by Ellis, Tim
‘As I said, humour me. Gus can look after Jack while you’re trying whatever on. He can also carry things, and nod when you need a second opinion.’
‘Okay, but only because I think he’ll be useful. I’m surprised you trust me with a big hunk of American meat anyway.’
‘Call me reckless.’
Richards barged in as if she owned the hotel. ‘Are you ready, pardner?’
‘Nearly,’ Parish said. He rang Gus and told him what he wanted.
‘Absolutely no problem, Mr Parish. Being a bodyguard is just one of my many duties.’
‘Okay,’ he said as he put the phone down. ‘We’re sorted. Gus is happy to act as your bodyguard. I’ve said nine-thirty outside reception.’
‘That’s fine,’ Angie agreed. ‘And I’ll see you both this evening.’
‘Why does mum need a bodyguard?’ Richards asked as they walked along the corridor to the elevator.
‘To humour me.’
‘Okay.’
He tapped the files sticking out of her laptop case. ‘Why are you carrying those red files and your laptop?’
‘Because.’
‘Keep going?’
‘I might give them back to Harry.’
‘Okay, that explains the files, which I don’t believe for one nanosecond, but why have you got your laptop with you?’
‘I was worried it might get stolen if I left it in my room.’
‘Rubbish. You’ve found something in those files, haven’t you?’
‘You think I wouldn’t tell you if I had?’
‘I think you’re up to something. Now, I need you to tell me what that something is.’
‘Your presentation is boring.’
‘Ah! You’ve had second thoughts about joining me on stage. You want to spice up my presentation by wearing your itzy-bitzy bikini, don’t you?’
‘I want to replace your presentation with mine.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re right, I’ve found something in the files.’
‘Then you need to tell Harry what you’ve found.’
‘Or... we could reveal what we’ve found as part of a presentation about The Painter.’
‘We... haven’t found anything. Are you trying to destroy American – British relations before the ink’s even dry? Getting up on stage and making them look stupid is not really the way to win friends and influence people.’
‘No, I wasn’t going to do that. We’ve been working together, haven’t we?’
‘Not really. Harry’s been kind enough to let you have copies of the files.’
‘Yeah but, I helped him with the photographs, and...’
‘That’s it. We’ve not been part of a joint American/British operation to flush out The Painter. In fact, I’ve hardly been involved. It’s really been all about you sticking your nose into other people’s investigations.’
‘I don’t know how you can say such nasty things about your partner. Don’t make a decision yet. Have a look at what I’ve found, and then if you say no, I’ll forget all about it.’
The elevator doors opened and they squeezed inside.
‘It’s busy this morning,’ Richards said.
‘They’re all flocking to see your presentation.’
‘Let’s stop off at the cafe. You can look...’
‘Stop press! We’ve flown over here to attend a two-day conference on... Well, you know what. And the time is now...’
‘Forty-five minutes of meet and greet.’
‘Which is something we should do... and not only that, but we need to see Harry about the message you found in Alicia Mae’s hair brush, and the code I discovered in her diary.’
‘But...’
‘Listen, we’re not on until three-fifteen this afternoon, so there’s lots of time for me to peruse your handiwork.’
‘You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?’
‘No.’
‘Just because I wouldn’t strut about the stage naked during your presentation, you’re going to sabotage mine.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay what?’
‘Okay, I’ve made up my mind. I don’t need to look at your presentation.’
‘I knew it.’
‘Shush, there’s Harry.’ He waved at the BAU man and went to meet him.
‘My favourite British detectives.’
‘We’re the only ones you know, aren’t we?’ Richards asked.
‘But still my favourites.’
‘I think you might have spoken too soon,’ Parish said, handing him a piece of paper.
‘What’s this?’
‘The first part we found in the handle of Alicia Mae’s hair brush. The second part was in her diary.’
‘This is exactly why you’re my favourite detectives. You Brits love a good conspiracy. If there’s nothing to find, you make something up.’ He screwed the paper into a ball, and stuffed it into his trouser pocket. ‘Well, I have news for you as well. We sent your nanny’s photo, prints, and DNA to Interpol, but it’ll be at least Monday before we hear anything.’ He slid a photograph out of his briefcase and passed it to Richards. ‘Our photofit artist has been working on an impression of The Painter from the photographs we acquired, the CCTV footage, and the descriptions we have... What do you think?’
Richards moved it backwards and forwards in front of her. ‘Yes, I think that’s him.’ She showed Parish. ‘Do you remember seeing him?’
Parish shook his head slowly. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘Can I keep this?’ she asked Harry.
‘Sure, it’s a copy we’re putting out.’
Richards slipped it into her laptop case. ‘You know we didn’t make those things up, don’t you, Harry?’
Harry smiled. ‘Yeah, don’t worry. As I said, I’ll get my people onto it. In fact, we saw the alphanumeric digits on the pages of her diary, but discarded them as doodling. In the context of her murder, we’re sure they don’t mean a thing.’
‘But what if there’s something else going on here that we don’t yet know about?’
Parish could see that Harry was humouring them. The American was eager to extricate himself from their company. ‘As I said, I’ll get my people onto it. Now, I have to go and say hello to a few more people before it all kicks off, so I’ll catch up with you guys later.’ He smacked Parish on the back. ‘Have a nice day, you hear,’ he said, and wandered off into the crowd.
‘He’s not going to do anything, is he?’ Richards said.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes I do, and you do as well.’
They helped themselves to coffee and biscuits.
Yes, Harry had made it fairly transparent that he didn’t plan to do anything about what they’d found. In fact, they’d been given the brush off in no uncertain terms. For all Harry’s friendliness and camaraderie, it was clear he thought they were amateurs – provincial police – who hadn’t really have a clue. Not up to the standard of “his people”.
‘So, you’d better show me this presentation we’re doing,’ he said.
‘Are you sure? We’ll probably get into trouble.’
‘We? I’ll pretend I didn’t know what you were doing. When they throw their arms up in horror at what you’ve done, my arms will be the highest.’
‘You’ll be on the stage with me.’
‘Which will make it even more believable. I’ll say I was bushwhacked, hoodwinked and flimflammed. I’ll tell them that when I get you back to our little provincial island across the pond, you’ll be severely disciplined. In fact, you’ll be lucky not to be flogged within an inch of your life.’
‘You mean you’ll do nothing?’
He nodded. ‘The same as Harry’s doing?’
‘What about the message and the code we found?’
‘We’ll look at those later. First, we have to get through today without becoming enemies of the state.’
***
‘I missed you last night, Chi
ef,’ Xena said. She’d stuck her head round the door. Her body was still in the recessed area where Carrie had her desk. Stick was loitering behind her.
Chief Colville shifted her eyes upwards from what she was reading to look at Xena. ‘Sergeant Blake... I’m sorry?’
‘Didn’t we have a briefing at five-thirty last night, Chief?’
She sat back in her chair. ‘Not to my knowledge. You briefed me yesterday morning. Why would I want another briefing in the evening?’
‘Obviously a misunderstanding on my part, Ma’am. When am I briefing you again then, because I’m a bit confused now?’
‘What about five-thirty today. I’m seeing the Chief Constable in Chelmsford at eleven o’clock, so I don’t have any time this morning.’
‘No, that suits me down to the ground. I’m hoping to have the MAPs case wrapped up today.’
‘That’s good news, Sergeant Blake. Was there anything else?’
‘Give the Chief Constable my best, Chief.’
She shut the door and clattered into Stick.
‘What the hell are you doing standing so close to me? You weren’t doing anything untoward while I wasn’t watching, were you?’
‘I never would.’
She propelled him along the corridor. ‘In future, stay where I can see you. And keep your hands in your pockets.’
‘Yes, Sarge. We’ve got another hour before we can go up to forensics. What are we going to do to fill the time?’
‘You’re going to make the drinks and bring them along to the incident room... Well, what are you waiting for?’
‘I thought there was more.’
‘More what?’
‘More words.’
‘There’ll be no more words until I get my caffeine injection.’
‘I’ll go and make the drinks, shall I?’
‘That would be good.’
Xena wandered into the incident room, and used the phone to ring Jenny Weber.
‘Press office.’
‘Do you get paid a lot for doing nothing?’
‘Good morning, Sergeant Blake. Oh yes, I get paid a lot more than you. Salary is based on brains and beauty, two of the physical attributes you’re sadly lacking.’
She hated Jenny Weber, and she especially hated smart arses who had a ready answer to her barbs. ‘Well, what’s happening?’
‘In respect of?’
‘Smith’s photograph.’
‘As requested, I despatched said photograph with caption and station telephone number to the media outlets. They immediately rang me up for more information. I gave them as much as I had. They went away happy. Have you seen the newspapers, or the news?’
‘Neither.’
‘Ah well! Maybe you should contact Inspector Threadneedle about whether her officers have received any phone calls on the dedicated number we gave to the media...’
‘What dedicated number?’
‘You did tell Inspector Threadneedle you were doing a public call for help? And she then gave you a dedicated number for the public to ring?’
‘You’re winding me up.’
‘I can assure you I am not.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me all this last night?’
‘You’re confusing me with someone whose job it is to tell you how to do your job.’
‘Crap!’
She banged the telephone down, wrenched her arm as she tried to yank the door open because it had one of those hydraulic opener/closers on it, and strode along the corridor and down the stairs to operations.
Everybody was conspiring against her. They’d heard she was up for her DI, and immediately they’d banded together like guerrillas to sabotage her chances.
Inspector Threadneedle was in her office.
She knocked.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t the Sergeant who wants my job.’
‘I came to apologise, Ma’am.’
She wasn’t invited to sit down.
‘Yes. That’s a bit like bolting the chicken coop with the fox inside.’
‘Is it?’ She tried to wrap her brain around the similarity, but failed miserably.
‘You want to know if any of my officers have received calls from the public about a photograph they’ve never seen, of a man they know nothing of, and about a case they haven’t been briefed on – is that right?’
Xena shuffled her feet. ‘Something like that, Ma’am.’
‘Well, I can tell you we’re on the ball down here. One of my officers brought the newspaper article to me, I knew you’d fucked-up, so I put the wheels in motion. Now, I’d say you owe my officers three cases of Grolsch lager, because there are roughly thirty-six people down here that had to pick up the crap you dropped when you didn’t follow procedures. Twelve bottles per case – the bottles with the flip top by the way – and if you find the right supermarket you can get a case for around twenty-five pounds. Do we have a deal?’
‘Seventy-five pounds!’
‘I suggest you don’t think of it in financial terms, Sergeant Blake. Think of it as a learning experience. Seventy-five pounds is cheap when you think about the cost of some training courses.’
What choice did she have? She should have checked. Stick should have checked. Yeah, it was half his fault, so he could pay half – sixty pounds was half.
‘We have a deal, Ma’am.’
‘Good. I’ll expect the three cases of beer to be delivered to my office by close of play tonight.’
‘It’s Saturday.’
‘Exactly. They don’t do deliveries on a Sunday.’
‘I see you’ve done this before.’
‘Many times, Sergeant Blake, many times. Right, so far we’ve had a hundred and seventeen calls which we’ve narrowed down to eight.’
Her shoulders slumped. She was hoping for one, maybe two.
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. As part of the deal, I’ll throw in two of my officers to visit those eight addresses. If they get a confirmed hit, we’ll contact you – how would that be?’
‘You’re not as bad as people make out then?’
Threadneedle laughed like something that had just crawled out of the cemetery. ‘I’m a lot worse, Blake. I’ve just had my Hormone Replacement Therapy, so you’ve caught me on a high.’
Upstairs, Stick was drawing cartoon characters on the incident board.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Keeping busy.’
‘You’re a right numpty. Go and log onto the network. Order three cases of Grolsch lager, and have them delivered to Inspector Threadneedle’s office.’
‘And this is payment in respect of what?’
‘You fucking up.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. I’ll tell you how you fucked up when you get back.’
‘And I’m paying?’
‘Very generous of you. I’m a bit short this month.’
‘It’s the last day of the month.’
‘Exactly.’
***
She let herself in.
‘Charlie, are you up there?’
There was no answer.
The stairs had been cleared of rubbish. The smell had gone. She made her way up to the flat.
‘Charlie?’
She could hear water running, so she put the kettle on.
He came padding out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. ‘Oops!’
‘Seen it all before,’ she said.
‘Oh, okay.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but in comparison to Ray you have the body of a wimp.’
‘You really know how to build a guy up.’
‘I’m paying you for your brains. If I wanted a toy boy, I’d find someone with a bit more meat on the bones.’
‘Talking of brains, my friend Cookie has solved all your problems.’
‘Go on.’
Charlie nudged his laptop out of hibernation, and showed her an excerpt of the Chief Constable being severely punished by two strong-looking women.
>
‘He has a fetish?’
‘The person who’s trying to destroy your husband discovered the Chief Constable’s little predilection, and that’s why he hasn’t intervened.’
‘He’s being blackmailed into doing nothing?’
‘Yes.’
‘The bastard.’
Charlie looked at his wrist. ‘What time is it?’
‘Ten to nine.’
‘In two hours he’ll be a famous bastard.’
‘Why?’
‘Cookie’s going to send copies of that video to the people who matter, and post it on the Internet. I should imagine it’ll go viral.’
‘Good.’
‘And the person who’s planted all the evidence about your husband is called Erin Donnelly. She works in forensics on computers.’ He told Jerry why Shona Oldfield had been trying to destroy Ray.
‘The bitch. Now she’ll end up in prison just like her father.’
‘Hopefully, not with the same result.’
‘No, I wouldn’t want her to die. Although, a couple of days ago I would have happily killed her myself. What happens now?’
‘Cookie has sent her evidence to Mrs Brechin-Lewis, the Magistrate who is hearing your case this morning. She’s also sent it to a number of other places, not least Chingford Social Services and the Child Abuse Investigation Team in Harlow for the attention of DCI MacGregor.’
‘That bitch shouldn’t be a DCI for much longer.’
‘Pursuing damages from Essex Police will take longer, but the weight of evidence is on our side.’
‘She’ll just say she was following orders.’
‘Since Nuremburg, that defence has not been acceptable in a court of law. There’s following orders, and then there’s interpreting orders. It seems that DCI MacGregor interpreted her orders based on a hidden agenda. I have no doubt she will be subject to an internal inquiry.’
‘I want to focus on getting my children back today.’
‘Of course. I’ll get dressed, and then we’ll make tracks. If we get there early, I’ll try and see the Magistrate before the hearing, ask her to dismiss the case, and order Social Services to hand over your children directly.’
‘They’ll be there?’
‘Yes. The Magistrate would have wanted to interview them, possibly in camera – behind closed doors.’
‘I can’t believe it’s all over. Thank you, Charlie.’