can find. It would be good if you could haul your ass over there and join us.’

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘What about Nadine Chryst, Paul?’

  ‘I found nothing of any interest at the abandoned furniture warehouse.’

  ‘Same old,’ Parish said.

  Toadstone ignored him. ‘Her credit card records, as well as her mobile and home telephone records for the past three months are in your intray.’

  ‘Fat lot of good they’re doing there.’

  ‘Yasmin didn’t find a list of Greek or Roman gods against men’s names, and as a consequence we’re unable to get anywhere with the diaries. She must have kept the code in her head.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Erin Donnelly has checked her emails and the social networking sites she belonged to. There are some strange emails and posts, which we’ve sent you copies of, but nothing that are obviously from the killer.’

  ‘Keep going. You and Yasmin could get a full house, Toadstone.’

  ‘I’ve saved the best for last.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Remember the torn up letter in the kitchen waste bin?’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘Yasmin was able to piece it together, so you have her to thank. I believe she particularly likes Ferrero Rocher.’

  ‘They cost a fortune.’

  ‘Seeing as you’ve treated her so abysmally.’

  ‘You should be on Chigwell market selling igloos to Eskimos, Toadstone.’

  ‘The letter... well, it wasn’t actually a letter. It was just two words, and each letter of each word had been cut from a different magazine, none of which we’ve yet identified.’

  ‘Two words?’

  ‘Yes, two words. The first word was five letters long and the second word was four letters long.’

  ‘Richards, inform Toadstone I’m going to push a skewer into a very dark place until it comes out of his mouth, and then I’m going to roast him slowly over a spit if he doesn’t tell us what those two words are.’

  ‘Paul, I think you’d better tell him before...’

  They heard the faint sound of laughter again and then, ‘Green-Eyed.’

  Richards looked at Parish. ‘She did have green eyes.’

  Parish’s brow furrowed. ‘Yes, but does it mean she had green eyes? Or, that she was jealous?’

  ‘You don’t think he’s a collector, do you?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ***

  ‘While you were at the press conference...’

  ‘...Looking fucking stupid?’

  ‘If you say so... I found out a few things...’

  ‘...As I’d instructed you to do? Don’t pretend you’ve discovered some initiative when all you’re doing is following my orders.’

  ‘Anyway... I rang Irene Robertson. She confirmed that the Romeros went to Mexico in 2005, and that they still own the garden centre. The management company she’s a partner in manages it on their behalf, and any profit the centre makes goes abroad.’

  ‘Nothing earth shattering there then.’

  ‘I checked the details on the house and discovered that the conservatory was built in 2002.’

  Xena screwed up her face in thought. ‘That means the Labour MP – Mathew Tucker – owned the house when the conservatory was built, and the patio was laid.’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, Stick. It doesn’t seem anything. It’s a bloody fact. What else?’

  ‘You want more?’

  ‘Have you got more?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We
ll fucking well tell me then.’

  ‘I found out where forensics is and obtained a map of the grounds with the location of the bodies marked on it from Diane Heffernan...’

  ‘What do you think about that name?’

  ‘Am I supposed to think anything?’

  ‘You know, Heffer... nan?’

  ‘No... sorry.’

  ‘Heffer... it’s a fat bitch.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘God, you’re fucking hard work.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So, the view from above gives us all the answers?’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘I feel a strong urge coming on to strangle someone, Stick. You’ve seen the fucking map, I haven’t. Does it tell us anything?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, for instance, are the bodies buried in the shape of a cross, a circle, or some other religious shape?’

  ‘Ah, now I understand.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that. Well?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty nine.’

  ‘And how long have you been a detective?’

  ‘Three years. Why?’

  ‘I’m just wondering what went wrong with the selection process.’

  ‘They came to me.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Everyone knew that only exceptional people were headhunted.

  ‘I was asked if I wanted to be a detective.’

  ‘You’re having me fucking on?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘You have relatives in high places?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘You have a magical amulet that gives you the power to force people to do your bidding?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘You have talents that I haven’t discovered yet?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘So, apart from the bodies all being located close to the house the map doesn’t tell us anything.’

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a handful of seconds. ‘I see. So, you were in Special Ops doing something secret, and now I discover that you were headhunted to be a detective and didn’t go through the normal selection process?’

  ‘So it would seem,’ he said and smiled.

  ‘Mmmm! I’m going to make it my life’s work to find out about you, Stick.’

  ‘I cross-referenced Judge Boyd’s cases with Petra Loyer, but didn’t find anything of interest. And because we don’t know much about the other victims yet, we’ll have to look at that list again when we do. I rang Doc Paine and she’ll give us an update on the bodies at three o’clock this afternoon.’

  ‘Come on then, let’s get you to the dentist, and...’

  ‘We don’t have to... I could go another day.’

  ‘Move.’

  She pushed Stick in the direction of the stairs. ‘After the dentist has tortured you, we’ll go and see this fucker Tucker... I paused there so you could laugh, Stick.’

  ‘I have other things on my mind.’

  ‘When was the last time you went to the dentist?’

  ‘I think I was ten...’

  ‘Ten fucking years old! Jesus, Stick, that was nineteen years ago.’

  ‘I know.’ Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he leaned against the wall. ‘I don’t feel too good.’

  ‘Is that one of the strategies they taught you in Special Ops? Move your fucking arse before I put my size six up it and pull your teeth out with my toes.’

  ***

  So, the lock of black hair did belong to him, but what did it mean? And why was a woman – who wasn’t his mother – wearing a locket with a picture of him and probably the woman who was his mother and a lock of his hair inside? Maybe she just thought she was his mother, but didn’t she say, “I’m your mother” on the phone? What else could it mean? Maybe she was a relative – a sister possibly. More importantly though, why was she killed? Didn’t he know everything there was to know about his past apart from who his mother was? If that was true, why kill the woman? Also, if she wasn’t his mother, why kill her anyway? Another possibility was that her murder was unrelated to him. Maybe she was killed for another reason, and she’d phoned him as a last resort, but who was she? Why did she say she was his mother? And why did she have his card? They had to find out who the woman was.

  Hopefully, Frankl wouldn’t have got rid of her handbag and mobile phone. Those items would still be in his flat, and provide them with all the information they required. What was Frankl doing killing her anyway? He was a thug, and obviously working for someone else, but who? He’d found out who his father was – hadn’t he? Why all the secrecy over his mother?

  “Green-Eyed”! Why send a woman a message telling her something she already knew, and then cut out her eyes so brutally? Was it the killer who had sent the message, or someone else entirely? Did the message mean that Nadine Chryst had been jealous, or that the killer was jealous of her? Was it a rival? Was it a collector? Was it someone from the present, or the past?

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Is there someone else in the car?’

  ‘There could be.’

  He waited until the wheels and cogs of her brain had shunted into place.

  ‘What do I think about what?’

  ‘The weather. Do you think it’s going to stop raining long enough for the ducks to cross the road?’

  ‘You know what I think.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘We have another serial killer. He thought she had angelic eyes, so he cut them out to keep, and then killed her.’

  ‘So, why hasn’t there been another body?’

  ‘There will be.’

  ‘Okay, what about the other woman?’

  ‘That’s not so simple. If she wasn’t your mother, why kill her? Why did she say she was your mother? Why did she have that locket with the picture and the hair inside? I’ve been thinking about it all, and I think I have a headache.’

  ‘Yes... It’s certainly a puzzle.’

  ‘And if you’ve already found out who your father is...’

  ‘...Why kill the woman? My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘Unless, the secret that P2 were protecting was not the identity of your father, but who your mother was?’

  He turned to look at her. ‘See, if you’d been wallowing in self-pity at home you wouldn’t have even thought of that, and I wouldn’t have seen how brilliant you are.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘I didn’t think of it.’

  She smiled. ‘No, you didn’t, did you?’

  ‘And not only that, I wouldn’t have been able to see you smile again.’

  ‘Now I feel guilty. I shouldn’t be thinking of myself and smiling.’

  ‘You’re human – have you forgotten about your mother?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t.’

  ‘And you never will. There’ll always be a special place inside your heart for your mother – as there is for your father – but you must live your life, or a beautiful flower will wither away and die.’

  ‘A fortune cookie?’

  ‘Sounded like it, didn’t it?’

  They reached Central Avenue in Redbridge – close to the City of London Cemetery and Crematorium – at nine thirty. Toadstone and his forensic truck hadn’t arrived yet. Parish helped himself to a tyre wrench from the boot of the pool car.

  It was a high-rise, and Frankl’s flat was on the fifth floor.

  ‘I hate these places,’ Richards complained as they started up the stairs. ‘The lifts never work, and the stairs always smell of urine.’

  ‘But it’s also comforting to know that while we were sleeping the world remained the same.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Parish prised the door open without too much effort.

  ‘Gloves.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Remember, we’re looking for...’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m humbled
by how much you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  It was a two bedroom flat. Parish took the right, Richards took the left. The first room he came to was the living room. There was a futon that doubled up as a bed, a fifty-inch flat-screen television perched on an empty bookcase, a coffee table with half a dozen crushed beer cans and a smoked glass flower vase being used as an ashtray, which was half-full of cigarette ends. He searched everywhere, but didn’t find what he was looking for.

  ‘Anything?’ he called to Richards.

  ‘Do you think I would have kept it to myself?’

  ‘Just checking.’

  The next room was a bedroom, but it was being used as a storeroom for boxes. He took a look in a few of the boxes and found toasters, microwaves, and kettles. It seemed that Mr Frankl was an entrepreneur. There were no handbags or mobile phones in the room.

  The last room on the right side of the central corridor was the bathroom. The cleaner obviously hadn’t been in yet. He lifted off the cistern lid and found Frankl’s stash of cannabis, but nothing else.

  Richards was waiting for him.

  ‘You don’t look as though you found the secret treasure.’

  ‘Neither do you.’

  Toadstone barged through the door.

  ‘You’re looking for a handbag, a mobile phone, and the murder weapon. We’ve had a rummage round, but apart from some stolen goods in one of the bedrooms and a stash of cannabis in the toilet cistern we didn’t find anything.’

  ‘We’ll see what we can find,’ Toadstone said.

  ‘We’d love to stay and chat, but we’ve got a busy day mapped out ahead of us. You have a nice day, you hear.’

  ‘And you, Sir. Mary...?’

  ‘Richards hasn’t got time to stand and chunter, Toadstone.’ He pushed Richards towards the door, turned, and shook his head. Now was certainly not the time to talk about dates, romance, and assignations.

  ***

  The dentist was called Liz Lipsett, and Xena hated her as soon as she appeared. Not only did she speak as though she had a beach ball in her mouth, but she looked like a supermodel on a drug-free day.

  ‘Mr Gilbert?’

  ‘I don’t know anybody by that name.’

  Xena nudged him. ‘He’s Gilbert.’

  ‘Please come this way, Mr Gilbert.’