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

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Soon to be twenty-five unless we can find a sliver of light in the darkness.’

  Richards found a space in the car park. They made their way across the gravel, into the station through the back door and up the stairs to the Chief’s office.

  ‘They’re all on the third floor waiting for you, Inspector,’ Lydia O’Brien said as they approached.

  ‘Thanks, Lydia.’

  They did a U-turn.

  ‘Should we get a coffee and take it up with us?’

  ‘There’ll be coffee up there.’

  ‘Maybe we should check our emails before . . .?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the post?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you think . . .?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I should go to the toilet.’

  ‘Cross your legs.’

  ‘Maybe we could . . .?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t even know what I was going to say.’

  ‘We’re going upstairs. Everybody’s waiting for us.’

  ‘Aren’t you scared?’

  ‘The only thing I’m scared about is not catching him, Richards. If we don’t catch him he’ll keep killing. That scares me – it scares me a lot.’

  ‘Here they are,’ Chief Nibley said when they walked into the Major Incident Room, which took up half of the top floor. All that was required to make it operational was to switch on the electricity. ‘DI Parish, this is DCI Mike Todd.’

  He shook hands with a man who was a good four inches above his own six-feet-one. The DCI wasn’t a mountain of a man though. Yes, he was tall, but physically he was built like an insurance salesman. He had a crew cut, sloping shoulders and odd-shaped furrows in his face. If there were such people who read facial lines, then DCI Mike Todd would have made an ideal specimen for training purposes.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Sir,’ he said.

  Todd shrugged. ‘Another victim, I hear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s the way it is then.’

  ‘This is DC Mary Richards,’ he said, pushing Richards forwards.

  ‘The famous Mary Richards.’ He shook Richards’ hand.

  Richards forehead wrinkled up. ‘Famous?’

  ‘Oh yes! You have many admirers in the Met’s Homicide and Serious Crime Command.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Anyway . . .’ He swept his arm around the room. ‘This is our team. And take note of the reference to “our team”, because you two are now part of our team. Think of it as a secondment to SCIT even though we’re the uninvited guests here. There’s a chain of command. I’m the Chief, but I have people above me who I kow-tow to. Out there on the mean streets of Essex you’re the boss Parish, but only insofar as you report directly to me. In here, running the support operation is DI Brett Mellor . . .’ He pointed to a bald-headed man in his mid-forties sitting at a desk who held up a hand, glanced up at them briefly and half-smiled. ‘You can all kiss and cuddle later. For now, I’ll give each of the beasts a name, point at them as I name them and then we’ll get down to business: DS Erica Reed, DS Patrick Hyde, DS Kerry Mullins and DC Peter Lewis who makes the coffee. Lewis!’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘You’re slacking. Parish and Richards have been here five minutes already and they haven’t been offered a coffee. You’ll have to do better than that.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.’ Peter Lewis was average-looking, in his mid-twenties with tousled hair, designer-glasses and the early signs of a patchy beard.

  ‘He’s new, but he’ll soon be history if he doesn’t pull his finger out. Tell Lewis how you like it . . . Your coffee, that is. And he’ll bring it over.’

  Parish supplied DC Lewis with a profile of his ideal coffee, but Richards opted for a bottle of water from the fridge.

  DCI Nibley said, ‘Everything all right then, Parish?’

  ‘Fine, Sir. Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll love you and leave you then. Look after my people, Mike.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Nigel. I’ll wrap them in cotton wool and only take them out to polish them.’

  Lewis brought the drinks over and grinned at Richards.

  ‘Right, you’re on first, Parish. Bring us up-to-speed on the case so far.’

  He and Richards hadn’t constructed an incident board, because they’d been due to move up here, but he’d made some notes while he’d been waiting for Richards to finish taking her shower and get ready after the training run. Nevertheless, a rudimentary incident board had already been started by the members of SCIT. There were pictures of Christy Henson when she’d been alive, and less palatable ones provided by forensics of her nailed upside-down to a tree in the woods off Meadgate Road.

  ‘Lewis,’ Todd said.

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘You’re on board duty. As DI Parish speaks, you make sense of it and record it on the whiteboard.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Parish took out his notebook and began. ‘Christy Henson was twenty-five years old, dark-haired and attractive. She was reported missing on Tuesday, February 23 by her sister Tessa Henson, but she actually went missing on Friday, February 19. She worked as a Complaints Manager at Cheshunt Community Hospital. The victim was found early yesterday morning by a runner called Mandy Allen. She didn’t touch the body, and called the emergency services straight away. Forensics, the pathologist Doctor Megan Riley, Richards and I attended the crime scene. Christy Henson had been nailed upside-down to a tree in the woods off Meadgate Road in Broxbourne. The cause of death, as yet, is unknown, but the post-mortem is expected to be carried out this morning by Home Office Pathologist Professor Montague Carling assisted by Doctor Megan Riley. The victim also had a small heart cut into her forehead, which we subsequently learned was the signature of a prolific serial killer called The Lover.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Parish,’ the DCI said. ‘After you’ve shown us yours, we’ll show you ours.’

  He nodded. ‘Doctor Riley stated that the killer never left any forensic evidence on the bodies, or at the crime scene. The Head of Forensics – Dr Paul Toadstone – said they’d found a size ten boot print, but in light of what Doctor Riley had said, and the killers’ previous modus operandi, I decided that the boot print was not relevant.’

  ‘You were right, Sir,’ DS Erica Reed interrupted. She was in her early thirties with short blonde hair, a thin face and clear skin. ‘I’m in charge of collating all the forensic evidence. He leaves a size ten boot print at each crime scene. We soon realised it was a red herring.’

  ‘Richards and I then went to inform the next-of-kin – her sister. She has no other relatives. We also obtained Christy Henson’s diary, which is being analysed in forensics. Tessa Henson was angry and refused any form of support or counselling.’

  ‘We’ll chase up the diary and try the sister again today,’ the DCI said, nodding at DI Mellor. ‘Wouldn’t want anyone saying that the police didn’t care about the relatives of victims.’

  ‘We then went to Cheshunt Community Hospital to speak to her colleagues and try to identify a timeline from Friday, February 19 after she left work until she was abducted. We spoke to her friend Nurse Tuppence Bevan who went out with her that night. Christy had a spare set of clothes in her office, and after changing into them, she and Tuppence started their night out by going to the Crocodile pub on College Road first where they met three men – Garcia, Lonely and Humbert . . .’

  ‘Humbert?’ DS Patrick Hyde said. He was in his late thirties, had short dark gelled hair and was at least a stone overweight ‘What type of name is that?’

  ‘It’s a fictional name created by Vladimir Nabokov in his 1955 novel Lolita. Humbert is a paedophile who has an uncontrollable desire for young girls, but more importantly for our purposes, the story is also an allegory of intense love seen through the eyes of a lecher. He’s charming, sarcastic and seductive. He’s also an unreliable narrator who isn’t self-aware of his crimes.’

  ‘Bloody
hell,’ DI Mellor said. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Parish said. ‘He’s very intelligent. He wants us to think that he’s getting careless and will make a mistake, but he’s not getting careless, and he probably won’t make a mistake. It’s simply part of his twisted game. Everything he does has been planned meticulously. So, Tuppence gave us a description of Humbert, or Hum as he insisted on being called, but obviously it was a disguise. Richards . . .’

  Her face went bright red. ‘He had long brown hair, a four o’clock shadow, a thin face and intense dark eyes.’

  Parish continued. ‘I think the only feature we can be sure of is the thin face. However, Tuppence said she’d provide a description to a forensic artist, and we might be able to extrapolate a number of possible likenesses from that.’

  ‘Good idea, Sir,’ DS Patrick Hyde said. ‘I’ll get onto it. We already have a number of witness descriptions from which we’ve created a composite, so another description will feed into that.’

  ‘After the Crocodile, all five of them continued on to the Maltster on Windmill Lane. Tuppence said that Hum had taken a liking to her, while the other two men were focused on Christy, so it’s possible that Tuppence was the intended victim, but she received a phone call stating that her Gran – who suffers from Dementia – had wandered out of the Care Home again, so she had to leave . . . That hasn’t been verified yet.’

  DI Brett Mellor wrote the task down in his notebook. ‘We’ll do that.’

  ‘Before Tuppence received the phone call, Hum had kissed her. Unfortunately, she’d sent the dress she’d been wearing that night for dry-cleaning the next day, so no DNA I’m afraid. After speaking to Tuppence, we went to the Crocodile and obtained CCTV footage of Friday, February 19 . . .’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ DS Patrick Hyde said. ‘As well as the disguise described by Tuppence Bevan, you don’t actually see his face on the CCTV either?’

  ‘Correct. We see the back of his head and the four of them leaving in a taxi. Anyway, I’ve deposited the DVD in Forensics for them to analyse. Also, because the killer knew where all the cameras were located and how to avoid providing us with an image of his face, it occurred to us that there was a strong possibility he might have carried out a reconnaissance in the weeks prior to Christy’s abduction, so we obtained the security footage for the months of January and February and they’re being analysed by Forensics as well.’

  DCI Todd nodded. ‘That’s a good idea, Parish. We’ll follow up on that with Forensics.’

  ‘It’s also possible that he could have hacked into the security system as well.’

  ‘Write it down, Brett,’ Todd said. ‘We’ll check that out. Besides making crappy coffee, all things computing is Lewis’ speciality. Isn’t it, Lewis?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘The company that installed the security system, and now carry out repairs and maintenance, are the same company – JLR Systems located in Ware. The last service was carried out on Thursday February 11.’

  The DCI’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Eight days before Christy Henson was abducted – interesting. Check that out as a priority, Brett.’

  ‘Will do, Gov.’

  ‘Good work so far, Parish.’

  ‘Thanks, Sir. The Maltster didn’t have a CCTV system, and we didn’t have time yesterday to identify and question the two other men – Lonely and Garcia. There’s also the taxi driver to find and question as well.’

  The DCI nodded at Mellor. ‘We’ll chase those up.’

  ‘And that was as far as we got with the Christy Henson investigation yesterday. This morning we received a call at five forty-five from Central Dispatch saying that another woman had been reported missing. Of course, I said I was Murder and not Missing Persons, but apparently the killer had posted a note on a postcard through the letterbox of 20 Mulberry Close in Broxbourne, which is where Summer Trent lives with her parents – the note had my name on it. Richards . . .?’

  Richards’ face burned like the sun as she read the killer’s message from her notebook:

  ‘I have the beautiful Summer Trent, DI Parish. She’ll keep me warm during the cold nights. Are you any better than the other useless detectives? Come and catch me, if you can. You have a week before she dies like all the others.’

  Parish continued. ‘Does he write notes to all the SIO’s?’

  DCI Todd shook his head and said, ‘No. It’s a significant change in his MO.’

  ‘Maybe he sees Parish as a worthy opponent, instead of the other “useless detectives” that have been tasked to hunt him down previously?’ DS Kerry Mullins said, using her fingers to indicate she was quoting from the note. She had long fine ginger hair that thinned out towards the ends, a thin line for a mouth and red chubby cheeks. ‘Maybe now would be a good time to call in a profiler, Gov?’

  ‘What do you think about that, Parish?’ the DCI asked him.

  Parish looked at Richards. ‘You know my views on mumbo-jumbo pseudo-science, Richards. You’re the expert on profilers . . .’

  Her face glowed like an eco-friendly light bulb. ‘I am?’

  ‘Yes, you are. Do you think a criminal profiler should be brought in on this case?’

  ‘It depends which profiler you ask.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because a criminal profile has never led to the direct apprehension of a serial killer. Many people – like yourself – think criminal profiles are unscientific, vague enough as to be meaningless, have little impact on murder investigations, mislead detectives, and waste police time and resources.’

  ‘That’s all well and good, but you haven’t answered the question. What do you think?’

  ‘I think that The Lover has been killing women for five years now, and nobody has got close to catching him. I think we need all the help we can get.’

  ‘I’m quite sure there’s a lot of witchdoctors, shamans and sorcerers out there calling themselves criminal profilers, who do you suggest we should ask to construct a profile of The Lover?’

  ‘Dr Miriam Shepherd.’

  ‘Is she Home Office registered?’ the DCI asked.

  Richards nodded. ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Why her, Richards?’ Parish said.

  ‘She studied under Professor David Canter for eight years at the University of Surrey, and helped him to develop Investigative Psychology. She’s now working with him again in the International Research Centre in Investigative Psychology at the University of Huddersfield.’

  ‘That tells us who she is and what she does, but it doesn’t tell us why you’ve recommended her?’

  ‘She constructs criminal profiles that address the many misgivings people have about them. In other words, they’re much more scientific, they’re not vague and they feed into the investigation rather than stand apart from it.’

  The DCI turned to look at DI Mellor. ‘Is Huddersfield even in this country?’

  ‘It’s in West Yorkshire, Chief.’

  ‘I’m not really interested in where it is – get Dr Shepherd here by lunchtime.’

  ‘It’s a good four-hour drive.’

  ‘Do we not have a helicopter at our disposal?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘And if we stuff her in a helicopter can we get her here by lunchtime?’

  ‘I expect so, Chief.’

  ‘Excellent. Okay, we’ll have a criminal profile of the madman by the end of the day, or my name’s not Coco the Clown. Carry on, Parish.’

  ‘Forensics were already at the Trent house when we arrived. They’d taken swabs of the door and letterbox for DNA, dusted for fingerprints and bagged the note, which also had a heart drawn in blood on it. Unfortunately, Mr Trent had already contaminated the note prior to our arrival. That said, I can’t imagine Forensics would have found anything useful on it anyway.’

  ‘After five years,’ DS Erica Reed said. ‘The only forensics we’ve found is what he wanted us to find, so you’re probably right, Sir.’

  ‘I did ask Forensics
to run a familial DNA comparison on the blood, but there’s a problem with that. Summer Trent isn’t her real name – it’s Delores Dobbs. She was taken into care in 1997 when she was seven years old, because her parents – Patricia Dobbs and Colin Fairweather – were heroin addicts and rented her out to paedophiles to get the money for drugs. Her mother died of a heroin overdose in 1998. Shortly afterwards, her father disappeared. The Trent’s fostered her at first, and then adopted her in 1999 when she was nine years old. In 2005, she changed her name by deed poll to Summer Trent.’

  ‘And now she’s been abducted by a serial killer who’s going to rape and kill her unless we can find her first,’ DS Kerry Mullins said. ‘What a fucking life – excuse my Ps and Qs.’

  ‘I don’t mind the Ps, Mullins,’ the Chief said. ‘It’s the Qs I’m not so fucking keen on. Leave the swearing to me in future, you’re far too pretty to be using language like that.’

  ‘Sorry, Sir.’

  ‘Carry on, Parish.’

  ‘So we probably need to find Colin Fairweather and rule him out . . .’

  Brett Mellor wrote it down.

  ‘I also asked Forensics to arrange for a graphologist to analyse the handwriting on the note. How scientific graphology is I have no idea, but we might find that the psychological profile and the analysis by the graphologist converge. If that happens, I might eat a slice of humble pie.’

  ‘Interesting idea,’ the DCI said. ‘Okay, we’ll chase that up. As for humble pie, I’ve never had a taste for that myself.’

  ‘The Trents said that Summer left at around nine o’clock to join the queue at the Eros Club, which was meant to be our next port of call this morning. She was meeting three friends, and Mrs Trent provided us with a list. Richards, give DC Lewis the list and your phone.’

  ‘My phone?’

  ‘To access your email and retrieve the photographs of Summer Trent.’

  ‘Oh yes!’

  ‘And make sure you have a copy of the list in your notebook.’

  ‘Already got it.’

  ‘Good.’ He addressed the team again. ‘One other thing. Mr Trent has threatened to go to the media unless I bring his daughter back alive. As the note makes clear: The killer has murdered a number of other women, the police have been trying to catch him for some time and he implies that he’s going to rape their daughter during the week ahead until he kills her. Trent put me on the spot, so I was obliged to answer his questions.’