Dominion of Darkness: (Parish & Richards #19)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘He’s obtaining a staff list.’

  ‘Sounds promising.’

  ‘Except . . . what do we do if Paul does find two people there with those initials? We have no evidence that Abel Winter’s death was anything more than an accident.’

  ‘What do we do when we’ve got no evidence, Richards?’

  ‘Mmmm! We make something up?’

  He laughed. ‘We’re detectives – we find some.’

  ‘Oh, yes – I forgot!’

  ‘You can lead on the interviews.’

  ‘Me? Oh God!’

  ‘Or, I could find someone who actually knows something about police work and interviewing suspects?’

  ‘This is a massive case.’

  ‘Yes it is. The DVD will be watched by hundreds – maybe thousands – of people in positions of authority. You’ll be there – centre stage – for all to see. Not only will they analyse what the Kingdoms do or don’t say, their body language and so on, they’ll examine your performance with a critical eye as well. This is your chance for glory, Richards.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’m ready yet.’

  ‘You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.’

  ‘And you’ll be there?’

  ‘Of course – every step of the way. You know you can trust me. I won’t let you fall from the high wire.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Selwyn and Portia Kingdom were in separate interview rooms with two different duty solicitors.

  Richards decided to interview Portia Kingdom first.

  After stating the formalities for the audio and visual recordings Richards said, ‘Let’s talk about your daughter Hayley first, Mrs Kingdom. At 116 Sutherland Road in Walthamstow, when DI Parish and I questioned you yesterday, you said you had no daughter called Hayley. We’ve compared the DNA samples taken from you and your husband with those of Hayley and have confirmed she is your daughter. Can you explain why you denied having a daughter?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘We found no record of Hayley ever having attended a primary or secondary school. Can you explain where your daughter received her education?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Hayley wasn’t registered at any medical facility in Walthamstow and had no medical records of any kind, and yet she suffered from a number of fractures and other physical injuries during her childhood. Can you tell us from where Hayley received the medical attention?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Your daughter also became pregnant as a child and the foetus was terminated within twenty-four weeks of conception. Can you tell us where this abortion was carried out?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Let’s now move on to 116 Sutherland Road, Walthamstow. Can you confirm that is the address where you live with your husband Selwyn, and have done for the past thirty years?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Richards spread the coloured eight-by-ten photographs of the fifteen decomposed bodies out on the table in from of Portia Kingdom and her solicitor.

  The young solicitor – Miss Linda Maltravers – looked away in horror.

  ‘So far, the decomposed bodies of fifteen young women have been found under the house and buried in the back garden. Can you explain these gruesome discoveries?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Video recordings of your husband torturing, sexually assaulting and killing these women were found on your computer. Would you care to make any comment about them?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Portia Kingdom: I’m charging you with the abduction, torture, sexual assault and murder of at least fifteen women at 116 Sutherland Road in Walthamstow between 1987 and 2016. Following a full investigation of the other crimes I’ve outlined, you will be charged with further offences in connection with these crimes. You will now be transferred to New Scotland Yard where you’ll appear before a magistrate.’

  Outside in the corridor Parish said, ‘Good job, Richards.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Definitely – and you did it without a rubber ring.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’

  The same drama was played out in Interview Room Two with Selwyn Kingdom.

  Parish then signed the Transfer Order and they were bundled into a G Force security truck and transported to London.

  ‘I feel dirty,’ Richards said.

  ‘That’ll be the grunge oozing out of your pores after the run this morning. There’s a shower in the basement, you know. There isn’t a lock on the door though, and people wander in and help you wash the bits you can’t reach.’

  ‘Are you speaking as someone who’s used the shower yourself? Or as a person who wanders in and helps other people wash?’

  ‘Both. I understand it’s a popular shower.’

  ‘I think I’ll wait until I get home.’

  ‘you don’t know what your missing.’

  ***

  Burnt Mill Residential Care Home was a two-storey brick building with sash windows, tall chimneys and Roman pillars either side of the main door.

  Stick pressed the doorbell.

  A disconnected woman’s voice came out of a box on the wall. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Police,’ Xena said. ‘Open up.’

  ‘We’re here to see Mrs Dawson,’ Stick added.

  Xena nudged him. ‘You didn’t have to tell her that.’

  ‘No doubt she would have asked.’

  ‘We’re the police – that should be enough to open doors.’

  ‘Sooner or later we would have had to tell her why we were here.’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘Sooner makes it a lot easier.’

  ‘How do you know? You spilled your guts even before she let us in.’

  The door opened. A woman in a dark blue uniform was standing there with her arms crossed. She had short curly brown hair, no neck and breasts the size of basketballs. ‘IDs, please.’

  They both produced their Warrant Cards.

  The woman scrutinised them as if she was an expert in police Warrant Cards. ‘’Mmmm! They look real.’

  ‘They are real,’ Xena said. ‘We could arrest you and then you’d have first-hand experience of how real they are. How would that be?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. Well, I have some very sad news for you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Mrs Dawson passed away thirty minutes ago. We’re waiting for the doctor to arrive to officially pronounce her dead and write the death certificate.’

  ‘Has her daughter been notified?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’d like to see Mrs Dawson if we may?’

  ‘I don’t see why.’

  ‘We’re the police. We don’t have to explain our reasons to you. Just let us in and then everything will be fine.’

  ‘Do you have a Search Warrant?’

  Xena screwed up her face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not here to search the premises, we simply want to take a look at Mrs Dawson’s body.’

  The woman was standing in the entrance like a concrete block. ‘She’s dead. Have you no respect for the dead?’

  ‘Arrest her, DS Gilbert.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes – you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Obstructing an active police investigation.’

  ‘Mrs . . . I’m sorry, what’s your name?’

  ‘Staff Nurse Rosie Watts.’

  ‘Mrs Watts, I’m arresting you for obstructing . . .’

  ‘Now who’s being ridiculous?’

  ‘Well, let us in then.’

  ‘All you had to do was ask.’

  Xena’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did I mention that we have various implements of torture in the police station basement similar to those used in the Spanish Inquisition?’

  Rosie Watts stood to one side. ‘Follow me, I’ll take you to Mrs Dawson’s room . . . Although, now that she’s dead, I don’t suppose it’s her room anymore. And don’t touch the body . . . Or anything else, for that matt
er.’

  They were led through a series of narrow corridors to a room looking out onto an overgrown garden, and a twisted and bent tree blocking out the light.

  ‘Did Mrs Dawson have any other visitors other than her daughter?’

  ‘You’re assuming her daughter came to see her.’

  ‘Didn’t she?’

  ‘I think once in the seven years Lucinda has been here.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Stick said.

  ‘It certainly is.’ Staff Nurse Watts said, pulling back the sheet covering the fragile old woman. She had wispy grey hair, sagging pale skin and her false teeth were in a glass on the bedside cabinet.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Xena said. ‘Did anyone else come to see her?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘I feel really sad,’ Stick said.

  ‘Stop being a baby.’ Xena glanced around the room. ‘Any photographs?’

  Rosie Watts pulled a face. ‘I thought you weren’t going to do a search?’

  ‘I lied. Did I tell you that we’re murder detectives?’

  ‘No, you didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘And did I also not tell you that we’re trying to prevent children from being murdered?’

  ‘No, you didn’t tell me that either.’

  ‘So, where are the photographs?’

  She pointed to a chest of drawers. ‘Middle drawer. There’s an album in there.’

  Stick opened the drawer, pulled out the album and passed it to Xena.

  ‘Lucinda used to look through the pictures a lot,’ Rosie said. ‘We took turns sitting with her, so that she could tell us about the photographs.’

  Xena opened the album. Most of the photographs were of Lucinda, her husband George, or Sarah at the different stages of their lives, but on the last page there was a single black and white photograph of a girl aged about thirteen years old holding a tiny baby. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Lucinda.’

  ‘And the baby?’

  ‘Hers, apparently. I overheard her telling the story to a Care Assistant once. She said she was raped when she was twelve years old and forced to go full-term . . .’

  ‘Raped by whom?’

  ‘She wouldn’t say. What she did say was that the child was taken from her straight after that photograph, and she never saw him again.’

  ‘A boy?’

  ‘So she said. She called him Billy, but I suppose that if he was adopted he’d have been given another name.’

  ‘I’d like to borrow this photograph,’ Xena said, taking it out of the album and slipping it into her pocket.

  ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘We’ll give you a receipt . . . Write the Staff Nurse a receipt, Sergeant.’

  Stick did as he was told, tore the page out of his notebook and passed it to her. ‘We’ll get it back to you, don’t worry.’

  ‘So, you phoned Mrs Dawson’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is she on her way?’

  ‘No – too busy, she said. She’d like us to make the burial arrangements. She said she’ll try and get here by the weekend if she could. I don’t understand the woman. Lucinda was such a lovely person, and she was really proud of how well her daughter had done for herself.’

  ‘Children today, huh!’ Xena said. ‘Who’d have them? Okay, I think we’re done here. Thanks for your help, Mrs Watts – even if it was begrudgingly late.’

  ‘Better late than never.’

  Once they were outside and were walking towards the car Stick said, ‘You don’t like children then?’

  ‘Satan’s goblins.’

  ‘If you hate them so much, why are you encouraging Jenifer and I to have one?’

  ‘I want only the best for you and Jenifer.’

  ‘Thanks – I think.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘What do you mean the CPS has dropped the case?’ Jerry said looking at Shakin’ and Joe.

  They’d caught the train from Covent Garden and travelled two stops to Piccadilly Circus on the Piccadilly Line. From there they switched to the Bakerloo Line and hopped on a train to Paddington in order to confront Veronica Darling about the strange case of Andrew Crowthorne’s murder.

  ‘No, that can’t be right,’ Shakin’ said. ‘The CPS don’t drop murder cases when there’s so much evidence that a jury would convict the accused and the judge would sentence them to a million years without parole.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Joe agreed. ‘What’s going on, Veronica?’

  ‘Did you enjoy yourself the other night, Joe?’

  ‘I don’t think “Enjoy” is the exact word I’d use. It was different, I’ll say that.’

  ‘What about another date?’

  ‘Can I think about it and get back to you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll wait for your call.’

  ‘Never mind arranging your weird love life with one of my boys,’ Jerry said. ‘What the hell’s going on, Veronica?’

  ‘As I said, the CPS have agreed to drop the case.’

  Shakin’s brow furrowed and his face contorted into a mask of pain. ‘How?’

  Joe sat down in one of the chairs and spread his legs. ‘Why?’

  ‘What I’m about to tell you is confidential and you’re not to breathe a word of it outside this room.’

  All three of them nodded.

  ‘Yes, Rebecca . . .’

  Jerry interrupted. ‘That’s not her real name though, is it?’

  ‘No. You don’t need to know her real name now.’

  ‘We checked her medical records,’ Joe said. ‘No such person.’

  Veronica’s face wrinkled up. ‘The university were meant to send me three students who knew nothing about the law and would follow simple instructions. Instead, they sent me you three. You were never meant to go off on your own checking the facts, which has caused no end of problems. Yes, Rebecca does appear to be guilty of pre-meditated murder. The CPS showed us what they had, and it was pretty damning evidence.’

  Jerry said, ‘All we’ve heard is Rebecca’s sob story about why she killed Andrew, but now we know it was a complete fabrication. According to Andrew’s medical records, he was the one being physically abused, so why did Rebecca – or whatever her real name is – kill Andrew?’

  Veronica crossed her legs. She was wearing a short flared skirt with hold-up stockings and the boys were mesmerised. ‘Earlier in the day, Andrew had told her that he was going to leave her. He said he was in love with a woman he’d met at work and she was having his child.’

  ‘So she killed him out of jealousy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The final act of control left to the abuser,’ Jerry said. ‘You know she’ll do it again, don’t you?’

  Veronica shrugged. ‘That’s not my problem.’

  ‘So, how come they’ve dropped the case?’ Joe said.

  ‘Rebecca had something a lot more valuable than a paltry murder conviction to bargain with.’

  Jerry pulled a face. ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t reveal that information.’

  ‘Ah, come on, Veronica,’ Joe pleaded. ‘It’s no good telling us the joke, but forgetting the punch line.’

  ‘You’re sworn to secrecy?’

  ‘Just tell us,’ Jerry urged.

  ‘When she was massaging a client she overheard something . . .’

  Jerry’s eyes opened wide. ‘And that client would be Mr R Bailey from the CPS, wouldn’t it?’

  Veronica shook her head. ‘No, he’s simply an accountant. The CPS are paying Rebecca two hundred and fifty pounds a week.’

  ‘Yes, we know that from her bank records – why?’

  ‘I won’t ask how you were able to access Rebecca’s bank records, but they’re paying her because she’s now a protected witness. The CPS are merely an intermediary for the money.’

  ‘An intermediary for whom?’

  ‘The Security Services.�
��

  ‘But she murdered Andrew Crowthorne,’ Joe said.

  Shakin’ added, ‘And let’s not forget that she stabbed him seventeen times while he was sleeping either.’

  ‘What about justice for Andrew Crowthorne?’ Jerry said. ‘And closure for his parents?’

  ‘My client . . . In fact, our client – is Rebecca. Our task was to make sure she was found innocent, or at least didn’t go to jail. This is the next best outcome. One thing you’ll learn when you begin practising law for real, is what Martin Luther King, Junior already knew: Nobody gets justice. People only get good luck or bad luck. Well, in this case, Rebecca is getting the good luck.’

  ‘She must have something really good,’ Joe said.

  ‘Well, what did she overhear?’

  ‘There are currently fifteen nuclear reactors operating in the United Kingdom, and Rebecca overheard terrorists plotting to blow them up.’

  ‘Which one?’ Joe said.

  Veronica stared at him. ‘All of them – simultaneously. What the terrorists didn’t realise, and neither did I until Rebecca demonstrated it, was that she’s fluent in Arabic. Apparently, she went out with a Syrian man and she picked up the language easily. She has a flair for languages.’

  ‘I hate languages,’ Shakin’ said.

  Joe shuffled on the seat to get more comfortable. ‘I can barely speak English, never mind Arabic.’

  ‘So the Security Services were informed?’ Jerry said.

  ‘Yes – a month ago,’ Veronica continued. ‘Of course, we couldn’t say anything until the information was verified. Rebecca made the CPS sign a stay-out-of-jail deal before she told the Security Services any details though. There are fifteen terrorist cells located across the UK close to the nuclear plants. They were going to fight their way into each plant on a particular day, and then a suicide bomber would blow up the reactor at a specified time. Can you imagine the devastation?’

  ‘I think something like that would destroy the whole world,’ Joe said.

  ‘Obviously, on the insistence of the Security Services and with the approval of the Home Secretary, the CPS had no choice but to drop the case against Rebecca. So, all’s well that ends well.’

  ‘Not for Andrew or his parents,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Would you rather the world ended?’