Be Not Afraid (9781301650996)

by Ellis, Tim

  ***

  ‘A young female jogger was seen being bundled into a van early this morning by a member of the public who had the forethought to take down the registration number of the vehicle. That person rang us, and we despatched officers to question the registered keeper of the van. When challenged, he attempted to escape on foot, but was tackled by one of the officers. Subsequently, the young woman was discovered bound and gagged in the rear of the vehicle, and she is now recovering from her ordeal in hospital. The man was taken into custody.’

  ‘Kay Calvin from the Impartial Reporter,’ a ginger-haired woman shouted over the others. ‘What have you found in the house, Sergeant Blake?’

  ‘The officers had reason to believe that a crime had been committed, so they called in a forensic team. A number of bodies have now been discovered.’

  There was a hushed silence, followed by a flurry of questions.

  A woman with a white stripe in her hair like a badger said, ‘Sarah Hooper with the Waltham Hippogriff. When you say “a number of bodies” how many is that exactly?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s too early to say. The final figure won’t be known until forensic officers have completed their search of the property.’

  ‘Jess Coleman representing the Chelmer Epitaph,’ a reporter with about ten earrings in her left ear said. ‘Can you tell us the name of the man you have in custody?’

  She thought for a moment. Normally, she wouldn’t divulge a name just in case the person was innocent, but there was little chance of that in this case. The second problem, of course, was that John Smith, she was sure, was not his real name. And the third problem was that the media would act as judge, jury and executioner, but if Smith wasn’t his real name then it didn’t matter, and they might actually help her find out who Smith really was.

  ‘The name we have for the registered keeper of the vehicle and the occupant of the house is John Smith. However, that name has yet to be confirmed.’

  ‘Sarah Braidwood from the Enfield Visitor,’ an old woman with cross-eyes and bottle-bottom glasses announced. ‘You mean, it might not be his real name?’

  Didn’t she just say that? She hated people who needed things explaining more than once. ‘We don’t know one way or the other at the moment.’

  It was getting late. She checked her watch. It was four fifteen. She had to brief the Chief at five o’clock, and John Smith still needed interviewing.

  A completely bald man with ear mufflers on said, ‘Craig MacGregor with the Epping Pen. Could you provide us with the names of the female jogger, and the member of the public who rang the police?’

  ‘No. Now, as much as I’d like to stand here playing “Trivial Pursuits” with you I have to be somewhere else with not a lot of time to get there, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to get stopped by the police for speeding.’

  There was a polite ripple of laughter.

  ‘Jenny Sanders at the Chingford Examiner,’ a big-nosed woman with blue lipstick said. ‘Where are Parish and Richards?’

  ‘Don’t get me started on them. Right, I really do have to go now, but what about an update on Wednesday morning at nine-thirty in the briefing room at Hoddesdon Police Station?’

  There were nods of agreement.

  She turned to Stick. ‘Come on, let’s get going. I have a briefing with the Chief at five, and then we’ll interview Smith and see what he’s got to say for himself.’

  As it was going home time, Stick turned the satnav on and pressed for “Home” – Home, of course, being the station. ‘We’ll go across country,’ he said. ‘It should be quicker.’

  ‘Famous last words.’

  As they were skirting round Epping he said, ‘Are you going to ring that number?’

  ‘And say what?’

  He shrugged. ‘Hello, who’s that?’

  ‘And what do I say when they want to know who’s asking?’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Exactly. We’ll get the computer bod in forensics to find out everything there is to find out about the number first, and go from there.’

  ‘Yeah, good idea, Sarge.’

  She gave him a sideways glance. ‘You’re not trying to get into my thong again, are you?’

  ‘I never would. What if the phone rings?’

  ‘We don’t answer it.’

  ‘We could ring the number from another phone.’

  ‘We could, but we’re not going to. We don’t want to frighten anyone off.’

  ‘If it’s all over the TV and in the newspapers, they might already be frightened off.’

  ‘Good point, but we’re still not going to ring the number.’

  ‘It’s your decision, of course, but I would ring the number.’

  She sighed, took the phone out of her pocket, switched it on through the plastic evidence bag, and pressed the number.

  ‘Well?’ Stick said when she turned the phone off.

  ‘Somebody answered, but they didn’t speak. Now they know we have Smith’s phone, and their number.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ve told them anything they didn’t already know. When are we going to Hastings to interview Allan Williams?’

  ‘I’m beginning to feel like a suspect. Will you stop aiming bloody questions at me?’

  ‘Sorry, Sarge. Do you want me at the Chief’s briefing?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What about Smith’s interview?’

  ‘Yes. Are you my partner, or not?’

  ‘I’m your partner.’

  ‘I bet you want to go home early while I do all the work, don’t you?’

  ‘I never would.’

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know that you act dumb on purpose to wind me up, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about your little secrets.’

  Stick kept quiet, but she noticed the corners of his mouth move slightly upwards – just for a brief moment.

  ***

  ‘My backside hurts, and I think I may have that deep vein thingy…’

  ‘You mean deep vein thrombosis?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one – where a blood clot gets stuck in your brain and kills you.’

  ‘You’re not in any danger of that then.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  When they landed at Richmond Airport in Virginia, it was ten to one in the afternoon. By the time they’d passed through baggage and security it was five to two.

  ‘Yahoo!’ Richards said waving when she saw a man holding a large piece of paper with “Pornish and Rikards” printed on it in a spidery purple script.

  ‘That’s not you,’ Angie said.

  ‘The Americans can’t spell,’ Richards explained. ‘It’ll be us, you wait and see.’

  ‘Pornish and Rikards?’ the man queried, when they reached him.

  ‘For the FBI conference?’ Parish double-checked.

  The man nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Richards pointed at the piece of paper. ‘It’s actually Parish and Richards, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know… sorry. My seven-year-old insisted on writing the names, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d spelt them wrong. As long as I’ve acquired the right people, that’s all that matters.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Richards said. ‘So long as your daughter hasn’t written the name badges for the conference as well.’

  ‘I’m Special Agent in Charge Simeon Herbert – Herb for short. If you’ll follow me, I’ve got a car waiting.’

  Herb wore a dark blue suit, had short brown thinning hair, a strange-looking high forehead, and a pointed chin.

  ‘Does the “Special” mean you’re special?’ Richards asked him.

  ‘Most definitely,’ Herb replied with an enormous smile.

  ‘And what are you “in charge” of?’

  ‘Transport and hotel arrangements during the conference.’

  ‘Do you investigate murders?’

  ‘Stop interrogating Herb, Richards,’ Parish said.

  While Herb, and the driver of the stretch limousin
e Gus – who looked like an off-duty marine – threw their luggage in the boot they all climbed inside.

  ‘Hey, will you look at this?’ Richards said stretching her legs out. ‘This is what the plane should have been like.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to get to the hotel,’ Angie said. ‘I’m ready for bed again.’

  ‘It’s only five o’clock in Chigwell, mum.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t forget we’ve been up for fourteen hours now. Not all of us had a hundred hours sleep on the plane.’

  ‘I would have had a lot more if a certain person hadn’t kept nudging me.’

  Gus drove them to the Jefferson Hotel where they had three rooms reserved.

  ‘Oh God! Will you take a look at this?’ Richards said when they walked into the hotel lobby.

  There was a grand staircase, chandeliers, and Italian marble just about everywhere. Marble pillars surrounded them, and Parish began to feel like a gladiator at the Coliseum.

  ‘Stop saying that, Richards. You’re beginning to sound like someone who’s lived on a farm in the backwoods all your life, and this is your first trip to the big city.’

  ‘Will you look at that?’ She had her neck stretched backward, and was gazing straight up at the elaborately decorated domed ceiling. Daggers of sunlight cut through the stained glass and lit up the lobby.

  Herb made sure they were settled in, and then he left with the parting words, ‘If you need anything, tell reception to ring me. If you want to go anywhere, tell reception to ring Gus – have a nice day.’

  ‘Thanks, Herb,’ Parish said, as the FBI agent closed the door.

  There was a FBI “Welcome Pack” on the table, but he thought he’d save it until later.

  ‘We’ve got two days before the conference,’ he said to Angie. ‘We’ll go sightseeing.’

  ‘That’ll be good. I didn’t come all this way to sit in a hotel.’

  Richards burst in. ‘Will you look at these rooms?’

  The bedrooms were certainly impressive with king-sized beds, antique furniture in a mishmash of styles, easy chairs with matching pouffes, a writing table, carpets the thickness of a wheat field, and a separate marble bathroom.

  ‘You’re meant to knock on doors, you know. We could have been naked, or doing something…’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting. You’ll give me the heebie-jeebies… and there’s a gym, and a swimming pool…’

  ‘It’s a good job you brought your bikini then, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m going down there to try it. I haven’t been swimming for absolutely ages.’

  ‘Your mother and I will grab a couple of hours’ sleep. Let Alicia Mae know we’ll meet for dinner at eight o’clock here, and to bring Jack with her.’

  ‘Okay. Have a good sleep… if that’s what you’re really going to do.’

  ‘You should get your mind out of the sewers, Mary Richards,’ Angie said.

  ‘Huh.’

  ***

  They arrived back at the station at five past five.

  ‘You can explain to the Chief why we’re late.’

  ‘Okay, but it was hardly my fault. Some parts of Essex are semi-rural, and sometimes you get stuck behind tractors and farm animals.’

  ‘It was like a day trip to Longleat Safari Park.’

  Stick grinned. ‘I must admit, I didn’t expect those goats to jump on the car.’

  ‘I hate animals. They’re dirty, smelly, and shit everywhere.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re describing humans.’

  ‘I hate them as well.’

  Xena pushed Stick forward, and he knocked on the Chief’s door.

  ‘Come.’

  Stick opened it. ‘Sorry we’re late…’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, DC Gilbert. I know you’re up to your eyeballs in it, and sometimes things don’t go according to plan.’

  ‘Thanks, Chief.’ He smiled at Xena.

  The Chief stood up and moved to the easy chairs around the coffee table. ‘So, I’ve still got a mountain of paperwork to climb before I can go home, so let’s get to it.’

  They sat down opposite him, and Xena described their visit to the first crime scene at Drury Lane in Hunsdon.

  ‘And he had his bits stuffed in his mouth?’

  ‘It could be a revenge killing…’

  Stick interrupted. ‘But because he was tortured and dumped in Hunsdon we think it’s more than that.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Don’t listen to DC Gilbert, Chief.’

  ‘Gilbert may have a point, DS Blake. It’s important to explore all reasonable explanations.’

  Stick smiled at Xena.

  ‘And we will, Sir. In fact, I planned to get DC Gilbert to explore that very explanation before he went home tonight.’ She smiled back at him.

  ‘What about Smith?’

  ‘We’ve opened a can of worms there, Sir.’

  ‘Yes, I saw you on the television. What didn’t you tell the press?’

  ‘Forensics are finding body parts all over the house, so we have no idea as to the extent of the count yet. I’m certain John Smith is not the man’s name, but who he is…’ She shrugged, and then told him about what they’d found in the compartment under the driver’s seat.

  ‘It’s a mystery.’

  ‘It certainly is, Sir, but DC Gilbert and I will get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. So, you think you’re going to Hastings?’

  ‘Well, that was the plan. Maybe Wednesday…’

  ‘I don’t think so. Day trips to the seaside can wait until after you’ve solved both cases. Give Hastings police a courtesy call, send a squad car to pick up Mr Williams, and then bring him back here. You can interview him downstairs, and then send him on his way.’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  Stick glanced at her. ‘There are two problems with that plan, Sir.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well, we’d like to see the grandfather clock. It might be relevant to the investigation. Also, you’re assuming that Mr Williams is simply someone who has taken delivery of a clock. Instead, he might very well be implicated in the investigation in some way. With that in mind, it would be helpful if we could interview him in his own home.’

  ‘You put forward a good argument, DC Gilbert. All right, but you go there and come back the same day. Right, same time tomorrow.’

  And they were dismissed.

  Outside Xena said, ‘Fuck’s sake! Now look what you’ve done, gobshite. Bringing Williams here would have sufficed. “Implicated in the investigation!” – Is he hell. Now, we’ve got to do a ball-breaking round-trip to Hastings in a day. Sometimes, I wonder what you’ve got between those big flappy ears.’

  ‘He could be implicated.’

  ‘Shut the hell up, dork… And when we’re interviewing Smith, keep that stupid mouth of yours shut.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  Under the Custody Sergeant’s supervision, two officers escorted John Smith to an interview room and remained there with him.

  ‘Has he spoken at all?’ Xena asked Nicola Maloney – the Custody Sergeant.

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Not even to ask for a solicitor?’

  ‘No.’

  John Smith was an effeminate-looking man with well kept middle-parted corkscrew blond hair past his shoulders, thin oblong glasses, and an unusually long chin. He was probably in his late thirties or early forties. He’d had his clothes removed for forensic investigation, and now wore a blue zip-up jump suit – compliments of Hoddesdon Police Station. He placed his hands palm downward on the table, and Xena noticed that his nails were better cared for than hers were.

  Stick activated the CCTV recording.

  ‘Is your name John Smith?’ Xena began.

  There was no answer. Smith merely stared at her with a nondescript expression on his face.

  ‘Would you like a solicitor present?’

  Silence.

  ‘Do you live at 74 Ivy Chimneys Road?’


  Smith said nothing.

  ‘Can you tell us anything about the body parts we’re finding at that address?’

  Xena asked him a whole string of questions, but Smith didn’t respond to any of them. He didn’t even say, “No comment”, he simply remained silent.

  ‘We discovered the secret compartment beneath the driver’s seat, John. Can you tell us anything about what we found in there?’

  There was no flicker of surprise in his eyes.

  ‘Interview with John Smith terminated at twenty-three minutes past six,’ Xena said standing up.

  Stick switched off the CCTV recording.

  ‘Take him back to his cell,’ Xena said to the two uniforms. ‘Don’t worry, John,’ she said to Smith as he was escorted from the room. ‘It’s just a matter of time before we find out everything we need to know about you.’

  Silence.

  ‘That wasn’t very helpful,’ Stick said.

  ‘Is that all you can say?’

  ‘I don’t know. What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I don’t want you to say anything.’

  ‘Are you sure? I could say that he looked unusually clean – and put me in mind of an obsessive-compulsive, or that he appeared unusually intelligent, or I might have commented on why he put his hands palm downward on the table – nobody sits like that. But I thought I’d be telling my grandma how to suck eggs.’

  ‘Grandma! You’re treading…’

  ‘Merely an expression, Sarge.’

  ‘You’re trying to wind me up again, aren’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how.’

  ‘I think you should shut the hell up while you’re still alive. Right, let’s go up to forensics.’

  The door to the forensics’ department was open when they’d climbed the stairs, but there was no one manning the reception desk.

  ‘Hello?’ Stick called.

  No one answered.

  ‘Do you think they’ve all gone home?’ he said.

  ‘There’s a bunch of them at the house on Ivy Chimneys Road, and Toadstone has some more at the other crime scene in Hunsdon. They’ve probably run out of people.’