by Ellis, Tim
‘Ma’am.’
‘No, you don’t need to call me, “Ma’am”. Sergeant Blake will do.’
‘Very funny. I’ve been waiting...’
The bitch was reasonably attractive with long dark hair past her shoulders, a waist, and a shapely arse. She wore a pair of jeans, a clingy white v-neck T-shirt, and a blue corduroy waistcoat. Xena’s hatred deepened.
‘Look, I know you’re a DI, and I’m suitably impressed, but to be perfectly honest I don’t give a shit. Now, if you want to call the Chief again and get me the sack, so be it.’
‘I’m not here to make trouble.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
‘Yeah, I shouldn’t have called Chief Kowalski.’
‘No, you fucking shouldn’t have done.’
‘I apologise.’
‘Don’t start messing with my head by apologising. You came down here for closure. You fucked up the original investigation, and now you want to fuck up mine.’
‘Okay, let me lay my cards on the table. I’m on two weeks leave, and if my boss knew I was here I’d be looking for another job.’
‘On leave... So you’re a fucking civilian with no powers at all?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh well... in that case you can fuck off back to Buxton.’
‘Or... you could let me help...’
‘Yeah, like that’s going to happen.’
‘No, listen...’
‘You fucking listen. I’ve been worrying all day about how you were going to muscle in on my investigation, take over, and make me want to kill you. And now I find you’ve come down here off your own fucking bat. Well, for me you can...’
‘I’ll be a DC.’
‘What?’
‘Forget I’m a DI from Buxton. I’ll work for you as a DC, and you can be the boss. I’ll do anything you want me to do.’
‘Anything?’
‘Within reason.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘Nowhere yet.’
‘Okay DC Buxton...’
‘It’s Carter...’
‘You said anything, DC Buxton.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘Well, you can pay for the pizzas on the way home. Is that all right with you DC Buxton?’
‘That’s okay with me, Sarge.’
‘Excellent. I have a spare room. You can stay there, but there are some rules...’
‘I guessed there would be.’
‘You can go and find yourself a hotel if you fucking want to.’
‘No, it’s very kind of you to let me stay at your place, Sarge.’
‘You’re fucking right it is. I get first call on the bathroom, and don’t eat my Muesli.’
‘Is that it?’
‘I can make some more rules if you feel cheated in any way?’
‘No, that’s all right.’
‘Sarge...’
‘Sarge.’
‘Have you got a car?’
‘No.’
‘I should charge you a fucking fare. Come on then, grab your bags...’
‘What about the case?’
‘Have you got a fucking case as well?’
‘The discovery of Petra Loyer?’
‘I hope that as a DC you don’t think you have any right to advise a DS on the running of HER investigation?’
‘No, Sarge.’
‘Good, because if I thought you had any opinions of your own I’d have to hang you out to dry, DC Buxton.’
‘I understand, Sarge.’
‘I hope so, because I can’t abide working with know-it-alls.’
Buxton bought the pizzas. Xena had an extra deep pan with all the trimmings, and a can of diet coke.
‘You’ve not unpacked yet?’ Buxton asked when they arrived at Xena’s second-floor flat on Belvedere Court in Yewlands.
‘They threw me in at the deep in with this case. No life raft, no inflatable jacket, and no fucking survival instructions.’
‘What about your partner?’
‘Let’s not talk about him. He’s the weirdest kid in the station. I call him Stick because he resembles a stick insect. Do you know, he was headhunted to be a detective? I mean, how many fucking people do you know...? And not only that, he was in Special Ops, but he won’t tell me what he was doing. Then there’s the animals...’
‘Animals?’
‘He carves fucking animals out of dead trees and charges a fortune for them. I reckon he’s a millionaire...’
‘Why’s he still a detective?’
‘That’s what I asked him, says he likes the job.’
‘He’s crazy as well then?’
‘I thought I said I didn’t want to talk about him. I mean, everyone knows what I’m like. Why did they put the crazy bastard with me?’
‘We’re not talking about him, remember?’
‘Yeah, crazy fucking bastard.’
She briefed Buxton on the investigation so far.
‘No wonder we couldn’t find her,’ Buxton said. ‘We thought someone local had snatched her.’
‘So, I’m going up to York tomorrow to find out what this Stephen Samuels was up to...’
‘Yeah, that’s what I’d do.’
‘Look, if I needed someone to validate my actions I’d go to the Chief. If you’re going to stay, and I haven’t decided whether you are or not yet, your job is to nod in the right places, buy my lunches, and keep your fucking mouth shut. Do you think you can do all those things, DC Buxton?’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
She showed Buxton to her room, and threw some bedding at her. ‘It’s the fucking maid’s day off.’
‘Goodnight, Sarge.’
‘Goodnight, Buxton, and don’t fucking snore. I don’t want any competition.’
***
Wednesday, 16th January
Kowalski opened his eyes and then quickly shut them again. Light seared his brain as if two glowing red hot pokers had been pushed through his eyeballs and jiggled about in his grey matter. He could even hear the sizzling and smell the burning flesh.
His tongue felt like a bale of straw in his mouth. He ran it over his lips, but without saliva to lubricate the movement it simply scratched them.
What the hell had happened?
He vaguely recalled having a bath, phoning Jerry, and drinking a flute of champagne, and... nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. He’d had a dream. It must have been a dream, because he was still in the hotel room... He was still in the hotel room wasn’t he? He brought his hands up to shield his eyes from the light, and then opened them just enough to examine his surroundings. Yes, he was still in the room.
It had been one of those dirty dreams, the type he hadn’t had since he’d been a teenager. A faceless woman in a French maid’s outfit. God she was hot. And she did things to him that should be made illegal. He was getting a hard on just thinking about it. Where the hell did it all come from? It must have been from talking to Jerry about her being with him.
What time was it? He’d get it in the neck from the Chief Constable if he missed the second day. They knew people tried to avoid the second day, so had made everybody sign in. He opened his eyes again to look at his watch – ten past six. Lots of time. Time to brush his teeth, shave, and take a shower. Time to take some head-throbbing reduction tablets, and get some breakfast. Of course, on top of it all he had to pack everything up and take it with him – he’d go straight to the train station after the presentations had all finished.
God, he felt like shit. He’d never drink champagne again. He slid off the bed and sat on the floor. Why was he naked? He must have squirmed out of the dressing gown in the night. Water, that was the answer, lots of water. He crawled into the bathroom and pulled himself up to totter at the sink. After filling the sink up with cold water he put his face in it, and took large gulps of the water at the same time. He was probably going to be sick, but he didn’t care.
When was the last time he’d puked? A long time ago that was for sure. He
reached his hand between his legs and scratched his cock. The pubic hairs were caked in... what? He must have come, had a wet dream. What else could it have been? He didn’t think he’d ever had a wet dream. How damned strange was that? Yep, that was the last time he was ever going to drink champagne. Maybe he ought to complain to the hotel management... Oh yeah, he could just imagine the conversation:
‘What seems to be the problem, Sir?’
‘Your complimentary bottle of champagne made me have a wet dream last night.’
‘Oh dear. Is this the first time you’ve ever had a wet dream...?’
They’d want to know all about his sex life, his dreams, and the number of times he masturbated in a month. They’d question Jerry about his staying power, his performance, his vasectomy... They’d call in a whole team of psychologists to delve into his traumatic childhood, examine his mental pathways, and act as expert witnesses... No, probably best to leave well alone.
He brushed his teeth – twice, shaved very carefully, and then stood under the shower for twenty minutes. He was beginning to feel half human by the time he’d dried himself and put his clothes on.
Instead of the full English, which he’d normally have had, he decided to take things easy and ordered scrambled egg on toast. He still felt a lot queasy, but it was gradually receding.
After breakfast, he went back to the room and collected his bags. One final check at the door that he hadn’t left anything. Where was the bottle of champagne and glass? He closed the door and looked in the bathroom. Then he walked around the large room. The bucket of ice, the bottle, the glass – all gone. Had room service collected it? Surely not. They wouldn’t make a special visit just to collect a half-empty champagne bottle. When had they collected it?
God, he sounded like a detective. It was gone, and that was an end to it. Room service must have collected it while he’d been at breakfast. Maybe they wanted to make sure he didn’t take the stainless steel bucket back to Essex as a memento. Hardly the mystery of the century.
He made his way down to reception, handed in the door access card, and settled the bill.
‘Thank the manager for the complimentary bottle of champagne,’ he said to the male receptionist.
The young man smiled at him as if he was being sarcastic. ‘I’m sorry, Sir, we don’t offer complimentary bottles of champagne. You’re not the Head of State of some obscure place no one has ever heard of, are you?’
‘No, not that I know of.’
He caught the next taxi that pulled up to drop people off. No bloody champagne! Maybe he was losing his marbles. That must be the answer.
Jesus!
No champagne!
***
‘Come on, Stick, get your arse moving,’ Xena called to him through the window.
He climbed into the passenger seat. ‘Oh,’ he said when he saw the woman in the back seat.
‘Meet DC Buxton, Stick.’
Stick gave a laugh, and then brought his hand up to his mouth. ‘You must be DI Carter.’ He swivelled in the seat and offered a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.’
She pulled away from the kerb, and headed towards Hoddesdon. ‘You think you’re so fucking clever cracking my code, don’t you?’
‘It wasn’t hard, Sarge.’
‘How’s your mouth?’
‘Better than it was yesterday.’
‘And you’re not going to fall asleep all over the fucking place today, are you?’
‘I must have had a reaction to the drugs the dentist gave me.’
‘Yeah well, next week we’ll be prepared.’
‘I’ll be away next week – the Peruvian jungle on a walking holiday.’
‘I’d come and find you, and bring you fucking back.’
‘I know you would.’
‘I see you two work well together,’ Buxton said.
‘DC Buxton and I are going to York, Stick.’
His face dropped. ‘Oh! Am I not coming with you?’
‘You’ve got work to do here.’
‘I’d much rather come with you.’
‘Yeah well, you’re fucking not going to. You’re going to stay here and chase up the leads we’ve identified. Look, we can’t all go trolling off to York, and I couldn’t leave Buxton here on her own to cause us no end of trouble, so I’m taking her to York with me.’
‘I don’t understand.’ He craned his neck to look at DI Carter. ‘Why are you...’
Xena hit him on the arm. ‘If you want to know what’s going on, you should talk to the organ grinder not the monkey. DC Buxton is on two weeks leave...’
‘Ah!’
‘You could get a job working for Bisto saying “Ah” like that. Anyway, she begged me to let her help, and you know how kind I am, so we’re fucking stuck with her.’
‘And she’s pretending to be a DC because you don’t want a DI taking over our case?’
‘That’s right. And since when has it been “our” case? You work for me like she does now. I’m the Sergeant. It’s my fucking case, and I’m letting you walk in my shadow.’
‘And don’t think I’m not grateful, Sarge.’
She glanced at him. ‘I hope you’re not trying to be funny, Stick?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Sarge.’
‘Good, because you know I have no sense of fucking humour.’
‘So, you’re going to York to...?’
‘Find out what the investigative Journalist Stephen Samuels...’
‘Excuse me, Sarge. Did I miss something?’
‘For fuck’s sake. I should never have got involved with you, Stick.’ She dug around in her jacket and passed him her notebook. ‘Read.’
‘When you say we’re involved...’
‘You’re leaning over my side of the fence again.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’ He read the notes Xena had made throughout yesterday.
Eventually he said, ‘Got it. So you think Samuels is the key to this?’
‘That’s why Buxton and I are going up to York.’
‘And what do you want me to do?’
‘Use your fucking initiative.’
‘You know I don’t have any of that, Sarge. You’d better tell me what I have to do, so that I don’t get it wrong.’
‘Go and question Mally Haynes from that awful Buzz Pig group. Ask him why he didn’t know there were dead bodies buried in his garden. Tell him we want to know the names of every woman he let into the grounds, and find out whether any of the band are homosexuals.’
‘I thought Samuels was killed because he was getting close to the killer,’ Stick said.
‘Pure speculation. It seems like the obvious answer, but it could all be pie in the sky.’
‘Okay.’
‘That’s your morning taken care of. In the afternoon go and interview the lesbian lovers, Louise Marsden and the Polish bitch.’
‘Iwona Przygoda?’
‘That’s the one. Find out what the fuck they were doing while the killer was planting bodies in their garden, and having lesbian sex is not an acceptable answer.’
‘Okay, so you’re coming back tomorrow?’
‘That’s the plan, but we probably won’t get back until late afternoon.’
‘What do you want me to do tomorrow?’
‘I hope you’ve got some fucking initiative, DC Buxton?’
‘I have a bit.’
‘Good, but don’t get any ideas that you can use it without my authorisation.’
She echoed Stick. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Sarge.’
Stick smirked at Buxton.
‘I hope you’re not smirking behind that hand, Stick.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Sarge.’
Buxton feigned a cough from the back seat.
‘There’s a million things to do. Doc Paine said a couple of days for the toxicology and microscopy results, but I’m sure the bastards could do them quicker if they wanted to, so chase them up. Inform the Chief that you and I will brief him at three o’cl
ock tomorrow afternoon. Arrange a press briefing for four o’clock. Update the incident board. I’ve got to come into the station to check whether the York Sentinel still exists, and where Samuel’s wife lives now. Obtain files for the two victims who didn’t live in York: Julie Cooper and Janet Gray. I’ll get the file for Tracey Rush who lived in Haxby... and if anyone else rings up wanting to muscle in on our investigation, you can tell them to...’
‘I get the idea, Sarge.’
‘Good. Also, see if you can get an identity for the Southend woman with the shopping receipt from TK Maxx, and put a fucking rocket under Di Heffernan. I want the rest of grounds searched by the time I get back tomorrow afternoon.’
‘I think I have enough to keep me from missing you.’
‘I doubt that, Stick. You’ll miss me like crazy, but I’ll let you ring me whenever you want to with any news.’
Chapter Fifteen
Emma Goodley from the Crown Prosecution Service was waiting for them at Redbridge Magistrates Court.
‘Tell me you’ve got more than this?’
‘What do you mean?’ Richards said. ‘What does she mean, Sir?’
‘I was given this case late last night. Let’s see now, we have a video of Mr Frankl exiting the stairwell...’
‘But he’s pushing something into his jacket.’
‘Do you know what?’
‘Well no, but... he looks guilty.’
‘Unfortunately, Detective...’
‘She’s still a Constable...’
‘Don’t tell her that, Sir, I like being called Detective.’
‘So, unfortunately, Constable Richards, we can’t use a guilty face as evidence. We have the victim’s DNA on his clothing, and his DNA on the victim’s clothing...’
‘There, that’s evidence, isn’t it?’
‘Evidence to support his argument that he tried to save her life when he came across her dying on the stairs.’
‘What a load of rubbish. He said he wasn’t even there.’
‘He said that because he was scared you’d think he was guilty based on his past criminal activity.’
‘That’s utter rubbish,’ Richards said. ‘He’s as guilty as the day is long. We should lock him up now and throw away the key.’