by Tim Ellis
‘And what do I tell her husband and son?’
‘Tell them what you want, Mr Kowalski. Of course, MI5 will deny all knowledge of any sleeper agents or the “Illegals Program”, so I’d keep what you do tell them within the realms of believability. Neither need to know that Paige was working for the Russians and they were simply a means to an end, that would leave a dirty taste in the mouth.’
‘Fucking pigs,’ Bronwyn said as she and Kowalski made their way outside.
The MI5 agents smiled. ‘We feel the same way about you, Bronwyn. Or should I say: Susan Bunyan, Jessie Gibbs, or whatever you’re calling yourself now. We know all about you, Susan. We know about your mother and two sisters living at 77 Nursery Road in Hoddesdon, about how you murdered your father, about . . . Well, let’s just say that we know everything about you, and you’re on our list of undesirables.’
‘You can go fuck yourself – I’m very desirable.’
Kowalski took her elbow and guided her along Moscow Road away from the garage. ‘Time to go, I think.’
‘Did you hear those bastards.’
‘I heard them. It seems they know all about you.’
‘I know all about them as well.’
‘A stalemate then?’
Bronwyn grunted. ‘For now, but those bastards haven’t heard the last of me.’
***
Wednesday, March 2
‘You haven’t said, “Keep going” once all the time we’ve been running today,’ Richards said.
‘I nearly did a couple of times.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Snot was dribbling from your nose; your tongue had turned green and was lolling about from side to side outside your gaping mouth; your eyes were almost popping out on their stalks; and you began to look more like a zombie than a living person – I nearly said it then.’
‘You’re such a liar. I feel good. We’ve only got about five miles left to run, haven’t we?’
‘About that.’
‘I’ll race you back to the house?’
‘I was wondering when you’d start thinking you could beat me, when your reach exceeded your grasp, when you had more chickens than eggs.’
She made noises like a chicken. ‘Well?’
‘Look, I’m running at quarter-speed to give you moral support. If I’d been running at my normal pace, I’d have already had my shower and be walking Digby by now.’
‘Let’s see, shall we?’ she said, bolting forward as if she was racing Usain Bolt in the one hundred metres at the Olympics.
He let her go. Her legs would soon buckle under her. She’d be struggling to breathe and puking before she’d run another mile. And besides that, his mind really wasn’t on the training this morning – it was on Summer Trent. Had SCIT found the killer? If they had, it really wasn’t down to him and Richards, but Pickford Fernsby and Dr Miriam Shepherd. Yes, they’d unravelled the enigma of The Lover. He and Richards had helped a bit, but not much. In the end, he knew it didn’t really matter who found the killer, just as long as someone did. It was a team effort, rather than a two-horse show.
‘Keep going,’ he said as he passed Richards bent over with her hands gripping her knees and puking up some strange-looking mustard-coloured goo.
‘No, no, I can’t.’
‘No such word. Keep going. The pain barrier is there to be broken.’
‘You’re going to say, “I told you so”, aren’t you?’
‘All day long.’
‘Have I told you you’re a pig?’
‘Not today, at least. Keep going.’
***
‘Get your bullet-proof vest and weapon, Parish,’ DCI Todd said when they arrived at the station at seven-thirty.
‘You’ve found him?’
‘We think so. There were four male residents from the Broadmayne estate who matched the profile, but after a lot of research we eventually found that only one of them had a lock-up garage that he’d purchased under his mother’s maiden name: Duran. His name is Henry Bunting. He lives at 13 Kennet’s Way, the house is in his mother’s name – Enid Bunting, who’s eighty-nine years old and bedridden. He’s one of three Vice Principals at the local Adult Community College. The lock-up garage is on Pitsea Road, which is within walking distance of his house.’
‘What about me?’ Richards said.
Parish said, ‘You’re a spectator on this one, Richards. You can wear a vest and watch the drama.’
‘I’ll have to do my firearm training, won’t I?’
‘You will, but not this morning.’
‘So, we’ve got Search Warrants for three locations being raided this morning,’ Todd said. ‘I have a team going to the College to seal off Bunting’s office; a second team going to the Bunting house to arrest Henry Bunting; and . . .’
‘Sorry to interrupt, Sir,’ Parish said. ‘But I suggest that Mrs Bunting is removed from the home straight away and put into residential care. You can’t seal off the house with her in it.’
‘Good idea, Parish.’ He turned to DI Mellor, who was co-ordinating the raids. ‘Make it happen, Mellor.’
‘Make it happen?’ Richards queried.
Todd stared at her. ‘Are you not a trekkie, DC Richards?’
‘A trekkie?’
‘Clearly not. I’m sure you can fill her in, Parish. So, the third location is the lock-up garage.’
‘If it’s all right with you, Sir? Richards and I will tag along to that.’
‘You’ll be in charge, Parish. Richards can do the tagging along, if she wants to. Let’s hope we find Miss Trent in there, and that she’s alive. Okay, get yourselves down to the armoury, we’re leaving dead on eight. It’ll take us about forty-five minutes to reach Basildon.’
‘Come on, Richards,’ he said.
‘What’s a trekkie?’ she asked as they made their way down the stairs.
‘Someone who lives, breathes and worships Star Trek in all its guises – a trekkie.’
‘Never heard of it. Are you one?’
‘I liked Deep Space Nine, because we got to meet new aliens – especially the shapeshifters of the Dominion; and Voyager, because I had a crush on Seven of Nine who was part Borg.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Don’t let a trekkie hear you say that, they’ll turn you into a tube grub and eat you.’
After signing out a Glock 19 and two bullet-proof vests, they made their way outside to the third of the three vehicles.
‘I’m in the front,’ Parish said.
‘Where am I?’
‘In the back.’
‘With all those men?’
‘It’s your lucky day.’
‘Mmmm!’
As the DCI had predicted, it took them forty-five minutes to reach the Broadmayne estate in Basildon. It was a co-ordinated raid and they went into each location at exactly nine o’clock.
The first team caught Henry Bunting coming out of his house as they were going in. They handcuffed him, bundled him into a squad car with an armed officer and transported him back to Hoddesdon. Paramedics went into the house and removed Mrs Bunting and the false teeth she kept in a glass of Steradent by her bed. Apparently, she couldn’t even speak, and the faraway look in her eyes suggested that she wasn’t in her right mind. Once Mrs Bunting had been stretchered out, a forensics team erected a tent to hide everything from prying eyes and entered the house.
The second team secured Vice Principal Henry Bunting’s office at the Community College. Two forensic officers went inside and got to work. Of course, the students began making detours past the office, and tried to elicit information from the two armed officers, but they were under strict orders not to speak.
Finally, Parish led the third team into Henry Bunting’s lock-up garage on Pitsea Road. It was at the far end of a row of seven garages.
Richards paced up and down outside in her bullet-proof vest.
The forensic team waited patiently.
Inside the garage was a two-year-old
sky blue Jaguar XF. There was a workbench, tools, and boxes of nuts and bolts, but nothing else.
Parish called the forensic team in to move the car. It would need to be transported to police storage and forensically examined.
Underneath the car was a trapdoor.
He sent in Sergeant Martin Rance and his ARU team first with instructions not to touch anything. They were dressed, armed and trained for these situations.
‘All clear, Sir,’ Sergeant Rance called up to him. ‘She’s down here, and she’s alive.’
His stomach did a cartwheel. ‘Thanks, Sergeant. Okay, come out and station your men outside. Set up a perimeter and keep the press and rubberneckers away.’
‘Will do, Sir.’
He left the garage. ‘Richards . . .?’
‘Have you found her? Is she alive?’
‘Yes and yes.’
‘That’s brilliant news.’
‘Let’s get an ambulance here?’
‘Of course.’
Richards rang Dispatch to arrange an ambulance.
He called over the forensic team. ‘Summer Trent is in there, and I know it’s not going to be pleasant, but swabs need to be collected before she’s released and taken to hospital, so make it quick.’ He looked at Richards. ‘Get a forensic kit on and go down there. Talk to her, comfort her until forensics have finished. Explain to her what’s happening, and that it’s a necessary evil. We need the evidence to lock him up, to make sure that he never has the opportunity to rape and kill again.’
‘Okay.’
Aftermath
It soon became clear, when DCI Todd and DS Mullins began questioning Henry Bunting, that his fragile grip on reality had finally snapped.
A Court Order was obtained to commit Henry Bunting to Broadmoor Hospital for assessment.
‘Well, our work here is done, Parish,’ DCI Todd said.
They were all in the Major Incident Room, which was being put back into mothballs around them.
‘It was good to have met you and DC Richards.’
‘Likewise, Sir.’
‘I’m going to take Richards off you.’
‘Many people have promised to do that, and yet here she is.’
‘I want her for SCIT.’ He looked at Richards. ‘What do you say, Richards.’
She glanced at Parish. ‘What do you think?’
‘He’s not asking what I think. He’s asking what you think. Your brain is independent of mine.’
‘Do I have to make a decision now?’
‘Not at all. I’ll dispatch letters to the people that matter, make some phone calls, press the flesh. You’ve taken your Sergeant’s exams, haven’t you?’
‘No.’
‘Not to worry. We’ll fast-track those, promote you to DS and then you’ll be part of the team. No offence Parish, but you’re too set in your ways.’
‘None taken, Sir. I’m quite happy here.’
They shook hands with the SCIT team and they left.
‘We have reports to write, Richards,’ Parish said as they made their way down to the squad room.
‘Never mind about reports – did you hear what he said?’
‘I heard.’
‘I’ll be a Sergeant, a DS, a member of SCIT, in the Met, living in London, working on . . . What about you?’
‘Don’t worry about me. Digby and I will be fine.’
‘And mum?’
‘Of course your mother, that goes without saying.’
‘And Jack and Melody.’
‘We’ll all be fine. You have to make the decision based on what’s right for you.’
‘I do, don’t I?’
‘I was going to organise a visit to a relationship guru today, but I suppose we’ll have to put that on hold until you’ve made up your mind what you’re doing.’
‘Or it might not be necessary.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I met a man.’
‘Where? Who? Why haven’t you introduced your mother and me to him yet? Give me his name, I’ll check him out on Crimint. I hope he’s got a good job? What are his career prospects? He’s not married, is he? What’s wrong with him? If you’ve picked him there’s bound to be something wrong with him . . .’
‘See, this is exactly why I don’t tell you anything.’
‘Anything! What else haven’t you told me?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You couldn’t lie for chocolate.’
‘I’m going to make coffee.’
‘About time. But don’t think the interrogation has ended. I have a hundred more questions.’
***
At three in the afternoon Parish received a call from DS Serafina Kingfisher at the Serious Economic Crime Directorate concerning the fraud at BetaStats and the hit-and-run death of Abel Winter.
‘My boss has decided to take the case,’ she said.
‘That’s good news.’
‘We’ll be in contact, Sir.’
‘Okay.’
He interrupted Richards’ report-writing and told her.
‘I’m glad. Abel will finally get some justice.’
‘Abel won’t get anything – he’s dead.’
‘You know what I mean?’
***
Thursday, March 3
They were coming up to the half-way stage. ‘Do you want to race me back to the house this morning?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Have you made a decision about SCIT yet?’
‘No.’
‘Have you discussed it with your mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said it was up to me.’
‘Which it is.’
‘I know.’
‘You only have four years left, you know?’
‘Four years for what?’
‘To live at home. Twenty-seven is the average age children leave home now, so you have four years left.’
‘And then what?’
‘We throw you out to fend for yourself.’
‘You’d throw me out onto the street.’
‘If you didn’t have the house Walter Day left you and that you’re renting out and raking in the shekels.’
‘Mum wouldn’t throw me out.’
‘You mean my wife.’
‘You wouldn’t throw me out.’
‘At the drop of a hat. Digby should really have his own room now.’
‘You’re a pig.’
***
‘I went to see Pickle early this morning.’
‘Pickle! Who the fuck’s Pickle?’
‘My donkey.’
‘Your donkey! It’s not your donkey, it belongs to the Donkey Sanctuary.’
‘Huckleberry sends his love and is wondering when you’re going to visit him.’
Xena burst out laughing. ‘You’re a crazy bastard, Stickamundo.’
####
About the Author
Tim Ellis was born in the bowels of Hammersmith Hospital, London, on a dark and stormy night, and now lives in Cheshire with his wife and three Shitzus. In-between, he joined the Royal Army Medical Corps at eighteen and completed twenty-two years service, leaving in 1993 having achieved the rank of Warrant Officer Class 1 (Regimental Sergeant Major). Since then, he settled in Essex, and worked in secondary education as a senior financial manager, in higher education as an associate lecturer/tutor at Lincoln and Anglia Ruskin Universities, and as a consultant for the National College of School Leadership. His final job, before retiring to write fiction full time in 2009, was as Head and teacher of Behavioural Sciences (Psychology/Sociology) in a secondary school. He has a PhD and an MBA in Educational Management, and an MA in Education.
Discover other titles by Tim Ellis at http://timellis.weebly.com/
Also, come and say hello on his FB Fanpage:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Tim-Ellis/160147187372482
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Genghis Khan
Warrior: Path of Destiny
>
Warrior: Scourge of the Steppe
The Knowledge of Time
Second Civilisation
Orc Quest
Book I: Prophecy
Harte & KP
Solomon’s Key
Parish & Richards
A Life for a Life
The Wages of Sin
The Flesh is Weak
The Shadow of Death
His Wrath is Come
The Breath of Life
The Dead Know Not
Be Not Afraid
The House of Mourning
Through a Glass Darkly
A Lamb to the Slaughter
Silent in the Grave
In the Twinkling of an Eye
A Time to Kill
Deceit is in the Heart
The Fragments that Remain
The Kisses of an Enemy
Evidence of Things Not Seen
Dominion of Darkness
There is no Fear in Love
Quigg
The Twelve Murders of Christmas (Novella)
Body 13
The Graves at Angel Brook
The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf
The Terror at Grisly Park
The Haunting of Bleeding Heart Yard
The Enigma of Apocalypse Heights (Novella)
The Corpse in Highgate Cemetery
Tom Gabriel
Footprints of the Dead
Whispers of the Dead
Souls of the Dead
Stone & Randall
Jacob’s Ladder