Dead Know Not (9781476316253)

by Ellis, Tim

  Stick checked his watch. It was quarter to four. He had nothing else to do. This was the last thing on his list for today. ‘A fruit juice would be nice.’

  ‘I have freshly squeezed orange juice.’

  ‘Lovely.’ He stepped inside and removed his shoes

  She showed him through into the living room. And he sat down on the predominantly green floral sofa. While he was waiting for his orange juice he noticed the framed photographs on the wall by the fire, so he stood up to look. They were of two women, but what interested him was that the setting was 117 Hobbs Cross.

  ‘Those are of Louise and Iwona,’ Teresa said, and passed him a tall glass of orange juice. ‘Do you know, they were together for twenty-five years.’

  ‘And she left you the house?’ He didn’t mean to say it, but it was obviously the first question in the queue, and it just came out.

  ‘Iwona got all the money. Louise was one of those awful city trader people you hear about on the news. Every year she was given a million pound plus bonus. She was very rich.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘I suppose it was a valid question. Anyway, the house is as they left it. I haven’t had time to make it my own, and to be honest I’m wondering whether I shouldn’t just sell it and... I don’t know. I’m at a bit of a loose end myself. Recent divorce... Well, you don’t want to...’

  ‘Sorry. These pictures were taken at the last house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know why they moved?’

  She shrugged. ‘As far as I know they were getting older, and it was far too big for just two people...’

  He peered at each of the photographs. In the background, behind a picture of Louise, were a group of five gardeners. ‘Do you know who looked after their garden?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  He examined the other pictures, but none of the others included any of the gardeners. ‘Do you mind if I take that picture?’ he said pointing.

  ‘Feel free.’

  He lifted it off the hook, and slipped it out of the frame. ‘I’ll get it back to you.’ On the back it was dated 2009.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Iwona didn’t want any of them, and I certainly don’t. I have one picture of my Aunt Louise, and that’s all I need.’

  He drank his orange juice and listened to Teresa Cunningham describe her lonely life, and all the time she was talking he was thinking of two things. First, her loneliness brought into sharp focus his own excitement. For the first time in his life he had a date with a woman. He’d told Jennifer D’Arcy he was ugly, and she hadn’t been frightened away. Second, he kept glancing at the photograph and knew he’d found the killer.

  ***

  It was five to three when they arrived at the York Sentinel. It wasn’t Fleet Street. In fact, it wasn’t much more than three rooms above a second hand shop called Charlie Higgins’ Emporium. Xena saw a coffee table in passing that would have looked perfect in her flat, but apart from not having the money to buy it, she didn’t have the time either.

  Tom Oates was the editor-in-chief, and he had a woman – Sharron Drury – who came in on Thursdays to do some dabbling in Quark Express before the paper was sent to the printers.

  ‘Used to be with the Daily Mirror,’ he said lighting up a cigarette and rolling his eyes like an addict.

  ‘You know it’s illegal to smoke in the workplace now?’

  ‘So, arrest me.’ The computer keyboard was covered in ash, as was the floor, and the front of his trousers. There was a crate of six whisky bottles that he was using to deposit his fag ends in once he’d emptied them. ‘Yeah, the Mirror was a long time ago. Now, I get the Sentinel out once a week. Readership has been falling for a while now, but I have some ideas.’

  The place reeked of stale cigarettes and cheap whisky, and Xena wondered how it hadn’t gone up in flames already. It was like smoking at a petrol pump as you were filling up your car.

  ‘Stephen Samuels,’ Xena said.

  ‘There’s a name to conjure with,’ Oates responded.

  ‘We’ve found him.’

  ‘A scoop.’ His eyes narrowed, but whether from the cigarette smoke or out of interest, Xena didn’t know.

  ‘Only if you can get your rag out by tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘His widow sent you some boxes.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Full of the stuff he’d been working on.’

  ‘My memory isn’t what it was.’

  ‘You don’t know what you did with those boxes?’

  ‘I don’t even remember the boxes.’ He picked up the phone and dialled a number. ‘Sharron Drury – my Thursday girl might know.’ He turned his attention to the phone. ‘Yes, I know it isn’t Thursday. Listen, I have two detectives here. They’re saying Samuels’ widow sent us some boxes... Thanks, Shaz. What would I do without you?’ He put the phone down. ‘Apparently, we have a basement.’ He got up, walked through into another room and opened a drawer in the desk. After rummaging inside for a while he withdrew a key.

  ‘There you go,’ he said passing the key to Xena. ‘Go down to the basement and help yourselves.’

  ‘Are you not going to show us?’

  ‘I don’t even know where it is, and I have this fear of small dark places. My suggestion is that you speak to the people downstairs...’

  ‘The second-hand place?’

  ‘Yeah, they’ll know where the basement is.’

  ‘And you’re not coming with us?’

  ‘I’m on a deadline, but feel free to take anything you think might be useful.’

  ‘Thanks for nothing.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Xena shrugged. ‘Come on, Buxton. This sounds like a job for you.’

  They walked down the stairs and sauntered into the second-hand emporium.

  A small fat bald-headed man with a purple checked shirt and a pair of red Union Jack braces holding up green corduroy trousers approached them. ‘What can I do for you two beauties?’

  Xena flashed her warrant card. She knew that if there was any trouble she’d be in deep shit for not letting the local force know she was in their area on police business – it was a serious breach of etiquette. Not something that could get her bust down to DC, but not far off it.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘I hope you’ve got receipts for all this stuff, Mr Higgins?’

  ‘Trust me, I have boxes full of receipts.’

  ‘What about the stuff in the basement?’

  Sweat broke out on his forehead and top lip. ‘We don’t have a basement.’

  ‘That’s not what the guy upstairs said.’

  ‘He’s a drunk. He has no idea...’

  Xena smiled. ‘Relax, I’m winding you up. The guy upstairs said he put some boxes in your basement thirteen years ago...’

  ‘Bloody hell! We’ve probably thrown them out by now.’

  ‘I have a key, and we’d like to go down there and have a look if it’s all right with you?’

  ‘For the boxes, nothing else?’

  ‘Just for the boxes.’

  ‘You don’t want any help, do you? I’m a bit short-handed at the moment.’

  ‘I see. I know that the Fraud Squad are sitting on their hands at the moment. I’ll get them to come down and help me, shall I?’

  ‘I’ve got a boy on work experience, but that’s it. Joel Lipsett...’ the man shouted to a gangly good-looking youth with spiked hair and freckles.

  Joel ambled over.

  Xena eyed him up and down, squeezed his biceps and said, ‘A bit scrawny, but I suppose he’ll have to do.’

  ‘Show these ladies down to the basement, and if they find what they’re looking for...’ He looked at Xena. ‘Are you going to shift the boxes if they’re down there?’

  She looked at Buxton who shrugged. ‘That would be my guess as long as there’s not too many of them, and they can be moved.’

  ‘So, help the ladies with their boxes, and I don’t
want to come down there in an hour and find you naked and having sex on my sofas.’

  Joel’s face lit up like a flare in the night sky. ‘I wouldn’t...’

  Xena and Buxton linked his arms. ‘Don’t worry we’ll be gentle,’ Buxton said.

  ‘Send a search party if he’s not back in an hour,’ Xena called over her shoulder.

  ‘He’d better be,’ Charlie Higgins threw back at her.

  Joel led them to a door at the side of the building. Xena used the key Oates had given her.

  They went down a set of concrete steps into a dark dank room the size of the building upstairs. There were retaining walls, but no dividing rooms as such.

  ‘Get your clothes off then,’ Xena said. ‘It’s a bit parky down here, but you’ll soon warm up with what we’ve got in mind for you.’

  ‘You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?’

  Xena started unbuttoning her blouse to reveal a black lace bra and her substantial cleavage. ‘I’ll be pulling your middle leg...’

  ‘I don’t feel too good,’ Joel said rubbing the back of his neck.

  Xena and Buxton roared with laughter.

  ‘Of course we’re pulling your leg,’ Xena said. ‘Right, we’re looking for a stash of cardboard boxes. Let’s split up.’

  ‘You know there are rats down here, don’t you?’ Joel said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Buxton said. ‘We’re used to dealing with rats.’

  Xena hated rats.

  After twenty minutes of searching Joel found the boxes. They didn’t need to open them. On the top in heavy black writing was: “S. Samuels for the Sentinel”.

  Joel carried the boxes up one at a time and put them into the boot of Xena’s car. After he’d put the last one in he said, ‘I would have done it, you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Had sex with both of you.’

  Xena looked at her watch. ‘We still have fifteen minutes left. Are you up for it Buxton?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes is not enough time. We’d need at least three hours – each.’

  ‘Listen Joel, next time we’re passing we’ll come into the shop and get you. Your boss will give you the afternoon off to help us with our enquiries. We’ll book a room in a seedy hotel and let you pleasure us all afternoon. How does that sound?’

  ‘Will it be soon?’

  ‘Within the next couple of weeks.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be ready.’

  She passed him the key. ‘Give that back to the drunk upstairs, and thank your boss for his help.’

  He gave a shy grin. ‘Goodbye ladies.’

  Xena stroked his face. ‘It’s not goodbye, Joel, simply au revoir.’

  In the car Buxton said, ‘That was mean.’

  ‘Mean! The way my non-existent sex life is going at the moment, I’m thinking I’ll drive back up here on a regular basis and let him have his fill. A toy boy will keep me forever young. You can join me if you want, I’m not greedy.’

  ‘I know what you mean about a non-existent sex life. I’ll give it some thought.’

  ***

  Having decided to drive to King George Hospital and look at the bodies again, they were just about to leave when the phone on his desk rang.

  ‘Parish.’

  ‘It’s PC Eva Monteith on the front desk, Sir. There’s a priest here to see you... says his name is Rosario... that he helped you with a case once.’

  ‘Yes, I remember. I’ll come down.’ He replaced the handset and sat down in his chair.

  ‘Go down to the front desk and bring Father Rosario up here.’

  ‘You just said you were going to go down there.’

  ‘Instead I’m sending you. I’m worn out after racing you down those stairs, and you need all the exercise you can get.’

  ‘As if,’ she said, heading along the corridor.

  What was Father Rosario from Our Lady of Sorrows Church doing here? He’d helped them was with “The Wages of Sin” case. Did the messages have a religious meaning? That’s something they hadn’t considered.

  Richards returned with Father Rosario on her arm. The greying around his temples had spread to the rest of his head, and there was very little left of his dark brown curly hair. He wasn’t wearing his usual cassock, but had on a casual jacket over a thick jumper and trousers. The white collar gave him away though.

  ‘Hello, Father,’ Parish said, standing up and offering his hand. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘That’s because you never come to church, Inspector.’

  ‘I probably didn’t make it clear last time, but I’m not actually a Catholic.’

  ‘We are all equal in the eyes of the Lord, Acts 17:26. Although, that’s my interpretation of the verse.’

  ‘I thought we were all sinners.’

  ‘Romans, 3:23, For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Yes, that most of all. And it is for that reason I have sought you out.’

  ‘Richards is more of a sinner than me...’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘I think you should focus your energies on her. I’m lost, Father, but she’s probably still salvageable.’

  Richards nodded. ‘That’s true, Father. I wouldn’t bother with him. He’s already paid his fare, and is sitting comfortably on the jalopy to hell.’

  ‘All things are possible if you believe, Mark 9:23. You asked for help with the messages...’

  ‘They’re not religious, are they, Father?’ Richards asked.

  ‘More than that, young lady, I think Ruben is back.’

  Richards’ face went white, she staggered, and Father Rosario caught her and lowered her into her chair.

  ‘Ruben Millhaven is dead,’ she said softly. ‘Tell him, Sir. Tell him Ruben is dead.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  When he got home he flopped in his chair. After a night of passion that he had no knowledge of – except from a very explicit DVD – he was worn out.

  His five year-old – Gabi – crawled up and sat in his lap with a book about dragons.

  ‘Is this a new book?’

  ‘From the school.’

  ‘Aren’t you a bit young to be reading about dragons?’

  ‘It’s ‘bout a baby dragon called Mimeo.’

  ‘If you already know what it’s about, why do you want me to read it to you?’

  She sighed as if she had the world on her shoulders. ‘Just read it, daddy.’

  ‘It says here that dragons eat children.’

  ‘No it doesn’t.’

  ‘Especially children who don’t do as mummy tells them.’

  ‘Read the story, and stop telling fibs.’

  ‘I’m a policeman, I don’t tell fibs.’

  ‘Mrs Hobby said that all policemen tell fibs.’

  ‘Did she now. I’ll have to come to the school and tell Mrs Hobby some more fibs.’

  ‘Are you going to read the story, or do I need to find another daddy?’

  ‘Once upon a time... Another daddy! Have you had offers?’

  Gabi was a precocious child, and didn’t like being spoken to like a five year-old. He read the story and she asked questions throughout.

  ‘Thank you, daddy. You can put your feet up now.’

  ‘Very kind.’

  Jerry brought him a small glass of beer. ‘You look like...’

  ‘...A young Arnold Schwarzenegger?’

  ‘I would say more handsome.’

  ‘Are you going to sit in my lap as well.’

  She smiled. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea when the children are still up.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You’re going to have to talk to Gabe...’

  ‘...Because?’

  ‘He’s been fighting again.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Out with his friends.’

  ‘On a school night?’

  Jerry shrugged. ‘I’ve told him, but he ignores me.’

  ‘Does he now? Well, we’ll soon see about that.’ Gabe had just turned eleven
years old and had started at the local secondary school the previous September. Since then, he had become more and more surly and troublesome. It was time to address the problem head on before it became something wholly different.

  ‘Your other children are upstairs.’ He was thankful that eight year-old Oceana and seven year-old Tabitha were just normal girls – for the moment.

  ‘I’d better go and say hello. Although I’m sure I read somewhere that children should stand in line by the door and welcome their hard working father home.’

  ‘It was probably in one of Gabi’s fairy tale books.’

  As he climbed the stairs, he realised that people’s lives were so fragile. In his briefcase he had something that could shatter his family into a million pieces. Yesterday, he had a life. Today, somebody had threatened to destroy that life.

  He’d never been an ostrich, and wasn’t about to change now. Sticking his head in the sand wasn’t who Ray Kowalski was. Later, after the kids were in bed, he’d show Jerry the DVD. It was the only thing to do. If he kept it from her, she’d never trust him again. They had to face the shit storm that was coming together, as they’d faced everything else that had been thrown at them. If he tried to go it alone, he’d end up alone. And the family he was fighting to save would have already left.

  Tomorrow, he’d have to go on the offensive. Someone had set him up. They had sent him that DVD for a purpose. If it was blackmail, they wouldn’t get much out of him – not that he would pay anyway, but he had the feeling that there was more to it than blackmail. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble in that hotel room. The fact that there was no note with it, suggested to him that there was more to come. He had to find out who was trying to destroy him and his family before he had nothing left to save.

  ***

  ‘I apologise profusely,’ Father Rosario said to Richards. ‘That was insensitive of me.’

  ‘What’s this all about, Father?’ Parish said.

  ‘Of course Ruben is dead, but someone is copying him.’

  Parish shook his head. ‘I’m grateful that you made the effort to come in and see us, Father, but the details of that case were never made public.’