Be Not Afraid (9781301650996)

by Ellis, Tim

  Now what?

  Parish was becoming tiresome.

  She made a decision then. It was time to put an end to it. Who knew about the Epsilon experiments? Who could connect Parish to them? Who knew that he was Epsilon 5? With the exception of her, everyone else was gone... dead. She was the only one left. And if that was truly the case, then she could end it without further ado. She opened the file and began feeding the shredder until the file was empty.

  There, it was done. Now, the only place the truth about Parish and the Epsilon experiments resided was inside her head, and she would never tell. As far as she was concerned, Parish didn’t exist. She had never heard of him. Detective Inspector who?

  ***

  ‘She only said she’d speak to the Chief Constable,’ Stick said. ‘She didn’t actually say you’d get promoted.’

  ‘I knew you’d try and pour cold water on the idea of me being a Detective Inspector.’ She tried it out for size. ‘Detective Inspector Xena Blake. It’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Sounds authoritative, wholesome and well-deserved.’

  ‘I’m just saying. If you build your hopes up and don’t get promoted, you’ll be murder to work with.’

  ‘If I don’t get promoted, I’ll be committing murder.’

  They were on their way to the first church on the map – Spring Hill Evangelical Church on the boundary between Harlow and Roydon.

  She wasn’t feeling optimistic about the whole idea of the MAPs using a church basement to torture, mutilate and kill paedophiles, but without any other leads she had to make the effort.

  ‘You still haven’t said what will happen to me if you get promoted.’

  ‘There you go again saying, “If”. It’s not “If”, it’s “When”. The least I expect from my partner is for him to be positive about my promotion.’

  ‘I am positive.’

  ‘Yeah, positive about what? Positive I’ll never get DI as long as I’ve got a hole in my arse? Positive I’d be a rubbish DI? Positive...?’

  ‘Do you care what I think?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What does it matter then?’

  ‘So, you do think I’ll never...?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘There you go again not saying things. It’s about time you came out of the closet, Stick, and started saying what I want to hear.’

  ‘What if it’s not what you want to hear?’

  ‘Then you should keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘Haven’t I been doing that?’

  ‘So, you’ve got lots to say, but it’s not what I want to hear?’

  ‘I didn’t say that either.’

  ‘Go on then, whisper sweet nothings in my ear.’

  ‘You said I wasn’t allowed to do that.’

  ‘You know I don’t mean it like that, dork. Tell me what you think.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to know what I think?’

  ‘I thought your head was empty.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then how come you’re having thoughts?’

  ‘I’m not. I was just going to make some stuff up.’

  ‘I see. So, you want to know what’ll happen to you if I get DI?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘You’ll be history.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Well, what did you expect?’

  ‘I thought you liked me.’

  ‘Where did you ever get that crazy idea from? Have I ever said that I liked you?’

  ‘Well, no...’

  ‘You know very well I think you’re the worst partner I’ve ever had, you’re as ugly as a hat full of arseholes, and you keep secrets from me.’

  ‘What if I told you my secrets?’

  ‘Then I might re-consider. I could probably live with you being ugly, but someone who keeps things from me is like having an itch I can’t scratch.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Go on then, spill your guts.’

  ‘You haven’t been promoted yet.’

  ‘Ah, you’re holding onto your little secrets for as long as you can, are you?’

  ‘If I told you now, you might go back on your word.’

  She clutched at her chest. ‘I’m hurt, Stick. Devastated that you would even think I could do such a thing.’

  ‘Yeah well... So, what are we going to do about John Smith?’

  ‘You don’t want to talk about my little promotion anymore?’

  ‘Alleged promotion.’

  Xena’s phone rang. ‘Don’t think this is the end of it.’

  ‘The end of what?’

  ‘Dr Brain, and how can I help you on this fine drizzly morning?’

  ‘Twelve o’clock at ESP Logistics.’

  ‘An assignation?’

  ‘A Pauline Curren from Radcliffe Estates is meeting my team there at that time.’

  ‘Are you going to be there?’

  ‘I wasn’t...’

  ‘I’ll let you take me to lunch.’

  ‘I suppose...’

  ‘Hey, don’t do me any favours, bonehead.’

  ‘I was going to say, I suppose I could drop everything to take you to lunch.’

  ‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Okay, Stick and I will meet you there at twelve. Stick can do all the work, and you and I will have a romantic lunch.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  She ended the call.

  ‘How come I’m doing all the work?’

  ‘Stick, Stick, Sticky, Stick! It’s all very simple. If I’m at lunch, who does that leave at ESP Logistics?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Right. Now, if there’s work to be done while I’m at lunch, who has to do it?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘See, it didn’t take a genius to work that out now, did it?’

  ‘I suppose not, but say I wanted some lunch?’

  ‘Ah well, that’s when I’d have to pull rank on you.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Stick pulled up outside the Spring Hall Evangelical Church.

  ‘Remember,’ Xena said across the roof of the car. ‘Leave the talking to me.’

  ‘I usually do. I can never get a word in.’

  ‘You’re not making it easy for me, you know?’

  ‘I know.’

  The church was right next to the road, and apart from the sign that indicated it was an evangelical church and the arched windows along the side of the building, it didn’t really look like a church.

  Xena stopped and stared. ‘Don’t evangelists believe in Jesus?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s no cross on the apex.’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe you should ask the... Vicar? Priest?’

  ‘Minister,’ a woman’s voice came from behind them.

  They both turned to find a pleasant looking woman with short grey hair, a goofy smile, and a bright yellow coat on.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt. I was just passing, and I couldn’t help but overhear. My name is Norma Wallace, I’m a Pastoral Worker within the church.’

  Xena produced her warrant card. ‘Is the Minister about?’

  ‘He should be. Have you tried knocking on the side door?’

  ‘We haven’t tried knocking anywhere yet.’

  ‘Ah, that’ll be the problem then. The Minister’s name is John Cooke. Anyway, I have to go and do my Thursday shopping now, so have a good day.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Stick called after.

  ‘Busybody,’ Xena said.

  They knocked on the side door, and it opened almost immediately.

  ‘Yes?’

  John Cooke was a fit looking man in his mid-thirties with short light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and enough teeth in his mouth for two people.

  Xena held up her warrant card again. ‘Mr Cooke, sorry to bother you. Do you have a basement?’

  ‘No, sorry. Have you been born again?’


  ‘We’re not here to discuss religion,’ Xena said.

  ‘You’re in the wrong place then. That’s all we do here.’

  ‘Definitely no basement?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thanks for your help, Mr Cooke.’

  In the car Xena said, ‘I knew this was going to be a waste of time.’

  ‘We’ve only been to one church.’

  ‘Toadstone has assumed that because he found traces of anointing oil, it has to be a church we’re looking for.’

  ‘The oil was found on the victim’s bare feet.’

  ‘He could have picked that up anywhere.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you.’

  ‘That’s because you have no idea.’

  ‘I think you’re forgetting who the Detective Sergeant – soon to be Detective Inspector – is, and who the numpty is.’

  ‘Second church?’

  ‘Let’s see. It’s now eleven thirty. We have to be at ESP Logistics at twelve so that you can do some work, and I can go for a romantic lunch with Toadstone.’ She put her hands in front of her, and began weighing up the two invisible choices. ‘Hmmm – church/lunch, church/lunch! It’s so difficult. What do you think, Stickamundo?’

  Stick headed towards ESP Logistics on the Hainault Industrial Estate.

  Her phone rang again.

  ‘Doc Paine. How can you help me?’

  ‘Yes, you never help me, do you?’

  ‘You don’t know how much that hurts, Doc. I help you by catching criminals. You’re safe in your bed at night because of me.’

  ‘Oh yes, it had temporarily slipped my mind.’

  ‘It’s a good job I jogged your memory then, isn’t it? So, is that why you rang?’

  ‘I have news.’

  ‘I’d like you to bear in mind that I only like good news.’

  ‘Remember the other DNA samples from Smith’s house that we were putting through the database?’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘We have three matches.’

  ‘Now that is good news.’

  ‘The first one is Juliana Burgh, who went missing in July of 2001 and resided at 25 Gladstone Way in Preston. The second – Sabina Ashworth – went missing in November 1999 and lived at 94 Fishergate Road in Lincoln. The last one – Margery Huggan – disappeared in July 2003, and lived at 7 Mission View in Milton Keynes.’

  ‘It’s not good news that they come from all over the country,’ Xena said. ‘I would have preferred victims who were more local.’

  ‘Unfortunately, we can’t pick and choose our victims. The analysis of hairs, fibres, and fluids found on the bodies was inconclusive.’

  ‘Inconclusive! What does that mean?’

  ‘We didn’t find anything.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you just say that instead of using wishy-washy words?’

  ‘It was lovely talking to you, DS Blake. Have a good day.’

  The call ended.

  ‘Have you ever recorded yourself talking to other people on the telephone?’

  ‘You mean like a training aid for other detectives?’

  ‘That’s not really what I had in mind.’

  ***

  ‘The British Embassy. Carol Morgan speaking. How may I help you?’

  ‘Yes, good morning. My name is Detective Inspector...’

  ‘That’s a strange name. I have no record of a Mr...’

  ‘I have got the British Embassy, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes. I’m pulling your leg Detective Inspector Parish. We’ve been expecting your call.’

  ‘Oh? It must get boring working there.’

  ‘Most of the time it does. Anyway, when a UK national dies, the embassy is notified as a matter of course.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yes, and we’ve been notified of two deaths within the last twenty-four hours.’

  ‘So, you know about my nanny, Alicia Mae Carter.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Did you also know that her passport is a forgery, and that her name belongs to a child who died thirty years ago?’

  There was silence on the other end.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sorry. No, we didn’t know that.’

  ‘Well, I’ve just found out myself. I’ve asked the FBI to pass her details to Interpol, and we’ll see if we get anything back.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘What I really rang you for, was about getting her body back to the UK. Because we have no idea who she is, we also don’t know who her next of kin is, and the insurance we took out is invalid.’

  ‘There might very well be a problem with your request, Inspector Parish. If we can’t verify that the woman is a UK national, then it would be unlikely that we would transport her body back to the UK.’

  Parish opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again. In the end, did it matter where Alicia Mae was buried? What would they put on her gravestone? Who would ever visit an unknown woman in an unmarked grave? If they couldn’t find out who Alicia Mae really was, then she may as well remain here to be disposed of.

  ‘I’ll leave that with you, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll take care of it one way or another.’

  ‘If I get any feedback from Interpol, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Don’t bother, Inspector. Interpol will notify us directly.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Thanks for ringing, and have a nice day.’

  The line went dead.

  ‘They sounded helpful,’ Angie said.

  ‘In a way. They said they’ll deal with the body one way or another.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that because they can’t verify whether she’s a UK national or not, they might leave her here. I was going to protest in the strongest possible terms, but if you think about it – does it matter?’

  Angie shrugged. ‘I suppose not, but it just seems so...’

  ‘Cold?’ Parish suggested.

  ‘Yes. We knew her.’

  ‘Did we? I thought we did, but it seems we actually knew nothing about her.’

  ‘Oh well.’ Jack started grumbling, and she picked him up. ‘This is hardly the break I was expecting, I’d like to go and see the sights today.’

  He stood up. ‘Good idea. You go and drag your daughter out of her room, and I’ll ring reception and ask them to arrange for Gus to meet us outside in half an hour.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, going out carrying Jack.

  Parish rang reception and made the request for Gus. As he put the phone down, the yellow plastic bag with Alicia Mae’s personal effects inside caught his eye. He dragged the bag over to the easy chair, and emptied everything out onto the carpet. He then separated out the items of no interest such as a hair brush, a comb, a potpourri of make-up items, a Kindle, sunglasses, and so forth, which he put back into the bag. He was then left with her mobile telephone, diary – the lock of which had been forced, and a bunch of keys.

  The door opened, and Angie came back into the room. She screwed her face up when she saw him rummaging through Alicia Mae’s effects. ‘If you think you’re working today, you’d better think again.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He threw everything back into the plastic bag. ‘There’s no rush to go through her things. I can’t imagine we’ll learn anything new. Here...’ He stretched his arms out. ‘I’ll get Jack ready, you sort yourself out.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m ready then?’

  He took Jack. ‘I’m not playing mind games this morning.’

  ‘And I so enjoy them.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  Richards knocked and walked right in.

  ‘I’m naked,’ he shouted.

  ‘So that’s what the maids were laughing at in the corridor.’

  ‘If I’d known how cruel you could be, I never would have signed that adoption form.’ He saw the red files under her arm and snatched them from her. ‘Your mother has decreed that there will
be no working today.’

  ‘But...’ She stretched her arms out for them, but he kept them out of reach. ‘I’ll just...’

  ‘No you won’t. If we leave them here you won’t be tempted.’

  ‘All right, I’ll just take them back to my room.’

  ‘You must think I have a brain the size of a molecule.

  ‘You do. Mum, tell him.’

  ‘Jed’s right. Today is a work-free day. It’s a family day. A day of enjoyment. On Friday and Saturday I won’t see much of you two at all, so today has to last me until Sunday.’

  Richards’ shoulders slumped. ‘All right, but...’ She reached for the files again.

  Parish held them away from her. ‘No buts. There’s nothing in these files that can’t wait until we get back.’

  Richards sighed, and sat down on the bed. ‘Are we going then?’

  ‘And don’t think you’re rushing us all over Richmond just so you can get back to those files, Mary Richards.’

  ‘It’s not fair.’

  ***

  She pulled into the car park at King George Hospital.

  Once she’d told the three women who turned up from Happymaid Cleaning Services what she wanted, she left them to get on with it. Charlie was de-gunging at the swimming pool. She still had files to put on the shelves using her new filing system, but she needed to see Ray - filing could wait.

  As she approached the main entrance, a horde of press turned towards her like a multi-headed monster.

  ‘Mrs Kowalski, what do you think about your husband being charged with drug trafficking?’ someone shouted.

  She stopped, but said nothing until the noise had died down. This was her chance to use the media as a weapon – she’d probably never get a better one.

  She smiled. ‘You’ve caught me with my clothes on today.’

  ‘Hey, you looked pretty scrumptious yesterday... Oh, sorry.’

  She hadn’t seen who’d spoken, but she said, ‘Thank you, it’s nice of you to say so. Now, what’s this you’re saying about my husband?’

  ‘We’ve just heard that he’s been charged with drug trafficking and been arrested.’

  She laughed, although she didn’t feel much like laughing. ‘How preposterous. You all know my husband is as honest as the day is long. He’s been a copper for over twenty years, and he loves his job. If there’s evidence linking him to Satanic ritual abuse, drug trafficking, or daubing graffiti on the Chief Constable’s front door...’ There was a ripple of laughter. ‘...then somebody has planted it.’