by Ellis, Tim
‘I went to the toilet after I’d paid.’
‘The toilet! For a number two?’
‘I don’t think that’s relevant.’
‘Did someone have to come in and squeeze your head?’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Ivy Chimneys Road – number seventy-four – on the southern edge of Epping. It runs parallel to the M25 near the Bell Common Tunnel. So, you’re probably best getting onto the M11, and following that until you reach the Hobbs Cross junction with the M25.’
Stick keyed the details into the satnav, and after scrolling through the options said, ‘Got it. Twenty-seven minutes. Probably three quarters of an hour.’
Xena put the seat back into the reclined position. ‘I’m going to catch up on my beauty sleep.’
Stick stifled a laugh.
‘I heard that.’
***
It was quarter past two when they arrived at 74 Ivy Chimneys Road, which was a three-bedroom detached Victorian house with bay windows top and bottom. A white van was parked on the crazy paving driveway. Forensics officers were crawling all over the place like a plague of albino locusts.
The usual suspects were blocking the road beyond the crime scene tape. Nosy bastards from far and wide with nothing else better to do had arrived. A hot-dog van and mobile baked potato oven were feeding the unwashed. The media with digital and television cameras, lights, notebooks, dictaphones, tracking equipment, night vision systems, and surveillance devices were there looking for a scoop. Xena could hear two helicopters circling above, and hoped that bitch Heffernan had erected overhead covers to prevent anyone taking photographs or television footage.
‘Sergeant Blake, remember me – Liana Hylda from the Epping Globe? Can you tell us what’s going on?’
‘Does it look to you as if I’m just arriving, or just leaving?’
‘Well, you’ve just arrived.’
‘And as such, would I be more likely to know what was going on now, or after I’ve been inside the house?’
‘But you’ll give us a statement once you’ve been inside?’ someone else shouted.
‘That’s certainly one of the options I have available to me, but if you keep asking me questions out here, I’ll never get in there to discover what actually has happened.’
The questions ceased.
She turned round to find Stick standing behind her.
‘What the hell are you still doing here?’
‘I was waiting for you.’
‘You’re a dork. I’m not your mother, you know. You’re allowed to do things on your own without permission from me.’
‘You said I wasn’t.’
‘For Christ’s sake! I meant you couldn’t go off on your own again like a loose cannon. You’re being deliberately obtuse to wind me up again, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t even know what the word means.’
Xena pulled out her warrant card. ‘And you are?’ she said to the uniformed constable with squinty eyes and an odd smile standing at the door.
‘Fran Burke, Sarge.’
‘I didn’t need your first name, Constable Burke. We’re not going shopping for shoes together.’
‘No, Sarge.’
‘Any relation to William Burke?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Burke and Hare – serial killers.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You’d better tell me what’s been happening then?’
Burke pulled her notebook out. ‘Well, my partner and I – Constable Hare…’
‘You’re having me on.’
‘No… Gabby Hare and I…’
‘Who’s the Duty Sergeant?’
‘Sergeant Jackson.’
‘And she’s put you two together?’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘I might have known. And you’ve never heard of Burke and Hare?’
‘No, Sarge.’
‘Okay, carry on.’
She began reading from her notebook again. ‘We were sent here by despatch at 0815 hours to make enquiries about the possible abduction of a jogger…’
Xena’s eyes were glazing over. ‘And you found the jogger in the back of the van… where is she now?’
‘The jogger’s name is Lynda Campkin. We called an ambulance, and she was taken to hospital…’
‘But you took a statement?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And that statement would be where exactly?’ She was becoming exasperated.
‘Gabby… I mean, Constable Hare has it.’
‘And she would be where?’
Constable Burke pointed to a big-breasted woman with bleached blonde hair, lines on her face, and arms like a weightlifter making sure the crowd remained behind the blue and white tape.
As they walked over there Xena said, ‘Now that’s a lesbian if I ever saw one.’
‘I didn’t know you were an expert on lesbians, Sarge.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I don’t mean anything by it, but they say it takes one to know one.’
‘Are you calling me a lesbian?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
They reached Constable Hare.
Xena held out her warrant card.
‘I believe you have a statement for me?’
The shadow of a smile crossed Hare’s face, as she pulled a folded piece of paper from her top pocket and handed it to Xena.
‘So, you and Burke arrived to question Smith?’
‘At about eight-thirty this morning.’
‘Describe what happened, but leave out the boring bits?’
‘He answered the door already dressed… God, I thought I was going to pass out from the stench coming from the inside of that house… we had to move back a bit. When we asked to take a look in his van he made a run for it, but I’m not the Essex Ladies scrum half for no reason. I caught him in the middle of the lawn, which wasn’t bad from a standing start, even if I do say so myself. After that, he was as meek as a lamb.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘Not a word.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, we called for assistance to take Smith back to the station, and I knew what the dead smelled like even if Burke didn’t, so I told Sergeant Jackson that she’d better get a forensics team up here as well.’
‘And the jogger?’
‘We opened up the van to find her bound and gagged. Based on what’s inside the house, she had a lucky escape. So, I took some photos of her with my mobile, then we released her, took a statement, and sent her to the hospital.’
‘Thanks. Good job by the way.’
‘That’s what they pay me for.’
Xena read the statement on the way back to the house, and then said out loud, ‘Out jogging, Smith asked her for directions, threw her in the back of his van, and then bound and gagged her.’
‘I suppose we’d better go and see what’s in the house,’ Stick said.
‘Well, that is why we’re here, dork.’
They climbed into the white paper suits, boots, gloves and masks.
Stick held out his index finger with a sliver of Vicks VapoRub on the end. ‘Pull your mask down, Sarge.’
Xena jerked her head back. ‘There’s something seriously wrong with you,’ she said, scraping the ointment off his finger with her own, and slathering it under her nose. ‘You’ll be wanting to give me a massage next.’
‘I specialise in aromatherapy massages, and I’m available upon request.’
‘Yeah, keep dreaming, pervert. You’re never going to get into my thong.’
‘I never would.’
‘Sergeant Blake and Detective Gilbert! I thought that maybe you’d gone to America with those lucky bar stewards Parish and Richards.’
‘Chocolate Heffernan! Is it me, or have you put on a couple of stone?’
‘It’s you. I’m as slim and beautiful as I ever was.’
‘You’ve obviously got one of those warped mirror
s they use in the Hall of Mirrors at funfairs.’
‘Well, it seems to be working for you.’
Stick stepped between them. ‘As touching as this reunion is, I think you two should stop being so childish.’
‘She started it,’ Di Heffernan said.
‘Fuck’s sake! Have you heard yourself? “She started it!”’ Xena mimicked in a high-pitched voice.
‘The pair of you should be standing in the naughty corner,’ Stick said. ‘Now, I’d like you both to put your differences aside, and let’s do what we’ve come here to do.’
‘Come on then, heifer, tell me what we’ve got?’
‘What we’ve got here, you poor excuse for a warrior bitch, is a nightmare.’
Xena opened her mouth to respond, but Stick said, ‘Please explain?’
‘Doctor Paine has gone back to King George, and left it to us. There are no bodies in here. It’s more like a lucky dip. So far, we’ve found twelve left femurs and seventeen right femurs. Some match, but most don’t. It’s a similar story with all the other bones. We can verify seven skulls – all females, but there are many more.’
‘Where did he have them?’ Xena asked.
‘In every room – upstairs and downstairs…’ She led them into the front room. ‘…This house has been subject to some serious modifications. Down here, there’s a trapdoor in every room. Underneath each one is a crawl space approximately two feet in depth. The integrity of the load bearing walls has been maintained, but the spaces are the same length and width as the rooms above them. The walls have hollow spaces, and we haven’t started on the attic or the garden yet. This is a necropolis not a house.
‘I don’t know how anyone could live here,’ Stick said, rubbing more Vicks under his nose.
Di Heffernan jerked her head for them to follow her. ‘Well, he did live here.’
She took them into the kitchen. There were dirty plates in the sink, a half-used loaf of bread and an open butter dish on the worktop. Inside the cupboards, the fridge, and the freezer were what they would expect to find in any normal house.
Xena signalled to Stick to give her more Vicks. ‘I suppose, if he lived here, he wouldn’t notice the smell after a while.’
Stick unscrewed the top of the pot and offered it to her. ‘How you couldn’t notice this smell is beyond me.’
‘So,’ Di said. ‘We’re going to be here for some considerable time. You’re welcome to hang around, but I wouldn’t hold your breath… In fact, you probably should hold your breath in here.’
Xena realised what the Chief had been on about earlier when he’d said this was right up her street. ‘We’ve got the killer, and we’ve got the victims. Now all we have to do is fit the jigsaw pieces together.’
‘We could do with a picture on the front of the box, Sarge.’
‘Since when do we ever get those?’
‘Never, I suppose.’
‘You suppose right, dork.’
‘Okay, Stick and I will have a quick walk round to get a feel for who this John Smith is, but let’s set some ground rules. You work for me now. If the Chief Constable wanders in you can tell him what’s going on, but otherwise everything comes through me first. You and your team are going to provide most of the jigsaw pieces. Stick and I are going to fit those pieces together. And you’re definitely not getting any more bloody chocolates…’
Sniggering came from somewhere, but Xena couldn’t see who it was because everyone had masks on.
‘Are we clear?’
‘We’re clear, Sergeant Blake.’
‘Good. Now, this is no place to meet, and I’m not setting up a mobile incident room when I have another investigation on the go, so we should meet at the station. I propose nine o’clock in the mornings. Obviously, we want to identify the victims as soon as possible, and then inform the relatives, but we already have the killer, so this case is not our priority. We take our time, and we do it right. I’ve said it before, but so that there’s no misunderstanding, nobody talks to the media except me. And while we’re on the subject of the media, have you erected overhead cover?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Make it a priority. Those bastards have no regard for a person’s privacy. Anything I’ve forgotten, Stick?’
‘I think if Di finds a diary, or something along those lines, she shouldn’t wait until the morning to let us know about it.’
‘Sometimes, I wonder how you can be so brilliant one minute, and an absolute dough-ball the next. Good point. Yeah, obviously, if you find the elixir of life or the philosopher’s stone, by all means let me know immediately, otherwise we’ll see you in the morning.’
‘I’m sure I can fit you into my busy schedule. Definitely no chocolates, huh?’
More sniggering came from somewhere.
Xena’s eyes closed to slits, but it didn’t help her pinpoint who was doing the sniggering.
Stick stepped between them again. ‘I suggest that we put the chocolates down to experience, and move past that unfortunate prank.’
‘Fine with me,’ Di said.
‘Should we do that, Sarge?’
‘Who made you a United Nations peacekeeper?’
Stick and Di stared at her.
‘If anyone mentions chocolates again, or does any sniggering – all bets are off.’
Everyone nodded in agreement to the uneasy truce.
Xena and stick began weaving between forensics officers to get a look at the house John Smith lived in.
‘You search the back room,’ Xena said. ‘I’ll take the front. We’re looking for a passport, birth certificate, photographs of his parents, wife, children, a National Insurance or National Health Service number – anything that will give us more information on who John Smith is. I think we can safely assume that he’s not John Smith, so who is he? Also, what did he do as a job?
‘Think of me as a sniffer dog. If there’s anything in there – I’ll sniff it out.’
‘See, that’s exactly what I mean. Before you were brilliant, but now you’re being a stupid prat. Get going, and stop talking to me.’
She wandered into the front room again.
‘Don’t fall down the hole,’ a forensic officer warned.
‘I’m sure some of you would like nothing better than to see me fall down that hole.’
There were nondescript paintings on the wall, cheap ornaments on the mantelpiece, and nothing of any note in the cupboards and drawers of the sideboard. It was as if Smith lived here, but it wasn’t a home.
She went back out into the hallway.
Stick came out of the back room.
‘Anything?’ she asked him.
He shook his head.
‘Surely there was something?’
He shook his head again.
‘Let’s go upstairs.’
He nodded.
‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘I distinctly recall you telling me to stop talking to you.’
‘Yes, and here you are disobeying a direct order. Which part of “stop talking to me” don’t you understand?’
They found nothing of interest in any of the three bedrooms, or the bathroom.
‘Strange!’
Stick shrugged. ‘Maybe he doesn’t live here.’
‘All the evidence suggests that he does – the dirty plates and food in the kitchen, the dirty washing, the unmade bed, the toiletries in the bathroom, the clothes in the wardrobe.’
‘And yet he has no personal effects. There are no letters, bills, or statements. Maybe he destroys everything. We should look in the waste bin. There’s also no computer. All he has in the back room is a television with a free digibox. Did anyone mention a mobile phone, or a set of keys?’
‘You’re a half-decent partner sometimes.’
They went back downstairs and found Di Heffernan.
‘Have you checked the waste bins?’
‘Do you think we’re amateurs? It’s all been collected up, and we’ll sift through it all in good t
ime.’
‘Have you found Smith’s keys or mobile?’
‘No.’
‘He must have some keys,’ Stick said. ‘Have you checked the van?’
‘There are other priorities, you know.’
‘Come on, we’ll go and check it,’ Xena said.
It took them twenty-five minutes, but they eventually found the secret compartment in the floor beneath the driver’s seat. Inside, was a passport belonging to John Smith; a wallet containing one thousand three hundred pounds and a credit card in the name of John Smith; a mobile phone with one number in the phonebook; a set of five keys; and a signed delivery note for an antique grandfather clock dated Tuesday, 19th February to a Mr Allan Williams at an address in Hastings.
‘And we’ll go together this time,’ Xena said. ‘If I leave you here you’ll only get yourself into trouble.’
‘You mean we can stay in a hotel together?’
‘You’re a fucking pervert, Stick.’
Chapter Four
Erin Donnelly smiled.
So, Parish and Richards were going off to America, and Kowalski would lose his best friends for a week. The timing was just right. She was fully prepared. Everything was in place. It was time to destroy DCI Raymond Kowalski.
She made an anonymous report to the department of Social Services at Chingford concerning the psychological and sexual abuse of four children at 12 Mill Lane in Woodford Green. Then she leaked a confidential email to the media, which just happened to be from the Chief Constable of Essex Constabulary to the Police Commissioner in London, concerning DCI Kowalski’s abuse of his children, and his membership of a Satanic Cult. The email made reference to a secret investigation conducted by DCI Debbie MacGregor at the Child Abuse Investigation Team (CAIT) based in Harlow into the abuse involved. It also pointed out that the information was subject to public interest immunity, and thus it would not be made available to the press under any circumstances.
Additionally, certain reports – constituting evidence – were added to the educational records of Gabe, Oceana, Tabitha, and Gabi Kowalski detailing a catalogue of bruises, strange marks, scratches, illnesses, and absences for which explanations were less than adequate. It was clear, when all this evidence was viewed as a whole that something sinister was going on in the Kowalski household.