by Ellis, Tim
Parish put Jack to bed. As he came down the stairs, Digby knew it was his turn for some attention, and ran around barking until he had his lead on and was heading towards the front door.
‘Come on then, Digby old fella,’ Parish said. ‘Let’s go and paint the town red.’
As it turned out, the dog was more interested in spraying lampposts and other stationary objects yellow, and barking a “Hello” at other dogs and their trained humans as each one passed.
Was Father Rosario right about the messages? He had known about the missing eyes and tongue. Was he right in allowing Richards to return to that cellar in her mind again? Maybe it was too dangerous. Maybe Richards would end up like her mother. He’d have to talk to Dr Suresh tomorrow morning, make sure there were no risks involved. What he didn’t want was for Richards to go back into that cellar and never come out again – that would be a nightmare too cruel to bear.
And then there was the murder of the woman who claimed to be his mother. He still had no idea what it was all about, and it seemed to be a dead end. There was no evidence linking Frankl to her murder. Yes, he and Richards knew that Frankl had committed the act, but proving it without any evidence was next to impossible. He suspected that the police bail... Jesus – he’d just remembered the email about the dead woman from Beverley Jenkins.
He pulled out his phone and tried her number again.
‘Hello.’
‘Beverley Jenkins, please.’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s Inspector Parish from...’
‘...Hoddesdon. We throw darts at your picture in the staff room.’
‘So you do. You emailed me about the dead woman.’
‘She said her name was Jessica Butler, but I don’t think that was her real name. She lived next door to me...’
‘Just a minute.’ There was a street light a couple of yards ahead, and an old green telephone wiring box underneath to lean on and write the information in his notebook. ‘Sorry, I’m out walking the dog. Okay, go on.’
She gave him the address.
‘How long has she lived there?’
‘Eight months.’
‘And you didn’t know her before?’
‘No.’
He had a thousand and one questions, but now was not the time. ‘If she lived next door to you, why did she come into Redbridge Council to see you?’
‘Maybe I’m the only person she could trust. She gave me something. I think she knew someone was going to kill her because she said that if anything happened to her, I was to give it to you.’
His heart was racing. ‘What did she give you?’
‘A small brown envelope.’
‘Have you looked inside?’
‘What do you take me for?’
‘I’m just asking.’
‘Where is the envelope now?’
‘It’s here.’
‘Can you open it?’
‘Of course I can, but I’d be much happier if you opened it. She said it was for you, not for me. This is probably what got her killed, and I don’t want to be next.’
‘You’re not going to die, Miss Jenkins. Nobody knows you even have the envelope.’
‘Still, I’d be happier if you just come and collect it. Then I can get on with my life.’
‘Okay. I have to go somewhere first, but I can be at your flat by about nine o’clock. Is that all right with you?’
‘I should still be up, but try not to be any later, I have work tomorrow.’
‘I’ll see you soon, Miss Jenkins.’
He ended the call.
‘Sorry about that, old fella,’ he said to Digby. ‘Let’s get back, shall we? Richards will be chomping at the bit.’
The dog’s walk was taking longer than expected. They still had dinner to eat before they could set off to visit Angie in the hospital. They couldn’t not eat it after Alicia Mae had cooked it for them. At the moment, there simply weren’t enough hours in the day.
God he was excited. The woman – Jessica Butler – obviously knew who he really was, and had documentary evidence to that effect. He could just imagine what was in that envelope – His real birth certificate, photographs of his parents – maybe a family photograph with his mother holding him, a letter explaining what all the mystery was about... and then there was the woman’s flat. If she’d lived there for eight months it would be full of personal effects, which might very well tell them who this woman really was. He’d phone Toadstone once he’d had a quick look inside the flat himself, and tell him to get a team in there. This was the break he’d been waiting for. The answers should all unravel now. Soon, he’d know everything about his birth.
It crossed his mind whether they’d find any evidence in the flat linking Frankl to the murder, but he guessed not. Then another thought galloped into his thoughts. What if there was evidence that would lead them to the person who had hired Frankl? That would be much better – they’d get two for one.
He smiled. Richards would dance a jig when he told her.
***
It was ten past seven by the time they arrived at the hospital. They both went into Angie’s room to say hello to her. Parish saw that there was no change in her condition, and his heart was heavy with loss and sadness again. He kissed his wife on the lips, and then went for a coffee in the cafeteria while Richards took the first half hour.
What was he going to do? At the moment, he was muddling through from day to day, trying not to think of Angie. If he thought of her, thought of her absence, thought of how he was to blame... he knew he’d never get out of bed again. The loss and sorrow would turn him to stone. He missed her terribly, missed her touch, her kisses, her smile – missed everything about her. Their happiness had been so short, and then she had been snatched away from him. He cried silently as he stared through the window into the darkness.
‘You’re not crying, are you?’
‘A boulder in my eye is all, Richards. It’s no good me telling you to lock your feelings and emotions up in a lead-lined box, and then me blubbering like a baby, now is it? You know very well that I’m as hard as nails.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
He walked back up to see Angie. Sat by her bed, took her hand in his, and tears welled in his eyes again.
He rested his forehead on his hand and said, ‘Where are you, my love?’
‘I’m here.’
He thought he was hearing Angie’s voice inside his head until he picked his head up and looked at her. She was staring at him with a dim light flickering in her eyes.
‘Is that you Angie?’
‘Yes.’
He felt like a baby, but he couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. ‘Oh God, I’ve missed you so much. Don’t ever go away again.’
He held her face in his hands and kissed her. He pressed the button to call the nurse, and then he called Richards.
‘Get up here.’
Nurse Stephanie Sliwinski arrived first. ‘I’ll let the doctor know.’
Richards ran in and threw herself on her mum. ‘Oh mum, oh mum,’ she said in between the crying.
‘What have I told you about bawling your eyes out, Richards? You only have so much water in your body, and...’
The white-haired duty doctor – Doctor Conor O’Flynn on his name badge – came in. ‘Let the dog see the rabbit then.’ He took Angie’s pulse, shone a light in her eyes, and peered in her mouth. ‘Mmmm,’ he said rubbing his chin between thumb and forefinger.
‘Which means?’ Richards asked.
‘Which means, young lady, that I believe your mother has found the exit door.’
Angie smiled weakly.
The doctor gave everyone a stern look. ‘But don’t go thinking that she can pack her bags and that’s an end of it,’ he directed at Richards. ‘There’s some work to be done before we get to that stage in the proceedings. Now, I think visiting time is over for tonight. The patient needs rest, and then tomorrow we’ll begin the journey along the yellow brick r
oad to recovery.’
They both kissed Angie goodnight and left.
Richards hung onto his good arm as they walked along the corridor. ‘I’ve got my mum back, Sir.’
‘Softly softly, catchy monkey.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, don’t count your chickens before they hatch, don’t cross the bridge before...’
‘I think I get the idea.’
‘Good. We have to take one day at a time...’
‘You think she’ll go back into that place again, don’t you?’
‘I just hope the exit door that she’s found isn’t a revolving door. We’d both be devastated if we come back tomorrow and she’s slipped backwards into the darkness again – I couldn’t bear that.’
‘Nor me. All right, I’ll try not to get too excited, but it’ll be hard.’
He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked outside into the cold. ‘Maybe tomorrow we can be a bit excited.’
Once they were in the car he said, ‘I spoke to Beverley Jenkins earlier while I was walking Digby...’
‘And you’re only just telling me?’
‘I was thinking.’
‘What did she say?’
He told her.
She turned towards him, her eyes nearly dangling from their stalks. ‘And you’re only just telling me?’ she said again, but this time it was a few octaves higher. ‘Come on then, let’s go. Oh God! An envelope, with things in, and a flat, with... Oh God! Are you excited?’
‘Just a teeny weenie bit.’
‘You liar. I bet you’ve been going out of your mind with excitement. You find out all of this, and then my mum wakes up, and now we’re going to find out the truth once and for all... I bet you explode before we even get there.’
‘Some people get far too excited.’
‘Some people are just wet blankets.’
Beverley Jenkins lived at Seven Kings, which wasn’t too far away from the hospital. Along Barley Lane onto the A118, cross over the railway lines into Cameron Road, and a right into Elgin Road. The three-storey block of flats was called: Quantock Heights, and Beverley Jenkins lived on the top floor in Number 3/5.
The trouble was, they didn’t get there before the building had gone up in flames. Nor did they get there before the fire engines, or the ambulances, or the onlookers. In fact, they were probably two of the last people to get there.
‘Tell me that’s not where she lived, Sir,’ Richards said, her horrified expression etched in relief by the flames.
He dropped his forehead onto the steering wheel. ‘I wish I could, but that’s exactly where she did live.’
They found the fireman in charge – a Dylan Hall.
‘Do you know if there was anybody in there?’ Parish said.
‘Sorry, too early to tell. At the moment we’re trying to control the fire.’
‘Thanks.’
‘How did they find out?’ Richards said to him as they walked back to the car.
‘I don’t know, but whoever “they” are, I think we can safely assume that they did.’ One minute he nearly had everything. The next he had nothing. He knew that the remains of Beverley Jenkins would be found in the ashes. It would probably be impossible to discover how she had died. As for the brown envelope – it was gone, together with the last hope he had of finding out the truth – if there was such a thing.
***
Thursday, 17th January
‘You’re never to mention what happened last night to anyone,’ Xena said.
Carter yawned. ‘I had too much to drink to remember a damned thing about last night.’
‘Me too.’
‘What about the boxes?’
‘You’re going to have to go in there and get them.’
‘I’ll keep guard while you drag the boxes out,’ Carter offered.
‘Do I look like an idiot? I could throw a basketball through the holes in your plan. There might be rats in the other boxes, and the rat that jumped out of the one box might have got back in it.’
‘Okay, we’ll leave the boxes here.’
Xena sighed. Leaving the boxes wasn’t an option. She made her way outside. Carter followed her. It was still only six thirty and not even light yet. Her head was throbbing like a clapped-out old generator, and she thought that maybe the rat had followed her into Carter’s room and pissed in her mouth.
She found a stick in the bushes. ‘This ought to do it.’
‘You’re going to poke it to death?’
‘I’m going to use it to open the boxes. You’re going to stand holding the door open. If there are more rats I want to be able to get out quickly.’
‘Rats eat humans, you know,’ Carter said.
‘Very helpful. We could reverse roles if you want?’
‘They’re particularly partial to the soft squishy bits like the eyes and the genitals.’
She offered Carter the stick. ‘You seem to know more about the behaviour of rats than I do, you go in there.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of this opportunity to face your fears.’
They made their way back inside the annex. Xena stuck her head round the door of her room. She didn’t know what she expected to see – Maybe a family of rats having a feast on the bed. As it happened, she saw nothing. She held her breath and waited, but there was no movement of any kind.
‘Okay,’ she whispered to Carter. ‘I’m going in. Cover me.’
Carter gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s like a friggin’ drugs bust.’
Xena held the stick out in front of her, and kept the bottom of the bed in sight. What she didn’t want was the rat to attack her on her blind side, or circle round and jump on her back.
‘Watch out!’ Carter hissed.
Xena ran from the room as if Lucifer himself was chasing her.
Carter curled up with laughter. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’
‘You fucking bitch. And I was beginning to think you were an okay person.’
‘I am.’ She held out a hand. ‘Here, give me the stick.’
Xena passed her the stick.
Carter walked right in and started opening the boxes. No rats jumped out. ‘We’re clear,’ she said. ‘You drag one, I’ll do another.’
They hefted the four boxes out into the corridor where Xena examined them a bit more carefully.
‘My stuff’s still in the room,’ Xena said.
‘Do you want the stick?’
‘You don’t want to...?’
‘I think it’s your turn, don’t you?’
Xena decided that it was time to stop being a fucking wimp, to grasp her fear with both hands, and throttle the life out of it. No hairy rat was going to stop her doing what she had to do.
‘Right,’ she said, and strode into the room. She grabbed her bag off the floor and put it on the bed, unzipped the flap and peered inside – clear. There were dirty clothes in the wardrobe – clear – which she scooped up and stuffed inside the bag. Next, she went into the bathroom – clear – and gathered up her toiletries. She had a final look around... and saw the rat scurrying along the skirting board behind the bedside cabinet.
She took out her mobile. ‘You fucking evil bastard,’ she said switching it to video. ‘Tap dance for Xena,’ and recorded the rat running about the room. Then she made her escape. Her heart was doing the jitterbug, and her brain was trying to keep pace.
After throwing her bag into the boot of the car she said, ‘Come on, let’s go and pay,’ and made her way to reception.
‘We’d like to settle up please,’ she said to the pretty young receptionist. ‘But before you calculate what we owe, I’d like you to ask the duty manager to come and talk to us.’
‘Just one moment, madam,’ the receptionist said picking up the phone.
‘What are you up to?’ Carter whispered.
‘Wait and see.’
After a short time a young man in a suit appeared. ‘I’m
the duty manager, how can I be of service, madam?’
Xena produced her phone and showed him the video. ‘I woke up this morning to find that I’d been sharing my bed with a fucking rat...’
‘I don’t think...’
‘Look carefully... Is that one of your rooms?’
‘Well, yes...’
‘Is that a fucking rat, or not?’
‘It certainly...’
‘Do you offer them as extras with the peanuts? Or do you think I brought it with me?’
‘Well, no...’
‘I’m going to take this video to the television and newspapers...’
‘I don’t think there’s any need...’
‘But other people need to know that you have rats in your bedrooms.’
‘Please keep your voice down, madam. Obviously you won’t have to pay for the room...’
‘I’m not fucking paying for anything. My friend here has also been traumatised by the sight of that rat...’
‘Neither of you will be required to pay for your stay at the Cathedral Hotel.’
‘And what about compensation?’
‘I don’t think...’
‘Did you know that you can send video shorts in the blink of an eye. I’ve even heard of these type of things going viral on the Internet.’
He let out a heavy sigh. ‘All right, you can stay at any of our one hundred and fifteen hotels across the UK free of charge for the next year.’
‘In writing?’
‘In writing.’
‘Both of us?’
‘Both of you, but I get to delete the video on your phone?’
Xena smiled. ‘Okay.’
He held out his hand for her mobile.
‘I haven’t got it in writing yet.’
He slipped into the back room of reception and came back with two complementary vouchers, which he wrote their names on and signed. ‘There you are,’ he said.
She passed him her phone.
He deleted the video and passed it back to her.
‘We’re going into breakfast now, and then we’ll be leaving, but you should know that the rat’s name is Rowley.’