by Ellis, Tim
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t you two speak?’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve just got off the phone with DS Blake.’
‘She’s in York.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘No, I stayed here.’
‘I see, and what do you want?’
‘I’ve got a list.’
‘And she left you instructions to annoy me with it?’
‘More or less.’
‘Go on then?’
‘Have you found any more bodies?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I would guess not, otherwise you would have let us know.’
‘There’s your answer then.’
‘But... Xena would be very grateful if you could complete the search of the grounds by tomorrow afternoon.’
‘How grateful?’
‘Very.’
‘My team are very partial to Anglesey Farmhouse Chocolates – two boxes should suffice.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘I’m sure that as soon as I receive said boxes my team will put a spurt on. What’s the next thing on your list?’
‘Well, that’s it for you really.’
‘Okay. I can already taste those chocolates. Goodbye, Stick.’
‘Good...,’ but she had already ended the call. This was a strange police station. Chocolates for work! He had never heard of such a thing. He logged onto the Internet, found the Anglesey Farmhouse Chocolate website, and ordered two boxes for express delivery. It cost him two hundred and sixty pounds.
Next, he phoned Doc Paine.
‘Hello.’
‘It’s DC Gilbert.’
‘How’s your face?’
‘Still a bit sore, but the swelling is going down.’
‘I’m glad. What can I do for you?’
‘DS Blake asked me to ring you to find out if the toxicology and microscopy results are back yet.’
‘I did say a couple of days.’
‘She seemed to think you were being slightly pessimistic.’
‘More like she thought I was lying. When the reports arrive I’ll send them over. Does she think I’m sitting on them when people’s lives could be at stake?’
‘You know what she’s like?’
‘I’m certainly beginning to. Inform the gorgon that she’ll get the reports as soon as I get them.’
‘Thank...’ but the call had already ended.
He walked up the corridor and informed the Chief’s secretary that DS Blake and her put-upon partner – DC Gilbert – would come along and brief the Chief at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Next, he trudged up one set of stairs and asked the press officer – Jenny Weber – to arrange a press briefing for four o’clock following their visit to the Chief.
If there was one thing he liked to do, it was tick things off a list. There was always a feeling of a job well done. Whoever had invented the list should have been awarded a Nobel Prize for ingenuity.
As he passed the kitchen he had the urge for coffee. Back at his desk with a full steaming mug, he rang Norwich Police Station and was transferred to the “Unsolved Crimes Unit” consisting of PC Carol Hutchings, and asked her to carry out an inter-station loan of Julie Cooper’s file.
‘Have you found her?’
‘It’s not been made public yet.’
‘Can you tell me any details?’
‘Maybe tomorrow. I’ll speak to my partner and see if we can get the local police to inform the families. I’ll get back to you soon.’
The excuse he’d been waiting for to ring Xena.
‘You’ve got news?’ she said.
‘I’m getting the files of the known victims sent to us, but the first station I rang wants to know if they can inform the relatives.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Well, we can’t give them all the information yet because we haven’t got it, but it would be good to let the relatives know before we tell the media.’
‘So, why did you ring me? Are you incapable of making a fucking decision? And it’s not “we” that are going to inform the media, it’s “me”.’
‘That’s what I meant.’
‘Anything else?’
‘How are you doing?’
‘Will you stop pestering me? I get a day away from you, and you’re ringing me up every five fucking minutes like a stalker.’
The line went dead.
He sighed. Nothing he did was right. He rang PC Carol Hutchings back.
‘Yes, we’d be grateful if you could inform the relatives that we’ve found the body of Julie Cooper buried at Hobbs Cross in Essex.’
‘It’s one of those?’
‘Yes.’
‘She was murdered?’
‘Yes, but we don’t want to give out any more details than is necessary. When we’re ready, we’ll arrange with you to go and give the relatives a full explanation of what happened to Julie Cooper. That is, of course, if we ever find out. Our investigation is still ongoing.’
‘Thank you very much... DC Gilbert.’
‘You’re welcome. You can also inform the relatives that there will be a press conference at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’
He then rang Hartlepool Police Station about Janet Gray, and had the same conversation with a PC Maggie Druitt.
There were only two more things to tick off his list. He rang Southend Police Station first, and spoke to PC Jennifer D’Arcy in Missing Persons.
‘Bonjour.’
‘You’re not French are you?’
‘I can be any flavour you want me to be?’
‘I’m sorry! This is Southend Missing Persons, isn’t it?’
‘Who are you?’
‘DC Gilbert from Hoddesdon.’
‘Ah, I was expecting someone else.’
‘Clearly.’
‘Sorry about that. How can I help?’
‘We’ve found a dead woman with a receipt for a handbag from TK Maxx in Southend dated 3rd May 2010, and I was hoping you could...’
‘Jan Hayes.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry, you know?’
‘I know, but most of the time I am.’
‘Okay, well the person you’ve found is more than likely Jan Hayes. She went missing on that date from the Royals Shopping Centre. Just a minute...’ There was silence, and then some rustling. ‘Yeah, I thought so. We have a security DVD of her being abducted. Do you want a copy?’
‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’
‘I hate quizzes. Yeah, you know what, I think he is.’
‘It wasn’t a question, it was a figure of speech.’
‘Oh! Hey, Hoddesdon isn’t too far away, is it? Do you want to meet?’
‘And do what?’
There was giggling at the other end. ‘I was thinking of a drink, maybe a meal. We can get to that French stuff maybe after the first date.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘And I never will unless we meet.’
‘I’m not very nice looking. In fact, everybody thinks I’m really ugly.’
‘I see, so you’re saying you don’t want to go out with me because you’re ugly? Well, that’s a first.’
‘We could meet.’
‘This Saturday?’
Against his better judgement he was getting excited. ‘In the evening. I’ll book a table in a restaurant.’
‘Okay. Will you come here, or shall we meet in the middle?’
‘I’ll come to you.’
‘We could go to the tapas bar in Southend if that’s all right with you?’
‘Wherever you want to go is fine by me.’ His heart was thrashing about, and he thought he was going to faint. ‘Have you got a mobile number?’
‘Is there anybody in the world who hasn’t got a mobile number?’ She gave him hers and he wrote it down.
‘I’ll ring you Saturday morning to arrange where we’ll meet.’
‘Okay, see y
ou then... Oh, what’s your first name?’
‘Rowley.’
‘That’s a beautiful name. I look forward to your call on Saturday, Rowley.’ She said his name as if it was the centre of her universe.
God! A woman wanted to go out with him. It was a nice thought, but he was sure that as soon as she saw him on Saturday she’d run away from him as if she’d seen a monster. He’d never been out with a girl, never been to bed with one, and never had sex with one. He guessed that sooner or later he was going to have to pay to have sex with a prostitute just the one time to see what it was like, but... Crap! They were talking about the abduction of Jan Hayes and a security DVD, and then it all seemed to get forgotten.
His phone rang.
‘DC Gilbert?’
‘Hello again, Rowley,’ PC D’Arcy said and giggled. ‘We kinda got off the subject a bit there, Monsieur.’
He laughed. He hadn’t laughed for... Well, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. ‘We certainly did, Mademoiselle.’
They arranged for the file and security DVD to be transported between stations.
‘See you Saturday, Rowley.’
‘See you then, Jennifer.’
He sat back in his chair and smiled. Three days to imagine the possibilities, three days until he was disappointed again. Yes, it wasn’t worth getting too excited about. Once she saw him it would all be over.
And anyway, he still had things to tick off his list. Baffin Island in Canada! Who should he ring? He imagined a log cabin where the trappers congregated to drink whisky and tell of their exploits out in the inhospitable Arctic wastelands.
He started with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Ontario first, and from there he was passed onto ‘V’ Division in Nanavut Territory. Then he was transferred to the RCMP station at Kimmirut on Baffin Island.
‘Constable Oscar Landing. How can I be of service?’
Stick told him who and where he was.
‘A Brit’ huh? My old man fought with the Brits in Crete against the Germans.’
‘They said my father wasn’t fit enough to join the army. Anyway, I’m looking for a Brit called Monty Kellman. He came...’
‘Yeah, I know Monty. He’s located on the east coast of the island in a place called Pangnirtung. He runs his own boat catching turbot.’
‘I’d like to speak to him, if that’s possible?’
Constable Landing transferred him to the RCMP station at Pangnirtung.
‘Constable Miles Wright.’
‘Is it possible to speak to Monty Kellman?’
‘In about three weeks. He’s out on his boat, won’t be back until then. It’s the fishing season now. I could try the radio, but there’s a storm brewing.’
‘I see. Okay, thanks for your help anyway.’
‘Always happy to further Canadian-British relations.’
Well, that was the end of that. If they hadn’t solved the case in three weeks, he might try again. He made a note in the file of Pangnirtung and the number to ring.
Fishing for turbot in the Arctic Ocean was a long way from managing Buzz Pig. Maybe Mally Haynes was right, maybe Monty Kellman was a crazy bastard.
Chapter Seventeen
The conference finished early at two thirty. After shaking some hands, he was on the tube heading towards Roding Valley by ten to three. He would have liked to have gone home and put his feet up, and if he’d still been a DI he would have done, but with rank came responsibility. He still felt light-headed, and it was clear that the London Irish rugby team had washed their boots in his mouth during the night.
It was quarter to four when he got to Roding Valley and picked up his car, and he was back at the station by half past.
‘Welcome back, Sir,’ Carrie said.
Jerry wasn’t happy that he’d inherited Carrie, but there it was. Chief Kowalski had a hot secretary that he couldn’t touch. Life was like that sometimes. You spend all your life looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, only to discover that all along it was fool’s gold, and you’ve wasted your whole life on a fool’s journey.
‘Thanks, Carrie.’
For the next half an hour she briefed him on his phone calls, his visitors, his emails, his post, and his paperwork. She had everything organised into piles. Why would he want to sack her anyway? She was beautiful and efficient.
‘And there’s this,’ she said passing him a DVD in a plastic wallet.
‘Which is?’
‘I looked so that I could answer that question. You’d better see for yourself.’
He went to his desk, switched on his computer, and logged on. The sound was on quite high, and the room filled with a woman’s moaning.
He was confused about what he was watching, but then he realised it was him. ‘Jesus! It looks like I’m having a good time.’
Carrie smiled. ‘Based on my limited experience, Sir. I would say so.’
‘Except I’m not. I don’t remember any of it.’ He cocked his head left and right to try and identify the blonde woman, but with her white painted face he had no idea who she was. Maybe he wasn’t meant to recognise her. Maybe she was a prostitute. If she was, she had a great body and a fantastic pair of breasts, and she certainly knew how to gyrate those hips. He was disappointed he’d missed the show.
Now it made sense. The champagne must have been drugged. It was a set up. Somebody knew he was staying there and planned the whole charade.
‘Any note with it?’
‘No.’
‘I expect I’ll get one. This is an attempt at blackmail. I don’t know if you watched it closely, but I’m not moving a great deal...’
She looked at the hands in her lap. ‘Once I saw that it was you, Sir, I switched it off.’
‘Of course you did. Anyway, I was drugged last night. Somebody set me up.’ He took the DVD out of the tray and put it in his briefcase. In the wrong hands it could no doubt do him a lot of damage. ‘Who else knows about this?’
‘Do you think I’ve made copies and sold them at ten pounds a time in the typing pool?’
‘Hey, as you’ve seen, I’m a demon in bed.’
‘It’s our little secret, Chief.’
‘I have a feeling it’s not going to stay our little secret for long, Carrie.’
Carrie finished briefing him and left. He spent half an hour signing a stack of forms and letters, and then gave them back to Carrie for onward transmission. He then stuffed a handful of loose papers and files into his briefcase to read overnight, before throwing his coat on and heading home.
Even though his battered body was ready for the knackers’ yard, his mind was working like a well-oiled machine asking questions for which there were no answers. Who was the woman? What was it all about? Why blackmail him? It wasn’t as if he had a hoard of money – a good-looking wife and four children soon disposed of his disposable income. Getting promoted to DCI had obviously brought him to someone’s attention, but who? How did they know he was attending the conference? Or where he was staying? And which room he was staying in? He had too little information at the moment. No doubt he’d find out what they wanted from him soon enough. In the meantime, he’d pretend it didn’t exist.
He had the idea that he could take it up to forensics and ask Toady to do a number on it, but Toady would pass it to someone else, who would show all the others, make copies, sell them on eBay... God, it didn’t bear thinking about. For the time being he’d just keep it in his briefcase, and hope...
***
Stick brought the incident board up to date with as much new information as he could muster. It seemed to him that Xena was right – the key to opening the box was Stephen Samuels. He hoped she and Buxton... he smiled. She had a wicked sense of humour... Buxton water. He didn’t know how she’d got DI Carter to go along with that.
He’d had no luck with Di Heffernan, but Xena wouldn’t be surprised about that. Hopefully, the chocolates would speed the body search along. Doc Paine hadn’t seemed very happy that
he was chasing her for reports she’d previously said would take two days to arrive. Xena certainly knew how to rub people up the wrong way.
He had the files for the known victims arriving either this afternoon, or at least tomorrow morning before Xena returned. He’d also discovered the Southend victim’s name was Jan Hayes, and a security DVD of her abduction was on its way. The victim’s relatives had been informed, and he’d tracked down Buzz Pig’s manager – Monty Kellman. Unsuccessfully, but they knew he would be available in three weeks if they needed him.
And then, to top it all off, he had a date with Jennifer D’Arcy in Southend. He hadn’t written that on the incident board of course, and he wouldn’t tell Xena either. He could imagine what she’d say to the notion of him having a date with a woman.
Louise Marsden had moved to Sawbridgeworth. The satnav took him along the A414 past Harlow, and onto the A1184, which took him straight through the town. He turned right at the Station Road crossroads, took another right into Knight Street, and a left into The Forebury. He parked outside Number 5, which was next to the library.
The house was a lot smaller than 117 Hobbs Cross, and he wondered why she’d downsized. It was a regular four bedroom detached house with a driveway, but no garage. Instead of a front garden there was crazy paving with a Peugot 306 parked in the middle.
He knocked on the door.
A very beautiful woman with long dark hair, clear porcelain skin, and perfect white teeth appeared. She was wearing a flowing white trouser suit and a string of pearls round her neck.
‘Yes?’
‘Louise Marsden?’
‘She died.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. You must be Iwona Przygoda.’
‘No, I’m Teresa Cunningham.’
Stick’s brow furrowed. What was going on?
‘Sadly, Louise died of cancer in November last year shortly after they moved here. Iwona then returned to Romania to decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. I’m Louise’s niece.’
‘And you live here now?’
‘Yes. Aunt Louise left the house to me.’
‘Oh. I was hoping to question them about the time they lived at 117 Hobbs Cross.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know anything about it. Would you like to come in for a coffee, or something cold?’