by Ellis, Tim
Parish’s mobile activated with the ring of an unknown caller. He didn’t recognise the number.
‘Parish.’
‘DI Parish- it’s Assistant Commissioner Tindall.’
‘Hello, Ma’am.’
‘Have you seen the news?’
‘No, I’ve been out all day.’
‘There’s been an incident at the Alpina Hotel in Klosters.’
‘When you say an incident, what exactly do you mean? Is the Chief Constable...?’
‘I’m trying to get more information, but I have to be careful not to show too much interest. As far as I know the Chief Constable and his family are unharmed. I have an unconfirmed report that one man – a Swiss policeman – is dead, and another man – an Englishman called Peter Tremain - is seriously injured and has been taken to hospital.’
‘And you think this incident is connected?’
‘The man who died is the man I asked to protect the Chief Constable.’
‘Ah, I’m sorry about that.’
‘Don’t be; he deserved everything he got.’
‘Oh okay! So, who is this Peter Tremain?’
‘It’s the man you know as Sir Charles Lathbury. I rang Audrey and she found the report with photographs on the Internet. She says it’s the same man, but with brown hair and a beard.’
‘He’s not going to die is he?’
‘Why do you care?’
‘Because as far as I know, he’s the only link there is to my past.’
‘I don’t know how serious his injuries are, but I’ll try to find out for you.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am.’
‘I’ll be in touch.’
The phone went dead.
He had clung to a sliver of hope that one day he might find out the truth about himself and his parents, and now he tried to imagine never knowing. If Lathbury died, what did he have left? He could go to the MI6 building in Vauxhall, bang on the reception desk, make a scene and demand that they tell him everything, but he doubted that strategy would work – especially as revealing the truth could compromise the government. It was no good going to Somerset House either – they were merely puppets of MI6. So, in the final analysis, he would probably never know who he really was, and he had to come to terms with that fact.
Chapter Twelve
They arrived home at twenty past seven and Angie had the evening meal – steak & kidney pie, whole new potatoes, carrots and peas – ready as soon as they walked through the door.
‘I thought we’d better eat before everyone arrived for the meeting,’ she said, placing a full steaming plate in front of him.
‘Good idea,’ Parish said. ‘I’m that hungry I could eat a roasted rhinoceros on a stick.’ He looked around, but nobody laughed at his quip.
‘You sit there, Catherine,’ Angie said, pointing to the seat on Richards’ right. ‘We would normally be eating in the dining room, but it seems that it’s been appropriated by the police.’
‘Thank you for allowing me to stay,’ Catherine said, ‘and for this lovely meal.’
Richards grunted.
‘How was your day, Richards?’ Parish asked as he helped himself to gravy, and then poured himself an orange juice from the glass jug in the middle of the table.
‘I’ve had more fun at the dentist.’
‘And fatty Marshall?’
‘I don’t even want to talk about her. How long is this going to go on? Have you heard anything yet?’
He told them about the phone call he’d received from AC Tindall, but didn’t reveal who Peter Tremain was.
‘And the Chief Constable’s coming back on Monday?’
‘I certainly hope so.’
‘He’ll be so grateful you saved his life that he’ll promote you to DCI and get rid of fatty Marshall, and to compensate me for all the misery I’ve had to put up with this week he’ll make me a DI.’
‘Regardless of the fact that you’re not yet qualified and skipping over the rank of detective sergeant. You watch far too much television, Richards.’
‘But he’ll get rid of fatty Marshall and give you your job back, won’t he?’
‘That would be the ideal situation.’
‘And I’ll be your partner again?’
‘I’m not sure that I...’
She kicked him under the table.
‘Ow!’
‘Not funny.’
As Parish was helping Angie clear the table and stack the dishwasher, Toadstone arrived, followed by Kowalski and finally Ed.
‘All the conspirators are here,’ Parish said once everyone had helped themselves to tea or coffee and were sitting down in the back room.
‘I’m thinking of submitting a transfer request,’ Kowalski said. ‘There’s an Inspector’s post up for grabs in the little village of Wichling in Kent. It has a population of 128 and a tied four-bedroom house. Jerry’s all in favour of it.’
‘I think you should take it, Ray,’ Parish said. ‘You’re getting old now; you need to take things easy, put your feet up.’
‘That’s just what I was thinking.’
‘But you might like to wait until Monday when the Chief Constable comes back from his holiday.’ He told them about the phone call from AC Tindall, but again decided not to reveal that Peter Tremain was the man known as Sir Charles Lathbury. He didn’t want to get into a discussion about his parents and who he might be.
‘Yeah, I was going to do that anyway.’
‘Good, because you’re ideally situated for a job I have for you tomorrow.’ He told them about the traffic camera outside East Hertford Train Station that overlooked the roundabout and the Statics Club. ‘I don’t think the Hertford detectives have spotted it.’
‘Sounds promising- I’ll look at it first thing.’
He passed Valerie Nichols’ laptop in its case to Toadstone. ‘And this one’s for you, Toadstone.’
‘Very generous, Sir.’
‘It belonged to Valerie Nichols; get someone to give it the once over.’
‘Will do.’
To Richards he gave the summary of Valerie Nichols’ cases and Tollhurst & Chandler’s staff list. ‘Run the names through CrimInt.’
‘And when am I going to have chance to do that? Fatty Marshall thinks I’m her personal chauffeur. I don’t do any police work now. I haven’t logged onto my computer since...’
He took the lists off her and passed them to Ed. ‘Looks like you’re it, Ed.’
‘No problem, Sir.’
‘Also, before I sit down, Catherine and I...’
Richards made a strange noise with her mouth.
‘... Found out a couple of things. First, after thinking it through, it seems that the only way the killer would know his victims were menstruating is if he abducts them, imprisons them, and then waits until they come on a period. As Catherine pointed out...’
Another noise emanated from Richards’ direction.
‘... The most he’d have to wait would be a month.’
‘That means he’s keeping these women somewhere, doesn’t it?’ Ed said.
‘That’s right. I don’t know how it helps us yet, but at least we know. Also, Carole Dobbins has remembered one and a half things from that night. She recalled the man Valerie Nichols left with saying that he had a friend called Marty and that he smelled of something, but she didn’t know what.’
‘You really had a productive day, Jed,’ Kowalski said.
‘I know it’s not much, but if we had access to the press we could have drawn attention to the friend Marty. That would have generated some leads.’
‘I suppose, but what about this smell thing?’
‘I gave her my mobile number. She’s going to ring me if and when it comes to her.’
‘Or never.’
‘You’re turning into a right doom and gloom merchant, Ray.’
‘A side effect of working in traffic analysis. I ring the Samaritans at least five times a day, so that they can remind me what it’s all for.’
Ed squeezed his DI’s arm. ‘If they don’t release you by Monday, we’ll send in the SAS.’
‘Thanks, Ed. You’re a true friend.’
‘Is it bad, Sir?’ Richards asked.
‘Imagine, if you will, watching the same item of uninteresting news over and over and over for eight hours a day, day after day for a week.’
‘Seeing as you’re in full flow, Ray, do you want to go next?’
Kowalski rose to his feet as Parish sat down.
‘You asked me to carry out a database search for the relatives of Tobias Southern, and also find out where Terri Royston’s three sons live? I’ll deal with the last task first. It would appear that the Royston offspring have got as far away from their mother as possible...’
‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Toadstone muttered.
‘... The eldest son lives in Alaska – he’s an oil engineer for Shell. The middle son is a tin miner in Cornwall, and the youngest works as a medic on a BP oilrig in the North Sea, but lives in Scotland. I think we can discount any of her sons being the killer.’
‘Well, they had to be checked out,’ Parish said.
‘And we were right to check them out...’ He paused for effect. ‘Yes, she has three sons, but she and her husband also adopted her younger sister’s son - Arnold. Her sister died giving birth to a bastard at the age of twenty-four, and I only use the term ‘bastard’ because that’s what illegitimate children were called in 1958.’
‘The gardener,’ Toadstone said.
Kowalski looked at him. ‘What’s that?’
‘When we visited Terri Royston we saw a giant in khaki overalls doing some gardening. Do you remember, Sir?’
‘Yes, but we only saw him briefly. He came out of the side door of the garage carrying shears and disappeared round the back of the house.’
Toadstone nodded. ‘That was him.’
‘It could be Arnold, or it could simply be the gardener. Do we know anything about Arnold Royston?’
‘No educational or other qualifications, no criminal convictions, no job, no wife, no offspring.’
‘No job?’ Ed said. ‘What, he hasn’t got a job now, or he’s never had a job?’
‘Never had one according to the records.’
‘Is he...’ Ed twirled a finger at the side of his head, ‘you know, doolally?’
Richards, who was sitting next to him, nudged him with her elbow. ‘You’re not meant to say things like that now, Sergeant.’
‘Ah, you’re one of the PC brigade?’
‘No, it’s just not very nice.’
‘Can we move on, Richards?’ Parish said.
‘It wasn’t only me.’
‘You started it.’
She pulled a face, threw herself back in the chair and crossed her arms.
‘So, this Arnold Royston has been off the radar for some considerable time, Ray?’
‘From what I can see, he was never on it.’
‘We’d better go and check him out tomorrow then.’
‘I don’t think I’ll bother this time, Sir,’ Toadstone said.
‘That’s all right. I’ll take Catherine with me.’
Richards made another rude noise.
‘Is there something wrong with your mouth, Richards?’
‘I’m having trouble breathing,’ she said and grinned. ‘Something smells in here.’
Catherine was sitting the other side of Ed and swivelled on her chair to face Richards. ‘I hope you’re not referring to me, because...’
‘All right you two, I think we can do without the cat fight. Stop making noises, Richards.’
‘Why are you taking her side?’
‘I’m not taking anybody’s side. Now, can we move on?’
‘Remember, Sir,’ Toadstone continued, ‘Terri Royston is away until late Friday.’
‘We assumed there was nobody else living in the house, but we should have thought of Bundy.’
‘Who?’ Catherine said.
Parish laughed. ‘It’s a Chihuahua, presumably named after Ted Bundy, but we didn’t ask her. Anyway, unless she took him with her, or gave him to someone to look after, she would have left him at home, which means that Arnold might be there looking after the dog.’
‘And you might be able to persuade him to find those police reports.’
‘Yes, it would save us going back on Friday. Good idea, Toadstone.’
‘Thanks, Sir.’
‘So, as I was saying before Richards so rudely interrupted me...’
‘Me?’
‘Don’t start again,’ Parish said. ‘Go on, Ray.’
‘Huh.’
‘Tobias Southern had two children: a boy and a girl...’
‘Didn’t Terri Royston say he had three children?’ Toadstone said.
‘One died – a girl – of pneumonia at the age of seven.’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘The boy- or more accurately, Mr Luther Southern, Member of Parliament for Buckhurst Hill- has an alibi for Saturday the 14th and 250 witnesses at a local Conservative Party dinner where he was the main speaker. The girl, now Dr Marie Gilchrist, also has an alibi because she was on duty in the A & E department at Princess Alexandra’s Hospital in Epping.’
‘Good job, Ray,’ Parish said. ‘You’ve just eliminated all our suspects.’
‘What are friends for,’ he said and sat down.
‘Toadstone, tell me you’ve solved the murders.’
‘I wish I could, Sir. I carried out a post-mortem of Francis Wenham of 15, Tees Drive, Noak Hill. The details of her abduction were reported on the television and in the newspapers.’ He stopped to stick photographs and the newspaper article on the whiteboard. ‘She went missing on the 17th from the Sugar Hut dance club on the High Street in Brentwood. I can tell you that she was beaten, raped and dismembered by the same person as Valerie Nichols. A comparison of hair and fibres to those found on the first victim were a match; a DNA comparative analysis of the semen was also a match, as were the edges of the wounds, indicating the same weapon was used.’
‘And the stickman?’ Richards said.
‘Branded into the skin of the right breast.’ He stuck another photograph on the board.
‘What about the trunk?’ Parish asked.
He stuck a further two pictures onto the whiteboard. ‘It’s an antique Camel Back Steamer trunk dating from around 1930 and is valued at approximately £65. It’s made of wood and metal with small wheels on the bottom. The left strap-handle is broken and the right is missing. It measures 31 inches long, 17 wide, and 21 high.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me for saying so, but I think these trunks are your best chance of catching the killer.’
Parish eyed him. ‘So, you’re leading this illegal covert investigation now, Toadstone?’
‘I’m simply saying that the trunks he’s using for the bodies are unique. He must be getting them from somewhere, and there can’t be many places that sell these types of trunks. Without a database match, all of the fibres, hair, DNA, and other forensic evidence will only be useful when we catch him.’
‘You know I’m always grateful for your input, Toadstone, but you’ve forgotten two things. First, he could have bought the trunks anywhere in the country, or on the Internet from another country. Secondly, we can’t distribute pictures to the press and ask for help in identifying where they came from.’
‘It was merely a thought, Sir.’
‘And gratefully received, but stick to your analysis and leave the detective work to us. What about the landfill workers?’
‘Fingerprints taken: no matches.’
‘That just leaves you, Ed.’
He stood up. ‘Saving the best until last- good strategy, Sir.’
‘A man after my own heart,’ Kowalski said.
‘The first thing I should tell you is that another woman has gone missing – a Louise Trenchard. She was taken from the Rhythm Dance Club in Cranham on Tuesday night.’
Parish grunted. ‘Confirmat
ion, if there was any doubt, that he’s continuing his killing spree. I suppose Hertford MIT is all over it?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Unlike them, we know what’s going to happen to her, and that we’re working to a deadline. Carry on, Ed.’
‘So, I thought I might be able to save myself a trip if I went to Camarthen Antiques in Wormley first. If you remember, I was going to Hillside Farm to find out who the car boot sellers were on the 1st May, but it occurred to me that if the antique dealer was the seller, then I wouldn’t need to go to Hillside Farm.’
‘We’ve all got homes to go to, Ed,’ Kowalski said.
‘Yeah, so anyway, I went to see Poppy Norman who runs Camarthen Antiques, and she said she sold the trunk at the end of April to a man called Tyler Baraclough who also lives in Wormley. But he wasn’t home.’
‘Tell us you found out where he worked and went over there?’ Parish said.
‘Of course. They didn’t make me a Sergeant for nothing, you know. I went to his place of work – T & W Recycling at Cheshunt – and spoke to him there. He said he made a profit of £70 selling it at Hillside car boot sale, and when I showed him the picture of the man that Carole Dobbins had described to Hertford Police, he confirmed it was the same man.’
‘It’s like I said,’ Kowalski reminded them, ‘we’ve got nothing more than...’
‘I haven’t finished yet, Sir.’
‘Oh... Well, get on with it, Ed. My kids think I’ve joined the Foreign Legion.’
‘Yeah, good one, Ray. Anyway, he didn’t help the man take it to his car like Richards suggested, but he did remember two things about him. First, when the man opened his wallet to pay for the trunk he saw a British Legion membership card, but he didn’t know which branch. Also, all of the ten and twenty pound notes had a small silhouette drawn on them with a blue marker pen, in the bottom left-hand corner, of what looks like a bull’s head.’ He took out his own wallet and gave each one of them a ten or twenty pound note. ‘I bought some of them off him, and don’t say they’re evidence. I want them back.’
‘Certainly looks like a bull’s head,’ Toadstone said. ‘It’s got the horns, ears and a ring through its nose.’
‘The killer could have obtained them from someone else,’ Kowalski said.
‘He could,’ Parish countered, ‘but let’s work on the basis that the killer draws on all of his notes. First, why a bull’s head?’