Solomon's Key

by Tim Ellis

  ‘I hope you catch whoever is doing this, Chief Inspector,’ Lily said standing also.

  She led us back into the hall. Snow swirled in through the front door as she pulled it open.

  KP went through first.

  I pulled my collar up as I followed her. Giving Lily a half-smile I said, ‘Thank you.’

  We hunched down on our way to the car, crunching through the two inches of new snow that had fallen whilst we’d been drinking tea.

  ‘I hope the others have come up with something,’ I said. ‘Poor man, he deserved compensation.’

  ‘Yes,’ KP said. ‘I’m sure that if he claimed today he’d get it.’

  After nearly ending up in somebody’s garden as KP went round a corner too fast, we arrived back at the station at two-twenty.

  As we walked into the incident room, I noticed Brian and Pea were back from visiting Stephen Nailor in Hackney. Their faces told me everything I needed to know.

  ‘No luck?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s got his life back together,’ Brian said. ‘Started a new electrical company, and is doing very well for himself. Has a new wife, and alibis for all the murders.’

  ‘No sign of Ali or John?’ KP asked.

  ‘They’re on their way back,’ Pea said. ‘Ali phoned. Same result as us, a wasted journey.’

  ‘That means we have no suspects again,’ I said.

  ‘I interviewed the three students from the house in Shaftesbury Mews, Sir,’ Jane said.

  ‘And…?’ I wondered what Paul had been doing whilst Jane did the work.

  ‘Oh! No they had no idea how the killer knew they were going out and India Soames was staying in. They think they talked about what they were doing the night before in the University bar, but they’re not sure. If they did, anyone could have overheard them. The bar was busy that night, so they have no idea who might have been sat near them.’

  ‘No help whatsoever then,’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t you have any luck either, Sir?’ Jane asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So all our hard work sorting through those files was for nothing,’ Jane said. ‘Oh, Patrick Darwin is still here by the way.’

  My eyes creased. ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought you might want to see him, so I asked him to wait. He’s in the canteen.’

  I suppose Patrick was the only lead we had left. ‘Did you find an address with a link to Darwins for our possible sixth victim?’

  ‘The only buildings in that area are hotels, Sir.’

  ‘Hotels! Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, look for God’s sake. Do I have to do everything myself?’

  She turned away mumbling under her breath.

  ‘Come on,’ I said to KP, ‘let’s go and see if Patrick has got any more ideas.’

  We walked down to the cafeteria. Patrick sat on his own nursing a cup of tea and reading the Times.

  ‘Tea, two sugars,’ I said to KP. She frowned at me.

  ‘Patrick,’ I said proffering my hand. ‘Where’s Ted?’

  He stood and shook it. ‘I seem to be part of the furniture here now. I told him I didn’t need babysitting.’

  ‘Sorry to keep you hanging about.’ The two of us sat down opposite each other. ‘We’ve reached a dead end with the clients you identified as possible suspects. Any other suggestions?’

  ‘I’m sorry Chief Inspector. I have nothing else. I was sure one of them would turn out to be the killer. It must be someone with a grudge against my firm, and if not a client then who?’

  ‘Maybe it is someone who lost against one of your clients,’ KP offered as she came back with the teas.

  ‘Let us hope not,’ Patrick said. ‘We have certainly won more than we’ve lost or we wouldn’t be in business. As such, the list of possible suspects could run into the thousands.’

  ‘What options do we have left?’ I said and took a drink of tea.

  ‘Are you sure the killer is not amongst the eight I identified?’ Patrick asked. ‘I felt certain that…’

  ‘Eight?’ I said. ‘Paul told me you had identified seven suspects, not eight.’

  ‘No, it was definitely eight. I remember thinking…’

  Standing up, I signalled to KP to stay with Patrick, ‘I’ll go and take a look at the other five,’ I said walking off.

  Chapter Twelve

  Paul wasn’t at his desk.

  ‘Where’s Paul?’ I asked nobody in particular.

  ‘I think he’s gone to the toilet, Gov,’ Brian said.

  Rifling through the files on his desk, I found the eight cases. I identified the Nailor, Gibbs and Robertson files and put them to one side. Picking up the first folder of the remaining five, I began to read.

  ‘Hello, Gov,’ Paul said as he came back into the room, confusion etched on his face when he saw me sitting in his chair.

  ‘I thought you told me Patrick had identified seven suspects, not eight?’

  ‘Depends when you asked me, Gov,’ but there’s eight now.’

  ‘Which one is number eight?’

  Paul shuffled through the files and picked up the one with Connell written on the spine in pencil.

  KP walked in. ‘Patrick’s happy to be left on his own,’ she said. ‘I’m more use here.’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Her name was Lisa Connell,’ Paul said opening the file. ‘She was a single mother of twenty-five with a three year-old son. In 1978, Social Services received an anonymous complaint. They investigated and found that the mother was mentally unfit to take care of the child, so they went to court to have the boy removed permanently from her care. Elizabeth Shepherd represented Miss Connell, but lost the case. The mother had a nervous breakdown and was committed to Hanwell Asylum. The boy was placed in foster care.’

  ‘What happened to Lisa Connell?’ KP asked.

  Paul referred to his notes. ‘The register of deaths indicates that she died nine months after she was admitted to Hanwell. That’s why I eliminated her as a suspect.’

  ‘Nine months,’ KP said raising her eyebrows. ‘What happened?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘The online records don’t give a cause of death.’

  ‘What about the boy?’ Jane joined the conversation.

  ‘The records are sealed. We would have to get a court order to find out what happened to the boy.’

  ‘He would have been too young to remember anything anyway, wouldn’t he?’ Brian said.

  ‘How old would he be now?’ Pea asked starting to count the years off on her fingers.

  We waited for her to work it out, even though we’d all probably arrived at thirty-three in our heads long before she reached the answer.

  Eventually she said, ‘Thirty-three I think.’ She blushed when she saw us all grinning at her. ‘I’m not very good at maths.’

  ‘He would have been eighteen in 1993, wouldn’t he have been allowed access to his records then?’ KP asked.

  ‘Well if he did access them, why didn’t the killing start sooner?’ Brian said. ‘The first murder occurred in 2002, he would have been twenty-seven by then. And again, we still have the six-year gap between the first two murders. What was he doing during that period?’

  Paul closed the file and scratched his head. ‘If we’re going to investigate Lisa Connell’s son as a possible suspect, then we should consider the relatives of the other ones that have died shouldn’t we?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ KP said. ‘Unlike the others, Lisa Connell probably died as a direct result of Elizabeth Shepherd losing the case. We need to know how she died, whether the boy has accessed his records, what his name is, and where he is now.’

  ‘We’ve got nothing else, and this looks promising,’ I said. ‘Pea, your job is to obtain a court order so that we can access all the records.’

  ‘It’s Sunday, Sir,’ Pea said, a look of concern crossing her face. ‘The judge won’t be happy.’
>
  I knew Judge Amelia Lockhart wouldn’t be happy. She was a miserable bitch at the best of times, and Pea didn’t relish approaching her at home. ‘Tell her that murderers don’t work nine to five, Monday to Friday. Any problems let me know.’

  She swivelled in her chair and picked up the phone. I could see by her slumped shoulders that I wasn’t her favourite DCI at the moment.

  ‘Brian,’ I continued allocating jobs, ‘contact Hanwell asylum, if it still exists, find out if they’ve got Lisa Connell’s records and whether we can have access to them.’

  ‘Right, Gov.’

  ‘Paul, I want to know how Lisa Connell died.’

  He nodded and entered Lisa Connell’s name in the search engine.

  ‘Jane, ring Social Services and ask them what we have to do to find this boy and where his records are. Also, we want to know whether he has accessed his records and if he has, when.’

  They set to the tasks allocated. I looked through the other four files, but Paul and KP were right in eliminating them, there was nothing of interest.

  I walked back down to the cafeteria deep in thought. We had eliminated all our suspects. This boy was a long shot, but if we didn’t check him out we may as well give up, go home and wait for the killer to ring. I looked at my watch – four-fifteen. It would soon be Monday. I would have to face the Chief and the press with no suspects, and no nearer solving the case.

  ‘Sorry to have run off like that, Patrick,’ I apologised as I sat down at the table. ‘What can you tell me about Lisa Connell?’

  ‘Ah yes, Elizabeth’s last case, and not one of her finest moments either. Her mind wasn’t really on the job. She lost when she should have won. It was a matter of days before she left to marry Clive Renshall.’

  ‘Did you know Lisa Connell died nine months after she was admitted to Hanwell asylum?’

  Shock moulded his face. ‘No I didn’t. But we don’t keep track of our clients whether we win or lose; we simply file and forget them once the account has been settled. If I had known she was dead, I wouldn’t have identified her as a suspect.’

  ‘What about her son?’

  ‘I think he would have been a bit young to recall what happened.’

  I shrugged. ‘We’re desperate.’

  Thanking Patrick for his time, I let him go home. It was Sunday after all.

  ***

  I strolled back to the incident room. As I passed Ali’s desk, her phone began to ring. I picked it up.

  ‘Yes?’

  Gov, is that you?

  ‘Ali, why are you ringing your own number? Where are you?’

  A heavy sigh came down the phone. Don’t even ask. We’re stuck on the M1. It was a mad idea to drive to Cambridge in this weather. There’s been an accident. Traffic is at a standstill, we’ve been advised to make ourselves comfortable. You’ll have to carry on without us today. We’ll need to find somewhere to sleep tonight and make our way back tomorrow morning.

  ‘OK. Look after yourselves. See you tomorrow.’

  KP looked at me. Everyone else seemed to be busy.

  I put the phone down and said, ‘Ali and John are stuck on the M1 and won’t be back until tomorrow.’

  ‘I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised in this weather,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you for that nugget.’

  She stuck her tongue out at me.

  I wondered whether sticking one’s tongue out at one’s boss could be classified as gross misconduct. ‘You want to be careful,’ I responded. ‘Your face might stay like that one of these days.’

  The first to get a result was Jane. ‘I’ve been speaking to the duty Social Worker at Hammersmith Social Services. They will have the records somewhere, but she doesn’t know where. The person who might know is obviously enjoying her weekend off.’

  ‘Well, spoil her enjoyment,’ I said. ‘I want her in her office searching for those files and giving us some answers.’

  ‘I thought you’d say that, Sir, so I’ve asked the duty Social Worker to contact her at home. I’ve given my number for her to ring us urgently.’

  I smiled. ‘You’re getting the hang of this, Jane.’ She smiled back as her phone rang.

  ‘Gov?’ Brian said.

  I turned, raising my eyebrows.

  ‘Hanwell closed in 1985 and became Ealing Hospital. I rang the hospital enquiries, but as expected their Medical Records Office is closed until tomorrow morning. There’s no one there at the moment that knows anything about the old Hanwell records. I told the woman at the end of the phone it was urgent police business and we needed access to the records tonight. She rang the woman in charge of the record office, but got no answer. She says there’s nothing she can do until tomorrow morning now, but I think she just doesn’t want to do anything.’

  ‘OK. KP and I will take this one,’ I said standing up and putting my coat on.

  ‘Right you are, Gov.’

  ‘I’ll drive,’ I said to KP. ‘I’d like to get there alive.’

  She stuck her nose up in the air. ‘Huh, you’re welcome,’ she said.

  ‘Sir,’ Jane called. ‘A Wendy Elliott rang me. She’s the Service Manager of Adoption and Fostering. She’s on her way into the office. She said we can look at the files, but we’ll need a court order. I told her we were getting one.’

  I looked at Pea, who was just standing up and putting on her coat. She saw me looking. ‘I hate that woman,’ she said. ‘Bloody bitch thinks everyone should grovel to her. She forgets we’re on the same team.’

  ‘So, did we get the court order?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. I’ve got to go over to her house in Mayfair and pick it up.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Take Brian with you. Once you’ve got the court order, get over to Social Services and take a look at the boy’s records.’

  ‘Any luck, Paul?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Sorry boss, there’s nothing on any database to indicate how she died. We’ll have to wait and see what the records say.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Right, see if you can find out anything about the boy. He must have left a footprint somewhere.’

  ‘I’m not promising anything, Gov, but I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘Right, anything else, ring me on my mobile.’

  ‘What about me, Gov,’ Jane asked.

  ‘You’ve still got a job to do haven’t you?’ KP reminded her.

  Jane looked at her confused.

  ‘Hotels.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten about them.’

  ***

  As expected, it was slow going from Hammersmith to Ealing Hospital. Snow continued to fall making driving perilous. We arrived at seven-twenty and helped each other to navigate across the treacherous car park and into the reception.

  Shaking myself down, I showed my warrant card and introduced myself to the middle-aged woman behind the information desk, who put down her magazine and adopted an unhelpful expression like a badge of honour. ‘I’d like access to the medical records from the old Hanwell asylum,’ I said.

  She stared at me for a moment, then the penny dropped. ‘Are you the one that rang before?’

  ‘That was one of my detectives.’

  ‘Didn’t he tell you that there is no one about to let you into the records office?’

  ‘That answer is unacceptable. I’m running a murder investigation. Is that what you want me to tell the next victim’s parents?’ I looked at her name badge. ‘Your daughter’s dead because Muriel Leggat wouldn’t let me in to find the information I needed?’

  Muriel puffed herself up in indignation and said, ‘There’s no need to be like that, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Well get me someone who can authorise access, like the Chief Executive. I assume you’ve got a spare key?’

  ‘Security will have one.’ She picked up the phone and rang a number. ‘Yes, it’s Muriel, sorry to bother you at this time, Sir. I have a Chief Inspector here who wants access to the old Hanwell medical records. Yes, I told him that
, but he says he’s running a murder investigation and it’s urgent.’ She listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone. I tried to grab the phone out of her hand, but she palmed me off and turned away. ‘Yes, Sir.’ She put the phone down. ‘That was the reception manager. He says I can let you in, but security will have to stay with you.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Let’s get it organised then.’

  ‘You’re an unpleasant young man, Chief Inspector,’ Muriel said picking up the phone again. She rang an internal number. ‘Hello Bill. I’ve got a couple of detectives here who need access to the old records from Hanwell asylum, can someone bring the key, show them where it is and stay with them? Thanks.’ She looked down her nose at me and said, ‘Someone is coming with the key.’ Then she proceeded to ignore us by picking up the magazine she had been reading when we came in.

  After about five minutes an old bald portly man, with Albert on his name badge, arrived dressed in a blue anorak, wearing green Wellington boots, and holding a jangling bunch of rusty keys and a large torch. ‘Follow me,’ he commanded.

  He led us along the corridor to a service lift. Using a key, the door opened and we stepped inside. He pressed the ‘LB’, presumably for ‘ lower basement’. The door closed and we jerked downwards towards the bowels of the earth.

  ‘Are we not going to the Medical Records Office?’ KP asked.

  ‘No,’ the man said. ‘The asylum records are stored in several rooms underneath the East Wing.’ He looked at us and smirked. ‘You’re not really dressed for a trip to the East Wing lower basement, are you?’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Nobody goes down there since the flood. The place is filthy, it stinks and there’s about six inches of water.’ He pointed the torch at his feet. ‘Hence the wellies.’

  ‘Great,’ KP said looking down at her flimsy black patent shoes.

  ‘The other reason nobody goes to the East Wing,’ Albert said, ‘is that it’s rumoured to be haunted.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I ain’t seen any ghosts myself, but from what I’ve heard about the goings on in the old asylum, I wouldn’t be surprised to see some out for revenge.’