Shadow of Death (9781476057248)

by Ellis, Tim

  He slipped the memo and Disciplinary Procedures in his briefcase. ‘Yes, of course it is.’

  ‘As if.’

  ‘Then why ask?’

  He was distracted. Before he was escorted out of the station he needed to speak to Ed, and also find out who the UNISON Rep was.

  ‘Have a good day,’ he said to Richards as he wandered over to the notice boards covering the wall near the stairs. ‘And don’t forget to find out who discovered the hands and feet in the black bin bags.’

  ‘I have it at the top of a “to do list” in my notebook. I could make you a coffee, if you want?’

  ‘Haven’t got time, but thanks for the offer.’

  ‘I hate...’

  ‘Are you ready, Constable?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am?’

  ‘Chief.’

  ‘Sorry, Ma’am.’

  He found what he was looking for. Sergeant Michelle Myers was the Branch UNISON Rep. Using his mobile, he phoned the number written on the leaflet and added it to his phonebook.

  ‘Sergeant Myers,’ snapped in his ear.

  ‘This is DI Parish...’

  ‘I’ve been expecting your call. I’m in the office behind the front desk. Can you come down now?’

  ‘Will half an hour do?’

  ‘See you then.’

  The phone went dead. She sounded efficient, succinct, to the point. He began to feel confident that he’d be found innocent and receive millions in compensation. Richards’ voice echoed in his ear: “As if”. He smiled.

  He found Ed in the kitchen.

  ‘Coffee, Sir?’

  ‘I need one. Four...’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  Ed passed him his mug.

  ‘We need somewhere we won’t be seen or overheard.’

  ‘I know just the place,’ Ed said, and led him to a dusty old storeroom in the stairwell.

  ‘I didn’t even know this was here,’ he said.

  ‘Hidden in plain sight. I often come in here when things get too much.’

  ‘So, you’re in here every day then?’

  ‘Yeah, good one, Sir. I miss Ray.’

  ‘And I miss Richards, Ed. Let’s hope we can work things out to our mutual satisfaction.’

  ‘Ray and I have been partners for nearly twelve years now, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I know. Anyway, let’s get to it. I’ve got to see the UNISON Rep in twenty-five minutes.’

  ‘Oh right! Yeah, you don’t want to keep Michael waiting.’

  ‘Michael? I thought her name was Michelle?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Michael... Michael Myers... Friday 13th...?’

  ‘The film?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Never seen it, but I know Richards has a copy in her serial killer collection.’

  ‘You want to watch it... scary. Especially when they’re having sex on the bed... Michael’s hand comes up... Well, I won’t spoil it, but Michelle is like Michael Myers... never stops. So we call her Michael... and because her last name is Myers.’

  ‘To her face?’

  ‘Not unless you want to die a horrible death.’

  ‘Understood.’

  They found two reasonably safe chairs in among the broken tables, desks, cupboards, and other furniture.

  ‘Okay,’ Parish said. ‘I looked at these cases at five o’clock this morning. Let’s take them one at a time. The Williams’ targeted home invasion. Clearly a gang-related hit; husband had a history of drug offences. Both husband and wife shot... husband dead, wife clinging to life, baby now in the care of social services. The wife is under armed guard at the hospital?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rounds from the weapon?’

  ‘An Uzi, no help.’

  ‘Forensics?’

  ‘Zilch.’

  ‘All you can do is hope that the wife wakes up and tells you who did it. If not, you’ve got nothing.’

  ‘That was my estimation as well.’

  ‘You could go to the hospital and check on the security arrangements, and ask the doctors what her chances of regaining consciousness are. It’s been three weeks now.’

  Ed wrote it in his notebook.

  ‘Next is the tramp at Roding Valley tube station: beaten and kicked to death, no witnesses, no forensics, no chance. Forget it. Even if someone came forward and identified the killer or killers, without supporting evidence the CPS would throw it out.’

  It was common knowledge within the force that some murders would never be solved and that it wasn’t worth wasting time and money on them. With a limited budget, detectives, man hours, forensic officers- in fact everything, and dwindling all the time- a DI had to pick the ones that he knew he could solve. All the others were put in the pending file until they were forgotten about, and then, under the cover of darkness, transferred to the unsolved pile gathering dust in a cupboard somewhere. In twenty years time someone would find and review the unsolved cases, and a few might get a second look, but in most cases the murderer would get away with the crime. Oh, there were the high-profile cases, where a DI didn’t have a choice but to throw all his or her resources at them, but they were few and far between.

  Ed nodded and crossed it off his list.

  ‘Then there’s Lucy Driver, the prostitute by the river under the bridge at Admiral’s Walk: throat slit, money stolen, another dead-end case. The DCI knew what she was doing when she dumped these on us. Forensics?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘On the pending pile.’

  Ed scored a line through the case.

  ‘Forget the two gays at the side of the Bamboo Club in Waltham Cross; no forensics again. Great that we had CCTV footage, but they’re both wearing hoods. Public request for witnesses fell flat. Going nowhere fast – pending pile. The young woman – Polly Stratham – found strangled in her car in a lay-by on the A10. Evidence of her recently having sex; had an overnight bag with her. Check the local hotels, guesthouses and, to humour me, check her online activity. Seems to me she met someone and had sex. You’ve been assuming she had sex in her car or near the lay-by, but what if the car was driven there and parked up after the liaison. The overnight bag suggests she was going to stay somewhere overnight. You just have to find out who that someone was.’

  ‘It’s great when a new pair of eyes looks at your cases. They usually see a way through the haze.’

  ‘Then there’s the old couple tied to chairs in their kitchen. Appears to be a burglary gone wrong. The man died of a heart attack while he was being tortured – presumably to find out where they’d stashed their savings. The woman had a major stroke before the neighbour found them, and now she doesn’t know what day it is. Was it a random burglary, or was the burglar looking for something specific. Track the couple’s movements over the previous two days. What I think is that someone saw them withdraw their pension at the Post Office on pension day. Check for CCTV in the Post Office and the route back to their home.’

  ‘No wonder they made you a DI and I’m still a Sergeant. I should have thought of that.’

  ‘Don’t undersell yourself, Ed. It’s always difficult to see the wood for the trees. You’ll get DI before too long, but if you do, what’s Ray going to do for a partner?’

  ‘Yeah, there is that.’

  ‘So, the final case is Brittany Morgan: the battered wife murdered in the refuge by a person unknown. Husband has an airtight alibi. Was it the husband?’

  ‘Too right.’

  ‘So, prove it. Either his alibi is false, or he got someone else to kill her for him. If he did, either he paid someone, in which case follow the money, or a friend did it. There aren’t many friends who would kill for you, so look at his closest friends. There’re a couple of cases there that will get you out of the station so that you can interview the three suspects from the trunk murder.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll get on it. I might not be able to do all three today, but I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Good, I�
��ve got to go and see Michael now; don’t want to be late for her.’

  ‘No, that wouldn’t be a good idea, and thanks for your help with the cases.’

  ‘No problem, Ed. I would have been helping you anyway if I hadn’t been sent to the naughty corner.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose. Good luck with Michael.’

  ‘Thanks. See you at the house later.’

  ***

  ‘You’re a plonker,’ Sergeant Michelle Myers said to him as he sat down in front of her desk in an old wooden chair with a green plastic centre. He passed her the memo Marshall had sent him.

  ‘Have you had training in how to address senior officers, Mi... Sergeant Myers?’ He hadn’t seen Friday 13th or Michael Myers, but Michelle was certainly scary. She was waif-like, with mousy brown hair pulled into a bent-over ponytail and a fringe above indistinct blue staring eyes in a triangular face with matching nose, and ghostly white skin.

  ‘It’s all right. I know they call me Michael behind my back. Good film. I take it as a compliment, but that mad bastard should understand I had the name before him.’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘Would you rather I lie to you and say you’re an exceptional detective Inspector who did the right thing being insubordinate and smashing up a DCI’s office?’

  ‘Well...’

  ‘So, you’re a plonker.’

  ‘Very kind of you to say so, Michelle.’

  ‘The least I can do as your representative is to tell you the truth. Oh everybody thinks you’re the bee’s knees, but now you have to pay for your crimes. Tell me what happened.’

  He told her.

  ‘Okay, first day back after losing two good friends- still grieving, in shock, loss too much, suddenly hits you, psychotic episode.’

  ‘You make me sound like an asylum inmate.’

  ‘You’re undergoing counselling?’

  ‘Yes.’ Crap, his last appointment had been and gone without even a thought. Dr Rafferty wasn’t going to be pleased. Everything seemed to have turned to a bag of shit since Walter Day’s death.

  ‘Good, I think you have a chance to beat this thing: no history of losing your temper, always calm under pressure, well-respected, unblemished record... Yeah, I can defend you.’

  ‘So, you’re going to make it appear as though I was still suffering the mental anguish of losing two friends, and that all the changes instituted by DCI Marshall tipped me over the edge?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Now what?’

  ‘Now we wait for the Disciplinary Committee to get their act together; usually a couple of weeks.’

  ‘I’m hoping none of it will be necessary.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re thinking the Chief Constable will save your arse when he comes back from holiday? Well, I’ll carry on constructing your defence while the pigs gather on the telephone wire outside.’

  Sergeant Myers was certainly his kind of person. ‘Yes, let’s have a plan B.’ He stood and offered his hand.

  ‘I don’t do hands. After we’ve swapped pheromones you’ll want to sleep with me.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ He smiled. She appeared to have a store of one-liners. ‘You’ll be in contact?’

  ‘We could also use low IQ as part of your defence.’

  He thought he saw a glint in her eyes. ‘Have a good day, Sergeant Myers.’

  ‘And you, Sir.’

  As he made his way to the door he realised it was the first time she’d called him “Sir”.

  ***

  His phone rang as he walked across the car park towards his car. It was Audrey Bowers, the Chief Constable’s PA.

  ‘Hello, Audrey?’ he said, climbing in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Can you meet me?’

  ‘Why are you whispering?’

  ‘I’m in the toilet.’

  ‘Not you as well?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Never mind. Where and when?’

  ‘What about the Red Lion on the High Street in Chipping Ongar?’

  It certainly beat travelling all the way to Essex Police HQ at Chelmsford. ‘When?’

  ‘Today at twelve thirty?’

  ‘Okay. What’s it about?’

  ‘I’m worried... Got to...’

  The phone went dead. What the hell was that all about? Maybe she had news about fatty Marshall’s position from the Chief Constable, but why was she calling him from the toilet? And why did she want to meet him in Chipping Ongar? Why couldn’t she just make a straightforward telephone call and tell him what was going on? And what was she worried about? He checked his watch – it was ten twenty. Two hours to go before he had to meet her.

  His phone played the William Tell Overture.

  ‘Hello, Toadstone. How’s it going?’

  ‘It’s going as expected, Sir.’

  His lip curled upwards. Ever the politician. ‘You’ve rung to tell me what time we’re meeting Terri Royston?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, go on then?’

  ‘Three o’clock.’

  ‘That suits me fine. I’ve got to go to Chipping Ongar to see a snout. Am I meeting you there, or do you want picking up?’

  ‘You can pick me up at two fifteen.’

  ‘On the High Street- I don’t want to be seen hanging around the station as if I haven’t got a life outside work.’

  ‘Okay, see you then, Sir.’

  The phone went dead.

  It was now quarter to eleven. He decided to make his way to Chipping Ongar. The journey should only take him an hour, but he knew there would probably be jams, road works, sheep and other obstacles to contend with along the way. It would give him time to think. He reversed, swung round, and drove out of the car park.

  What was Audrey Bowers worried about? He had a feeling of impending disaster that he couldn’t shake off. And then there was Richards asking what would happen if the Chief Constable didn’t come back to work. Why wouldn’t he come back? He was on holiday- two weeks in the sun. What could prevent him from returning to his job on Monday morning and righting the wrongs his deputy had perpetrated? No, everything would turn out fine. All he had to do was keep his head down for the rest of the week, solve the trunk murder, let fatty Marshall and her accomplice, Dr Reynolds, make fools of themselves, and wait. What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter Five

  He parked up in the Red Lion car park at ten past twelve, just as You are the Sunshine of My Life began playing on his mobile.

  ‘Hello, Richards. I hope you’re not ringing me from the toilet again?’

  There was a pause. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, you are. I can hear the toilet flushing.’

  ‘You cannot. I haven’t... That’s not fair, Sir.’

  ‘What do you want? I’m about to have lunch with a beautiful woman.’

  ‘You’d better not.’

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘How am I going to get home tonight?’

  He wasn’t expecting the question. As his partner, he drove her into work and home again each day. She’d got rid of her VW rust-bucket soon after he’d moved in with Angie.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘I was thinking. Toadstone and I are going to see Terri Royston in Broxbourne at three o’clock. I’ll pick you up on the High Street at five thirty.’

  ‘If fatty Marshall has finished with me by then.’

  ‘You tell her that someone is waiting to give you a lift home.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Tomorrow I’ll organise you a hire car for a month. They’re not too expensive.’

  ‘A Porsche, or a Lamborghini, or a...’

  ‘To use your own words... As if! I was thinking more of a Smart Car, a Fiat 500, or a Micra...’

  ‘As if. Do you miss having me as your partner, Sir?’

  ‘I’m enjoying the freedom.’

  ‘You’re so mean.’

  He saw Audrey arrive in an old indigo- blue sports car with H at the end of
a black and silver number plate, and the soft top down.

  ‘My date’s arrived. See you later.’

  ‘But...’

  He ended the call, climbed out of his car, and walked over to Audrey’s car. ‘Very nice. I would never in a month of Sundays put you in one of these.’

  ‘My little hobby. This is a 1970 3 Litre V6 Moss Box Morgan Roadster.’

  He walked around the car admiring the sleek lines, the wire wheels and the leather seats as she took off her sunglasses and the scarf that had kept her hair in place. ‘Cross stitch or knitting didn’t appeal to you then?’

  ‘I’m a closet boy; I love cars. At weekends you’ll usually find me in the garage polishing the chrome and paintwork, tinkering with the engine, or going to Morgan Events with the Owner’s Club. The next event is the Peter Morgan Memorial Race at Donnington Park on 30th May – that should be a humdinger.’

  Audrey Bowers certainly didn’t look like a boy. She was in her early fifties with short grey hair, and wore a light green skirt and jacket over a slim figure.

  They strolled to the pub, found a table and sat down. The lunch crowd had filled up the place. A teenager with a Mohican hairstyle approached, gave them a menu each, and took their drinks order.

  Once the drinks had arrived and they’d ordered food, Parish said, ‘So, what’s this all about?’

  ‘DCC Devine had a visitor this morning.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘On his way out of the door I heard the DCC mention that the Chief Constable wouldn’t like what she’d done to you and Richards.’

  ‘I’m intrigued. Who was the visitor?’

  ‘I don’t know his name. She met him in reception and didn’t sign him in. Nor did she book him in through me, and there was nothing about a meeting in her diary.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘He...’

  The waiter arrived with their meals. Parish had a medium rare fillet steak with peppercorn sauce, chips, peas and onion rings. Audrey had the mixed grill with new potatoes, carrots and broccoli. It made a nice change to eat a meal opposite someone who wasn’t making him feel guilty by shuffling leaves about on a plate.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He was immaculately dressed, with silver grey hair, and carried a silver-tipped cane.’