Dominion of Darkness: (Parish & Richards #19)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘She must have covered it up, Sir. When she was leading the investigation, she prevented her team from looking along the canal. If they had have done they’d have found Roland Beagrie in his houseboat . . . And remember, Libby Stone was missing for a week. During which time, Beagrie was sexually abusing that young girl on his fucking boat, Sir. I think you should also ring the Justice Minister and tell him to bring back hanging.’

  ‘Now, Blake! This needs some careful thought.’

  ‘I bow to your long years of experience in careful thought, Chief. What do you recommend?’

  ‘Let me call her first, Blake. We don’t want to put the cart before the horse, do we? You’re absolutely sure . . . ?’

  She sighed loud enough for him to hear. ‘I’m sure, Sir. The sooner you call her, the sooner we can wrap this whole thing up and go down to the pub to swill the dirty taste from our mouths.’

  ‘I’ll call her. In the meantime, you’re not to do anything that I might regret.’

  ‘Understood, Sir. Gilbert and I will by tying up loose ends while we wait for your call.’

  The call ended.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Stick said.

  ‘What, you mean you don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That makes a change. Well, if you don’t know, then I’m not telling you. I think I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Xena’s phone vibrated.

  ‘Chief?’ she said, expecting the Chief to have already called AC Nunn.

  ‘No. This is Mathew Pratt from Forensics, Ma’am.’

  ‘Pratt! I’ve got a Nibley, a Peckham and now they give me a Pratt? I hope you’re used to being called names Matt Pratt?’

  ‘Oh yes, Ma’am. I believe that if you’re picking on me, then you’re leaving someone else alone.’

  ‘I can tell you that no one gets left alone, Matt Pratt. Everyone is fair game. Well, what brings you into my spider’s web?’

  ‘I’m the forensic officer examining the boat, Ma’am. I was told to call you if I found something.’

  ‘So, what have you found, Matt Pratt?’

  ‘I was briefed on the Libby Stone case, so that I knew what I was looking for.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Libby Stone was found naked. Her clothing was never found.’

  ‘That’s right, Matt Pratt.’

  ‘There was also a yellow plastic headband on the list of missing items.’

  ‘I recall seeing that on the list.’

  ‘I’ve found it on the boat in a small metal box.’

  ‘Good work, Pratt. At least now we . . .’

  ‘But that’s not the only thing in the box, Ma’am.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There are four other items that didn’t belong to Libby Stone, or at least are not on the list of missing items.’

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this, Pratt. Go on?’

  Pratt continued. ‘There’s also a pink watch, a necklace with a silver cross, a pink bow attached to a clip for the hair, and a small acrylic pearl bracelet.’

  Xena said out loud, ‘It’s a keepsake box, isn’t it?’

  ‘That was my immediate thought, Ma’am.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake! Libby Stone was his fifth victim, not his first. You’re genius, Pratt.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll stop calling me names?’

  ‘No.’

  She ended the call.

  ‘Beagrie’s definitely our killer, Stick. That was a forensic officer called Matt Pratt . . .’

  ‘An unfortunate name.’

  ‘I’m sure they pick them specially for me.’

  ‘It certainly seems that way.’

  ‘Pratt is examining the boat and he came cross a small metal box with keepsakes in it. Not only is Libby Stone’s plastic yellow hair band in there, but there’s another four trinkets. Libby Stone wasn’t his first.’

  ‘Or his last, if we don’t catch him.’

  ‘Why hasn’t the Chief called us back yet? I bet he’s playing politics and everyone’s coming to a deal, so that the good name of the police force isn’t dragged through the mud.’

  ‘The police force has a good name?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Can you imagine the fallout from this?’

  ‘It doesn’t look good, does it?’

  Xena’s phone vibrated.

  ‘Chief?’

  ‘I can be the Chief if you want me to, Ma’am? But at the moment I’m pretending to be PC Morningtown from Central Despatch.’

  ‘There are laws about masquerading as a Constable, Morningtown. So, why are you calling me at three thirty on a Wednesday afternoon?’

  ‘A child has gone missing, Ma’am.’

  ‘Shit! Give me the details.’

  ‘Her name is Patricia – Patty – Birchill. She’s eight years old and she went missing on her way home from Roydon Primary School. She lives at 27 Farm Close in Roydon.’

  ‘And there are police on the ground?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am. Inspector Paul Rawlins is in charge of the search effort.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Morningtown.’

  ‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’

  ‘That’s your job, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  The call ended.

  ‘Things are getting out of hand, Stick.’

  ‘We have no idea where Beagrie is though.’

  ‘No, but I bet that bitch Nunn does.’

  She called the Chief.

  ‘I was just about to call you, Blake.’

  ‘Of course you were, Sir. You do know a child has gone missing from Roydon, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m well aware of that, Blake. AC Nunn has hanged herself in her office.’

  ‘Good riddance. That’s all I’ve got to say. Have you heard what Forensics have discovered on Beagrie’s boat?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A box of keepsakes from his victims. One of which is Libby Stone’s plastic yellow hair band, but there are another four keepsakes in that box. Are we still being diplomatic, Sir?’

  ‘No, I think the time for diplomacy is at an end, Blake.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘AC Nunn left a one-word note on her desk: BOAT.’

  ‘Boat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s that meant to mean?’

  ‘That’s all I have, Blake.’

  ‘He sank the boat and now Matt Pratt is there.’

  ‘I’m sorry!’

  ‘That’s the name of the forensic officer – Matthew Pratt, Matt Pratt for short.’

  ‘I dread to think what you call me.’

  ‘Chief mostly, but when you piss me off, I’ve been known to use other names.’

  ‘I can imagine. Well, my suggestion is to get over to the boat and see if her Last Will and Testament makes any sense. There’s no point in you and Gilbert being swallowed up in the search effort for the missing girl. Our best lead is the boat. Let’s hope it pans out.’

  ‘We’re on our way, Chief.’

  The call ended.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Get going.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The boat.’

  Stick switched the engine on, put the car into gear and set off.

  ‘Does the Chief think the missing child is on the salvaged boat?’

  ‘AC Nunn hanged herself in her office.’

  ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘Stop being so empathetic. She could obviously see the writing on the wall. It was the right thing to do. In fact, it was the only thing to do. We’d found her out and she knew it.’

  ‘It’s a bit sad though, isn’t it?’

  ‘What’s sad is that she covered up the sins of her half-brother. As a consequence, five children suffered and died at the hands of Roland Beagrie.’

  ‘Yes, that’s terribly sad. They say that blood is thicker than water though.’

  ‘D
o you even know what you’re talking about?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘There’s no “probably” about it. Where’s the blue light?’

  ‘In the glove compartment.’

  She took the magnetic light out, plugged the power lead into the cigarette lighter jack, opened the window and stuck the light onto the roof. ‘Put your foot down, Stick.’

  ‘How long has she been missing?’

  ‘About an hour – an hour too long.’

  ***

  He caught the train to Stratford and then switched to the Central Line to travel back to Barkingside and collect his car. Bronwyn went in the opposite direction to Bank, where she planned to change to the Central Line to reach Tottenham Court Road, and then jump on a Northern Line train to Highgate.

  He reached the Rush Green Industrial Estate at twenty to four and parked in the busy car park outside Quester Pharmaceuticals Limited.

  Bolton banged on the passenger side window and his heart did a cartwheel.

  He released the door lock. ‘Was that revenge for yesterday?’ he said as she slid onto the passenger seat and closed the door.

  ‘Looking good is the best revenge.’

  ‘Then you’re getting plenty of revenge.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I have a friend who likes to use quotes.’

  ‘Ivana Trump said that.’

  ‘So, how did things go at the Baguely house?’

  ‘No problem. I found the eight passwords, because I knew what I was looking for this time. They were Greek letters in written form dotted around the room. Once I realised that’s what they were, I simply collected them up. The problem was working out which password opened which document. It wasn’t my problem though, so I passed them onto Forensics. They worked out that the passwords had to be input in alphabetical order – the English alphabet, not the Greek one. After that, they gained access to the documents in the folder and printed them off.’

  ‘What did Dan see that made him ask for a meeting with the Chief Constable?’

  ‘A name: Sir Rufus Collingwood.’

  ‘Not someone who moves in my social circles.’

  ‘He’s the Chief Executive of NICE – National Institute of Health and Care Excellence.’

  ‘Okay – keep going. I’m enjoying the story, but I hope there’s going to be some action soon.’

  ‘NICE approve new drugs for use by the National Health Service.’

  ‘I’m beginning to see a splinter of light.’

  ‘Quester paid Collingwood half a million pounds to fast track a cancer drug for approval by the board.’

  ‘I’m with you so far.’

  ‘The drug isn’t safe.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘The report on the human trials omitted to mention that the drug – Azalactanine – caused a life-threatening stroke in one-in-five patients, and eleven of those used in the trials died.’

  ‘What about Baguely?’

  ‘He was doing some legal work for Collingwood and he found out. The problem, is that Collingwood is up to his neck in gambling debts. He’d taken the money and couldn’t go back from there.’

  ‘And Quester have been trying to make it disappear ever since Baguely found out?’

  ‘We have no proof that Quester ordered the murders yet, but I hope that’s about to change.’

  A dozen unmarked black police vans screamed past them and came to a halt in front of the glass frontage of Quester Pharmaceuticals. Armed police poured out of the backs of the vans and ran into the building, which was made slightly difficult because of the revolving door, but eventually they all made it through.

  ‘Good work, Bolton.’

  ‘Sir Rufus Collingwood is being arrested as we sit here watching the show.’

  ‘Well, that’s it then – case closed.’

  ‘You’re not going to leave the interviews and report-writing all to me, are you?’

  ‘Good training, Sergeant. Anyway, I have a report of my own to write.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Recommending you for DI.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Do you want to have sex on the back seat?’

  ‘No, Bolton. As much as I find you attractive, I don’t want to join the other stone statues in that cupboard at the station. Thanks for the offer though – it gives an old man a warm tingly feeling and some hope for the future.’

  ‘I’ll go and make sure they’ve got everything under control, shall I?’

  ‘You do that, Bolton. I’ll call the Chief Constable and sing your praises.’

  Bolton kissed him on the cheek. ‘Call me if you ever get lonely, Sir. I could make an old man very happy.’ She opened the door and was gone.

  He smiled. An old man he may be, but at least he still had it. Once you had it, you always had it – that’s what they said. And he still had it. The trouble was, with his heart condition, having it wasn’t much use if he couldn’t use it. He took out his phone and called the Chief.

  ‘I’ve been expecting your call, Ray.’

  He told him what had happened and what was transpiring at NICE and Quester Pharmaceuticals.

  ‘Excellent work.’

  ‘I was merely a bystander, Sir. Bolton did the hard graft. I’m recommending her for DI. I’ll write a formal recommendation tomorrow.’

  ‘Listen, Ray. I’ve been talking to people.’

  ‘You want to be careful doing that, Sir. They might think you’re a stand-up guy.’

  Orde laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that. Maybe I was a bit hasty in accepting your letter of retirement . . .’

  ‘We both know that’s not true, Sir. What I did was wrong. For the right reasons, but I stepped well over the line. I was grateful just to stay out of prison and keep my pension.’

  ‘I have a gaping hole for a DCI if you want to come back, Ray.’

  He didn’t answer for a handful of second. ‘I’ll sleep on it, Sir. I’m grateful, but I know what my answer will be. Going backwards is never a wise move, and I’m enjoying being my own boss.’

  ‘Well, the offer’s there.’

  ‘Thanks, Sir. By the way, I haven’t told you about the prostitute murders, have I?’

  ***

  They had twenty minutes to wait for the next Central Line train to Stratford where they planned to catch the connecting DLR train to Canary Wharf, so they grabbed a hot drink and a micro-waved pasty in the cafe at Chigwell station.

  ‘Why are we going to Zebra Events again?’

  ‘Loose ends.’

  ‘We could ask them to come to us.’

  ‘It would be out of context. We’re going there to find out about Hayley Kingdom and what drove her into the arms of a psychopath who decided to act out his paraphilic psychosexual fantasies.’

  ‘There are lots of people who commit suicide.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I looked at the statistics the other night. According to the Samaritans there were 6,708 suicides in the UK and the Republic of Ireland in 2013, and the numbers are increasing year-on-year.’

  ‘Do you ever think you’d like to end it all?’

  Richards shook her head. ‘Never. Of course, I get fed-up sometimes, but I never for one second think I want to kill myself. What about you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There are people who do though?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘I can’t imagine things ever getting so bad that I’d want to end my life.’

  ‘Some people have a mental illness. Their brains are misfiring on all cylinders. Look what happened to your mother after Jack was born.’

  ‘That was an awful time.’

  ‘Mental illness has been referred to as the Dominion of Darkness because of the stigma attached to it; the little we actually know about mental illness; and the inner darkness that those suffering with mental illness have to live with.’

  ‘It makes mental illness sound evil, doesn�
�t it?’

  ‘In a way, it’s a fight between good and evil. Of course, only a small minority of those with a mental illness are evil, or at least do evil things, but they’re the ones who we remember. In the end, all people suffering with a mental illness are lumped into the same category. Unfortunately, that’s human nature for you. We’re afraid of anything we don’t understand, and we stereotype all those with similar traits into the same category.’

  The train pulled into the station.

  Parish threw back the last of his coffee and said, ‘Time to go.’

  The journey took fifty minutes. Once they’d navigated up the stainless steel escalator and exited Canary Wharf station, they made their way along Upper Bank Street to the offices of Zebra Events, which was on the third floor of the high rise.

  They were the only two people in the eight person elevator. The doors opened and they found themselves in an open-plan office full of desks, whiteboards, balloons on the ceiling with dangling ribbons and other party paraphernalia.

  ‘Over here,’ a black woman with plaited hair and a bright yellow t-shirt on called to them.

  They wandered over to her desk.

  ‘Yes?’ she said.

  Parish produced his Warrant Card. ‘Detective Inspector Parish from Hoddesdon . . .’

  ‘You want to see Bernie . . . BERNIE!’

  He winced at the sound of her screeching voice.

  A man’s voice came back across the open space. ‘What is it, Charlie?’

  ‘Those coppers are here about Hayley.’

  ‘Send them over.’

  She pointed to a hand waving in the air. ‘Aim for that.’

  Parish led the way. He felt like an intrepid explorer in the Amazon jungle, and wondered if he needed a machete to cut his way through the bunting and dangling ribbons.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Bernie said to them. He had tight curly black hair, oblong glasses and a long face. ‘Is there anything I can get you – Champagne? Fizzy drinks? Coffee? Tea? Horlicks? . . . .’

  ‘No we’re fine.’

  ‘So, Hayley’s gone?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘We’re not surprised. We had a group hug when we heard – none of us were surprised.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. She was a beautiful person and good at her job. Used to turn the event charm on and off like a tap. There was no middle ground with Hayley. She was either up or down, but even when she was up she was down. She used to laugh and joke with the clients, but it was a mask. You only had to look into her eyes and you realised that there was something seriously wrong inside. I tried to help her. I urged her to go and see a doctor. They have drugs now that can stop the mood swings, but as far as I know she never went. It was only a matter of time before she came off the tracks.’