by Edward Figg
Carter looked across the desk at her, raised his eyebrows and wondered to whom she could be referring. He vaguely remembered hearing a rumour that she’d once been romantically involved with the now Assistant Chief Constable Tom Bishop when he was a Chief Super. Maybe that’s how she got her transfer from Brighton. It was a case of, ‘I rub your back, now you can rub mine.’ ‘Anatomically speaking, I doubt very much it was his back she’d been rubbing,’ he thought.
He leant back in his chair thinking the rumour had been right after all. Everyone has their little secrets. He didn’t realise he had a smile on his face until she gave him a funny look and said, ‘Did I say something amusing?’
He leaned forward. ‘No, sorry,’ he said. ‘I was just trying to picture Ted’s face when you tell him about the promotion. That’s all.’
‘When the time comes, you can do that.’ She closed the file and stood up to leave.
He smiled. ‘I’d be very happy to.’
Carter left his office a little later and went over to Hollingsworth. ‘Luke, this spate of petty thieving that’s been going on. I know we’re flat out with this murder investigation but this list is growing and I’d like you to look into it. We need to be seen doing something about it. OK? This ain’t the work of kids. Take a look at this list.’ He pointed at the open file. ‘It started off with garden stuff, tools and gnomes, stuff from washing lines, blankets and sheets. It’s like someone is setting up house.’
Carter closed the file and handed it to him. ‘There’s not much to go on.’
‘Yes sir. I’ll see what I can do.’ He opened the file and studied it more closely.
‘Good lad.’ Carter walked off, leaving Hollingsworth wondering just where to start.
Chapter 9
Thursday 30th September
Chelsea Ellis got off at the bus shelter next to the corner chippy on Hoxton Road at six forty-five that evening. The sun had slowly slipped below the horizon. She stood in the shelter adjusting her headscarf and listened to the rain beating on its roof and taking in the smells that wafted from the chippy’s open door. Then, weighed down with her shopping bags and with head bent against the driving rain, she left the shelter, walked the hundred yards to the corner. She dodged the puddles as she made her way up her street.
The street lights on Ash Tree Avenue cast ghostly shadows on the wet pavement as the branches of trees moved in time with the wind. She was wet, tired and fed-up. Her shoulders ached from carrying the two heavy shopping bags. The weekly grocery shopping was a chore at the best of times but in this shitty weather it was just plain bloody unbearable. She longed for the warmth of her kitchen and friendly cup of tea.
An overflowing drain, further up the street was sending a steady stream of water running over the footpath. She stepped out into the road to avoid it but ended up in a deep puddle, soaking her shoes and stockings. She swore under her breath and hurried on.
A few minutes later, and heaving a sigh of relief, she pushed open the garden gate with her knee and walked down the garden path. She ducked under the shelter of the front porch and dug the house keys from out of her pocket. With another sigh, she slipped the key in the lock and let herself in. She put the bags down and switched on the hall light. She was home.
After putting away the shopping she opened the door to the back garden and ushered her small Corgi out into the rain. The dog hesitated on the threshold and eyed the rain before being gently cajoled through the door with her foot, out into the rain.
Shutting the door on the dog, she sat down at the kitchen table and poured herself a cup of tea. She wrapped her hands around the teacup feeling its warmth flow through into her fingers. She gratefully took a sip.
The doorbell chimed, making her jump. She looked up to the kitchen wall clock wondering who in their right mind could be out and calling on such a dirty night. ‘Maybe it’s Mrs Blake from next door?’ She got up, went to the door and opened it.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Oh. Hello,’ she said, in a surprised voice.
He held open a plastic shopping bag for her to see. She peered inside. ‘As it was on my way home, I’d thought I’d drop it off. Save you a trip.’
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ I saw the e-mail about it on my computer and was going to pop by tomorrow and pick it up. As you say, you have saved me the trip.’ There followed a brief silence before she said, ‘Would you like a cuppa? I’ve just made a pot.’
He smiled, accepted the invitation and passed her the bag.
It was then that she noticed that the wrist on his gloved hand was bleeding, and in a concerned voice said, ‘You’re bleeding?’
‘It’s nothing. Honest. I just caught it on a nail when I opened your gate,’ he said, following her into the house.
She pointed to the downstairs toilet. ‘You go in there and wash it while I pour the tea, and I’ll see about getting a plaster for it. You don't want to get it infected, do you?’
She walked down the hall and into the kitchen and started to put the contents of the bag onto the sideboard then spent a few minutes rummaging around in the wall cupboard for the first-aid kit. He walked in a few moments later, his hand cleaned. She opened the first-aid box. She examined the contents and with her back to him, said, ‘OK, let’s take look at that hand.’
It was the last sound ever to come from Chelsea Ellis’s lips. His two hands encircled her throat and squeezed. She struggled and kicked out frantically but her feet just slid from beneath her and in a short time she became still. He then lowered her lifeless body to the floor. The effort had left him physically exhausted. As he bent over her body, his perspiration dripped onto her floral-patterned dress. He grabbed her hair and pulled back her head. He reached down and in a brief second it was done. The blood flowed from the open wound sending the red sticky river slowly moving across the kitchen floor before coming to a stop and pooling by the fridge.
Outside in the garden the dog howled. Inside the house the man smiled. He wiped the sleeve of his raincoat across his face and blinked his eyes trying to remove the perspiration. He stood up, looked around for a moment or two, then walked back down the hall and out of the house. He stood and looked up and down the street. All the houses had their curtains drawn. Only a few showed small shafts of light. ‘You are all ignorant, the whole lot of you. There you all are watching your televisions, all nice and warm. If only you knew what has just happened in your nice quite suburban street,’ he said to himself.
Satisfied there was no one about, he turned up the collar of his raincoat and walked off up the street. He felt the sharp night air sweep across his face and cool his throbbing head. He thought his quest was going well. Even his early morning trip had gone better than he’d expected. He remembered sitting on the beachfront at Whitstable, staring up at the grey sky and looking deep into the metallic silver of the sea as the wind whipped the waves into a frenzy. Out here in the darkness a demon boomed approval from the sky and with it came a flash of light. The rain came down heavier. Another anniversary was celebrated.
******
It was just on ten forty–five that evening when Kilo Papa Four pulled up outside the house in Ash Tree Avenue. Its wipers slapped backwards and forwards in a desperate effort to keep the windscreen free of the water that cascaded down from the night sky.
‘Holy shit,’ said Tanner, as he stared through the screen. ‘This is really not in our friggin job description,’ he grumbled. ‘Barking dogs come under the jurisdiction of the Council Ranger. She should have phoned them not us. Control should have told her. They must think back there that we have stuff-all else to do but chase after dogs in the pissing rain. It’s not our bloody job.’
PC Tony Best checked to make sure his Hi-Viz jacket was buttoned up, then said in a sarcastic voice, ‘I’ll go over and see her. I won’t be long. You sit here on your fat arse in the warmth and take it easy.’ He opened the car door, got out, pulled his cap firmly down on his head and, dodging the puddles, headed quickly a
cross to the house.
He returned in a few minutes, opened the door and leant in, rain dripping from the peak of his cap. ‘Lady said that it was unusual for the dog to be barking so long. It’s normally only out for a short while before it’s let in again. She said she went over and banged on the door. The light was on in the hall but this Mrs Ellis didn’t answer. She tried the side gate but that was locked from the other side. She was worried that something had happened to her neighbour so she dialled triple nine,’ he said.
The rain eased slightly as the two PCs approached the house. The houses on both sides were in darkness. Their occupants were no doubt tucked up in their comfortable warm beds. PC Bert Tanner rang the doorbell and stood waiting… nothing. The hall light was still on. PC Best moved to the side gate. It was too high for him to see over. Through a gap in the wood he saw the dog frantically pawing at the side door.
Best called to Tanner. ‘Come here Bert and give us a leg up. I’ll go over.’
With the assistance of PC Tanner, Best managed to scramble over the gate and dropped down on the other side.
There came a string of curses from the other side. Tanner hissed ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Ripped a bloody great hole in my bloody trousers, that’s what,’ muttered Best, as he slid back the bolt on the gate and let Tanner in. Best played the beam of his torch onto his trousers and fingered the tear.
Tanner started laughing. ‘Not to worry. It’s not too bad. You can always tell the inspector you were attacked by that vicious Corgi. Now, will you stop buggering about and let’s get on with it. I’m getting bloody soaked here.’
They walked up the side garden to the kitchen window. Best tried looking in. He could see nothing through the glass. Heavy condensation on it obscured his view. In expectation of escaping from the rain and being let in, the dog stopped pawing the door. Tanner bent down and patted the whimpering animal saying, ‘Shush boy. Soon be in.’
Best knocked… once… twice. He waited and then opened the door and called ‘Hello. Police, is anyone at… oh, mother of… oh shit.’ He stood rooted to the spot.
Tanner curiously pushed past the frozen figure of his colleague and looked through the open door. What he saw caused bile to rise in his throat and, putting his hand to his mouth, he backed away and was violently sick in the flower bed.
*******
Friday October 1st
It was Ted Baxter’s first week as the new DI. He’d promised them earlier in the week he’d shout them all a beer at the end of work on Friday. Today looked like being a long one, so that could well go on hold. He looked around the room waiting for Lynch to finish handing out the bacon rolls and for the chatter to die down. Baxter leant back against the desk, one hand holding a bacon sandwich and in the other, a mug of coffee. He was tired and longed for a hot shower. His eyes felt like they were full of grit. Even a shower could not have washed away the horrific scene that confronted him when he got to the home of Chelsea Ellis just after midnight. There was no doubt in his mind what they were looking at. Like the others, victim number three had identical wounds. Complaining about being dragged from a warm bed, a rather grumpy Doc Broadbent confirmed death. The gash to the throat was plain to see and didn’t need confirming. The image was still fresh in his mind. He and DC Bill Turner had spent all night at the crime scene and it was well after sunrise when the forensic team packed away their equipment and, leaving the blood-soaked scene behind them, drove slowly off down the street. Breakfast that morning was not a priority.
He looked at his watch, then at those gathered in the room. It was eight-thirty. There were six uniform PCs and the full CID team of Lynch, Mike Reid, Bill Turner, Jill Richardson, Luke Hollingsworth and Marcia Kirby.
He waited for Janice Watkins to be seated then called for silence. ‘OK, people. The victim is one Chelsea Ellis; aged 45, lived alone. At the moment, we have bugger-all to go on. We need results and we need them fast. We don’t need the press giving us a bloody hard time on this one. I need one hundred per cent on this from everyone. I want this bastard behind bars.’
Looking across to where Superintendent Janice Watkins was seated, he said, ‘We have been given an open budget on this, so that means no restrictions on overtime. I need you dedicated, active and focused. I don’t want any stuff-ups.
Lynch raised his hand. ‘Sir, is there anything from forensics yet?’
‘No, not yet, Dave. It’s too early. Bryant and his team were at it till daylight so I doubt if we’ll be getting anything back until later today. The autopsy should be underway in about half an hour. In the meantime, I want those assigned to the house-to-house to get out there now and you,’ he pointed to PC Tanner, ‘I want you get hold of her phone records.’ Looking at the others, said, ‘I need names of the next of kin. From the paperwork found at the house, she worked as a dental receptionist for Doctor Patel in Market Street. That will be our starting point.’
‘Yer, I know him,’ said Turner putting his hand to his mouth and stifling a yawn. ‘I went to him a couple of times last year for extractions. She must be new because the receptionist I saw was a West Indian’
‘I always thought you had false teeth,’ said Reid, smiling.
‘Smart arse,’ replied Bill Turner.
Baxter clapped his hands together. ‘OK, quieten down people, that’ll do. Let’s get our minds back to the job in hand.’ He waited for them to settle.
‘Bill, you and Mike Reid get over to the dentist and talk to him. Find out everything you can about her. The rest of you carry on with your assigned tasks.’ He pointed to the board. ‘As you can see, I’ve put up a list on the incident board of what needs to be done. Your names are next to them.’ He looked around the room. ‘Is everyone clear on what needs to be done?’ he paused. ‘Are there any questions?’ Another pause. ‘No? OK then, let's get at it.’
There was a scraping of chairs on the lino, and with subdued mutterings, they started to disperse.
Janice Watkins, got to her feet and looked out the window at the rain. ‘Oh, one more thing before everyone wanders off out into the sunshine.’ She waited until she had their attention.
‘We’ve had reports from two schools of a man hanging around talking to little kids.
When he was approached by teachers, he made off. The only description we have is that he’s slim, got long hair and drives a small green van, possibly a VW Caddy. Just be sure to keep a lookout around schools. I don’t want kiddie fiddlers on our patch.’
As the last of the them shuffled out of the room, PC Bert Tanner groaned, walked over to his computer, took off his uniform jacket, sat down and switched it on. He tapped away at the keyboard. It took him just a few minutes to log into the records. Just one entry came up under the name of Ellis. She had one speeding fine. ‘Not what you would call a major criminal,’ he thought, looking at the screen. He then set about getting her phone records.
Baxter walked into his office, spent a few moments staring out over the distant park, turned and sat down. He’d been given a glass-fronted office, the same as Carter's but smaller. Carter, much to his annoyance, had been away on a two-day course. Baxter's office was on the other side of the CID room next to the water cooler. Across and down the corridor was the Superintendent’s glass-fronted domain. The windows on both sides of her door sported venetian blinds, as did the door. These blinds were always up. Unlike her predecessor, she wanted to be seen. Baxter, too liked light. His blinds were always open, leaving him with an uninterrupted view out across the main CID area. He could see them and they could see him. Just like one big happy family. The only sounds came from the tapping of keyboards from the room’s only two occupants, PCs Tanner and Ambrose. Everyone else was out on enquiries.
Baxter took a sip of his coffee, which had now gone cold. He spat it back into the mug. Yuck. Running his hand over his cheeks he felt the stubble rasping against his fingers. He looked up to his wall clock, 10.45 p.m. He picked up the phone and punched in Carter’s mobile number.
Carter answered almost immediately.
‘Sir, how’s the course going?’
‘Oh, Ted, hi. Well, I could have done without this, that’s for sure. You just caught me in time. I and my fellow sufferers are just off to a bloody session on how to manage, grow and develop your communication skills with the public. I’m too long in the tooth for this kind of crap. One more lecture this afternoon and a final farewell dinner with all those boring speeches tonight to sit through then I’m done. I’ll be glad when tomorrow comes and I can get out of this poxy place. Management courses, oh, how I hate them.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t worry my friend, you’ll find out soon enough when your time comes.’
He got straight to the point. ‘Sir, we’ve had another killing. Last night, middle-aged woman, strangled and throat cut.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the phone, then a brief silence. ‘Shit.’ Another longer pause, then, ‘Just as well today’s the final morning. I should be back around lunch time. I’ll see you then.’ The line went dead.
*******
The Black Bear was not too crowded when he walked in. Some of the day shift had taken up residence at the bar. Another group of PCs sitting at one of the tables were talking noisily and laughing. He recognised some of the faces. They were traffic cops and by the number of empties on the table it was clear they were well into their session. He hoped they practiced what they preached about not drinking and driving. One was clearly on orange juice. Baxter guessed he would be their chauffeur.
Baxter walked over to the corner table and sat down. He watched as Lynch, carefully balancing a tray of drinks and packets of crisps, headed towards him. He put it down on the table and squeezed in beside Jill Richardson. She slid along the bench seat, making room for him.
She held up her glass. ‘Congratulations on your promotion.’