by Ellis, Tim
‘Go on then, ask me?’ Xena said. ‘I can see you’re dying to know.’
‘I don’t need to ask you, I already know.’
She stopped and glared at him. ‘How do you already know?’
‘I worked it out. In fact, I know everything about you now.’
‘You don’t know anything.’
‘Your father was Colonel Martin Blake who died during the Gulf War at the battle of Khafji in 1991. Before that though, he was the author of a number of books. One of those books was a detailed analysis of The Charge of the Light Brigade – one of the worst blunders in military history – entitled The Six Hundred.’
‘You can’t prove any of that.’
‘Oh, I think I can. I have a signed copy of that book, and on the inside cover at the back, he mentions his daughter – his little warrior princess.’
A wave of sadness washed over her. She had days when she missed her father like crazy, and other days she couldn’t remember what he looked like.
‘You’re like a bomb disposal engineer covering his ears with his hands, and tapping the ground with his foot. If you’re not careful, you’re going to blow yourself up.’
Stick grinned.
Never – in a month of Sundays – would she have ever thought Stick might own a signed copy of one of her father’s books. She’d left the door ajar, and he’d sneaked in while she wasn’t looking.
‘If I hear you mention my father again, I’m going to rip your arms out of their sockets and beat you to death with the soggy ends.’
‘Not only that, but you weren’t making notes of what SDI Pollock was saying during the briefing.’
‘How do you know?’
‘You hate him.’
‘I hate you as well, but sometimes I make notes about you.’
‘About me?’
‘What you’re saying.’
‘You never do.’
‘I do.’
‘Prove it. Show me what you were writing.’
‘I don’t think so. Look, we’re here now, so stop pestering me.’
They wandered down the corridor to Toadstone’s laboratory. He was sitting on a wooden stool with his eyes closed. The edge of the bench was supporting his back, and his hands were locked behind his head.
‘Contemplating the nature of the universe?’ Xena asked.
‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘So, you want to know about batch numbers?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Xena parried. ‘We really came up here for some peace and quiet. We’d heard that very little work gets done up here, and that this was the place to come if you needed a couple of hours shut-eye.’
‘Very droll. I have thirty-three churches.’
‘Thirty-three! You’re joking?’ Xena exclaimed. ‘That’ll take us forever.’
‘I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, but I also have a plan.’
‘A plan! Is that a new word you’ve just learnt?’
‘If you don’t want to hear it?’
‘Go on. I have time on my hands.’
He stood up, walked over to the wall by the door, and pointed to a map of Essex. ‘The blue dot is where the victim was found. The numbered red dots are the thirty-three churches that correspond to the batch number list I obtained from FC Dupont. As you can see, some are near, and some are not so near. I suggest you start from the middle, and work outwards.’
‘Where’s the green dot?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘A green dot would indicate where he lived.’
‘Ah...’ Toadstone checked the file, found a green marker pen, and put a new dot on Roydon. ‘That changes things slightly.’
‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Don’t give up the day job,’ she suggested.
Toadstone smiled. ‘I won’t.’
Xena helped herself to the map, and rolled it up as she turned right out of Toadstone’s laboratory instead of left and the way out.
Stick stood still. ‘That’s the wrong way.’
‘I won’t be a minute.’
‘They’re going to lock us up and flush the key down the toilet.’
‘Stop being a wimp. The only way they could find out is if you told them.’
‘I’m hardly likely to do that, am I?’
‘Well, shut the hell up then.’
‘I haven’t found the location of the website yet,’ Erin Donnelly said when they barged into her room.
‘That’s not why we’re here, but thanks for telling me anyway. Di Heffernan brought you a mobile phone with one number in the phonebook, a credit card, and a passport.’
‘John Smith?’
‘That’s right.’
‘The mobile phone was reported stolen ten months ago. The SIM card is a cheap untraceable rip-off. The 10-year British passport and the credit card are more sophisticated copies, and the details have been passed to the Fraud Squad who might have more information for you on where they came from. John Smith did exist, but he died in 1991 in Queen Charlotte’s Residential Home at the age of eighty-nine. The only thing I had any luck with was the telephone number. It’s the main number of a Logistics Company called ESP Logistics based in Hainault.’ She passed the set of five keys to Xena. ‘You may as well take these as well.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, apart from a copy of the vehicle key, we have no idea what they’re for.’ She pointed at the four keys one by one. ‘We think that’s a front door key, that could be a garage key, that might be for a heavy-duty lock, and no idea about the last one.’
‘I thought you’d be able to zoom in on serial numbers or something, and give me a name and address.’
‘In your dreams.’
The final key was made of iron. It was heavy; about six inches long, and looked as though it opened the dungeon of a medieval castle. The bow was an elaborate filigree design with an “A” in the centre. The shank was uneven and pitted, and there were two bits each with a box of wards cut into them.
‘And you don’t know anything about this one?’
‘Well, apart from it being old – no.’
‘Mobile phone records?’
‘Calls too and from the number in the phonebook only.’
‘No other calls in or out?’
‘None.’
‘Did you check if Smith had any other phones registered under his name?’
‘Yes, and no he didn’t.’
Xena sighed. ‘What about fingerprints and DNA?’
‘No matches. The person who calls himself John Smith seems to be an enigma.’
‘So you’ve given up?’
‘Dr Toadstone warned me about you.’
‘He did, did he?’
‘Yes. He told me not to let you bully me.’
‘Is that what I’m doing?’
‘I’m not the detective, you are. I find out the information you want, and that’s the end of it as far as I’m concerned. Well, I’ve found out, and now I’ve moved on to other things.’
‘Okay. If you feel that’s good enough, that’s fine.’
‘Goodbye then.’
‘Goodbye.’
They got as far as the door when Erin spoke again.
‘I could try something else.’
Xena smiled before turning round. ‘Oh?’
‘I could try running a face recognition program on the government databases. It’ll take some time, and it’ll depend on whether he’s ever had a photograph scanned in under his real name, but we might get lucky.’
‘That would be great. Thanks, Erin.’
Xena opened the door, and Stick followed her out.
‘Go on then?’
‘What?’
‘Say what’s on your mind.’
‘There’s nothing on my mind,’ Stick said. ‘My head is completely empty.’
‘I know that’s what you’d like me to believe, but you and I both know that’s not true, don’t we?’
***
He saw Harry in the corridor outside Alic
ia Mae’s room.
‘Richards seems to think the killer was probably in the bar watching Alicia Mae last night. She also thinks there was someone taking photographs, because she recalls a flashlight kept going off, but she didn’t see who had the camera.’
‘Hey, that’s great tell her. We’ll round up who was there, and see if we can’t find the guy. We might have to talk to Mary again if that’s all right with you?’
‘That’ll be fine. Listen, you’ll be doing me a favour if you can give her copies of your files. If she’s not chasing serial killers she drives everybody crazy.’
Harry smiled. ‘Yeah, I know some people like that. Okay, I’ll come back later with them, but… she does know she’s not to get involved, doesn’t she?’
‘Oh, don’t worry, she’s not stupid. And I’ll make sure she doesn’t. She just wants to look at the files, and see if she can solve the murders by examining the evidence – she’s like that.’
‘I gotta go now, but I’ll come by later.’
‘Thanks, Harry. Oh, and we never did do that briefing.’
‘Hey, you’re right. Okay, we’ll do that as well. The day’s gone to hell in a handcart since your nanny got murdered.’
‘Yeah, it wasn’t the best start to the day, was it?’
He caught the lift down to reception and spoke to a very pleasant Julie Hill with green eyes, a lisp, and long blonde hair piled on top of her head as if it was the only place she could find to put it.
She handed over the passports and said, ‘I’m sorry about your friend.’
‘Thanks, Julie.’
The enormity of the reception took him by surprise again. It was more like a mall than a reception. There were people everywhere, but unlike a mall the balconies and staircase were carpeted, and the noise from guests and visitors clip clopping around was therefore muffled.
He glanced at the people walking down the giant staircase, along the balconies, and in and out through the revolving door, and wondered if the killer was there watching him – sitting at a table, drinking coffee, anonymous behind the morning paper.
How unlucky was Alicia Mae. Her first night here and she had caught the attention of a serial killer. Maybe they shouldn’t have brought her. He knew that wasn’t the answer though. If someone wanted to get killed by a serial killer, America was certainly the place to come. He wondered if anyone had calculated the numbers of serial killers in the population. It was like a disease they had no cure for.
As he walked past an incongruous bright yellow “Richmond Planet” newspaper dispenser at the bottom of the staircase, a headline caught his attention through the clear plastic:
BRITISH DETECTIVE INVOLVED IN SATANIC RITUAL ABUSE OF CHILDREN
He hunted through his pockets for a twenty-five-cent coin, but couldn’t find one. There was a small coffee shop between two of the pillars on the right of the staircase. He bought a regular coffee, which cost him a dollar from a ten-dollar note, so he then had to buy a blueberry bagel for two dollars twenty-five cents as well. When he found an empty table he also found a discarded newspaper. He shrugged and sat down with his coffee and bagel.
As he started reading the article about a senior police officer called Kowalski, who had been arrested for involving his children in satanic ritual abuse, he felt physically sick. It was obviously a set up. Why had the Chief Constable allowed it to happen? Who the hell was in charge if Kowalski had been arrested?
He carried on reading. They’d taken Kowalski’s children away, and Jerry had been arrested as well. Jesus! What the hell was going on? He went to take his phone out of his pocket, but he hadn’t brought it with him. He finished the blueberry bagel, which he found a bit dry, and washed it down with the coffee. Then, folding the paper up and stuffing it under his arm, he made his way back to the room.
In an ideal world, he’d jump on a plane and fly back to help his friend, but it wasn’t an ideal world. Alicia Mae was having an autopsy. He was obligated to giving a forty-five minute presentation after the FBI had part-funded his trip. He needed to arrange for the repatriation of Alicia Mae’s body once the FBI had finished with it. And it would probably take twenty-four hours to get back home.
He tapped on the door.
‘You took your…’ Richards started to say. ‘What’s wrong?’
He pushed the paper at her. ‘Take a read of the front page.’
She began reading. ‘Oh God! What are we going to do?’
‘Do about what?’ Angie said coming out of the bathroom with towels wrapped around her body and head.
Richards showed her mum the article.
‘We have to go home and help them,’ she said.
He told her and Richards why they couldn’t just fly away home. ‘I’ll ring Carrie, and find out what’s going on.’
His mobile wouldn’t connect, so he picked up the hotel phone and connected through the operator.
‘DCI Miranda Colville’s office, how can I help?’
‘Is that you Carrie?’
‘Hello, Jed. I knew you’d ring when you found out.’
She started crying.
‘No, don’t cry. Crying is expensive. Wait until we’ve finished talking.’
‘Sorry. Did you know he’s had another heart attack?’
‘Oh crap!’
‘What?’ Richards said. ‘Tell us what, don’t keep it to yourself.’
‘Just a minute, Carrie. I’ve got a nosy partner here who needs to know what I know.’ He put his hand over the speaking end. ‘Do you mind, Richards? Can’t you see I’m talking to someone on the telephone? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? Kowalski’s had another heart attack.’
‘Oh God, Sir! Is he all right? Where’s Jerry? What about…?’ She burst into tears, and Angie put an arm around her.
‘If you’ll let me talk, I’ll find out all that information.’ He put the phone against his ear again. ‘Tell me he’s all right, Carrie?’
‘Yes, he’s alive, but they’re obviously keeping him in hospital under observation.’
‘What about Jerry and the kids?’
‘The children were spirited away to a secret location this morning, and Jerry was taken to Harlow for interview, but has just been released under police caution.’
‘Doesn’t the Chief Constable know it’s a set up? That someone is trying to ruin Kowalski?’
‘All I know is what I’ve told you, but the Chief Constable must have known about it because the new Chief arrived to replace him first thing this morning.’
‘I think I’ve got the Chief Constable’s number on my mobile, but give it to me just in case.’
She read out the number.
‘How’s everything else?’
‘We have a new Super Detective Inspector Toby Pollock here now. The Chief Constable has sent him here to take charge of a high-profile case about paedophiles.’
‘What the hell’s a Super DI when it’s at home, and how come I’m not one?’
‘Apparently, it’s one of the Chief Constable’s new initiatives, and you’ll always be a super DI to me, Jed Parish.’
What? He thought their fling was over and done with long ago. Why was she talking to him like that? Best to ignore it. What could he say anyway with Angie and Richards perched on his shoulder?
‘I can imagine what DS Blake thinks about that.’
‘I haven’t seen her this morning. So, are you coming back?’
‘I wish I could, but…’ He told her what had happened.
‘Oh my God! What’s the world coming to?’
‘Listen, my mobile’s not working for some reason, so I’ll phone you later to get an update, and in the meantime I’ll ring the Chief Constable and tell him what I think of him.’
‘Remember the time difference.’
‘Yeah, I will, thanks.’
He pressed the connectors down until he got a dial tone, and phoned the number Carrie had given him.
‘Audrey Sanders, Chief Constable Barrett-Croft’s Person
al Assistant.’
‘Yes, good morning, Audrey. It’s Detective Inspector Parish from Hoddesdon. I’m in America…’
‘The Chief Constable isn’t taking any calls at the moment…’
‘I’d like to find out what he’s doing about DCI Kowalski…’
‘I’m afraid he’s not talking to anyone on that matter.’
‘Surely he’ll talk to me? He knows who I am…’
‘He knew you’d ring him, and he specifically said he had nothing to say to you.’
‘But…’
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘Well…’
‘It’s been nice talking to you, Inspector Parish. Call again soon.’
A long continuous tone droned in his ear.
‘Well,’ Richards said. ‘Tell us what’s going on?’
‘You’re making the assumption I’ve just found out what’s going on – I haven’t.’
Chapter Nine
Stick was clinging onto the passenger door handle in the hope that it might save his life if they were involved in a head-on collision. Now he understood why she’d volunteered to drive. ‘I feel that it’s my duty as your partner to point out that we’re going the wrong way.’
‘Only if we were heading towards Hunsdon, but we’re not.’
‘You were told specifically…’
‘Stop being a numpty.’
‘So, where are we going then?’
‘Hastings.’
‘Hastings?’
‘The Chief said we could go there on a round trip.’
‘That was before he told you to put it on the backburner.’
‘My backburner isn’t working.’
‘That’s not something I need to know. Are you sure you’ve passed your test?’
‘What I’ve noticed is that men have no cojones when they’re driving.’
‘And what are you going to tell SDI Pollock when he asks what you’ve been doing all day?’
‘We’ve been checking out the churches. Thirty-three is a lot of churches. Somebody could hide another investigation inside thirty-three churches.’