by Ellis, Tim
‘Go on, then?’
‘When you lie, do you feel your nose getting longer?’
‘I have a pretty nose. Do you like my nose, Stickamundo?’
‘You sound as though you’re in a good mood.’
‘And why wouldn’t I be?’
‘What about the Smith case?’
‘We’re still going to be working on that.’
‘You should have mentioned it to the Chief.’
‘You have a lot to learn, numpty. If I’d asked whether we could investigate both cases, and she said no, we’d have been buggered. Now, if she finds out we’re working on the Smith case as well as the MAPs case, I can plead ignorance – probably blame Super Bollock for not making it clear enough.’
‘And what about me if you get promoted to DI?’
‘Ah! I was wondering when you’d get to the sixty-four dollar question. Well... oh we’re here now.’
The body had been found by some mountain bikers in Pogden’s Wood off the A414.
‘Right,’ Xena said, ‘before we go out there, let’s plod up to forensics and have words with Erin Donnelly – the so-called computer expert. I haven’t seen much in the way of expertise seeping out of there in the last couple of days.
‘Good morning, Sergeant Blake, and...’ Erin greeted them.
‘It would be a good morning if you could find the location of that website for me.’
‘Still no luck, I’m afraid. The program is very sophisticated. I don’t normally applaud criminals, but these MAPs have done a very good job in designing the website and remaining anonymous. I’ve tried the front, side, and back doors into that site, but I still can’t get in. I’m still trying, and I’ll find a way in sooner rather than later, but nothing yet.’
‘Have you checked the site this morning?’ Xena asked.
‘Yes.’ She turned back to her computer and clicked through to the website. ‘Here we are. As you can see, they’ve uploaded a new video.’
They watched and listened as Donald Tumbell was tortured into confessing his sins. He reeled off the names of his child victims, which included Hayley Miles and the other children found in Reynkyn’s Wood. Where he didn’t know the names of the children he had molested, he gave dates and places, which would all need to be verified by the Child Abuse Investigation Team in Harlow.
‘They’re doing a good job, aren’t they?’ Erin said.
‘You think so?’
‘Don’t you? The video has been up eleven minutes and it’s already had over twenty-five thousand hits.’
‘They’re torturing and murdering...’ She nearly said innocent people, but stopped herself just in time. Paedophiles were as far removed from innocent people as it was possible to get. ‘...human beings.’
‘I don’t think that the vast majority of the public care.’ She pointed to a site counter in the bottom left corner of the screen. ‘This site has been viewed nearly ten million times. It’s an Internet hit. And you want to see some of the comments.’ She scrolled down the page. ‘Here’s one: “Go MAPs, Go.” And another: “Give them one for me.” They’re mostly messages of support. Some offer suggestions on additional torture methods, but nearly every one of the messages are positive. This is better than live TV.’
‘It reminds me of “Les Tricoteuses”,’ Stick said.
‘I hate you sometimes. Now I’ve got to ask what that means?’
‘The knitting women.’
‘Between the executions during the French Revolution?’ Erin asked.
‘That’s right,’ Stick confirmed.
‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’
Stick grinned. ‘Very much.’
Erin swivelled round on her stool. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ve found, shall I?’
‘I’m listening,’ Xena said.
She turned back to the screen and enlarged the video. ‘They’re using the same place as last time.’
‘Okay. How does that help us?’
‘They’ve revealed a bit more of where they are.’ She zoomed in, and panned to the extreme right. ‘There.’
‘A gas meter?’
‘An old gas meter to be more accurate.’
Xena and Stick craned their necks like giraffes and examined the screen.
‘There’s a serial number stamped into the aluminium facing, isn’t there?’ Stick asked.
‘Yes, but I can’t make it all out: 1G, something, something, 4749.’
‘And the Gas Board will have a record of where this meter is located?’ Xena guessed.
‘That’s my idea. Except, there’s no such thing as the Gas Board anymore. They were privatised under Margaret Thatcher in 1986. Then, in 1997 they were split up into Centrica, British Gas Group, and the National Grid. The part we’re interested in is a sub-division of Centrica, but...’
Xena pulled a face. ‘There’s always a “but” with you forensic people.’
‘Sorry, but...’ Erin smiled, ‘...a subsidiary of Centrica – British Gas New Heating Limited – deals with all the installation and maintenance of gas appliances, which includes meters. I’m hoping that they still have the old records from the Gas Board.’
Stick’s face lit up. ‘And if they do, they should be able to tell us where that gas meter is sited.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And you’re hanging about doing nothing because...?’ Xena said.
‘I was pursuing this avenue of investigation until you came in here to find out what I’d been doing.’
‘Well, don’t let us stop you. Come on Stick, let’s leave Miss Donnelly alone to pursue her line of enquiry. You’ll be sure to ring me if you do find out something that will help us?’
‘Of course.’
‘Let’s go to the first of the churches, shall we?’ Xena said to Stick as they walked along the corridor towards the stairs.
‘It’s funny how you’ve taken a sudden interest in the MAPs case.’
‘Isn’t it?’
***
‘Aren’t you going to offer us coffee?’ Parish asked.
‘This is a hotel room, not a cafe. And I’m a police officer not a waitress. If you want coffee feel free to ring room service.’
Parish screwed up his face as he sat on the blanket chest at the end of Richards’ bed. ‘See what I have to put up with, Harry?’
Harry picked up Richards’ Tigger pyjama bottoms from the easy chair and stared at them. ‘Interesting.’
Richards snatched them off him. ‘I wasn’t expecting guests.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise it was a personal item of clothing.’ He sat down in the easy chair. ‘You two would make a good double act – a bit like Laurel and Hardy, or Bob Hope and Bing Crosby.’
‘That’s what I’ve been telling her, Harry, but she steadfastly refuses to...’
‘I hope you’re not going to mention...?’
‘... Come on the stage with me. I’m all on my own for the presentation.’
‘Shame,’ Harry said. ‘She’d look good pointing at the slides dressed in one of those itzy-bitzy sequinned bikinis.’
Richards threw a pillow at Parish. ‘You told him to say that, didn’t you?’
He ducked as the pillow flew over his head and bounced off the wall.
‘As if I would. Right, are you going to tell us about this little something you’ve found? Or, have you got us in here under false pretences?’
She squatted down, and opened up her laptop on the coffee table. ‘I got a bit sidetracked last night due to a certain person, so I haven’t had much chance to examine the files. What I did do though, was watch the DVD security recording from the Rushmore Hotel.’
She turned the laptop towards Harry.
Parish dragged the blanket chest next to the easy chair, so that he could watch the DVD as it started playing. There were twenty-four cameras in the hotel. The screen had split into eight camera views, which rotated between three screens every thirty seconds. Richards clicked on one of the views, and it enlarged onto the
screen.
‘There’s the killer dressed as a woman entering the room, and he doesn’t look up towards the camera once – he knows where it is. And I bet the cameras are all in the same place on every floor in hotels?’
‘I suppose they are,’ Harry said. ‘I hadn’t given it much thought before, but I see your point. If you know where one is, then you know where they all are.’
Richards pressed the fast-forward. ‘Here he is leaving. You still don’t get to see his face because he doesn’t look up again.’ She let the DVD continue. ‘He disappears through the doors into the stairwell, and that’s the last you see of him... Or is it?’
Harry looked at her. ‘Our people have gone over this DVD a thousand times.’
‘Well, I think they’ve missed something.’
‘I hope not. I’d hate to have to go back and say you Brits found something we couldn’t.’
‘See for yourself.’ She pressed “Escape”. The screen reverted to the split-screen again, and then she clicked on the fast-forward. ‘I’ve moved the recording on three quarters of an hour, and shifted to the camera on the seventh floor. ‘Now watch.’
They watched. The hotel corridor was busy with guests coming and going, hotel maids pushing trolleys loaded up with sheets, towels, and cleaning materials, waiters carrying breakfast trays...
‘There,’ Richards said, pointing at the screen. A man with long black hair and a dark overcoat enters the corridor from the stairwell, and is immediately swallowed up in the melee. ‘He’s still not looking at the camera, but I think that’s him. He’s carrying a rucksack in his left hand, which he’s trying to hide behind his leg, but I think it’s the same bag as the woman was carrying.’
They continued to watch until the man disappeared beneath the camera.
‘So, let’s get a handle on this,’ Harry said. ‘You think he went somewhere to change...’
‘Not just change,’ Richards interrupted him. ‘He put on another disguise. I think we know it’s a man, but he doesn’t look like that. I’ve checked, and we don’t see him again...’
Harry smiled. ‘He didn’t go and put on a third disguise?’
Richards’ brow furrowed. ‘No. Wherever he goes, he has to take the bag with him – it’s got his painting in. That bag doesn’t re-appear again, which means he had a room on that floor.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Harry said. ‘You’re a genius, Miss Richards.’
‘I’ve been telling Inspector Parish that for ages.’
Harry took out his cell phone. ‘Excuse me a minute. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.’ He stood up and wandered over to the door.
‘Good job, Richards,’ Parish said. ‘You’ll get mentioned in despatches for that.’
‘Are you and mum all right?’
‘We’re fine, thanks.’
Harry came back. ‘Okay, I’ve got my people onto that. Two things – we might be able to identify him from his credit card, and we have a sophisticated piece of software, which should be able to combine the images of both people. That should confirm a match, and we can then see about creating a photofit with what we’ve now got. We couldn’t do it before because we never captured his face, but we have a bit more to go on now – we’ll see.’ He sat in the easy chair again and opened his briefcase. ‘Anyway, Miss Richards...’
‘You have to call me Mary. Miss Richards sounds so... old.’
‘You’re anything but old... Mary.’ He pulled out a stack of six by eight colour photographs. ‘Let me show you these photographs from the other night, see if anything jogs your memory.’
He passed the photographs to Richards, who passed them to Parish, who stacked them on the blanket chest next to his leg.
‘Again,’ Richards said, holding out her hand.
The pictures were passed round again.
‘One more time,’ Richards said, but this time she kept four of the photographs.
After she’d passed the last of the pictures to Parish she laid out the four she’d kept back side by side on the coffee table. ‘That’s him. I recall he was in the group surrounding us at first, but then he moved away and sat on the far side of the room. He was sitting side on, but he was still watching us – at least he was watching Alicia Mae. As you can see, whenever someone took a photograph he turned his head away. On these three...’ She separated three of the photographs from the fourth one, and pointed to one of the men. ‘All you’ve got is the back of his head, which is blurred because he moves as the picture is being taken.’ She pointed to the last photograph. ‘This one though, you have some of his profile. It’s still blurred, but if you add it to the CCTV images, it should help you build your photofit.’
‘You have a diamond here, Parish.’
‘Oh, I know, but for goodness sake don’t tell her, or I’ll never hear the last of it.’
‘Huh!’
***
‘Charlie?’ she shouted up the stairs.
There was no answer.
She called again, but there was still no response. She didn’t really want to go up there, but it didn’t look as though she had much choice. Carefully, she made her way up. As she did so, the smell became stronger. Then, just as she reached the top, a noise behind her made her turn around.
‘Charlie! Where have you been?’
‘You don’t want to go up there.’
‘I’m already up here, and you’re right – I didn’t want to come up.’ Holding onto the wall, she made her way back down. ‘It smells awful.’
‘Yeah, I’m not much good at housework.’
‘That’s an understatement. We’ll have to get somebody in. You can’t live like that.’
‘No. You think you’ll clean it tomorrow, but tomorrow never comes. Pretty soon the task becomes insurmountable, and then impossible. If you could find someone... Well, I’d be very grateful.’
‘Where have you been?’
They walked outside and breathed in the fresh air, and then went into the office.
‘Hey, look at this place,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s been transformed.’ He sat in his chair and cried. ‘Sorry.’ He wiped his eyes on his dirty sleeve. ‘I don’t think I would have lasted another six months if you hadn’t come along.’
She wanted to comfort him, but he looked and smelled much the same as his flat, so she merely said, ‘It’s okay.’ He was meant to be helping her, not the other way round. ‘So, where have you been?’
‘Oh yeah, I’ve been to the Redbridge Magistrates Court in Ilford. ‘We have a hearing tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock in the family court to try and get your children back. I’ve also filed a tort action for injuries resulting from negligence by Essex Police – naming DCI Debbie MacGregor specifically in the action, but it’ll be a while before that comes to court... if it ever does.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think we need to use the media as one of our weapons. From what I’ve been reading, they’re on your husband’s side. Very few of the papers believe he’s guilty of anything more than being a copper.’
‘What about Ray?’
‘Well, for the moment, there’s nothing to be done there. He’s in hospital, and nobody can question him. He’s been accused, but not charged with anything. I should think, that if we get the media to do our work for us, and Cookie does her job, it’ll all be over by the time Ray is well enough to be released.’
‘You don’t know how happy I am,’ she said.
‘We’ve still got a lot of work to do today.’
‘But first, you need a repair job. I don’t want you representing me looking and smelling like that.’
‘Oh!’
‘No offence, Charlie, but you’re closer to being a tramp than a lawyer.’
‘No offence taken I suppose.’
She thought for a handful of minutes. ‘Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll get a team in to clean and disinfect your flat. You go and buy a track suit, some underwear, a pair of swimming trunks and a towel from that sport
s shop along the road. Call in at the chemist’s and buy some soap, shampoo, a razor, and a hairbrush. Then drive to the leisure centre at Fulwell Cross, and pay to go into the swimming pool. Once you’re in there, have a shave, take a shower, and swim if you want to. Throw your old clothes away, and wear the tracksuit. Later this afternoon, we’ll get you a couple of new suits.’
‘You don’t have to...’
‘Yes, I do. I can’t work with someone who’s dirty and smells.’
‘There’s no beating about the bush with you, is there, Jerry Kowalski?’
‘You need someone to keep you on the straight and narrow, and I’m just the woman to do it.’ She gave Charlie the hundred pounds she had in her purse. ‘Well, as you said, “We’ve got a lot of work to do today”.’
He stood up and went to hug her, but she moved backwards.
‘I don’t think so.’
He smiled sheepishly. ‘Yeah, maybe later.’
‘Maybe.’
Once he’d gone, she opened the Yellow Pages and found a cleaning company. “Dirty – No Problem” the advert said. She rang them, and they said they’d send a cleaning team round within the hour.
She had never felt so alive. Bringing up four children was rewarding in its own way, but it didn’t exactly stretch her as an individual. Yes, she wanted her children back desperately, but then what would she do? Was it enough now to be a wife and mother? She knew that it wasn’t. She had a burning desire to make a difference, to stamp her mark on the world, and she knew exactly how she was going to do it.
Chapter Sixteen
Ruth Völker. stared at the phone. ‘Dead? Are you sure? This isn’t one of your pathetic attempts at an inter-departmental joke, is it?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t do jokes, inter-departmental or otherwise.’
‘No, I guess you don’t.’
The line went dead.
Telephone calls with Room 13, in the Personnel Section, which was a cover name for employee terminations, were always short. So, Chapman Ryder was dead! Who’d have thought it? They didn’t know who had killed him, but they did know it wasn’t Epsilon 5. That was some small comfort, she supposed.