There is no Fear in Love: (Parish & Richards #20)

by Tim Ellis

‘What for?’

  ‘As I’ve said, we’re murder detectives, Miss Henson. That’s what we do to get a feel for who the victim was, which might in turn help us to understand the killer’s motive. Also, we look for anything that might provide us with a lead. Did your sister keep a diary?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll be under her pillow.’

  ‘Is it all right if we borrow it?

  ‘I suppose so. You’ll bring it back though, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  They made their way up the stairs and went into Christy Henson’s bedroom on the right along the landing. The Queen-sized bed and the bedside table were white wood. On the bed was a flower-patterned quilt and pillows. Underneath were white wicker baskets full of knick-knacks and odds-and-ends. There was a matching blanket chest at the end of the bed half-full with bedding, blankets and throws. A white chest of drawers with a dozen perfumes and an array of make-up sitting on the top stood by the wall on the left; and a white wardrobe stuffed with clothes and shoes next to it. On the wall above the bed hung a collection of individually-framed rare Pokémon cards.

  ‘The yellow Raichu card is worth about eight thousand pounds, and the others are worth varying amounts of money. Ever since she was a kid Pokémon was her passion. I told her she was being pathetic – just shows what I know.’ Tessa burst into tears again and flopped onto the bed.

  Richards put a hand on Tessa’s shoulders, but didn’t say anything. She knew that the relatives of victims often regretted things said and not said, things done and not done. It was a way of coming to terms with the loss, of reconciling the empty space with what should have been.

  Parish slipped his hand under the pillow, retrieved Christy Henson’s diary and passed it to Richards – they’d pick through it later.

  ‘We’re done,’ he said. There was nothing in the bedroom to indicate why Christy was a victim and not someone else. The Lover had found her attractive – that was enough.

  They went back downstairs.

  ‘Well?’ Tessa said.

  Richards said, ‘She was found in the woods off Meadgate Road near Dodd’s Weir by an early morning jogger . . .’

  Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘We used to go up there as kids. My mum made me take little Christy with me. I used to be really mean to her, because I was meeting a boy.’ Her jaw set hard as she gritted her teeth. ‘Go on, what else? Where’s she been for the past week?’

  ‘We don’t know yet.’

  ‘What do you know?’

  Richards stretched out her hand, but Tessa pulled back. ‘I don’t want comforting. The only thing that will comfort me is to see the bastard who killed my little sister strung up, but they won’t do that, will they? He’ll probably get fifteen years and be out in eight for good behaviour. My taxes will be paying for him to have an easy life in prison and then enjoy a happy retirement, while Christy is dead and I’ll never see her again. What else?’

  ‘Let’s wait for the post-mortem, shall we?’

  ‘Don’t think you can keep anything from me – I want to know everything he did to her. Did he rape her?’

  Richards glanced at Parish.

  Parish took over. ‘Yes, she was raped.’

  ‘Was she murdered where she was found?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you don’t know where he kept her for a week?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She suffered, didn’t she?’

  ‘I would try to focus on her life, not her death, Tessa,’ Richards urged.

  ‘Have you ever lost anybody?’

  ‘Yes . . . I lost my father.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He was killed during a robbery.’

  ‘Then you know how I feel. Stop trying to comfort me. I’m so fucking angry I could strangle the bastard with my bare hands if he was here right now. He’s stolen my sister’s life. She didn’t deserve to die like that. A week ago I had a beautiful sister, now I have a dead body to bury. Don’t think I’m going to be comforted, I’m not going to be comforted. I won’t appear on the television asking for him to give himself up, and I’ll never forgive him. You’d better find him and lock him up, because if I find him first I’m going to kill him.’

  ‘You don’t want to say or do anything that you might regret, Tessa.’

  ‘I want justice for Christy. Locking him up at my expense to find God and study for a degree is not justice – that’s letting him piss on my sister’s memory while we all stand around and watch. You can go now. And don’t come back until you can tell me that he’s dead.’

  ‘I’ll arrange for a Victim Support Officer . . .’

  ‘You’re not listening to me, are you? I don’t want or need any support – I want revenge. Can you arrange that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ll never be able to give me revenge, so there’s no point in staying. Get out, leave me alone and don’t bother coming back.’

  Parish stood up. ‘Come on, Richards.’

  ‘But . . .’

  He took Richards’ elbow and guided her out of the living room, along the hallway and through the front door into the freezing cold.

  ‘I feel terrible, Sir.’

  ‘Don’t. You know very well that grief is a complex process, and it’s common for the relatives of murder victims to feel a lot of anger. Were you angry when your father was killed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did you want to kill the people responsible?’

  ‘Yes, but I think that soon passed.’

  ‘As it will for Tessa Henson.’

  ‘She was really angry though. Usually, I can talk them round, but she wasn’t having any of it, was she?’

  ‘No, but then everybody’s different. If we knock on her door tomorrow she’ll be all reasonable and apologetic.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘And you don’t think she’ll go looking for the killer, do you?’

  ‘Even if she did, would she find him?’

  ‘He might find her.’

  ‘That’s unlikely.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Now, we should eat some lunch.’

  ‘Lunch! I don’t know how you can.’

  ‘It’s important to keep our strength up in the face of adversity, Richards.’

  ***

  ‘So now I’ve got a fucking donkey called Huckleberry and a partner called Stick. I feel like the luckiest woman alive.’

  A shadow of a smile crossed Stick’s face.

  ‘I hope that wasn’t a smile, numpty?’

  ‘I never would.’

  They made their way back to the house.

  Peckham handed Xena a sheaf of A4-sized papers. ‘I had one of my people print out Melissa Boyd’s contact list from the phone book on her mobile.’ He shuffled round to stand next to her and began pointing at names and riffling through the pages as she held them. ‘As you can see, there’s her parents and . . .’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m just showing you . . .’

  ‘You think I can’t read?’

  ‘Well no, but . . .’

  ‘Go and stand over there. You’ll be rubbing yourself up against me like a registered sex offender next.’ She scanned the sheets of paper. Some of the names were obvious: “mum”, “granny”, “Martin’s dad”, but others were less so: “Bill”, “Holly”, “Marge” and so forth. Some numbers didn’t have names against them, merely letters: “AA”, “BD”, “RA”. She’d get one of the support staff at the station to ring every number and identify all the names, addresses and each person’s relationship to Melissa Boyd. ‘What’s this on the last page?’

  ‘Ah yes!’ He began to shuffle round to stand beside her again.

  ‘Is there something wrong with you?’

  ‘I was just . . . That information was written on one of those magnetic notepads stuck to the fridge door.’

  She looked at the message: “Ray – 7:30 a.m.” ‘Was this today?’
/>   ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t say. I suppose it could have been yesterday, or maybe next week.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  She passed the papers to Stick. ‘You can carry these.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Why not? Or do you think an attractive female Detective Inspector with a wealth of police experience should be lugging around reams of paper like a navvy?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘There you go then.’ She turned to Pecker again. ‘What drugs did you find in the medicine cabinet?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, you’d better find out and let me know.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Unless you can think of some reason why you shouldn’t?’

  He thought for a handful of seconds. ‘Nothing springs to mind.’

  ‘I’ll be with those two yeti over there,’ she said, referring to the farm workers – Hayes and Scully.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Oh, and another thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘To save us traipsing through the house again, find out from Doc Paine in which order the Boyd family were killed. I’m guessing mother, son and then the two daughters?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Stick’s forehead wrinkled up. ‘If Martin Boyd didn’t kill his family, where was he when they were being murdered?’

  ‘That’s a good question, Stickywicket. Maybe these two Neanderthals can tell us.’

  They walked over to where the farm workers were standing. The two men were smoking cigarettes as if they’d been found guilty and were waiting to be sentenced. One was in his early twenties, unshaven with dry wavy brown hair and a hooked nose. The other one was in his forties, mostly bald with yellow crooked teeth and half his left ear missing.

  ‘Have you heard about what happened here?’ Xena asked them.

  Both of the men nodded.

  ‘The men you sent for us told us on the way back from the east field,’ the younger of the two said

  ‘Which one are you?’ Xena asked the elder of the two men.

  ‘I’m Eddie Hayes.’

  ‘Do you own a shotgun?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you kill Melissa Boyd and the three children?’

  ‘They were like family to me.’

  ‘Tell me what happened this morning?’

  ‘Nothing happened. Me and Andy got here at six and met with Mister Boyd, so he could tell us what we were doing for the day.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, first we all went over to the east field and he showed us the fencing that needed repairing. We came back and got the materials we needed to do the job and then returned to the field. That’s what Andy and me have been doing all morning. After lunch, we were going to help Mister Boyd bring in the sheep from the west field for pregnancy scanning and to put them in the barn. Once we’d done that, we were going to feed all the animals, check the cows weren’t calving and spread some slurry on the fields that have been planted. We had a full day planned, but now? Well, I don’t rightly know what we’re going to do, and there ain’t no one to ask, is there?’

  ‘The sheep still need to be brought in from the field, don’t they?’ Stick said.

  ‘That’s true. Can’t leave pregnant sheep out in this weather.’

  ‘The animals still need feeding?’

  ‘Aye that’s true as well. Can’t have starving animals everywhere you look.’

  ‘The cows still need checking?’

  ‘Oh yes! Don’t want calving cows getting into difficulty.’

  ‘And the slurry still needs spreading on the fields.’

  ‘Oh aye, that’s for sure. We can’t have amateurs messing with that slurry. Kill you in seconds that stuff can. It’ll need spreading on the fields before we mix the next lot.’

  ‘So, you’ve still got a full day?’

  ‘Aye, you’re right there, Officer.’

  ‘Did you see Mister Boyd after you’d returned to the east field?’ Xena continued.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Mister Boyd appear his usual self this morning?

  Hayes nodded. ‘Yeah – no problem.’

  ‘Have either of you been back to the farmhouse during the morning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you see anybody else during the morning?’

  ‘You mean, aside from Andy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for your help.’

  They questioned Andy Scully, but he told the same story.

  ‘Are you writing a column for Farmer’s Weekly?’ Xena said to Stick once the two farm hands had gone back to work.

  ‘There’s a thought! No, I had a relative who used to own a farm. I used to spend the occasional summer with them.’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned this relative before.’

  ‘That’s because he was an alcoholic. His debts exceeded his income, the bank foreclosed, he drank himself to death, and then a year later his wife and son died in a road traffic accident.’

  ‘Sounds like a Greek tragedy.’

  ‘I was only young at the time – fifteen or sixteen when his wife and son died.’

  ‘And your parents died in an RTA not long after that as well, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe your whole family has been cursed?’

  ‘That’s why I drive a Lexus. If I’m destined to die in an RTA, then I want to die in comfort.’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t travel with you anymore.’

  ‘I’d say you were safer walking . . . And think of all that exercise you’d get.’

  ‘I’ll give it some thought . . . Okay, I’ve thought. I can’t be bothered walking. You’re a half-decent driver, so I’ll let you continue to chauffeur me around. If it’s my time, then it’s my time. I’m not one of those people who try to cheat Death out of his just deserts. Have you seen that film about those kids who miss their appointment with a rollercoaster death?’

  ‘Final Destination 3, if memory serves?’

  ‘That’s the one. Well, Death caught up with them in the end. It doesn’t matter what you do to try and avoid him, Death always catches up with you in the end.’

  Stick nodded. ‘That’s very true.’

  Peckham appeared. ‘There are paracetamol, aspirin, anti-inflammatory tablets, and some herbal remedies for hot flushes in the medicine cabinet, but nothing else of any note. Doctor Paine said that you were right – mother, son and then the two girls. Also, Heidi Ledger identified the black SUV as a Porsche Cayenne Turbo S.’

  Stick let out a whistle. ‘A hundred and twenty thousand pounds give or take a penny here and there. I was looking at those when I bought the Lexus.’

  Pecker gave Stick an odd look.

  ‘He’s as bent as a nine-bob note,’ Xena said to Pecker.

  Pecker nodded. ‘I’ve heard the rumours.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Pecker. Anything else to tell us?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Not yet! Is that the new “No”?’

  ‘I think it sounds much better than “No”, don’t you?’

  ‘You really want to know what I think, Pecker?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. If you don’t produce the goods this time, I’ll be forced to start looking for another knob. Does that clarify my thinking on the subject?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Excellent. Come on Stick, let’s go and grab some lunch.’

  On the way to the car Stick said, ‘Do you think this Ray the Boyds were meeting at 7:30 a.m. was the same person who was driving the Porsche Cayenne?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure that as soon as you give Traffic the jigsaw pieces we’ve collected so far, they’ll be able to answer your question.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘That’s a question I could answer all be myself Stickleb
ack, but it would mean you bending over, and me changing my shoes. So, do you want me to answer that question?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll call Traffic, shall I?’

  ‘You do that, numpty.’

  Chapter Seven

  He called in at the Papermakers Arms on Roden Street and had a brie a bacon panini with curly fries and an orange juice. It was a pit-stop to keep him going until his evening meal with the family. He didn’t need two big meals a day – just a snack at lunch to keep the wolves at bay.

  It was only quarter to one, but he was impatient to call the office and find out if Bronwyn would pick up the phone. He’d said two o’clock though, so she still had an hour and a quarter to get there. He wasn’t renowned for his patience, but he restrained himself all the same. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age. She would either be there, or she wouldn’t. He hoped she would be, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t. The corner of his mouth creased upwards. His lack of surprise made him sound like Jenny Bates.

  Although he was loathe to admit it, the clues so far suggested that Lester Belmont had done away with his wife. He’d keep an open mind though.

  Paige Belmont’s first client visit on the previous Thursday wasn’t too far away from the Papermakers Arms. It was to a company called Bowden-Kaby Precision Engineering Limited on Clarence Road, wedged between the railway lines from Woodgrange Park tube station, and the main line between Romford and Stratford beyond which was a view of Manor Park Cemetery.

  He met with a white-haired man in his sixties called Norman Kaby.

  ‘What’s it all about, Mr Kowalski?’

  ‘Paige Belmont has been missing since last Thursday, and I’ve been asked to try and find her.’

  ‘But you’re not police?’

  ‘Private Investigator.’

  ‘Aren’t the police interested?’

  ‘They don’t know she’s missing. According to her husband she’s left him for another man.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘So does her partner.’

  ‘Jenny Bates?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘What do you produce here, Mr Kaby?’

  ‘Widgets.’

  ‘Widgets?’

  ‘I could give you the technical names for each of the different components we supply to the aerospace, motor sport and medical industries, but widgets I think covers the essence of what we produce here. We specialise in the smaller components and leave the larger ones to the big boys. Richard – that was my partner Richard Bowden who met his maker about seven years ago now – he and I decided early on that we’d find a little niche, snuggle into it by becoming the best we could, and stay there. Many of the smaller companies get too big for their own boots and fall by the wayside – we’ve survived through a plethora of difficult times by keeping things simple.’